images generously made available by kentuckiana digital library (http://kdl.kyvl.org/) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) images of the original pages are available through kentuckiana digital library. see http://kdl.kyvl.org/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=kyetexts;cc=kyetexts;xc= &idno=b - - &view=toc +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | transcriber's note: | | | | while this book is full of dialect and very odd spelling, | | there are a number of obvious typographical errors which | | have been corrected in this text. for a complete list, | | please see the end of this document. | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+ the way of the wind by zoe anderson norris drawings by oberhardt [illustration: zoe anderson norris] new york published by the author copyright, , by zoe anderson norris printed in the united states of america published in october, . by zoe anderson norris. office of the east side magazine, east th st., new york prologue and as the sturdy pilgrim fathers cut their perilous way through the dense and dangerous depths of the forest primeval for the setting up of their hearthstones, so the courageous pioneers of the desolate and treeless west were forced to fight the fury of the winds. the graves of them lie mounded here and there in the uncultivated corners of the fields, though more often one wanders across the level country, looking for them in the places where they should be and are not, because of the tall and waving corn that covers the length and breadth of the land. and yet the dead are not without memorial. each steady stalk is a plumed standard of pioneer conquest, and through its palmy leaves the chastened wind remorsefully sighs requiems, chanting, whispering, moaning and sighing from balmy springtime on through the heat of the long summer days, until in the frost the farmers cutting the stalks and stacking them evenly about in the semblance of long departed tepees, leave no dangling blades to sigh through, nor tassels to flout. the author. the way of the wind chapter i. [illustration] looking back upon it, the little kentucky town seemed to blossom for celia like the rose, one broad expanse of sloping lawns bordered with flower beds and shaded by quiet trees, elms and maples, brightly green with young leaflets and dark with cedars and pines, as it was on the day when she stood on the vine-covered veranda of her mother's home, surrounded by friends come to say good-by. jane whitcomb kissed her cheek as she tied the strings of her big poke bonnet under her chin. "i hope you will be happy out theah, celia," she said; "but if it was me and i had to go, i wouldn't. you couldn't get me to take such risks. wild horses couldn't. all them whut wants to go west to grow up with the country can go, but the south is plenty good enough fo' me." "fo' me, too," sighed celia, homesickness full upon her with the parting hour. "it's seth makes me go. accordin' to him, the west is the futuah country. he has found a place wheah they ah goin' to build a magic city, he says. he's goin' to maik a fortune fo' me out theah, he says, in the west." "growin' up with the country," interrupted sarah simpson, tying a bouquet of flowers she had brought for celia with a narrow ribbon of delicate blue. "yes," admitted celia, "growing up with the country." sarah handed her the flowers. "it's my opinion," concluded she, "that it's the fools, beggin' youah pahdon, whut's goin' out theah to grow up with the country, and the wise peepul whut's stayin' at home and advisin' of 'em to go." celia shuddered. "i'm ha'f afraid to go," she said. "they say the wind blows all the time out theah. they say it nevah quits blowin'." "'taint laik as if you wus goin' to be alone out theah," comforted mansy storm, who was busy putting away a little cake she had made with her own hands for celia's lunch basket. "youah husband will be out theah." she closed the lid down and raised her head brightly. "whut diffunce does it maik?" she asked, "how ha'd the wind blows if you've got youah husband?" lucy brown flipped a speck of dust from the hem of celia's travelling dress. "yes," said she, "and such a husband!" celia looked wistfully out over the calm and quiet street, basking in the sunlight, peacefully minus a ripple of breeze to break the beauty of it, her large eyes sad. "i'm afraid of the wind," she complained. "sto'ms scah me." and she reiterated: "i'm afraid of the wind!" sarah suddenly ran down the walk on either side of which blossomed old fashioned flowers, marsh marigolds, johnny-jump-ups and brown-eyed susans. she stood at the front gate, which swung on its hinges, leaning over it, looking down the road. "i thoat i heahd the stage," she called back. "yes. suah enuf. heah it is, comin'." at that celia's mother, hurrying fearfully out the door, threw her arms around her. celia fell to sobbing. "it's so fah away," she stammered brokenly, between her sobs. "i'm afraid ... to ... go.... it's so fah ... away!" "theah! theah!" comforted her mother, lifting up her face and kissing it. "it's not so fah but you can come back again. the same road comes that goes, deah one. theah! theah!" "miss celia," cried a reproachful voice from the door. "is you gwine away, chile, widout tellin' youah black mammy good-by?" celia unclasped her mother's arms, fell upon the bosom of her black mammy and wept anew. "de lawd be wid you, chile," cooed the voice of the negress, musical with tenderness, "an' bring you back home safe an' soun' in his own time." the stage rolled up with clash and clatter and flap of curtain. it stopped at the gate. there ensued the rush of departure, the driver, after hoisting the baggage of his one passenger thereto, looking stolidly down on the heartbreak from the height of his perch, his long whip poised in midair. celia's friends swarmed about her. they kissed her. they essayed to comfort her. they thrust upon her gifts of fruit and flowers and dainties for her lunch. they bore her wraps out to the cumbersome vehicle which was to convey her to lexington, the nearest town which at that time boasted of a railroad. they placed her comfortably, turning again and again to give her another kiss and to bid her good-by and god-speed. it was as if her heartstrings wrenched asunder at the jerk of the wheels that started the huge stage onward. "good-by, good-by!" she cried out, her pale face at the window. "good-by," they answered, and mansy storm, running alongside, said to her: "you give my love to seth, celia. don't you fo'get." then breathlessly as the stage moved faster: "if evah the good lawd made a man a mighty little lowah than the angels," she added, "that man's seth." the old stage rumbled along the broad white lexington pike, past houses of other friends, who stood at gates to wave her farewell. it rumbled past little front yards abloom with flowers, back of which white cottages blinked sleepily, one eye of a shuttered window open, one shut, past big stone gates which gave upon mansions of more grandeur, past smaller farms, until at length it drew up at the tollgate. here a girl with hair of sunshine, coming out, untied the pole and raised it slowly. "you goin' away, miss celia?" she asked in her soft southern brogue, tuneful as the ripple of water. "i heah sumbody say you was goin' away." celia smothered a sob. "yes," she answered, "i am goin' away." "it's a long, long way out theah to the west," commented the girl wistfully as she counted out the change for the driver, "a long, long way!" as if the way had not seemed long enough! celia sobbed outright. "yes," she assented, "it is a long, long way!" "i am sawy you ah goin', miss celia," said the girl. "good-by. good luck to you!" and the stage moved on, celia staring back at her with wide sad eyes. the girl leaned forward, let the pole carefully down and fastened it. as she did so a ray of sunshine made a halo of her hair. celia flung herself back into the dimness of the corner and wept out her heart. it seemed to her that, with the letting down of that pole, she had been shut out of heaven. chapter ii. [illustration] in all her life celia had not travelled further from her native town than lexington, which was thirty miles away. it was not necessary. she lived in the garden spot of the world, an eden with all things sufficient for a simple life. as she stood at the station, waiting for her train, an old negro shuffled by. he hummed the refrain of "old kentucky home," "fare you well, my lady!" it seemed meant for her. the longing was strong within her to fly back to the old town she loved so well; but the train, roaring in just then, intimidated her by its unaccustomed turmoil and she allowed herself to be hauled on board by the brakeman and placed in the car. passing into the open country, the speed of the train increased. the smoke and cinders poured into the open window. timid because of her strange surroundings, she silently accepted the infliction, cowering into her seat without attempting to put the window down. when a man in the opposite seat leaned forward and pulled it down for her, she was too abashed to thank him, but retained her crouching position and began silently to weep. a terrible night of travel began. it was a day car. celia crouched into her seat, trying to sleep, afraid of everything, of the staring eyes of the porter, of the strange faces about her, of the jet black of the night that gloomed portentously through the window. then came the dawn and with it the long gray bridge spanning the drab and sullen mississippi, then st. louis, with its bustle and rush and more and more strange faces, a sea of strange faces through which she must pass. after another weary day of travel through which she dozed, too tired to think, too tired to move, at twilight she reached kansas city, a little town on the edge of the desert. here, worn out mentally and physically, she was forced to stop and rest a night and sleep in a bed. and the next day the wind! a little way out from the town she could see it beginning, bending the pliant prairie grasses to earth, flinging them fiercely upward, crushing them flat again and pressing them there, whistling, whistling, whistling! the car moved fairly fast for a car of that day, but the wind moved faster. it shook the windows with terrific force. it blew small grains of sand under the sill to sting celia, moaning, moaning, moaning in its mad and unimpeded march across the country straight to the skies. she looked out in dismay. back of her, on either side of her and beyond, stretched this vast prairie country, desolate of shrub, undergrowth, or tree, a barren waste, different from the beautiful, still, green garden spot that she called home, a spot redolent of flowers, sweet with the odor of new-mown grass, and pungent with whiff of pine and cedar, different as night is from day. her heart sank within her as she looked. it was late in the afternoon when she came to her station, a collection of frame shanties dignified by that name, and seth, tall, tanned and radiant, clasped her in his arms, and man though he was, shed tears of pure rapture. his joy served to thrill her momentarily to the extent of forgetting the wind, but with his departure for the vehicle which was to convey her to their home, the discomfort of it returned to her. the madness of it! the fury of it! its fiendish joy! it tore at her skirts. it wrapped them about her. it snatched them away again, flapping them flaglike. it was with difficulty that she kept her hat on her head. she held it with both hands. the wind seemed to make sport of her, to laugh at her. it treated her as it would a tenderfoot. it tried to frighten her. it blew the shutters of the shanties open and slammed them to with a noise like guns. it shrieked maniacally as if rejoicing in her discomfort. at times it seemed to hoot at her. added to this, when seth returned for her with the vehicle, it proved to be a common two-wheeled cart drawn by a mule, a tall, ungainly cart of dull and faded blue. she kept back the tears as seth helped her in. then she sat silently by him throughout their jolting journey over the prairie country into what seemed to her to be the nowhere, listening to the wind chant, now requiems, now dirges, listening to its shriek and whistle, listening to it cry aloud and moan, die down to a whisper, then rise once more and wail like a living thing in unendurable pain. seth, too, by and by fell into silence, but from a different cause. the wind failed to distress him. he had become accustomed to it in the months spent in preparing her home. it was like an old friend that sometimes whispered in his tired ears words of infinite sweetness. he forgave the wanton shrieks of it because of this sweetness, the sweetness of a capricious woman, all the more sweet because of her capriciousness. he was silent from pure happiness at having celia there beside him, going over the same road with him in the old blue cart. from time to time he glanced at her timidly as if half afraid if he looked too hard the wind might blow her away. and, indeed, there did appear to be some danger; for the wind that had loved seth from the first was apparently jealous of celia. it tore at her as though to toss her to unreachable distances in the way it ripped the tumbleweeds from their small brittle stems and tossed them away. seth looked at her profile, white from the fatigue of the journey, but beautiful as alabaster; at the blue of her eyes; at the delicate taper of her small white hands that from her birth had done only the daintiest of service; at the small feet that had never once walked the rough and sordid pathway of toil. beautiful! beautiful! his eyes caressed her. except that he must hold the reins both arms would have encircled her. as it was, she rested in the strong and tender half-circle of one. all at once the wind became frantic. it blew and blew! finding it impossible to tear celia from the tender circling of that arm, it wreaked its vengeance upon the tumbleweeds, broke them fiercely from their stems, and sent them pell-mell over the prairie before the tall blue cart, about it, at the sides of it, a fantastic cortege, airily tumbling, tumbling, tumbling! yes. the wind was jealous of celia. strong as it was, it failed of accomplishing its will, which would have been to snatch her from the cart and toss her to the horizon in company with the tumbleweeds. it shrieked its despair, the despair of a jealous woman balked of her vengeance, tumultuously wild. at last at about twilight, at the time of day when the prairie skies are mellow with tints fit for a turner and the prairie winds sough with the tenderness of lullabies, resting for a period, in order to prepare for the fury of the night, they came upon the forks of the two rivers, sparsely sheltered by a few straggling and wind-blown trees. seth reined in the animal, sprang down over the high wheel of the cart and helped celia out. "darling," he said, "let me welcome you home!" "home," she repeated. "where is it?" for she saw before her only a slight elevation in the earth's surface, a mound enlarged. going down a few steps, seth opened wide the door of their dugout, looking gladly up at her, standing stilly there, a picture daintily silhouetted by the pearl pink of the twilit sky. "heah!" he smiled. celia stared down into the darkness of it as into a grave. "a hole in the ground," she cried. then, as the beflowered home she had left rose mirage-like in the window of her memory, she sobbingly re-stammered the words: "a ... hole ... in ... the ... ground!" chapter iii. [illustration] it was not yet june, but the winds blow cold on the prairie later than june at nightfall. the moment the sun goes down, up come the chill winds. sick at heart, seth coaxed the shuddering celia down the steps into the cellar-like habitation dimly lighted by a single half window dug out mansard fashion at the side. he was silent, hurt in every fibre of his being. his manner was one of profound apology. she was right. it was only a hole in the ground; but he, accustomed to dugouts during the months he had spent on the prairie preparing for the joy of her coming, had overlooked its deficiencies and learned to think of it as home. there were two chairs. he was glad of that. for a long time there had been only one. he placed her in the new one, bought in honor of her coming, seating her deferentially as if she had been a queen, and went hurriedly about, building a fire of little dry twigs he had torn from shrubs along the river that the gay crackle of them might cheer her. as she sat looking on, she saw in this humble service not his devotion, but his humiliation, not his great love for her which glorified all service humble or exalted, but the fact that he had so descended in the scale of life as to put his hand to work that she had been used to see done only by negroes. her pride, her only inheritance from haughty slave-holding ancestors, was wounded. not all seth's devotion, not all his labor in her behalf could salve that wound. as he knelt before the blazing twigs, apparently doing their best to aid him in his effort to cheer her, something of this feeling penetrated to his inner consciousness. nevertheless, he piled on twig after twig until the refreshing flames brilliantly illumined the dugout. from dirt floor to dirt roof they filled it with light. the poor little twigs, eagerly flashing into flame to help him! better far if, wet and soggy, they had burned dimly or not at all; for their blaze only served to exhibit every deficiency seth should have endeavored to hide. the thatch of the roof, the sod, the carpetless floor, the lack of furniture, the plain wooden bedstead in the corner with its mattress of straw, the crazy window fashioned by his own rude carpentry, the shapeless door which was like a slap in the face with its raw and unpainted color of new wood. after the first wild glance about her, celia buried her face in her hands, resolutely shutting out the view for fear of bursting into uncontrollable tears. seth, seeing this, rose from his knees slowly, lamely, as if suddenly very tired, and went about his preparations for their evening meal. men with less courage than it required to perform this simple duty have stood up to be shot at. knowing full well that with each act of humble servitude he sank lower and lower in the estimation of the one living creature in whose estimation he wished to stand high, he once more knelt on the hearth, placed potatoes in the ashes, raked a little pile of coals together and set the coffee pot on them. he drew the small deal table out and put upon it two cups and saucers, plates and forks for two. there was but one knife. that was for celia. a pocket knife was to serve for himself. it had been his pleasure throughout his lonely days of waiting to picture this first meal which celia and he should eat together. never once had he dreamed that the realization could come so near breaking a strong man's heart,--that things seemingly of small import could stab with a thrust so knife-like. he felt the color leave his cheek at the thought that he had failed to provide a cloth for the table, not even a napkin. he fumbled at his bandana, then hopelessly replaced it in his pocket. he grew cold at the realization that every luxury to which she had been accustomed, almost every necessity, was absent from that plain board. he had counted on her love to overlook much. it had overlooked nothing. when all was in readiness he drew up a chair and begged her to be seated. he took the opposite chair and the meal proceeded in silence, broken only by the wail of the wind and the crackle of the little dry twigs that burned on the hearth. "i am afraid of it," sighed celia. "of what, sweet?" he asked, and she answered: "i am afraid of the wind." "there is nothing to be afraid of," he explained quickly. "it is only the ordinary wind of the prairies. it ain't a cyclone. cyclones nevah come this way, neah to the forks of two rivers wheah we ah," and waxing eloquent on this, his hobby, he began telling her of the great and beautiful and prosperous city which was sometime to be built on this spot; perhaps the very dugout in which they sat would form its center. he talked enthusiastically of the tall steepled temples that would be erected, of the schools and colleges, of the gay people beautifully dressed who would drive about in their carriages under the shade of tall trees that would line the avenues, of the smiling men and women and children whose home the magic city would be, and how he was confident they would build it here because, in the land of terrible winds, when people commenced to erect their metropolis, they must put it where no deadly breath of cyclone or tornado could tear at it or overturn it. with that he went on to describe the destructive power of the cyclones, telling how one in a neighboring country had licked up a stream that lay in its course, showering the water and mud down fifty miles away. "but no cyclone will ever come here," he added and explained why. because it was the place of the forks of two rivers, the big arkansas and the little arkansas. a cyclone will go out of its way, he told her, rather than tackle the forks of two rivers. the indians knew that. they had pitched their tents here before they had been driven into the territory and that was what they had said. and they were very wise about some things, those red men, though not about many. but celia could not help putting silent questions to herself. why should a cyclone that could snatch up a river and toss it to the clouds, fight shy of the forks of two? looking fearfully around at the shadows, she interrupted him: "i am afraid," she whispered. "i am afraid!" seth left his place at the table and took her in his arms. "po' little gurl," he said. "afraid, and tiahd, too. travelin' so fah. of cose, she's tiahd!" and with loving hands, tender as a mother's, he helped her undress and laid her on the rough bed of straw, covered with sheets of the coarsest, wishing it might be a bed of down covered with silks, wishing they were back in the days of enchantment that he might change it into a couch fit for a princess by the wave of a wand. then he left her a moment, and walking out under the wind-blown stars he looked up at them reverently and said aloud: (for in the dreary deserts of loneliness one often learns to talk aloud very openly and confidentially to god, since people are so scarce and far away:) "tempah the wind to this po' shiverin' lam, deah fathah!" then with a fanatic devotion, he added: "and build the magic city!" chapter iv. [illustration] upon each trip to the station for provision or grain seth met with tail ends of cyclones, or heard of rumors of those that had just passed through, or were in process of passing, strange enough stories of capers cut by the fantastic winds. he told these tales to celia with a vein of humor meant to cheer her, but which had an opposite effect. love blinded, he failed to see that the nervous laughs with which she greeted them were a sign of terror rather than amusement. one night, he related, after a day whose sultriness had been almost unendurable, a girl had stood at the door to her dugout, bidding her sweetheart good night. she opened the door, he stepped outside, and a cyclone happening to pass that way, facetiously caught him into the atmosphere and carried him away somewhere, she never knew where. strewn in the path of that cyclone were window-sashes, doors, shingles, hair mattresses, remnants of chimneys, old iron, bones, rags, rice, old shoes and dead bodies; but not the body of her blue-eyed sweetheart. for many months she grieved for him, dismally garbed in crape, which was extremely foolish of her, some said, for all she knew he might still be in the land of the living. possibly the cyclone had only dropped him into another county where, likely as not, he was by this time making love to another girl. but though she mourned and mourned and waited and waited for the wild winds to bring him back, or another in his place, none came. "they've got to tie strings to their sweethearts in this part of the country," the old gray-haired man at the corner grocery had said, "if they want to keep them." another playful cyclone had snatched up a farmer who wore red and white striped socks. the cyclone had blown all the red out of the socks, the story teller had said, so that when they found the farmer flattened against a barn door as if he had been pasted there, his socks were white as if they had never contained a suspicion of red. they had turned white, no doubt, through fright. evidently knives had flown promiscuously about in another cyclone, he said. hogs had been cut in two and chickens carved, ready for the table. there were demons at work as well as knives. a girl was engaged to be married. all her wedding finery had been made. dainty, it was, too; so dainty that she laid it carefully away in a big closet in a distant wing of the house, far from the profane stare of strange eyes. she made discreet pilgrimages to look at those dainty things so dear to her, lingerie white and soft and fine, satin slippers, fans, gloves and a wedding gown of dazzling snowiness. the day was set for the wedding. unfortunately--how could she know that?--the same day was set for a cyclone. the girl could almost hear the peal of the wedding bells; when along came the tornado, rushing, roaring, shrieking like mad, and grasping that wing of the house, that special and precious wing containing her trousseau, bore it triumphantly off. a silk waist was found in one county, but the skirt to match it lay in another, many miles away. her beplumed hat floated in a pool of disfiguring water, her long suede gloves lay in a ditch and her white satin wedding slippers, alas, hung by their tiny heels at the top of a tree in a neighboring township, the only tree in the entire surrounding county, put there, in all probability, to catch and hold them for her. naturally, the wedding was postponed until new wedding finery could be prepared, but alas! a man's will is the wind's will! by the time the second trousseau was well on the way, the affections of the girl's sweetheart had wafted away and wound themselves about another girl. here and there the prairie farmers had planted out trees in rows and clumps, taking tree claims from the government for that purpose. in many instances cyclones had bent these prospective forests double in their extreme youth, leaving them to grow that way, leaning heavily forward in the attitude of old men running. of course, there were demons. god could have nothing to do with their devilments, seth said. seth had great belief in god. one had maliciously torn up all the churches in a town by the roots, turned them upside down and stuck their steeples in the ground as if in mockery of religion. "why do you call them cyclones?" the old man at the corner grocery had asked. "they are not cyclones. they are tornadoes." and this old man who had once been a doctor of medicine in an eastern village and who was therefore learned, though he had been persuaded by some wise men to go west and grow up with the fools, went on to explain the difference. "a cyclone," he said, "is miles and miles in width. it sweeps across the prairie screeching and screaming, but doing not so very much damage as it might do, just getting on the nerves of the people and helping to drive them insane. that is all. "then along comes a hailstone. it drops into the southeast corner of this cyclone and there you are! it generates a tornado and that is the thing that rends the universe." seth had listened to these stories undismayed; for what had they to do with his ranch and the magic city upon which it was to be built? a cyclone would never come to the forks of two rivers. the indians had said so. tradition had it that an old squaw whose name was wichita had bewitched the spot with her incantations, defying the wind to touch the ground on which she had lived and died. it must have been that this old squaw still occupied the spot, that her phantom still stooped over seething kettles, or stalked abroad in the darkness, or chanted dirges to the slap and pat of the grim war dance of the indians; for the winds, growing frightened, had let the forks of the river alone. seth was very careful to relate this to celia, to reiterate it to this fearful celia who started up so wildly out of her sleep at the maniacal shriek of the wind. very tenderly he whispered the reassurance and promise of protection against every blast that blew, thus soothing her softly back to slumber, after which he lay awake, watching her lest she wake again and wishing he might still the universe while she slept. he redoubled his care of her by night and by day, doing the work of the dugout before he began the work of the fields, not only bending over the tubs early in the morning for fear such bending might hurt her, but hanging out the clothes on the line for fear the fierce and vengeful wind might tan her beautiful complexion and tangle the fine soft yellow of her hair. for the same reason, he brought in the clothes after the day's labor was over, and ironed them. he also did the simple cooking in order to protect her beauty from blaze of log and twinkle of twig. if he could he would have hushed the noise of the world for love of her. and yet, day after day, coming home from his work in the fields, he found her at the door of their dugout, peering after the east-bound train, trailing so far away as to seem a toy train, with a look of longing that struck cold to his heart. his affection counted as nothing. his care was wasted. in spite of which he was full of apologies for her. other women, making these crude caves into homes for themselves and their children, had found contentment, but they were women of a different fibre. he would not have her of a different and coarser fibre, this exquisite southern creature, charming, delicate, set like a rare exotic in the humble window of his hut. it was not her fault. it was his. it was his place to turn the hut into a palace for his queen; and so he would, when the wise men came out of the east and built the magic city. when the fools had made the plains a fit place for human beings to inhabit, planting trees to draw down the reluctant rain from the clouds, sowing seed and raising crops sometimes, to their surprise and the amazement of those who heard of it, the wise men would appear and buy the land, and the building of great cities would begin. already they had reared a town that dared approach in size to a city on the edge of the desert, but what had happened? an angry cyclone, hearing of it, had come along and snatched it into the clouds. furious at sight of its spick and span newness, its yellow frame shanties and shining shingles, it had carried it off as if it had been a hen coop and set it down somewhere in texas, a state that had been longer settled and was therefore a better place for houses and fences, and left it there. then the wise men, growing discouraged, had gone away. but they would come again, he promised himself. they would come again. they must. not to pass through in long vestibule trains whose sparks out of pure fiendishness lighted the furious prairie fires that were so hard to put out, smothering the innocent occupants of the dugouts in their sleep and burning their grain. not to gaze wild-eyed through the shining windows of these splendid cars as they passed on and on to some more promising unwind-blown country, to build there their beautiful cities of marble and of stone. they would come to stay. when? why, when they should find a spot unvisited by cyclones, and that spot would be in the place of their dugout at the forks of these two rivers, the big arkansas and the little arkansas, the little river that had real water trickling along its shallow bed year in and year out, and the big river whose bed was dry as a bone all the year round until june, when the melting snows of the rockies sent the water down in floods. in fierce, uncontrollable and pitiless floods to drown the crops that had been spared by the chinch bugs, the grasshoppers and the hot winds. all this seth told celia, finishing with his old rapturous picture of the glory of the magic city, which he called after the old witch who had driven the winds from the forks of the rivers, wichita. he talked on, trying hard not to let her listless air of incredulity freeze the marrow of his bones and the blood in his veins, or cut him so deeply as to destroy his enrooted hope in their splendid future. taking her in his arms, partly to hide her cold face from his view and partly to comfort her, he offered every possible apology for her unbelief, wrapping her about with his love and tenderness as with a mantle. he thought by day of the coming of the child, and dreamed of it by night, trusting that, whether or not she shared his belief in the magic city, when she held it warmly in her arms, that little baby, his and hers, the homesick look would give place to a look of content, and the hole in the ground would become to her a home. chapter v. [illustration] seth was toiling slowly along a furrow back of his plow, bending sidewise with the force of the wind, not resentfully that it persisted in making it so difficult for him to earn his bread, for resentment was not in his nature, besides which, seth loved the wind,--but humming a little tune, something soft and reminiscent about his old kentucky home, with its chorus of "fare you well, my lady," when a broncho, first a mere speck on the horizon ahead of him, then larger and larger, rushed out of the wind from across the prairie with flashing eyes and distended nostrils, and lunged toward him. at first he thought it was a wild broncho, untamed and riderless; but as his eyes became accustomed to dust and sunlight, he discovered that the saddle held a girl. for the moment she had bent herself to the broncho's mane, which had the effect, together with the haze produced by the wind-blown dust, of rendering the animal apparently riderless. seth drew up his mule and halted. at the same time the broncho was jerked with a sudden rein that sent him back on his haunches, his front feet pawing the air. his rider, apparently accustomed to this pose, clung to him with the persistency of a fly to fly paper, righted him, swung herself from the saddle and stood before seth, a tall, slim girl of twelve, a girl of complexion brown as berries, of dark eyes heavily fringed with thick lashes and dusky hair tinged redly with sunburn. her hair, one of her beauties, blew about her ears in tangled curls that were unconfined by hat or bonnet. she smiled at him, showing rows of rice-like teeth, of an exaggerated white in contrast with the sunburn of her face. "hello," she said. "hello," said seth in return. then, in the outspoken manner of the prairie folk he asked: "who ah you?" "i am cyclona," she answered. "cyclona what?" "just cyclona. i ain't got no other name." seth smiled back at her, she seemed so timidly wild, like those little prairie dogs that stand on their haunches and bark, and yet are ever mindful of the safety of their near-by lairs, waiting for them in case of molestation. "wheah did you come frum?" he queried. "two or three hundred miles from here," she answered, "where we had a claim." "who is we?" asked seth. "my father and me. he ain't my real father. he's the man what adopted me." always courteous, seth stood, hand on plough, waiting for her to state her errand or move on. she did neither. "there be'n't many neighbors hereabout, be there?" she ventured presently, toying with her broncho's mane. "no," said seth. "they ah mighty scarce. one about every eighteen miles or so." cyclona looked straight at him out of her big dark eyes framed by their heavy lashes. "i am a neighbor of yourn," she said. "i'm glad of that," responded seth with ready southern cordiality. "wheah do you live?" cyclona turned and pointed to the horizon. "about ten or twelve miles away," she explained. "there!" "been theah long?" asked seth. "come down last week," said cyclona, adding lightly by way of explanation, "we blew down. father and his wife and me. never had no mother. a cyclone blew her away. that's why they call me cyclona." she drew her sleeve across her eyes. "it's mighty lonesome in these parts," she sighed, "without no neighbors. neighbors was nearer where we came from." "what made you move, then?" seth queried. "we didn't move," said cyclona. "we was moved. father likes it here, but i get awful lonesome without no neighbors." the plaint struck an answering chord. "look heah," said seth. "you see that little dugout 'way ovah theah? that's wheah i live. my wife's theah all by herself. she's lonesome, too. maybe she'd laik to have you come and visit her and keep her company. will you?" cyclona nodded a delighted assent, caught the mane of her broncho, and swung herself into her saddle with the ease and grace of a cowboy. seth was suddenly engrossed with the fear that celia, seeing the girl come out of the nowhere, as she had come upon him, might be frightened into the ungraciousness of unsociability. "wait," he cried. "i will go with you." so he took cyclona's rein and led her broncho over the prairie to celia's door, the girl, laughing at the idea of being led, chattering from her saddle like any magpie. he knocked at celia's door and soon her face, white, southern, aristocratic, in sharp contrast with the sunburned cheek and wild eye of cyclona, appeared. he waved a rough hand toward cyclona, sitting astride her broncho, a child of the desert, untamed as a coyote, an animated bronze of the untrammelled west emphasized by the highlights of sunshine glimmering on curl and dimple, on broncho mane and hoof, and backed by the brilliancy of sky, the far away line of the horizon and the howl of the wind. "look!" he called to her exultantly, in the voice of the prairies, necessarily elevated in defiance of the wind, "i have brought a little girl to keep you company." chapter vi. [illustration] it was in this way that cyclona blew into their lives and came to be something of a companion to celia, though, realizing that the girl was a distinct outgrowth of the country she so detested, she never came to care for her with that affection which she had felt for her southern girl friends. the kindly interest which most women, settled in life, feel for the uncertain destiny of every girl child bashfully budding into womanhood was absent. it is to be doubted if celia possessed a kindly heart to begin with, added to which there was nothing of the self-conscious bud about cyclona. she was ignorant of her beauty as a prairie rose. strange as her life had been, encompassed about by cyclones, the episode of her moving as told by the gray-haired doctor at the corner grocery was stranger. "the house was little," the doctor commenced, "or it might not have happened. there was only one room. it was built of boards and weighed next to nothing, which may have helped to account for it. "on that particular day the house was situated in the northern part of the state." he swapped legs. "but the next day," he resumed. "well, you can't tell exactly where any house will be the next day in kansas. "it was about noon and cyclona's foster father was out in the cornfield, plowing. the wind, as usual, was blowing a gale. it was a mild gale, sixty miles an hour, so jonathan did not permit it to interfere with his plowing. the rows were a little uneven because the wind blew the horse sidewise and that naturally dragged the plow out of the furrows, but as one rarely sees a straight row of corn in kansas, jonathan was not worried. if he took pains to sow the corn straight, in trim and systematic rows, like as not the wind would blow the seed out of the ground into his neighbor's cornfield, so what was the use? "like the horse and plough, jonathan was walking crooked, bent in the direction of the wind. he seldom walks straight or talks straight for that matter, the wind has had such an effect on him. "at any rate, leaving out the question of his reasoning which pursues a devious and zigzag course, varying according to the way the wind blows--and he is not alone in this peculiarity in kansas, as i say--jonathan steadily toiled against the wind, he stopped altogether, and taking out his lunch basket, he removed a pie and sat down on a log to eat it, while his horse, moving a little further along, propped himself against a cottonwood tree to keep from being entirely blown away, and also rested." he swapped tobacco wads from one cheek to the other and continued: "the pie was made of custard, jonathan said, with meringue on the top. the meringue blew away, but jonathan contentedly ate the custard, thankful that the hungry wind had not taken that. "mrs. jonathan had been going about all morning with a dust rag in her hand, wiping the dust from the sills and the furniture. "so, tired out at last, she had flung herself on the bed and was quietly napping when the cyclone came along. "of course, the house and the bed she was lying on were shaken, but mrs. jonathan had lived so long in kansas she couldn't sleep unless the wind rocked the bed. "she slept all the sounder, therefore, lulled by its whistling and moaning and sobbing, not waking even when cyclona, this girl they had adopted, opened the door and shut it suddenly with herself on the inside, and a fortunate thing, too, that was for cyclona, or the cyclone might have left her behind. "cyclona, standing by the window, saw it all, the swiftly passing landscape, the trees, the cows, as one would look from an observation car on a train. "the house was at last deposited rather roughly on terra firma and the jar awoke mrs. jonathan. she sat up and rubbed her eyes open. then she looked about her in some alarm. "the furniture was tumbled together in one corner all in a heap, jonathan says, and the pictures were topsy turvy. pictures are never on a level on kansas walls on account of the winds, so mrs. jonathan thought little of this, but the ceiling puzzled her. instead of arching in the old way, it pointed at her. it was full of shingles, moreover, like a roof, and the point reached nearly to her head when she sat up in the bed, staring about her. "'what on earth is the matter?' she asked of cyclona. "cyclona turned away from the window. "'we have moved,' said she. "mrs. jonathan arose then, and going to the door, opened it and found that what cyclona had said was true. the scenery was quite different. it is much further south here, you know, than in the northern part of the state. the grass was green and the trees, hardly budded at all where she came from, here had full grown leaves. "there was little or no debris in the path of the cyclone, nearly everything, with the exception of the house, having been dropped before it arrived at that point. "a few stray cows hung from the branches of the large cottonwood trees, jonathan says...." here the doctor was interrupted by a man who took his pipe out of his mouth and coughed. "but they presently dropped on all fours," he continued, "and began to munch on the nice green grass growing all about them. "the landscape thus losing all indications of the tornado's effect, assumed a sylvan aspect which was tranquil in the extreme. "not far off stood the horse still hitched to the plough, jonathan said. the horse had a dazed look, but the plough seemed to be in fit enough condition. one handle, slightly bent, had evidently struck against something on the journey, which gave it a rakish aspect, but that was all." "did the horse have its hide on?" asked the man who had coughed. "so far's i know," the doctor replied. "why?" "because there's a story goin' the rounds," answered the cougher, "to the effec' that a horse was blown a hundred miles in a cyclone and when they found him he was hitched to a tree and skinned." there was a period of thoughtful silence before the doctor went on with his story. "as mrs. jonathan looked out the door," he said, "she saw jonathan walking down the road in her direction. his slice of pie, which he had not had time to finish, was still in his hand. "'where are we at?' he asked her, curiously. "'i am sure i don't know,' answered mrs. jonathan, beginning, woman-like, to cry, now that the danger was over. "jonathan began to finish his pie, which the cyclone had interrupted. between mouthfuls he gave quick glances of surprise at the house. "'what on earth!' he exclaimed, 'is the matter with the roof?' "mrs. jonathan ran out to look. "the tornado had been busy with the roof. it had blown it skyward and then, upon second thoughts, had brought it back again and deposited it not right side up, but upside down. "the extreme suction caused by this sudden reversal of things had caught every rag of clothing in the house into the atmosphere where, adhering to the roof, they had been brought down with it, so that they hung in festoons all around the outside, the roof, fastening onto the walls with a tremendous jerk, securing all the different articles with the clinch of a massive and giant clothespin. "'it was a strange sight,' jonathan said. "mrs. jonathan's and cyclona's skirts, stockings, shirt waists, night dresses and handkerchiefs were strung along indiscriminately with jonathan's trousers, coats, waistcoats and socks. here and there, in between, prismatic quilts, red bordered tablecloths and fringed napkins varied the monotony. "'how are we ever going to get them down?' asked mrs. jonathan, the floodgate of her tears loosed once more at sight of her household and wearing apparel hung, as it were, from the housetop. "jonathan said his wife didn't seem to think of the kindness of the cyclone in bringing her husband along with the house when it might so easily have divorced them by dropping him into the house of some plump widow. all she seemed to think of was those clothes. "'don't you worry,' he told her. 'we will just wait till another cyclone comes along and turns the roof right side up again.' "for one becomes philosophical, you know, living in kansas. one must, or live somewhere else.... "jonathan looked delightedly about him. "the green prairies sloped away to the skies; there was a clump of cottonwood trees near by and a little creek, the same that gurgles by seth's claim, gurgled by his between twin rows of low green bushes. "he admired this scenery, jonathan did. he smiled a smile which stretched from one ear to the other when he discovered that his faithful and trusted horse had followed him down and was standing conveniently near by, ready for work. "'i like this part of the country,' he declared, 'better than the part we came from. we'll just stake off this claim and take possession.' "after a moment of thought, however, he added provisionally: "'that is, until another cyclone takes a notion to move us.'" chapter vii. [illustration] across the purple prairie, the wondering stars blinking down upon him, the wind tearing at him to know what the matter was, the tumbleweeds tumbling at the heels of his broncho, his heart in his mouth, seth madly rode in the wild midnight to fetch the weazened old woman who tended the women of the desert, rode as madly back again, leaving the midwife to follow. after an age, it seemed to him, she came, and the child was born. seth knelt and listened to the breathing of the little creature in the rapture felt by most mothers of newborn babes and by more fathers than is supposed. now and again this feeling, which more than any other goes to make us akin to the angels, is lacking in a mother. seth saw with a sadness he could not uproot that celia was one of these. his belief, therefore, in the efficacy of the child to comfort her went the way of other beliefs he had been forced one by one to relinquish. when, after some weeks of tending her, the old woman was gone, and celia was able to be about, it was he who took charge of the child, while she, in her weakness, gave herself up to an increased disgust for her surroundings and an even deeper longing to go back home. it was in vain that he showed her the broad green of the wheat fields, smiling in the sunlight, waving in the wind. some blight would come to them. fruitlessly he pictured to her the little house he would build for her when the crop was sold. she listened incredulously. * * * * * and then came the grasshoppers. for miles over the vastness of the desert they rushed in swarms, blackening the earth, eclipsing the sun. having accomplished their mission of destruction, they disappeared as quickly as they had come, leaving desolation in their wake. the prairie farms had been reduced to wastes, no leaves, no trees, no prairie flowers, no grasses, no weeds. one old woman had planted a garden near her dugout, trim, neat, flourishing, with its rows of onions, potatoes and peas in the pod. it was utterly demolished. she covered her head with her apron and wept old disconsolate tears at the sight of it. another was hanging her clothes on the line. when the grasshoppers were gone there were no clothes and no line. as for the beautiful wheat fields that had shone in the sun, that had waved in the wind, they lay before seth's tearless eyes, a blackened ruin. was it against god's wish that they make their feeble effort to cultivate the plains, those poor pioneer people, that he must send a scourge of such horror upon them? or had he forsaken the people and the country, as celia had said? seth walked late along the ruin of the fields, not talking aloud to god as was his wont when troubled, silent rather as a child upon whom some sore punishment has been inflicted for he knows not what, silent, brooding, heartsick with wondering, and above all, afraid to go back and face the chill of celia's look and the scorn of her eye. but what one must do one must do, and back he went finally, opened the badly hung door and stood within, his back to it, with the air of a culprit, responsible alike for the terror of the winds, the scourge of the grasshoppers and the harshness of god. "as a man," she said slowly, her blue eyes shining with their clear cold look of cut steel through slits of half-shut white lids, the words dropping distinctly, clearly, relentlessly, that he might not forget them, that he might remember them well throughout the endless years of desert life that were to follow, "you ah a failuah." he hung his head. "you ah right," he said. for though he had not actually gone after the grasshoppers and brought them in a deadly swarm to destroy his harvest, he had enticed her to the plains it seemed for the purpose of witnessing the destruction. "you ah right," he reiterated. in the night celia dreamed of home and the blue-grass hills and the whip-poor-wills and the mocking birds that sang through the moonlight from twilight till dawn. sobbing in her sleep, she waked to hear the demoniacal shriek of the tireless wind and the howl of a coyote, and wept, refusing to be comforted. the next day she said to seth firmly and conclusively: "i am goin' home." chapter viii. [illustration] to do her justice, celia would have taken the child with her; but young as he was, seth refused to give him up. he would buy a little goat, he said, feed the baby on its milk and look after him. at heart he said to himself that he would hold the child as ransom. surely, if love for him failed, love for the little one would draw the mother back to the hole in the ground. he found cyclona and implored her to keep the child while he hitched up the cart and drove the mother away over the same road she had come to the station. it was a silent drive; each occupied with individual thoughts running in separate channels; she glad that her eyes were looking their last on the wind-lashed prairies blackened by the scourge; he casting about in his mind for some bait with which to entice her to return. "you will come back to the child?" he faltered. but she made no answer. "if the crops succeed," he ventured, "and i build you a beautiful house, then will you come back?" for answer, she gave a scornful glance at the blackened plains, flowerless, grainless, grassless. "if the wise men come out of the east," it was his last plea, "and build the magic city, then you will come back?" at that she laughed aloud and the wind, to spare him the sound of it, tossed the laugh quickly out and away with the jeer of its cruel mockery. "the magic city!" she repeated. she laughed in derision of such violence that she fell to coughing. "the magic city!" she reiterated. "the magic city!" chapter ix. [illustration] for one mad moment, such as comes to the bravest, seth's impulse was to throw himself beneath the wheels of the car that was taking celia away from him. in another he would have lain a crushed and shapeless mass in their wake; but as he shut his eyes for the leap there came to him distinctly, pitifully, wailingly, the cry of the child. perhaps it came to him in reality across the intervening miles of wind-blown prairie. perhaps the wind blew it to him. who knows? our mother earth often sends us help in our sorest need in her own way, a way which oftentimes partakes of mystery. perhaps it came only in memory. however, it served. he opened his eyes, and the madness had passed. he pulled himself together dazedly, unfastened the hitch rein of the mule, mounted awkwardly into the high and ungainly blue cart and started off in the direction of the cry. the wind which on the coming trip had appeared to take fiendish delight in trying to tear celia's garments to ribbons, now suddenly died down, for the wind loved seth. it had done with celia. she was gone. but not by one breath would it add to the grief of seth. on the contrary, it spent its most dulcet music in the effort to soothe him. tenderly as the cooing of a dove it whispered in his ear, reminding him of the child. he answered aloud. "i know," he said. "i had forgotten him. the po' little mothahless chile!" and the wind kissed his cheek, its breath sweet as a girl's, caressing him, urging him over the vastness of the prairie to the child. on the road to the station, seth's mind had been filled with celia to the exclusion of all else. he had not observed the devastation of the prairie. unlike her, his heart held no hatred for the wayward winds. they were of heaven. he loved them. fierce they were at times, it was true, claws that clutched at his heart; but at other times they were gentle fingers running through his hair. their natures were opposite as the poles, his and hers. the prairies were her detestation. he loved them. he inherited the traits of his ancestors, the sturdy kentucky pioneers who had lived in log huts and felled the forests in settling the country. something not yet tamed within him loved the little wild things that had their homes in the prairie grasses: the riotous birds, the bright-colored insects, the prairie dogs in their curious towns, sitting on their haunches at the doors of their little dugouts, so similar to his own, and barking, then running at whistle or crack of whip into the holes to their odd companions, the owls and the rattlesnakes; the herds of antelope emerging from the skyline and brought down to equally diminutive size by the infinite distance, disappearing into the skyline mysteriously as they had come. but now he looked out on the prairie with a sigh. it was like a familiar face disfigured by a burn, scarred and almost unrecognizable. the prairie in loneliness is similar to the sea. in one wide circle it stretches from horizon to horizon. it stretched about him far as the eye could reach, scorched and hideous as the ruin of his life. he shut his eyes. he dared not look out on the ruin of his life. what if the ghastly spectacle should turn his brain? that had been known to happen among the prairie folk time out of number. many a brain stupefied by the lonely life of the dugout, the solemn, often portentous grandeur of the great blue dome, under which the pioneers crawled so helplessly, had been blown zigzag by the wild buffetings of the wayward, wanton winds, punctuating the dread loneliness so insistently, so incessantly, so diabolically by its staccato preludes, by its innuendoes of interludes prestissimo, by its finales frantically furious and fiendishly calculated to frighten the soul and tear the bewildered and weakened brain from its pedestal. the reproach of the thought held something of injustice, the wind blew with such gentleness, kissing his cheek. his mind ran dangerously on in the current of insanity. he endeavored to quiet it. the thought of his mother came to him. once he had heard her crying in the night, waiting for his father to come home, not knowing where he was, wondering as women will, and fearfully crying. then he heard her begin to count aloud in the dark: "one, two. one, two, three," she had counted, to quiet her brain. he fell mechanically to counting as she had done: "one, two. one, two, three." he must preserve his sanity, he said to himself, for the sake of the child. otherwise it would be good to lose all remembrance, to forget, to dream, to lapse into the nothingness of the vacant eye, the down-drooping lid and the drivel. "one, two. one, two, three," he counted, the wind listening. in spite of the counting, with his eyes fixed on the desolation of the prairie, his thoughts on celia, suddenly he felt himself seized by gusts of violent rage. the desire to dash out his brains against the unyielding wall of his relentless destiny tore him like the fingers of a giant hand. "one, two. one, two, three," he counted, and between the words came the cry of the child. if he could only render his mind a blank until it recovered its equilibrium, a ray of sunshine must leak in somewhere. it must for the sake of the child. but how was it possible for him to go back to the ghastliness of the dugout, the bereft house, where it was as if the most precious inmate had suddenly died--to the place that had held celia but would hold her no more! it was necessary to count very steadily here, to strangle an outcry of despair. "one, two, three. one, two, three. one, two, three, four, five." he could count no further. the wind, seeing his distress, soughed with a weird sweet sound like aeolian harps in the effort to comfort him, but he dropped the reins and laid his face in the hollow of his arm. it was the attitude of a woman, grief-stricken. he had evidently fallen into a lethargy of grief from which he must be aroused. so thought the wind. it blew a great blast. it whistled loudly as if calling, calling, calling! was it the wind or his heart? was it his mother nature, his guardian angel, or god? again pitifully, distinctly, wailingly, came the cry of the child. he raised his head, grasped the reins and hurried. on he went, on and on, faster and faster, until at last he came to the door of the tomb. he descended into it. he took the child from the arms of cyclona, who sat by the fire cuddling it, and held it close to his heart. "he has been crying," she told him, "every single minute since you have been gone. crying! crying! no matter what i did, no matter how hard i tried, i couldn't quiet him." chapter x. [illustration] on the following day cyclona sat in the low rocking chair, rocking the baby, singing to it, crooning a lullaby, a memory of her own baby days when some self-imposed mother, taking the place of her own, had crooned to her. "sleep, baby, sleep, the big stars are the sheep. the little stars are the lambs, i guess, the moon is the shepherdess, sleep, baby, sleep." but the baby sobbed, looking in bewilderment up at the dark gypsy face above it in search of the pale and beautiful face of his mother. finding it not, he hid his eyes upon her shoulder, and sobbed. the wind sobbed with him. outside the window it wailed in eerie lamentation. it dashed a near-by shrub, a ragged rosetree that seth had planted, against the window. the twigs tapped at the pane like human fingers. "there, there!" soothed cyclona, and she changed the baby's position, so that his little body curled warmly about her and his face was upturned to hers to coax him into the belief that she was celia. once more she drifted into the lullaby, crooning it very softly in her lilting young voice: "sleep, baby, sleep. the big stars are the sheep, the little stars are the lambs, i guess, the moon is the shepherdess, sleep, baby, sleep." but the wind seemed to oppose her efforts at soothing the child whose startled eyes stared at the window against which tapped the attenuated fingers of the twigs. the wind shrieked at him. his sobs turned into cries. cyclona got up and going to the bed laid him on it, talking cooing baby talk to him. she prepared his food. she warmed the milk and crumbled bread into it. taking him up again, she fed it to him spoonful by spoonful, awkwardly, yet in a motherly way. then she patted him on her shoulder, and tried to rock him to sleep, singing, patting him on the back cooingly when the howl of the wind startled him out of momentary slumber. the wind appeared to be extraordinarily perverse. it was almost as if, knowing this was celia's child, that celia whose hatred it had felt from the first, it took pleasure in punctuating his attempt to sleep with shrieks and wailings, with piercing and unearthly cries. once it tossed a tumbleweed at the window. the great round human-like head looked in and the child, opening his eyes upon it, broke into piteous moaning. the wind laughed, snatched the tumbleweed and tossed it on. "the wind seems to be tryin' itself," complained cyclona, getting up once more and walking about with the child in her arms, singing as she walked: "sleep, baby, sleep, the big stars are the sheep, the little stars are the lambs, i guess, the wind is the shepherdess, sleep, baby, sleep." the wind grew furious. with a wild yell it burst the door of the dugout open. cyclona put the baby back on the bed, faced the fury of the wind a moment, then cried out to it: "why can't you behave?" then she shut the door and placed a chair against it, taking the baby up and again walking it back and forth, up and down and back and forth. "it's just tryin' itself," she repeated. again she endeavored with the coo of the lullaby to entice the child into forgetting the wind. but the wind was not to be forgotten. it turned into a tornado. failing of its effort to tear off the roof of the dugout, it stormed tempestuously, fretfully; it raved, it grumbled, it groaned. it screamed aloud with a fury not to be appeased or assuaged. cyclona had taken her seat in the rocking chair near the hearth. she had laid the crying child in every possible position, across her knee face down, sitting on one of her knees, her hand to his back with gentle pats, and over her shoulder. all to no avail. it seemed as if the child would never quit sobbing. the sense of her helplessness joined with pity for his distress saddened her to tears. she was very tired. she had had charge of the child since early morning, when seth, compelled to attend to his work in the fields, had left him to her. she bent forward and looked out the window where the long fingers of the ragged rosebush, torn by the wind, tapped ceaselessly at the pane. "wind," she implored. "stop blowing. don't you know the little baby's mother has gone away? don't you know the little baby hasn't any mother now; that she's left him and gone away?" it seemed that the wind had not thought of it in this way. occupied only with celia's departure, it had not considered the desolation it had caused. the long lithe fingers of the twigs ceased their tapping. the wind sobbed fitfully a moment, little sad remorseful penitential sobs, and died away softly across the prairie as a breath of may. the stillness which ensued was so deep and restful that the eyes of the child involuntarily closed. cyclona pressed his little body close to her, his head in the hollow of her arm. she rocked him back and forth gently, singing: "sleep, baby, sleep," the words coming slowly, she was so tired. "the big stars are the sheep, the little ... stars ... are ... the lambs, i guess. the moon ... is ... the ... shepher ... dess, sleep, baby ... sleep ..." her eyes closed. she nodded, still rocking gently back and forth. after a long time seth pushed open the door and looked in. he set back the chair and came tip-toeing forward. cyclona raised her head and looked at him dreamily. "hush!" she whispered. "be very quiet ... he has gone to sleep." chapter xi. [illustration] "brumniagen" is a name given to those wares which, having no use for them at home, england ships to other countries. the term, however, is not applied to one leading export of this sort: the scores of younger sons of impoverished noblemen who are packed off to the wilds of australia or to the great desert of america, to finish sowing their wild oats in remote places, where such agriculture is not so overdone as it is in england. this economic movement resulted in a neighbor for jonathan and seth, a young, blue-eyed, well-built englishman, whose name was hugh walsingham. jonathan walked out of his topsy turvy house one day to find the claim just north of his pre-empted by the young man who was evidently a tenderfoot, since his fair complexion had not yet become tanned by the ceaseless winds. walsingham had staked out the claim, and was busily engaged in excavating a cave in which he purposed to dwell. jonathan, never busy himself, lent a helping-hand, and he and walsingham at once became friends. the outdoor life of the prairie pleased walsingham, the abundance of game rejoiced him. an excellent shot, his dugout was soon filled with heads of antelope, while the hide of a buffalo constituted the covering for his floor. surrounded by an atmosphere of sobriety, for even at that early date the fad of temperance had fastened itself upon kansas, he became by and by of necessity a hard working farmer, tilling the soil from morning till night in the struggle to earn his salt. there are not many women on the prairies now. then they were even more scarce. it was not long before his admiring eyes centered themselves upon cyclona. he fell to wondering why it was that she appeared to consider her own home so excellent a place to stay away from. personally he would consider the topsy turvy house a good and sufficient reason for continued absence, but according to his english ideas a girl should love her own roof whether it was right side up or inverted. the thought of this brown-skinned girl of the rapt and steadfast gaze remained with him. it was, he explained to himself, the look one finds in the eyes of sailors accustomed to the limitless reach of the monotonous seas; it came from the constant contemplation of desert wastes ending only in skylines, of sunlit domes dust-besprinkled, of night skies scattered thick with dusty stars. his interest grew to the extent that he issued from his dugout early of mornings in order to see her depart for her mysterious destination. he waited at unseemly hours in the vicinity of jonathan's curious dwelling to behold her as she came back home. on one of these occasions, when he was turning to go, after watching her throw the saddle on her broncho, fasten the straps, leap into the saddle and speed away, to be swallowed up by the distances, jonathan came out of the topsy turvy house and found him. "walk with me awhile," implored walsingham, a sudden sense of the loneliness of the prairie having come upon him with the vanishing of the girl. jonathan, always ready to idle, filled his pipe and walked with him. "who is the girl?" asked hugh. "she is a little girl we adopted," explained jonathan. "i don't know who she is or where she came from. her mother blew away in a cyclone. that is all i know about her." "a pretty girl," commented hugh. "and a mighty good girl," added jonathan. "i don't know what we'd do without her." "you seem to do without her a good deal," said hugh, relighting his pipe which the wind had blown out. "she is away from home most of the time." "cyclona's playing nurse," said jonathan. "she's taking care of a child whose mother has deserted him. he is a good big boy now, but cyclona's taken care of that child ever since he come into the world putty near," and he recited the story of celia's heartlessness. "what sort of man is the father?" queried hugh with a manner of exaggerated indifference. "seth? why, seth's one of the finest men you ever saw. and he's good-looking, too. sunburnt and tall and kind of lank, but good-lookin'. he's got some crazy notion, seth has, of buildin' a magic city on his claim some time or other, but aside from that there ain't no fault to find with seth. he's a mighty fine man." * * * * * on the plains all waited for letters. walsingham was no exception to the rule. few came. he was too far away. younger sons of impoverished noblemen are sent to far-off places purposely to be forgotten. he employed the intervals between such stray notes as he received in studying cyclona. he wondered what his aristocratic sisters would do if they were obliged to saddle their own ponies. he wondered what they would do if they were obliged to wear such gowns as cyclona wore. and yet cyclona was charming in those old gowns, blue and pink cotton in the summer and a heavy blue one for winter wear. constantly in the open she possessed the beauty of perfect health. her brown cheeks glowed like old gold from the pulsing of rich blood. an athletic poise of her shoulders and carriage of head added grace to her beauty. but her chief charm for the young englishman, surfeited with the affectation of english girls, lay in her natural simplicity. except for her association with seth, whose innate culture could not but communicate itself, cyclona was totally untutored. she knew nothing of coyness, caprice or mannerisms. singleness of purpose and unselfishness shone in her tranquil and steadfast gaze which hugh was fortunate enough now and then to encounter. walsingham found himself passing restless hours in the endeavor to devise means by which he might turn her frank gaze upon himself. in fancy he imaged her clothed in fitting garments, walking with that free, beautiful, lithe and swinging gait into the splendor of his mother's english home. chapter xii. [illustration] as the boy, whom seth called charlie, grew older, seth cast about in his mind for some story to tell him which should serve to protect both celia and himself. celia was not to blame for leaving him. he had long ago come to that conclusion. he was a failure, as she had said. women as a rule do not care for failures, though there are some few who do. they love men who succeed. in personal appearance, aside from some angularities, considerable gauntness, and much sunburn, seth told himself that he was not different from other men. it was not palpable to the casual observer that as men went he was a failure, but seth realized the truth of celia's judgment. he had failed doubly. in the effort to provide her a home, and to imbue her with his belief in the magic city. since she had gone home he had sent her next to no money. he had none to send. perhaps that was why she did not write. he never knew. putting himself in her place, he concluded she was right. a delicate little woman, far away from a great failure of a husband who could not provide for her, ought to let him go without letters. and so thinking, he seldom hung about the post-office waiting for the mail. he trained himself to expect nothing. yes. it had been impossible for him to send her money. disaster had followed disaster and he had been barely able to keep himself and the boy alive. he was a failure of the most deplorable sort, but the boy did not know it. he did not even guess it. the standing monument of his failure in life to celia was the dugout. in the eyes of the boy it was no failure at all. born in it he had no idea of the luxury of a house and the luxuries we wot not of we miss not. he was used to lizards on the roof, to say nothing of other creeping things within the house which are generally regarded as obnoxious, roaches, ants, mice. he rather liked them than otherwise, regarding them as his private possessions. besides, hadn't he cyclona? and as for the winds of which celia complained so bitterly, he loved them. his ears had never been out of the sound of them and they were very gentle winds sometimes, tender and loving with their own child born on the desert. they lulled him. they cradled him. they were sweet as cyclona's voice singing him to sleep. in another state, where they failed to blow, it would in all probability have been necessary to entice a cyclone into his neighborhood to induce him to slumber. accustomed to the infinite tenderness of his father's care from the first, the boy loved him. seth determined that if it were possible, this state of affairs should continue. if it were necessary to invent a story to fit the case, he would be as other men, or even better in the eyes of the child, until there came a time when he must learn the truth. perhaps the time would never come. if he could by any manner of means keep up the delusion until the wise men came out of the east and built the magic city, he would be a failure no longer. he would be an instantaneous success. also, though he fully pardoned celia for her desertion of himself, he had never quite come to understand or fully forgive her desertion of the boy, her staying away as she had done month after month, year after year, missing all the beauty of his babyhood. he therefore found it impossible to tell the boy that his mother had heartlessly deserted him, as impossible as to tell him that his father was a failure. yet the child, like every other, insisted upon knowing something of his origin. to satisfy him, seth evolved a story, adding to it from time to time. he told it sitting in the firelight, the boy in his arms. it was the story of the flying peccary. "tell me how i came in the cyclone," charlie would insist, nestling into the comfortable curve of his arm. "the cyclone brought you paht of the way," corrected seth, jealous of his theory that cyclones never touched the place of his dugout, the forks of the two rivers, "and the flyin' peccary brought you the rest. you've heard me tell about these little mexican hawgs, the wildest, woolliest, measliest little hawgs that evah breathed the breath of life and how they ate up the cyclone?" "yes," nodded charlie. "well, this was the first time, i reckon, that a cyclone evah met its match, becawse a cyclone was nevah known befo' to stop at anything until it had cleaned up the earth and just stopped then on account of its bein' out of breath and tiahd. but it met its match that time. "you see, texas is full of those measly little peccaries. you can hahdly live, they say, down theah for them. they eat up the rail fences, the wagon beds, the bahns and the sheep and the cows. they don't stop at women and children, i heah, if they get a good chance at them. and grit! they've got plenty of that, i tell you, and to spah, those little bad measly mexican hawgs. "well, one day a herd of peccaries wah a gruntin' and squealin' around the prairie, huntin' for something to eat as usual, when a cyclone come lumberin' along. "it come bringin' everything with it it could bring; houses, bahns, chicken coops and a plentiful sprinklin' of human bein's, to liven up things a little. a cyclone ain't very particular, any more than a peccary. it snatches up anything that comes handy. sometimes it picks up a few knives and whacks things with them as it goes along. you know that, don't you, cyclona?" cyclona nodded. she always lingered at the fireside to hear this story of the flying peccary which was her favorite as well as the child's. "it brought me," she said. the boy raised himself in seth's arms. "maybe you are my sister!" he cried. "maybe i am," smiled cyclona. "at that theah towanda cyclone," recommenced seth, "that little kansas town the cyclone got mad at and made way with, theah must have been a hundred knives or mo' flyin' around loose. they cut hogs half in two. you would have thought a butchah had done it. and the chickens were carved ready to be put on the table. it was wonderful the things that cyclone did." "and the peccaries," charlie reminded him. "that cyclone," began seth all over again, "came flyin' along black as night and thunderin' laik mad and caught up the whole herd of peccaries. "those peccaries ain't even-tempahd animals. "they've got tempahs laik greased lightnin'. it made them firin' mad fo' a cyclone to take such liberties with them, and they got up and slammed back at it right and left. well, they didn't do a thing to that cyclone. in the first place the whole herd of peccaries began to snap and grunt laik fury till the noise of the cyclone simmahd down into a sort of pitiful whine, laik the whine of a whipped dog. imagine a cyclone comin' to that! then, they tell me, you couldn't heah anything but the squealin' and gruntin' of those pesky little peccaries. "between squeals they bit into that theah cyclone fo' all it was wuth, takin' great chunks out of it, swallowin' lightnin' and eatin' big mouthfuls of thundah just as if they laiked it. all the stuff the cyclone was bringin' along with it wa'n't anything to them. they swallowed it whole and pretty soon, you'd hahdly believe it, but theah wa'n't anything lef' of that cyclone at all. "they had eaten up ever' single bit of it except a tiny breeze they had fohgotten that died away mournful laik across the prairies, sighin' becawse it had stahted out so brash and come to such a sudden untimely and unexpected end. "then, theah was the herd of peccaries about five miles from wheah they had stahted, sittin' down, resting, a-smilin' at each othah and congratulatin' each othah, i reckon, on the way they had knocked the stuffin' out of that theah ole cyclone fo' good and all. "they must have scahd the res' of the cyclones off, too, becawse with them and the forks of the rivahs, they haven't been seen or heahd of aroun' these pahts since." "exceptin' the tail end of that one that moved me," cyclona reminded him. "and what about me?" questioned charlie. "oh, yes. one of these heah peccaries, a good-natured peccary, too, with a laikin' fo' little children, found you in the cyclone. you were a pretty little baby with big blue eyes the same's you've got now. i don't know exactly wheah the cyclone found you. anyway, the peccary picked you up in his mouth. when he had rested as long as he wanted to with the other peccaries, he flew along and flew along--they had all got to be flying peccaries, you know, on account of swallowin' so much wind, until he came to the door of my dugout, this same dugout we are in now, and he laid you very carefully down by the door. then i went out in the mawnin' and brought you in." charlie invariably at this point reached up his arms and put them around seth's neck. it was very kind of him, he thought, to go out and bring him in. what if the wolves had come along and eaten him! or the little hungry coyotes they heard barking in the nights. ugh! "and then the peccary flew away again?" he asked. "didn't he?" "yes," answered seth. "he flew away with the rest of the flyin' peccaries." "and haven't you ever seen them since?" asked charlie, "or him?" "sometimes you can see them 'way up in the air," replied seth, running his fingers through his hair, "but they ah so fah away and little, you can't tell them from birds." cyclona nodded again. "yes," she corroborated, "they are so far away and little you can't tell them from birds." chapter xiii. [illustration] the post mistress at the station tapped her thimble on the window-pane at the chickens floundering in the flower-bed outside. they turned, looked at her, then, rising, staggered off with a ruffled and uppish air, due partly to their indignation and partly to the fact that the wind blew their feathers straight up, and a trifle forward over their heads. "it's bad enough," she said, "to try and raise flowers in kansas, fighting the wind, without having to fight the chickens. it's a fight for existence all the way round, this living in kansas." her companion was a man with iron-gray hair, a professor of an eastern college who had come west, planted what money he had in real estate and lost it. he, however, still retained part of the real estate. he frequently lounged about the office for an hour or two during the day, waiting for the mail, good enough company except that he occasionally interfered with the reading of the postal cards. he looked up from a new york newspaper, three days old. "pioneer people," he observed laconically, "must expect to fight everything from real estate agents to buffaloes." the post mistress laid down her sewing. her official duties were not arduous. they left her between trains ample time to attend to those of her household, sewing and all, also to embroider upon bits of gossip caught here and there in regard to her scattered neighbors whose lights of nights were like so many stars dotting the horizon. she looked out the window to where a tall lank farmer was tying a mule to the hitching post. over the high wheel of the old blue cart he turned big hollow eyes her way. "i hope he won't come before the train gets in," she sighed. "there ain't no letter for him, i hope he won't come. sometimes i feel like i just can't tell him there ain't no letter for him." "who is it?" asked the professor. "seth lawson," she answered. the professor elevated his eyebrows. "the man who owns the ground on which they are to build the magic city?" he asked laughingly. "it may happen," declared the post mistress tartly. "anything is liable to happen in kansas, the things you least expect." "everything in the way of cyclones, you mean," put in the professor. "cyclones and everything else," affirmed the post mistress. "no matter what it is, kansas goes other states one better. she raises the tallest corn--they have to climb stepladders to reach the ears--and the biggest watermelons in the world." "when she raises any at all," the professor inserted. "they say," began the post mistress, "that in the eastern part of the state, where they are beginning to be civilized, when a farmer plants his watermelon seed, he hitches up his fastest team and drives into the next county for the watermelon, it grows so fast. even then, unless he has a pretty fast team somebody else gets it. if you find one on your claim, you know, it's yours." "i've heard that story," the professor politely reminded her. "they do say," remembered the post mistress, "that the indians tell that yarn, that a cyclone never came to seth's ranch. it may be a fool notion and it may not.... look at him," leaning forward and gazing out the window. "see how gaunt and haggard and wistful he looks. i don't believe he gets enough to eat. there ain't a sadder sight on these prairies than seth lawson. how many months has she been away from him now? may, june, july, august, september, november," counting on her fingers. "seven months and one little letter from her to say she got home safe. a dozen from him to her. more. you could almost see the love and sadness through the envelope. and none from her in answer. "look at him now. walkin' up and down, up and down, to pass away the time till the train comes. waitin' for a letter. it won't come. it never will come. and him waitin' and waitin'. he'd as well wait for the dead to come to life or for that wife of his to leave her kentucky home she's so much fonder of than she is of him or the baby or anything else in the world, to come back to him. what sort of woman can she be anyway to leave a little nursing baby?" "some cats leave their kittens before their eyes are open," the professor said. "but a woman isn't a cat," objected the post mistress. "at least she oughtn't to be. do you know i've always said the worst woman was too good for the best man, but that woman has made me change my mind. she's gone for good. she don't have to stand the wind any longer or the sleet or the rain. she's gone for good. then why couldn't she write him a little letter to keep the heart warm in him. what harm would that do her. how much time would it take? "it don't seem so bad somehow for a woman to have the heartache. she's used to it, mostly. some women ain't happy unless they do have it. heartaches and tears make up their lives, they furnish excitement. but a man is different. you see a man holding a baby in long clothes. it's awkward, ain't it? somehow it don't seem natural. if you have got any sort of mother's heart in your bosom, you want to go and take it out of his arms and cuddle it. "it's the same with a man with the heartache. you want to go and take it away from him, even if you have to keep it yourself. it don't seem right for him to have it no more than it seems right for him to have to take care of a child. "that man's got both. the little baby and the heartache. but what can you do for him? there's nothing goin' to cure him but a letter from her, and you can't get that. if ever a man deserved a good wife it's that man, seth, and what did he get? a southern woman!" "those southern women make good wives," asserted the professor, "if you give them plenty of servants and money. none better." "good fair-weather wives," nodded the post mistress, "but look out for storms. that's when they desert." "it's a sweeping assertion," mused the professor, "and not quite fair. it is impossible to judge them all by this weak creature, celia lawson. many a woman in kentucky braved dangers, cold, hunger and wild animals, living in log huts as these women live in their dugouts, before that state was settled and civilized." "some won't give in that it is civilized," objected the post mistress, "they're so given down there to killin' people." "the only difference," went on the professor, "was in the animals. they had bears. we have buffaloes. but sometimes you come across a woman who isn't cut out for a pioneer woman, and all the training in the world won't make her one. it's the way with seth's wife." "she's not only weak and incapable," vowed the post mistress, "but soulless and heartless." "how these women love each other," the professor commented. "'tain't that," flared the post mistress. "i'm as good a friend to a woman as another woman can be...." "just so," the professor smiled. "it's my theory," frowned the post mistress, "that women should stand by women and men by men...." "your theory," mused the professor. "and i practice it," declared the post mistress. "only in this case i can't. nobody could. what sort of woman is she, anyway? i can't understand her. she's rid of him and the child and the wind and the weather. she's back there where they say it's cool in the summer-time and warm in the winter, where the cold blasts don't blow, and the hot winds don't blister, and still she can't take time to sit down and write a little note to the father of her child." she looked away from the window and seth to the professor, who wondered why it was he had never before observed the beauty of her humid eyes. "i can't bear to see him walking up and down," she complained, "waitin' and waitin'. it disgusts you with woman-kind." the wind blew the shutter to with a bang. it flung it open again. some twigs of a tree outside tapped at the pane. a whistle sounded. seth turned glad eyes in the direction of the sound. the train! there was the usual bustle. a man brought in a bag of letters, flung it down, sped out and made a flying leap for the train, which was beginning to move on. the post mistress busied herself with distributing the mail and seth walked back and forth, waiting. presently he came in at the door, stood at the grated window back of which she sorted out the letters and then went out again. after a time he drove slowly by the house in the high blue cart. "was there anything for him?" asked the professor. the post mistress looked after the cart receding into a cloud of dust blown up by the wind and brushed her fingers across her eyes. "there was nothing for him," she said. chapter xiv. [illustration] on the winter following celia's departure, seth fared ill. it was all he could do to keep warmth in the boy's body and his own, to get food for their nourishment. and as for homesickness! there were nights when he looked at the silver moon, half effaced by wind-blown clouds, and fought back the tears, thinking how that same moon was shining down on home and her. nights when he fell into very pleasant dreams of that tranquil beauteous and pleasant country where the wind did not blow. dreams in which he beheld flowers, not ragged wind-torn flowers of a parched and ragged prairie, odorless, colorless flowers and tumbleweeds tossing weirdly over dusty plains, but flowers of his youth, four o'clocks, marguerites and daffy-down-dillies, nodding bloomily on either side of an old brick walk leading from door to gate, jasmine hanging redolently from lattice, virginia creeper and pumpkin-vine. and oh! a radiant dream! celia, walking out through vine and flower in all her fresh young beauty to meet him as in the old days, to open wide the door and welcome him. then as she had done, he waked sobbing, man though he was, but he hushed his sobs for fear of waking the child. homesickness! he dared not dwell on the word lest his few ideas, scattered already by the sough of the wind, the incessant moan and sob and wail of the wind, might blow away altogether; lest he throw to those winds his pride of independence, his resolute determination to make a home for her and himself and their child in the west, and go back to her. this, whatever dreams assailed him, he resolved not to do. and yet there was one dream which he thrust from him fiercely, afraid of it, turning pale at the remembrance of it. a dream of a night on that winter when he had gone to bed hungry. it was a strange dream and terrible. he thought it was night, he was out on the prairie, and the wolves were following him. they had caught him. ravenously they were tearing the flesh from his body in shreds. he waked in terror to hear the bark of a pack at his door, for in that winter of bitter cold the wolves also suffered. "was that to be his fate?" he asked himself. was he to strive and strive, to spend his life in striving, and then in the working out of destiny, in the survival of the fittest, of the stronger over the weaker, of those who are able to devour over those destined to be devoured, fall prey to the fangs of animals hungrier than he and stronger? there were times when he was very tired. when almost he was ready to fold his arms, to give up the fight and say-- "so be it." but what of the boy then? raising himself out of the slough of despond, he resolutely re-fed his soul with hope. those wise men! if only they could come! if only they could be made to see and understand that this was the place for their magic city and be persuaded to build it here! then all would be well. he would take the boy to celia, show her how beautiful he was beginning to be and win her back again. then they would all three come and live in a palace in the magic city, a beautiful house. live happy ever after. chapter xv. [illustration] the wind lulled the child to sleep, the wind wakened him, the wind sang to him all day long, dashed playful raindrops in his upturned face and whispered to him. perhaps it was the wind, then, that was his mother. this variable, coquettish wind of tones so infinitely tender, of shrieks so blusteringly loud. he listened to it in the dawn. he listened to it in the sombre darkness of the night. early and late it seemed to call to him to come out and away to his mother. the restlessness that sometimes encompasses the soul of a boy took possession of him. he was filled with the passion of wander-lust. the darkened walls of the dugout restricted him, those grim, gray earth walls that duskily, grave-like, enclosed the body of him. he must be up and away. he would go to the heart of the wind and find his mother. seth had gone to the town for feed for his cattle. cyclona was at home. he took advantage of their absence to start on his journey. outside the dugout the wind enveloped him softly, enticingly, kissing his curls, kissing the rosy sunburn, the tender down of his cheek which still retained the kissable outline of babyhood. it was day when he started, broad day, bright with the light of the red sun high in the heavens, surrounded by the brilliant hue of cloudless skies. the boy ran. the wind tossed him like a plaything as it tossed the big round tumbleweeds, making the pace for him a little beyond. now and again, broad day though it was, the wind blew blasts that frightened him, dying down immediately again into piping pan-like whispers that lured him on and on until he became a mere speck on the trackless prairie, blown by alternate blasts and zephyrs, hurrying, hurrying, hurrying to the heart of the wind to find his mother. but by and by the sun sank, dropping suddenly into the nowhere behind the darkling line of the mysterious horizon. then the twilight seeped softly over the prairie, like a drop of ink spilt over a blotter. a little while later and the prairie became obscurely shadowy, peopled all at once by frightful things, familiar everyday things changed to hideous hobgoblins by the chrism of the dark. grasses with long human fingers beckoned him to the unknown, which is always terrible, while great ever-moving tumbleweeds sprang up at him as if from underground, like enormous heads of resurrected giants. and the voice of the wind! as he neared the heart of it, it, too, took on an unknown quantity more terrible than the bugaboo of the shadows and the dark. it howled with the howl of wolves. the child began to be afraid. pantingly, wildly afraid! he stood still, looking breathlessly ahead of him to where the prairie stretched indefinitely to the rim of the starlit dome, billowy with long gray grasses blown into the semblance of fingers by the bellowing blasts of the fearsome wind. he sobbed, he was now so far from home, and the voice of the wind had taken on a menacing note of such deep subtleness. which way was home? he had forgotten. the way the wind blew? but the wind had turned to a whirlwind, blowing gales in every direction to mislead him, now that he wanted to go home. true, there were the stars, blinking high above the stress and turmoil of the tireless wind, but he was too young yet to understand the way they pointed. as he stood irresolutely sobbing, one ache of loneliness and homesickness and fear, he heard the call of a human voice and his name, the voice coming to him high above the wind, with its own note of terrorized anguish. his father's voice! the voice sounded nearer and nearer, calling, calling! the child ran toward the sound of it, the loneliness of the prairie swallowed up in a sob of gladness, and he was in seth's arms. as for seth, he could only articulate one word: "why? why?" celia had deserted him, but the boy! "i was looking for my mother," sobbed the child in answer, safe in the tender hollow of his arm. after a moment's hesitation: "mother will come to you some day," seth breathed over him. "won't cyclona and father do till then?" and in the close clasp of the longing man the child felt the unmistakable throb of paternity penetrate his heart and was satisfied. chapter xvi. [illustration] the winter had been too long and cold, or the child, however tender seth's care of him, had been insufficiently clothed and fed. he lay ill, alternately shaking with chills and burning with fever. it was march now and the winds blew with the fierceness of tornadoes. but the laughter of charlie's delirium outvoiced the winds. now he moaned with them and sighed. cyclona took up her abode at the dugout now, nursing him tirelessly, while seth walked the floor, back and forth, back and forth like some caged and helpless animal writhing in pain; for from the first he had read death in the face of the child. the wind lulled and seth knelt by his bedside, his ear against charlie's heart, listening for his breathing, cyclona standing fearfully by, her face white as the coverings. after a long time seth raised beseeching eyes to her in an unspoken question: "does he breathe?" as if he had heard, charlie suddenly opened his eyes and looked smilingly first at one and then at the other of these two who had encompassed his short life about with such loving care. "listen," he whispered, "to the wind." the wind had risen. it howled like some mad thing. it blew great blasts, ferocious blasts and deafening. it was as if it, too, were hurt. it was as if it, too, suffered the agony of mortal pain in sympathy with the child. soon the child began to lisp and they bent their heads to listen. "i am ... going ... out ... in ... the wind ... again," he said, "to find ... my ... mother." "charlie!" cried seth, in a voice whose anguish sounded high above the winds. "stay! it is we who love you, cyclona and i. stay with us!" cyclona knelt and laid her brown hand across the beautiful eyelids of the child for a little while. then she took seth's head and pillowing it upon her bosom, rocked gently back and forth as they knelt alone on the hard cold earth of the dugout floor. "it doesn't matter now," she whispered to him; "he knows." chapter xvii. [illustration] the days are long in the desert. sometimes they seem to be endless. when the wind would permit, seth endeavored to find comfort in digging in the soil into which we must all descend, in getting near to it, in ploughing it, often with apparent aimlessness, never being able to count upon the harvest, but buoying up his soul with hope of the yield. but there were days of wind and rain and sleet and cold stormy weather when all animals of the desert, whether human or four-footed, were glad to seek their holes in the ground and stay there. these days seth spent in building the beautiful house. he sat before the dim half window, drawing the plan, cyclona beside him, watching him. sometimes he called her cyclona, and then again he called her charlie; for what with his grief and the wail of the wind, his mind had become momentarily dazed. full well cyclona knew the story of the magic city, having heard it again and again, but it was only of late when seth had given up all hope of celia's returning to the dugout that he commenced to plan the beautiful house. "when the wise men come out of the east," seth told her, "and buy up ouah land fo' the magic city, we shall be rich. it is then that i shall build this beautiful house, so beautiful that she must come and live in it with us." cyclona leaned over the table on her elbows, looking at the plan. her dark eyes were sad, for she knew that by "us," seth meant charlie and himself. he ran his pencil over the plan, showing how the beautiful house was to be built. somewhat after the fashion of a southern house modernized. a southern woman, he explained, must live in a house which would remind her of her home and still be so beautiful that not for one instant would she regret that home or the land of her birth which she had left for it. "a species of insanity it is," he muttered, "to bring such a woman to a hole in the ground." he bit his lip and frowned, "fo' theah ah women in whom the love of home, of country, is pa'amount. above all human things, above husband, above children, she loves her home. child! celia has no child. cyclona, has no one written to celia that she has no child?" this wildly, his eyes insanely bright. "it is just as well," soothed cyclona. "it doesn't matter. she never knew him." it seemed to cyclona that she could see the lonely resting place of the child reflected in seth's eyes, so firmly was his mind fixed upon it. "you ah right, cyclona," he said by and by. "you ah right. it is just as well. it might grieve her, altho' it is as you say, she nevah knew him." cyclona traced a line of the plan of the beautiful house. "tell me about it," she said. "it is her natuah," insisted seth almost fiercely, "and we can no mo' change ouah natuah, the instinct that is bawn in us, that is inherited, than we can change the place of ouah birth. can we teach the fish to fly or the bird to swim, or the blind mole to live above the cool sof' earth in which centuries of ancestral moles have delighted to burrow? then no mo' can you teach a woman in whom the love of country is pa'amount to love anothah country. only by the gentlest measuahs may you wean her from it. only by givin' her in this strange new country something mo' beautiful than any othah thing she has evah known. and that," he finished, "is why i am goin' to build the beautiful house." he fell to dreaming audibly. "all these were of costly stones, accordin' to the measuah of hewed stones, sawed with saws within and without," he muttered, "even from the foundation unto the copin', and so on the outside toward the great court." cyclona reaching up took down from a shelf a well-thumbed book, which, since books are scarce on the desert, both knew by heart, and opened it at the book of kings. "seth," she said, presently, touching him on the shoulder, "aren't you getting this house mixed up with the house of the lord?" "no," smiled seth, "with the house that solomon built fo' pharaoh's daughter whom he had taken to wife." he went on softly: "and the foundation was of cos'ly stones, even great stones, stones of ten cubits, and stones of eight cubits. and above were cos'ly stone, aftah the measuah of hewed stones, and cedars." "seth," said cyclona, to whom no dream was too fanciful, "are you goin' to build this house just like that one?" "if i could, i would," seth made reply, and then went on dreaming his dream aloud. "and he made the pillahs and the two rows around about upon the network, to covah the chapiters that were upon the top, with pomegranates; and so did he fo' the othah chapiter. and the chapiters that were upon the tip of the pillahs were of lily work in the porch, fo' cubits. lily work," he lingered over the words, smiling at their musical poetry. after awhile he began again to talk of the beautiful house which should have every improvement, a marble bath.... "and it was an hand-breadth thick," interrupted cyclona, "and the brim thereof was wrought like the brim of a cup, with flowers, of lilies; it contained two thousand baths. if you could, would you build her a bath like that, seth?" she questioned. "i would," replied seth, "and as fo' the lights!" "there were windows in three rows," read cyclona, "and light was against light in three ranks." "lights!" exclaimed seth, "little electric lights tricked out with fancy globes of rose colah matching the roses in her cheeks." he dropped his pencil and gazed ahead of him. "do you know?" he asked dreamily, "how i shall match that rose color of her cheek, not havin' her by? i shall taik the innah petal of a rose and maik the little lights the color of that." cyclona arose and walked over to a bit of glass that hung on the wall. she frowned at the reflection of her brown cheek there. a tender and delicate rose underlay the brown, but her eyes saw no beauty in it. she sighed as she came back and once more sat down. "i shall have the beautiful house agleam with lights," went on seth, who had failed to notice the interruption. "lights at the sight of which solomon would have stood aghast, that splendid ole aristocrat whose mos' magnificent temples were dimly lit by candles.... windows in three rows! windows in a dozen rows out of which her blue eyes shall look on smooth green swahds and flowahs. "the house shall gleam alight with windows. theah shall be no da'k spot in it. windowless houses ah fo' creatuahs of a clay less fine than hers," repeating tenderly, "of less fine clay. she is a bein' created to bask in the sunshine. she shall bask in it. these windows shall be thrown wide open to the sun, upstaiahs and down. not a speck nor spot shall mah their cleanliness, lest a ray of light escape. those who live in da'kness wilt within and without. she shall not live in da'kness. nevah again. nevah again shall she live in a hole in the ground." after a time: "is it possible?" he mused, half to himself, half to cyclona, "to build a house without a cellah?" "i don't know," said cyclona, whose knowledge of houses was limited to her own whose roof was still upside down, and dugouts. "if i could build this house without a cellah," said seth, "i would." cyclona again read from the book. "it stood upon twelve oxen," she read, "three looking toward the north, and three looking toward the west and three looking toward the south and three looking toward the east. why not stand it on oxen like that, seth?" she questioned. seth laughed. "that wasn't the house," said he. "that was the molten sea." "oh!" exclaimed cyclona. "i know now. the foundation was of stone made ready before they were brought hither, costly stones, great stones. it must have a foundation of some sort," she argued, keeping her finger on the place as she looked up, "or it will blow away." "of co'se," assented seth, "or it will blow away. well, if it must it must; but we will put half-windows into that cellah so it won't be da'k, so it won't be like this, a hole in the ground. we will light it with electrics. but we won't talk of the cellah. that saddens me. i am tiahd of livin' in the hole in the ground myself sometimes. we will talk of the beautiful rooms above ground that we will build fo' her. "look. you entah a wide door whose threshold her little feet will press. she will trail up this staiahway," and he let his pencil linger lovingly over the place, "in her silks and velvets, followed by her maids, and theah on the second landing she will find palms and the flowahs she loves best, and her own white room with its bed of gold covahd with lace so delicate, delicate as she is. soft, filmy lace fit fo' a princess, fo' that is what she is. theah will be bits of spindle-legged golden furniture about in this white bed-room of hers and pier-glasses that will maik a dozen of her, that will maik twenty of her, we will arrange it so; for theah cannot be too many reflections, can theah, of so gracious and lovely a princess?" once more cyclona tapped him on the shoulder. "seth," said she, "where is the room for the prince?" seth looked up at her vacantly. it was some time before he answered. then his answer showed vagueness; for what with the howl of the wind and the eternal presence in the closet of his soul of the skeleton of despair, his mind had become a little erratic at times. "when the prince has proven himself worthy to be the prince consort of so wonderful a princess," he replied, "then he, too, may come and live in the beautiful house, but not until then." his thoughts harked back to the cellar. staring ahead of him he saw the slight figure of a woman silhouetted against the tender pearl of the evening sky, eyes staring affrightedly into the darkened door of a dugout, a fluff of yellow hair like a halo about the beautiful face. "a cellah is a hole in the ground," he sighed. "a cellah is a hole in the ground. theah shall be nothing about this house i shall build fo' the princess in any way resemblin' a hole in the ground. holes in the ground are fo' wolves and prairie dogs and...." "and us," cyclona finished grimly, then smiled. seth, drawing himself up, gazed at her. in her own wild way cyclona had grown to be beautiful, still brown as a gypsy, but large of eye and red of lip. she might have passed for a type of creole or a study in bronze as she faced him with that little smile of defiance on her red lips. too beautiful she was for a dugout, true, and yet the dusky brownish gray of the earth-colored walls served in a way to set off her rich dark coloring. seth returned to the plan. "and for us," he assented, humbly. "we must build it of stone," he continued. "white stone. stone never blows away. it will be finished, too, with the finest of wood, covahd...." "wait," cried cyclona, turning over the leaves of the book, "and he built the walls of the house with boards of cedar, both the floor of the house and the walls of the ceiling. and he covered them on the inside with wood and covered the floor of the house with planks of fir." "cedah," nodded seth. "it would be well to build it of cedah. the cedah is a southern tree. it would remind her of home. "we will finish it, then, with cedah and polish it so well that laik the mirrors it will reflect her face as she walks about. heah will be the music room. it shall have a piano made of the same rich wood. it will look as if it were built in the house. theah shall be guitahs and mandolins. she plays the guitah a little, cyclona, the princess. you should see her small white hands as she fingahs the strings. i will have a low divan of many cushions heah by the window of the music room. she shall sit heah in her beautiful gown of silk. white silk, fo' white becomes her best, her beauty is so dainty. she shall sit heah in her white silk gown and play and play and sing those southern songs of hers that ah so full of music...." he dropped his pencil and sat very still for a space, looking ahead of him out of the window. the panorama, framed by its limited sash of wilful winds playing havoc with the clouds, became obliterated by the picture of her, sitting by a wide and sunny window, backed by those gay pillows, thrumming with slim white fingers on the guitar and singing. again cyclona waked him from his day dream with a touch. he ran his fingers through his hair, staring at her. "is that you, charlie," he asked her. "not charlie," she answered. "cyclona." "i beg yoah pahdon," he said. "ve'y often now you seem to me to be charlie. i don't know why." "tell me more about the princess," soothed cyclona, "is she so beautiful?" "beautiful," echoed seth. "she is fit fo' any palace, she is so beautiful. and when the wise men come out of the east we will build it fo' her. it shall have gold do'knobs and jewelled ornaments and rare birds of gay plumage to sing and keep her company, and painted ceilings and little cupids carved in mahble, and theah shall be graven images set on onyx pedestals and some curious hindoo gods squatting, and a turkish room of red lights dimmed by little carved lanterns and rich, rare rugs and pictuahs by great mastahs in gilded frames, and walls lined with the books she loves best in royal bindings.... and she shall have servants to wait upon her and do her bidding and we will send to paris fo' her gowns and her bonnets and her wraps. and she shall have carriages and coachmen and footmen. a victoria, i think i shall odah fo' her, ve'y elegant, lined with blue to match her eyes.... no--that would be too light. her eyes are beautiful, cyclona. don't think fo' a moment that they are not, but can you undahstan', i wondah, how eyes can be ve'y beautiful and yet of a cold and steely blue that sometimes freezes the blood in youah veins? a little too light, perhaps, and that gives them the look of cleah cold cut steel. "i shall have the linings of her victoria light, but not quite so light, a little dahkah and wahmah, perhaps, the footmen with a livery to match. that goes without sayin'. and she shall have outridahs, too, if she likes, as in the olden time back theah at home in the south. no grand dame of the ole and splendid south she loves so well shall be so grand as she, shall be so splendid as she when we shall have finished the beautiful house fo' her. "cyclona," wildly, "how could we expect a little delicate frail southern woman to come and live in a hole in the ground. how could we? why shouldn't she hate the wind? ah! we must still the winds! we must still the winds! but how?" at this seth was wont to rise, to walk the circumscribed length of his miserable dwelling and to worry his soul. "how shall we still the winds?" he would moan. "how shall we still the winds that the soun' of them shall not disturb her?" after a long time of thinking: "cyclona," he concluded, "in some countries they move forests. don't they? have i read that or dreamed it? if only we could move a forest or two onto these vast prairies, that would still the winds. tall trees penetratin' the skies would be impassable barriers to the terrible winds that have full sweep as it is. they would still the winds, those forests, if we could move them!" cyclona's heart was full at this; for seth was far from sane, alas! when he talked of moving forests of trees to the barren prairies. the idea at last struck him as preposterous. "we will build tall trees," he continued quickly, as if to cover the tracks of his mistakes. "we will build trees that will taik root in the night and spring up before morning. trees that will grow and grow and grow. magic trees growing so quickly in the lush black soil of the prairie once we get them started, the soil so neah the undahground streams by the rivahs heah, that the angels would look down in wondahment. "they would, to see how quickly they would grow. such trees would tempah the winds that blow so now because they have full sweep, because there is nothin' to stop them. winds, laik everything else, are amenable to control, if you only know how to control them. these tall trees will not only break the force of the winds, but they will shade her beautiful face as she drives about. they will shut off the too ardent sun that would wish to kiss her." now and again cyclona grew a trifle impatient of this beautiful creature whose character she knew, whose child she had cared for and helped to bury, grew a trifle tired of hearing hymns sung in her praise. "where is she now?" she asked listlessly, knowing full well, merely to continue if the talk pleased him, tired as she was. "charlie," smiled seth, and never once did cyclona correct him when he called her charlie, reasoning that perhaps the spirit of the child was near him, since there were those who believed that and it was comforting. "she is laik the flowahs, that beautiful one. she knows bettah than to bloom in this god-fo'saken country--that was what she called it--wheah you cain't get the flowahs to bloom because of the wind that is fo'evah blowin'. she lives now wheah the flowahs bloom and the wind nevah blows." cyclona lifted her head to listen to the moan and the sough of the wind. "i love it," she said. "so do i," said seth, "though sometimes i am half afraid of it, thinkin' it is getting into my brain, but she hated it. but nevah mind. when we grow tall trees that will break the force of the wind and shade her from the sun and build the beautiful house fo' her, she will come back home and live in it with us and we shall be happy! happy! we shall fo'get all ouah sorrow, we shall be so happy!" at that moment, the moment of the going down of the sun, the wind dropped and the passing clouds let in the gleam of the sunset at the window. it rested goldenly on seth's face. it illumined it. it glorified it. cyclona looked at him long and earnestly, at the strong, fine lines of sadness brought beautifully out by this unexpected high-light of the skies, accentuated rembrandt-like, against the darkness of the earth-colored hole in the ground. then she bent her sunburnt head and a tear fell on her hand outstretched upon the table. at sight of the tear seth was like a man who is all at once drunk with new wine. there is truth in the wine. there are times when it clears the brain for the moment and reveals things as they are. he looked at cyclona with new eyes. it was as if he had never before seen her. she differed from celia as the wild rose differs from the rose that blooms in hothouses, and yet how beautiful she was! he realized for the first time her wonderful beauty. so olive of complexion with the delicate tinge of rose showing through, so bronze of hair in close-cut sun-kissed curls! the little curls that gave her a boyish look in spite of the fact that she had blossomed into radiant womanhood. the big brown eyes. the curve of the neck, the little tip-tilted chin! seth had been hardly human if the thought of forgetting celia and her indifference in cyclona's arms had not more than once presented itself. it presented itself now with the strength of strong winds. without home or kindred, without tie or connection, she was a flower in his pathway. he had only to reach out and pluck her and wear her on his heart. there were none to gainsay him. no mortal lived who dared defend her or say nay. why waste his life, then, in dreams and fantasies, in regrets, and hopings, when here lay a glowing, breathing, living reality? he reached out his hand and caught hers in a firm, compelling grasp. a splendid creature sent to comfort him. a creature blown by the winds of heaven to his threshold. a dear defenceless thing without home or kindred, unprotected, uncared of, weak and in need of affection, in dire need of love. helpless, unshielded, unguarded ... unprotected ... unguarded ... uncared for.... seth frowned. the wind had wafted itself into his brain again. he was growing dazed. he caught his hand away from cyclona's. he thrust his fingers through his hair. he pressed them over his eyes. these strange words persisted in piling themselves solidly between him and his desire. they formed a barrier stronger than walls of brick or mortar. unprotected, defenceless, unguarded, uncared for, this girl who had rocked his child and celia's in her arms, who had held him close to the warmth of her young bosom. this beautiful unprotected girl who had tenderly closed the eyes of his child! the fragile barrier built by unseen hands was cloud-high now. if the wraith of cyclona had occupied the chair there by his side she could scarcely have been further removed from his embrace. humbly seth bent over the small brown hand. reverently he kissed away the tear. chapter xviii. [illustration] but the moons waxed and waned and the months lapsed into years and seth grew hopeless, more and more hopeless, so hopeless that at last he began to lose faith in the magic city, and to fear for the realization of his fantastic will-o'-the-wisp of a beautiful house. would the wise men never come out of the east to buy up his land and build that magnificent city of his dreams at the forks of the river where the cyclones never came, so that he could build his beautiful house for celia? or would they always stop just short of it? already that little town on the edge of the state called kansas city because it was in missouri, had boomed itself into a city and, being just outside the cyclone belt, had not been blown away. in spite of the fact that it had been set high on a hill it had not been blown away. the wise men had built that town. also, there was another town they had built within the belt which promised to thrive, a town where the people had so arranged it that the coming of a cyclone could be telegraphed to them, where signs like this were posted, "a cyclone due at three o'clock," and they had ample time to shut up shop and school and prepare for it, going down into their cyclone cellars, shutting fast the doors and staying there until it was over. true, a cyclone or two had grazed this town. one had even taken off a wing. but, though a trifle disabled by each, it had continued to thrive, showing such evident and robust signs of life and strength that the cyclones, presently giving up in despair of making a wreck of it, had gone on by as seth has said they would do once they found their master. then this town had been by way of premium for stanchness and courage made the capital of this state of tornadoes and whirlwinds. but this was as far as it went or seemed to intend to go. further south and west an attempt or two had been made to plant towns, but their cellars had not been dug deep enough or their foundations had not been sufficiently firm, or the cyclones had not yet become reconciled to the sight of them. at any rate, the cyclones had come along and swept them away without a word of warning, and they had not been heard of since, neither cyclone nor town. and so, altogether, seth lost heart and came to the conclusion that his magic city, if it was ever to be built would be built after his time and he would never have the happiness of gazing upon it. the hope of seeing it was all that had kept him in the west. now that he had lost it, an uncontrollable longing came over him to go back home, to see the wife who had deserted him, throw himself at her feet and beg her forgiveness for his madness which had resulted in their separation. from dreaming dreams of the magic city he took to dreaming dreams of her. it was years since he had seen her, but the absent, like the dead, remain unchanged to us. to him she was the same as when last he saw her. how beautiful she had been with her great blue eyes and her hair the color of charlie's, tawny, like sunshine! and right, too, in her scorn of his visions. and how foolish he had been to dream of training the wind-blown west into a fit place for human beings to inhabit, or for great cities to be built! it would take a stronger hand than his to do that, he had come to believe. it would take the hand of god. he had tried to find a tree that would grow so swiftly that the wind could have no effect upon it. he had planted slim switches of one kind after another and the wind had blown each to leaflessness, until now there stood a slim row of cottonwoods that he had tried as a last resort, but the same thing would happen to them, perhaps. he had lost faith in trees. but he would not say yet that he had lost faith in god. he watched the same train trailing so far away as to seem a toy train and longed as she had done to take it and go back home. at last he understood the look in her eyes as she watched it and the thoughts that enthralled her. sometimes when we strive for a thing and set our hearts on it, it holds itself aloof from us. when we cease to strive, it comes. but that is among the many strange ways of providence which seems to rule us blindly, but which is not so blind, perhaps, after all, as it seems. another of its ways most incomprehensible is to bring us what we have longed for a little too late sometimes. but this is the story of seth, and this is the way of its happening: it was early in a mild and beautiful spring when the corn was young. it stood shoulder high, lusty and strong and green. what with the unwonted mildness of the weather and the absence of the usual storms and the proneness of the clouds to deposit themselves about in gentle showers, the crop promised fair to rival any crop that seth had ever raised on the kansas prairies. he hoed and toiled and smiled and listened to the rustling of the corn, for he had made up his mind. when the harvest was at an end he would sell the crop and the place for what it would bring, and go back home. he would go back to his wife and home! the rustling of the corn was music in his ears. it was more. it was like the glad hand of young love; for with the crops so fine and the harvest so rich, when he went back home to her, he would not go empty-handed and unwelcome. he was going back once more to his kentucky home. no hills seemed so green as those kentucky hills and no skies so blue as those skies that vaulted above the green, green hills of his native land. it had been longer than he cared to count since he had seen the blue grass waving about in the wind there, not such wind as swept the kansas prairies, but gentle zephyrs almost breathless that rustled softly and musically through the little blades of grass just as the wind was rustling through the stalks now as he walked slowly with the heavy stride of the clumsy farmer, hoeing the corn. and he had not heard the whip-poor-will, nor sat under the shade of the wide spreading oaks, nor listened to the soft southern talk of his and her people, not since he had come to kansas with those other foolish folk to brave the dangers of the strange new country in the search of homes. homes! he could point out the graves of some of them here and there about the vastness of the level prairies, though more often he wandered across the vast level wastes, looking for the places where they should be and found them not, because of the buffaloes that had long ago trampled out the shape of them, or because of the corn that had been planted in furrows above their mounds, the serried ranks through which the wind sang requiems, chanting, whispering, moaning and sighing in the balmy springtime and through the heat of the long summer days until in the chill of the autumn the farmers cut the stalks and stacked them evenly, leaving no dangling leaves to sigh through nor tassels to flout. now that he had made up his mind, the roughness of his life bore in upon him. he thought with celia that it would be good to live again in a land where people led soft, easy lives. she was not to be blamed. she was right with that strange animal instinct which leads some women blindly to the truth, and he had wasted the best years of his life and all of the boy's in this terrible land of whirlwinds and coyotes and wide, thirsty plains stretching to meet the blazing skies of noonday or the star-gemmed dome of the purple night. for the plains in some strange and mysterious way took vengeance upon many of those who dared upturn with hoe and plough the fresh new malarial soil, inserting germs of disease and death which soon stretched them beneath. some lives must invariably be sacrificed to the upbuilding of any new country, but why so many? and, sadder still, minds had been sacrificed. the asylums, such as they were, were filled with those whose minds in the ghastly loneliness of the desert had been torn and turned and twisted by the incessant whirl and shirr and swish and force of the pitiless winds. he himself loved the wind, but there were times when he was afraid of it, when it got in his brain and whirled and caused him to see things in strange lights and weird, things fantastically colored, kaleidoscopic and upside down. when the day's work was done he sat outside the dugout talking sometimes to himself, sometimes to cyclona, telling of how when the harvest was over and gathered he would go back home. his plan must succeed, he sighed, to himself sometimes, sometimes to cyclona, who would sit listening, her great eyes on the limit of the horizon, deep, dark, troubled as she brooded upon what her life would be when he was gone; and as he talked he panted in the deep earnestness of his insistence that the crops must succeed. other plans had failed, but not this. not this! it must not! resolutely he put away from him all thought of failure. it must succeed. he must go home! he must ease this longing for the sight of celia and her people which had come to him of late to stay with him through seed-time and harvest, through the early spring when the corn was young, and later when it rose to heights unheard of, and later still through those bitter days of grasshoppers and chinch bugs and hot winds and other blightful things that haunt the kansas cornfield to their ruin. he must go home. chapter xix. [illustration] since seth had braved everything and dared everything, going so far even as to hire harvest hands to help him, taking every possible chance upon the yield of this harvest, as a gambler stakes his all upon the last throw of the dice, fortune seemed at last to come his way, and it promised a yield which eclipsed his wildest dreaming. his heart grew light as he listened to the rustling of the corn and into his tired eyes, beginning to be old, there crept so warm a glow that the farm hands stood and stared at him as they came trooping in hot and dusty from the fields. they wondered what could have come over him to give to his worn and faded face so nearly the look of youth. "the corn is fine, john, isn't it?" he asked of a gray-haired man who sat at one corner of the rough table, mopping his forehead with a large bandana handkerchief, not too clean. john put the handkerchief back into his pocket and fell upon the meal seth set before him. "it's fine enough," said he, "it'll be the finest crop ever raised in these here parts if the hot winds don't come." after a little while he said again: "if the hot winds don't come." seth set a plate of bread down by him with a crash. "the hot winds!" he cried. "the hot winds!" man as he was he clasped his hands together and caught them apart, wringing them. "i had forgotten all about the hot winds!" he moaned. "i had forgotten all about the hot winds!" * * * * * the softness of the spring air gave place to heat, to extreme heat, sudden and blighting. a copper sun blazed in a copper sky. the cooling breezes under the influence of the heat changed to scorching winds. these winds blew menacingly through the rustling stalks of the strong green corn. for one long day they laughed defiance, holding firmly erect their brave heads upon which the yellow tassels were beginning to thrust themselves aloft in silken beauty; and seth, watching, braced himself with the hope that they would somehow stand the ordeal, that the heat might abate, that in some way, by the special finger of providence, perhaps, the threatened ruin might be warded off, that a cooling breeze might come blowing up from the gulf or a shower might fall and he could still go back home. on the second day the heat had not abated. it had rather increased. the burning winds blew stronger. they raged with a sudden fury, died down to a whisper, and raged again. john, when he led the field hands in, shook his head and took his place at the table in silence. seth, setting their meal before them, crept to the door and looked out. he turned faint and sick at heart at the sight of the fields, for the tassels had drooped and the broad green leaves were slowly changing to a parched and withered brown, parched and withered as his face, which had been bared to the heat of the kansas prairies for so many years, parched and withered as his heart which had borne the brunt of sadness and sorrow and separation until the climax was reached and it could bear no more. on the third day the hot winds grew vengeful. they swept across the prairies with a hissing sound as of flames sizzling through the heat of a furnace. the tassels, burnt now to a dingy brown, hung in wisps. the leaves drooped like tired arms. they no longer sang in the wind. they rattled, a hoarse, harsh rattle premonitory of death. far and near the fields lay scorched, withered, burnt to a crisp as if by the fast and furious blast of a raging prairie fire. there was no longer need of harvest hands. the harvest, gathered by the hot winds, was ended. the ruin was complete. their mission accomplished, the winds died down suddenly as they had risen and passed away across the barren prairies in a sigh. then up came the cooling breezes from the gulf, light, zephyry clouds gathered, shut off the brazen sunlight and burst into a grateful shower, which descended upon the parched and deadened fields of corn. but seth! flung on his knees by the side of the bed in the corner of the hole in the ground, his face buried in his arms, he listened to the patter of those raindrops on the corn. his eyes were dry; but a spring had broken somewhere near the region of his heart. he owned himself defeated. he gave up the fight. chapter xx. [illustration] cyclona had gone to seth's dugout and found a note from him on the table. it contained few words, but they held a world of meaning. simple words and few, tolling her knell of doom. "i have gone to celia," it read. cyclona crushed the paper, flung it to the floor and ran from the hole in the ground, afraid of she knew not what, engulfed in the awful fear which encompasses the hopeless,--the fear of herself. she sprang to her saddle and urged her broncho on with heel and whip, upright as an indian in her saddle, her face set, expressionless in its marble-like immobility. she scarcely heeded the direction she took. she left that to her broncho, who sped into the heat of the dusty daylight, following hard in the footsteps of the wind. what she wished to do was to go straight to god, to stand before him and ask him questions. if within us earthworms there is the divine spark of the deity, if we are in truth his sons and daughters, she reasoned, then we have some rights that this deity is bound to respect. what earthly father would knowingly permit his children to stumble blindly along dangerous pathways into dangerous places? what earthly father would demand that his children rush headlong into danger unquestioningly? what earthly father would create hearts only to crush them? why had he thrust human beings onto this earth against their will, without their volition, to suffer the tortures of the damned? why had he created this huge joke of an animal, part body, part soul, all nerves keen to catch at suffering, only to laugh at it? why had he taken the pains to fashion this opera bouffe of a world at all? why had he made of it a slate upon which to draw lines of human beings, then wipe them aimlessly off as would any child? for mere amusement after the manner of children? if not, then why? why? why? she could have screamed out this "why" into the way of the wind. she wanted to ask him why he whirled body-clad souls out of the nowhere, dragged them by the hair of their heads through ways thronged with thorns, then thrust them back again into the nowhere, to lie stone still in their chill damp graves, in their straight grave clothes, awaiting his pleasure? why had he seen fit to fashion some all body and no soul? why had he made others all soul? why had he created the seths to weary for love of the celias and the cyclonas to eat out their hearts for love of the seths? some of these questions she had been wont to put to seth, who had answered them as best he could in his patient way. there was a hidden meaning in it all, he had said, meaningless as it often seemed. some meaning that would show itself in god's good time. we are uncut diamonds, was one of his explanations. we had much need of polishing before we could attain sufficient brilliancy to adorn a crown. we must have faith and hope, he had said. much faith and hope and patience. and above all we must have the belief that it would all come out in the great white wash of eternity, in god's good time. but there were those who succumbed before god's good time, who would never know the explanation until they had passed into the beyond, where they would cease to care. she rode on and on, asking herself these questions and finding no answer in the whirl and eddy of dust blown at her by the wind, in the limitless stretch of prairie, in the suffocating thickness of heat which enveloped the way of the wind. intense heat. sultry, parching, enervating, sure precursor, if she had thought to remember, if she had been less engrossed in the bitterness of her questionings, of a storm. soon, aroused by the intensity of this heat, which burned like the blast from an oven, she whirled about and turned her broncho's head the other way. it was time, for that way lay her home and danger threatened it. at the moment of her turning a blast blew with trumpet-like warning into the day, blazing redly like a fire of logs quickened by panting breaths. a lurid light, like the light of judgment day or the wrath of god spread while she looked. it enveloped her. it was as if she gazed upon earth and sky through a bit of bright red stained glass. in the southern skies, in the direction of her home, clouds piled high, black, threatening. then she heard a rushing sound of wind, wailing, moaning, threshing, roaring sullenly in the distance. she spurred her broncho into the darkness lit by flashes of this lurid light. a flash of light. then darkness, thick as purple velvet. furiously she urged the animal forward into this horrible unknown which had the look of the wrath of god come upon her for her doubting, pressed on by an innate feeling of affection for those two who had befriended her, hurrying to their aid, spurred by an instinctive foreboding of impending evil in this awful roaring, whirling, murderous sound of the wild winds gone suddenly stark mad. as she sped on, something swept past her with a great hoarse roar, distinguishable above the deafening roar of the wind. it was seth's herd, stampeding, running with the wind and bellowing with fear. she winged her way into the terror of the darkness. ready an hour before for death in any form, she now all at once found herself panting with fear of it, gasping with a deadly fear of a ghastly fate, of being crushed and mangled, of dying by inches beneath some horrible weight, but this did not deter her. afraid to breathe a prayer to the god whom she had dared to question, she winged her way breathlessly on and on. then sheets of water, as if the skies had opened and emptied themselves,--and a vivid flash of lightning revealing the wind's wet wings, its wild whirling fingers dripping. cyclona saw it coming in that flash, a fiendish thing apparently alive, copper-colored, funnel-shaped, ghastly. she threw herself forward on the neck of her broncho, grasping his mane. then a blow from a great unseen hand out of the darkness struck them both, felling them. during the next few minutes of inky blackness, of indescribable terror, of flying missiles armed with death, cyclona lay unconscious. when she opened her eyes a calm light of the evenness of twilight had spread over the track of the cyclone, and her head lay pillowed on hugh walsingham's shoulder. close beside her was a ragged bough and her broncho lay dead near by. the bough was the hand that had struck them out of the darkness, had thrown her to the sod and killed her animal. "i came very near," she sighed, "to standing before god." by and by with walsingham's help she stood. "where is the house?" she asked, bewildered by the barrenness of the spot on which the topsy turvy house had stood for so many years. "it is gone," said he. cyclona pressed both hands to her face and rocked back and forth, sobbing. god had spared her, true, but he had offered her this delicate irony of leaving her homeless. hugh looked moodily out over the place of the topsy turvy house, his own mind awhirl with the maddening force of the furious winds through which he had passed. "in kansas," said he, grimly, "it is the wind that giveth and the wind that taketh away." then, looking tenderly at the girl in his arms, he added softly: "blessed be the name of the wind!" chapter xxi. [illustration] thereafter at station after station, a tall, gaunt man may have been seen handling baggage, running errands, caring for the cattle, doing any sort of work, no matter how humble, that lay to his hand, making his way slowly, wearily but steadily on toward the south. seth, working his way home to celia. he slept in baggage cars, on cattle trains. he swung to steps of trains moved off and clung there between brief stations. he stopped over at small towns and earned his bread at odd jobs, bread and sufficient money sometimes to move on steadily for a day or two. strange weathers burned and bit him. he walked heavily in the path of the wind overhung by pale clouds. he slept under the stars out in the open. it was days before he passed the plains, the place of the sleepless winds where wan white skies bent above the grass of the hot dry pulse, the lifeless grass that wailed into the ceaseless wind its dirge of death and decay. it was weeks before he reached kansas city, the city of hills, with lights hung high and lights hung low. here he found a place as brakeman and worked his way into missouri. here it was as if an ocean steamer had suddenly stopped the whir of its wheels at the approach of the pilot come out from shore to tug it in. the wind had stopped blowing. the position was only temporary. another brakeman taking his place, seth walked. he was not sorry to walk in this quiet land. how tenderly green the shrubbery was, how beautiful! mingled with the darker green of the cedar and pine, the brown green of the cone. how sweet the slow green trees! not windswept! not torn by the wild, wet fingers of the wind, not lashed with hot and scathing fingers gone dry with drought, but still and peaceful. a sleepy world of streams it was, a sleepy world of streams and sweet green trees among whose leaflets gentle zephyrs breathed scarcely perceptible sighs of pure contentment. patiently, contentedly, he walked mile after mile through this beautiful missouri which was so like home, among these tall, sighing trees, under the protection of their great still umbrella-like heads, thinking of his dream celia, whom he was so soon to see. the absence of the wind had left his brain clear. since it was so short a time until his dream was to become a reality, no longing or heartache served to set his brain afire with the agony of despair. calmly he walked in the white straight rain among the tender trees, his tired brain clear, thinking of her. how would she receive him? surely, in spite of his empty-handedness, she would greet him lovingly because of their long separation and the death of the child. surely she would receive him lovingly because of the endless days that had divided them. those days! those days! but he refused to let his mind dwell on the deadly length of them. it might sadden again. in the world, he reasoned, there were those two only, celia and himself. should they not cling together? true, he would arrive empty-handed, but he could make a living for her and himself in the old town. he was not without friends there. there were those who had loved him in the olden time. they would give him work. they would help him build up his lost fortunes. he would spend his life in retrieving, in compensating to celia for the foolish years that he had spent dreaming dreams. in st. louis he remained for weeks, working about the station in the effort to earn enough for his ride to cincinnati. at length he succeeded, but on an emigrant train. he rode for a day, looking out the window at the landscape swimming by rather than at his wild-eyed companions, crowded together like sheep. at the end of the day he arrived at cincinnati. and then seth came into--into god's country. chapter xxii. [illustration] for some months after celia's return to her native town, her friends gathered gladly about her. a little visit! that was natural enough. they welcomed her with open arms. as the visit lengthened, questions ensued. the child. what of him. was he not very young to leave for such a length of time? was not that a strange mother who could thus separate herself from a babe in arms; who could deprive him of the warmth and comfort of her embrace? and seth? what of him? for seth had many friends among them who knew his great heart and his worth. how was it possible for her to remain apart from her husband and child so long? contented in the soft and balmy clime, in the land of her birth, she told them of the terror of the winds, of the sunbaked prairie, of the plague of the grasshoppers, of the hot winds that blistered, of the scorch of the simoons, of the withering blasts of summer and the freezing storms of winter, and thought that sufficient explanation until she beheld herself reflected in the coldness of their glances as in a mirror, set aloof outside their lives as a thing abnormal, as a worthless instrument whose leading string is somehow out of tune, which has snapped with a discordant twang. however, this did not greatly distress her. she turned to her mother for companionship. the mother filled what small need she had of love until she died. she was soon followed, this mother of hers, into the land of shadows by the loving shadow of herself, celia's black mammy. then celia was left alone in the old house, which, for lack of funds, was fast falling into ruin, the wrinkled shingles of the roof letting in the rain in dismal drops to flood the cellar and the kitchen, the grass growing desolately up between the bricks of the pavement that led from door to gate for lack of the tread of neighborly feet. life, which is never the same, which is ever changing, changes by degrees. not all at once did celia's soul shrivel but gradually. now and again in the early days following upon her return to her home, at the cry of a child in the street, she would start to her feet, then remember and shrug her shoulders and forget. and there were some nights that were filled for her with the remembered moan of the prairie winds. she heard them shriek and howl and whistle with all their old time force and terror. she sprang wildly out of bed and ran to the window to look out on the slumbrous quiet of the southern night, to clasp her hand and thank her good fortune that she looked not out on the wide weird waste of the trackless prairie. gradually, too, she descended to poverty and that without complaint. to poverty dire as that from which she had fled, except that it was unaccompanied by the horror of simoon and blizzard, of hot winds and cold. for her this sufficed. too proud to ask for help of those who passed her by in coldness as a soulless creature of a nature impossible to understand and therefore to be shunned, she toiled and delved alone, a recluse and outcast in the home of her birth. she delved in the patch of a garden for the wherewithal to keep the poor roof over her head. she hoed and dug and drove hard bargains with the grocers to whom she sold her meagre products. she washed and ironed and mended and darned and cooked, coming at length perforce to the drudgery which throughout her brief life in the hole in the ground she had scornfully disdained. not once did the thought of asking help of seth or of returning to him present itself. and yet there were tardy times when the memory of the winds remained with her day in and day out, when at twilight she sat on the steps of her vine-covered, crumbling portico and communed with herself. when, placing herself apart, she reviewed her life and observed herself with the critical eye of an uninterested outsider. invariably then she would say to herself, remembering the wail and shriek and moan of the hideous winds: "i would leave them again, the winds and the child and him. if it happened a second time, and i again had the choice, i would leave them exactly the same." then aloud, in apology for what had the look to her own biased eyes of utter heartlessness: "it was the fault of the winds," she would mutter, "it was the fault of the winds!" chapter xxiii. [illustration] kentucky! god's country! it was as if seth had dropped out of a wind-blown cloud into a quiet garden, sweetly fenced about and away from the jar and fret of the world. placid, content, tranquil, standing stock-still in the delicacy of its old-fashioned beauty, as if the world outside and beyond had never progressed. he wandered by old and rich plantations, carved by necessity into smaller farms, past big white stone gates opening to wide avenues which led up to them, looking wistfully in, still content to wander a space before he should experience the rapture of seeing celia's face, loitering, the white happiness of that within his reach, half fearing to hold out his hand for it, fearing it might vanish, escape phantasmagorically, turn out to be a will-o'-the-wisp. whip-poor-wills accompanied him in his wanderings, bob whites, nightingales; and lazy ebon negroes, musical as birds, sang lilting southern songs on the way to the tinkle of banjo and guitar. the negroes were not so kind as the birds. from them he suffered humiliation. more than once he was dubbed "po' white!" by some haughty ebon creature from whose mouth he was supposedly taking the bread. but here, as in missouri, he looked for consolation to the wet woods, to the still, soft, straight rain, to the sighing trees that softly soughed him welcome. after weary days and nights, working by day on rock-pile or in field, sleeping by night in the corner of a friendly fence of worm-eaten rails, fanned by the delicate hair of the pale blue grasses, he came to burgin. the driver of the bus that conveyed passengers to harrodsburg looked down upon him from the height of his perch. he was strange to seth, but he recognized a something of the kinship of country in his face and manner. "have a lif'?" he asked. seth refused. it was bright daylight. he wished to steal into his old home under the covering of the twilight, he was so footsore and bedraggled. "i'll walk," he smiled, "but thank you just the same." four miles, then, over hill, down dale, past dusty undergrowth, the brilliant blue of the skies above him, passing negroes who looked strangely at him out of rolling eyes, who jerked black thumbs in his direction over shoulders, saying: "see de po' white trash man, walkin' home!" but there were some bob whites singing in the bushes over the rail fences, singing, singing! a bird at the side of the road rested momentarily on a long, keen switch of a blackberry bush, the switch bent earthward, the bird flew off and the twig bent back again. at sight of him ground squirrels sped into the underbrush. somewhere on the other side of the rail fences little negroes sang. they were too young yet to jerk their thumbs at him and say: "po' white!" now that he was so near to celia his heart misgave him. how would she receive him, coming home to her a tramp, a dusty, tired, footsore tramp, wet, chilled to the bone, footsore and tired! so tired! he forged ahead, trying hard to throw off these thoughts. it was the scornful negroes who had engendered them. a mile from harrodsburg he came to the toll gate. a woman whose yellow hair showed streaks of gray, raised the pole for him, smiling at him. "that man had eyes like seth lawsons," she said to her husband, who smoked his pipe on the porch while she raised and lowered the poles and so supported the family. she was the girl who had called good-by after celia years before, when she left for her journey to the west and the magic city. * * * * * it was twilight when seth came to celia's gate. a woman sat alone on the step of the portico, looking out down the pike. seth paused, his hand on the latch, seeing which the woman shook her head negatively. seth raised the latch, whereupon she suddenly stood, frowning. "i have nothing for you," she called out raspingly. "there is not a thing in the house to eat. go away! go away!" "celia!" seth cried out, stabbed to the heart. "i am not a beggar for bread, but give me a crust of kindness for the love of god! i am seth." chapter xxiv. [illustration] seen from afar off by the loving eyes of memory, the cows' horns are longer than they are close by. the kitchen was old and smoky. once on a time it had been regularly calcimined, twice a year, or three times, but it had been many years now since it had undergone this cleanly process. celia's welcome of seth had been according to her nature, all the more hardened now by seclusion and poverty. she heard without emotion of the death of the child. it mattered little to her. she had never known him. seth, come back to her a failure, a tramp, was deserving of scant courtesy. she meted it out to him as it seemed to her he deserved. the miles he had travelled counted little. since he had proven himself too great a failure to travel as men do, it was only just that he should work his way, sleep in fence corners, live on crusts and walk. it was one of her theories that, given sufficient time, all men and animals sink to their level. who was seth that he should be exempt from this law? the thought occurred to her that he had come to her as a last recourse. that, unable to make his own living, he had come to share hers. that thought scarcely served to add warmth to her welcome. seth sat on a chair against the blackened wall in the position of the tramp who has covered weary distances, whose every bone aches with the extreme intensity of fatigue. he was like a rag that had been thrown there. as celia had watched him get their first supper in the dugout, so he now watched her. as she had sat bitterly disillusioned in the darkness of the hole in the ground, so he sat within the four close walls of the smoke-begrimed kitchen of her old kentucky home, disillusioned beyond compare. in the once sunny hair there were streaks of gray, but it was not that. there were wrinkles beneath the blue eyes that had not lost their sternness, the cold blue of their intensity, the chill and penetrating frost of their gaze. somehow, too, those large and beautiful eyes had appeared to grow smaller with the passing of the years, not with tears, for there are tears that wash out all else but beauty in some women's eyes, but with the barren drought of feeling which goes to sap the very fount of loveliness. and it was this barren drought of feeling which at last served to disillusion him, whose existence he at last realized in this creature who had been his cherished idol. he realized it in her apathy upon hearing of the death of the child. he realized it in the look she turned upon him in which he saw her stern suspicion that he had come homeless to her in the hope of a home. formerly, in the days of her mother and her old black mammy, they had taken tea in the dining-room, which had looked out on a green sward brightened by flowers. gay and cheerful teas these were, enlivened by guests. in the absence of guests, celia had fallen into the slack habit of eating in the kitchen of the smoke-begrimed ceiling and the dark bare walls. there was a small deal table against the window. it was covered with an abbreviated cloth. celia walked about setting this table for seth and herself, laying with palpable reluctance the extra plate, cup, saucer, knife and fork. her movements were no longer girlish. they were heavy and slow. when tea was ready she bade seth draw up his chair. they then ate their supper, seth too tired to talk and celia busy with the problem of this added mouth destined to consume the contents of her scant larder. when supper was over seth left her to clear the table, went out in the dark on the front porch away from the cold steel blue of her eye and sat down on the step. men seldom shed tears, or he would have found it in his heart to weep. chapter xxv. [illustration] not many moons after the wreck wrought by the withering winds, which, while they had not touched the place of the forks of the two rivers, lacked little of it, the wise men came out of the east and found cyclona alone in the kansas dugout there by the big arkansas and the little arkansas. "is this the place where the indians pitched their tents?" they asked, "because no cyclones come here?" "yes," she answered. "then this," said they, "is where we will build our city." "the magic city," repeated cyclona, without surprise. "when we have finished it," they smiled, "it will be a magic city." cyclona looked wistfully out along the weary track of the wind. "but seth," said she, "will never see it maybe. he has given up and gone back home." chapter xxvi. [illustration] few there are who have not heard of the magic city, the windy wonder of the west, the peerless princess of the plains, and how it sprung up mushroom-like in a night there at the forks of the big arkansas and the little arkansas, where the indians had pitched their tents and seth had lived and hoped and despaired, and how men went wild erecting colleges and palaces and temples and watch factories and buying up town lots so far from the town that if the city had been built on all of them it would have surpassed the marvellous tales of it written in the newspapers, reached half way to denver and become, instead of the magic city of the west, the magic city of the world. seth had been a dreamer of dreams, but his vision of the magic city was not half so marvellous as the city itself. fortunes were made in a day and lost before midnight. men came from far and near, many from the other side of the water, and bought town lots and sold them, bought still others and built tall houses and planted great avenues of trees, cottonwood trees, the trees of seth's imaginings, trees that seemed also to spring up in a night, they grew so magically, thrusting deep roots into the moist black soil and greedily sucking up its moisture in a very madness of growing, and laid off parks and sent flashing electric cars out into the large farms and dangled big soft balls of electricity in the middle of the streets that twinkled at eventide like big pale blinking fireflies. those who had formerly eked out a precarious enough existence in dugouts, now lived in palaces, had their raiment fashioned by hands parisian, and gave receptions on a scale of such grandeur that the flowers offered as souvenirs thereat would have kept many a wolf from a dugout door for years, and a few wise men it was said lost their heads in the mad whirl of speculation, but as that often happens in the building up of any great city, not necessarily in the west, it was not so surprising as it might have been. indeed, the world stood still a moment, agape at the wonder of the magic city, and there were those who, now that seth had passed out of the way of the wind into a country strange to them, spoke of him reverently as prophet and seer, going so far as to express regret that while within the sound of their voices they had carelessly dubbed him a foolish dreamer of mad, fantastic and impossible dreams, yet comforting themselves withal with the thought that they were not alone in denying a prophet honor in his own country, since so wagged the world. chapter xxvii. [illustration] the magic city, stretching itself far and near, had not failed to include the little station. common walls of plank no longer enshrined the person of the post mistress. she no longer looked out from the limited space of a narrow window onto ragged flower beds in whose soft, loose earth floundered wind-blown chickens. she dwelt in the wide, white marble halls of a lofty new post office. bell boys, porters and stenographers surrounded her. it was five o'clock. the professor stood near while she sorted out some letters and placed them in pigeon-holes. he was clad in the latest fashion as laid down by the london tailors who, at the first sound of the boom, had hastened on the wings of the wind to the magic city. his frock coat radiated newness, his patent leathers shone, and a portion of the brim of a tall silk hat rested daintily between thumb and fingers of a well-gloved hand. as a matter of fact, since he had proved himself her friend through thick and thin, through storms and adversity, through high winds and blizzards, the post mistress had at last, after much persuasion, awarded him the privilege of standing by her throughout the rest of her natural existence. a dapper youth in livery approached the window, asked for letters and withdrew. there was about him a certain air of elegance which yet had somehow the subtle effect of having been reflected. "will low's valet," explained the post mistress. "sometimes it seems to be a dream, all this. these men who sat around my big blazing stove spinning cyclone yarns while they waited for the brakeman to fling in the mailbag, sending their valets for their mail! it seems like magic, doesn't it?" "it does," assented the professor. "there's zed jones," continued the post mistress, "with his new drag, his queen anne cottage built of gray stone, his irish setters. and mrs. zed sending to paris for all her clothes, and the little zeds fine as fiddles with their ponies and their pony carts." "and hezekiah smith," reminded the professor. "who used to sleep on a pile of newspapers in his old newsstand on the corner, driving his tandem now. and howard evans and roger cranes and a dozen others, all poor as church mice then, and rich as cream now. it is like fairy land. you, too," with an admiring glance at the frock coat, "worth fifty thousand. and my bit of land bringing me a small fortune. i think after," with another smile in his direction, "we'll let some other lone single woman have this job who needs the money. we won't keep the post office any longer." the professor smiled a silent assent. "but the most wonderful thing of all," went on the post mistress, "is that girl cyclona. all of twenty-seven or eight, but she looks like a girl. it was pretty cute of her, wasn't it, to jump seth's claim?" "she didn't exactly jump it," said the professor. "she was taking care of it after seth went away, when her own topsy turvy house blew off somewhere. she had no other home. i wouldn't exactly call it jumping seth's claim." "call it what you please," said the post mistress, "but it amounts to the same thing. she got all the money the wise men paid for the claim, and it went into the millions. why, seth's claim takes up the very heart of the city. that girl's worth her weight in gold, that cyclona, and she deserves it, taking care of the baby first, then watching after seth. i believe she's in love with seth. i believe she lives in hopes that he'll come back again. i know. she is seen everywhere with hugh walsingham, drivin' with him in her stylish little trap, a good driver she is, too, after ridin' fiery bronchos, herdin' seth's cattle and livin' wild-like on the prairies. she's a splendid whip, afraid of nothin'." "but you can see in her big, stretchy faraway eyes that she ain't thinkin' about hugh walsingham, that she's always thinkin' about seth and wishin' it was him a drivin' with her in that stylish little trap of hers." she stopped to read a postal card. "cyclona's a fine young woman," she resumed, "and a beautiful young woman, if she is brown as a gypsy, but the wind has left a wheel in her head. she has never been right since that storm that blew away the topsy turvy house. another shock and her mind will go entirely. i've heard a doctor say so, a man who knows. she deserves all she's got and a happy life with that handsome englishman, but here she is with some fool idea that the money, all these riches she's fallen heiress to, that make her the belle of the magic city, ain't hers. that they are held in trust for seth and celia, that heartless celia, who deserted her husband and baby to go back to her home in the south. "what right has that celia got to any money that comes out of the west she hated so, out of this wind-blown place she wouldn't live in? none at all. no more right than i have. leaving seth out here on the plains all by himself, grievin' for her, breakin' his heart for her, nearly losin' his mind with grief about her. "the money's cyclona's. she worked for it, never thinkin' of the reward. she took care of the child and looked after seth. she deserves all the good that can come to her, that girl does." "she does," assented the professor. "hugh walsingham's in a good fix, too," continued the post mistress, "sold his claim for a whole lot of money. able now, he is, to help his poor relations back there in england, who sent him to the plains to get rid of him. funny how things turn out sometimes." "cyclona coming out of nowhere, and he packed off out of england, both outcasts, both rich now and ready to live happy ever after, if cyclona would only get rid of this fool notion of hers that she's only holdin' the riches in trust for celia and seth. "have you heard the news? it's this: you know nancy lewis, the dish-washer in the restaurant before the boom, the girl who happened to save her earnings and buy a bit of land that turned into a gold nugget? well, a millionaire who made his money here, fell in love with her. she accepted him, but he made a slight mistake. he failed to keep an engagement with her one night and sent a waiter with a note. she got huffy and went off and married the waiter. "we can't rise all at once from our station in life, can we? like as not, when we get into our new house and put on style ourselves with our drags and our dogs, i'll be sortin' out letters in my dreams and handin' them through a dream window to the people. this girl is a born dish-washer. she clung to her station. her children may rise from the position of dish-washers, if they have enough money and education, but not she." "wait a minute. here's a postcard i haven't read yet. it looks like it's been through a cyclone. land sakes alive! guess who it's from!" "can't," said the professor, beginning to be hungry. the post mistress turned the card over and over. "it's from jonathan, cyclona's father," she chuckled. "of all the people in the world! it is post-marked texas." "so that's where they blew to! it's to cyclona, but everybody will be dying to know what it says. listen: "'dear cyclona:-- "'i think you will be glad to hear that this cyclone was good to us, blowin' us 'way down here in texas, where the weather is so fine. it saved me the trouble, too, of bothering with the roof. it blew it right side up and the clothes are all down in the room now.'" "'your affectionate father,'" "'jonathan.'" "'p.s.--i like this part of the country better than i did kansas. i think we will stay here, cyclona.'" "until another cyclone comes along," the professor commented, "and blows him into the gulf." "i wonder," mused the post mistress, "if the cyclone put the clothes away in the presses when it took them down from the walls." chapter xxviii. [illustration] it was as the post mistress had said. cyclona was the heiress of the magic city. as seth had predicted, she sold his land in its heart for more money than she knew what to do with. cyclona was not only the most beautiful young woman in the magic city, but she was the most beautifully gowned and exquisite, what with her well-filled purse with its attendant luxuries of maids, mantua-makers and milliners. she was new to look at, but old thoughts clung to her, old dreams, old fancies. cyclona dreamed a dream one night. she thought that she was in the old dugout at the little deal table before the dim half-window, outside which the wind sang fitfully, blowing the tumbleweeds hither and thither, near and far, with moans and sighs, and seth sat by her side. and as of old he talked to her of the beautiful house. "all these were of costly stones, according to the measures of hewed stones," she heard him say in the dream, "sawed with saws within and without. even from the foundation unto the coping, and so on the outside toward the great court." cyclona sat up in her bed with a start and slept no more. so it was the beautiful house that she was to build, of course. wondering how it was she had not thought before of carrying out seth's dearest wish without waiting to be reminded of it in a dream, reproaching herself, condemning her selfishness, marvelling how she could for a moment have considered this money her own which she simply held in trust for celia and seth. thereafter, hugh, in spite of his deep affection for her, became occasionally somewhat exasperated with cyclona, who all at once developed such peculiar ideas in regard to the building of the house, ideas gathered from an old and yellow plan resurrected from the leaves of a well-thumbed bible brought from the dugout. "cedar!" he cried, "must we bring cedar all the way from the south? it will cost a fortune. why not use some other wood? there are others as beautiful." "we will use cedar," determined cyclona without further explanation, and cedar they used, carved curiously in pomegranate and lily work, very beautiful, hugh had to acknowledge, though the expense was more than it should have been, no matter how much money a young woman had to throw to the birds. "shall we have so many windows?" he asked as cyclona ordered window after window, according to the old yellow plan. "there must be no dark spot in all this house," decided cyclona, and when it was finished there was not. built of stone brought from great distances, stone of delicate pink from tennessee, carved, wide of door, alight with windows, it was a marvel to those who came and stood by, watching the building of it. "a beautiful house," they called it. "a beautiful house!" there was no word of seth in regard to the beautiful house that cyclona failed to remember. "this is the stairway," she heard him say, "up which celia shall trail in her silks and her velvets. this is the threshold her little feet shall press, and here is the low divan before a wide and sunny window where she shall sit and thrum on her guitar." cyclona fashioned the threshold of marble, she built the stairway spacious, she had the low divan carved in cedar and placed it before a wide and sunny window in the music room. she placed there mandolins and guitars. she ordered a piano made of cedar for the music room. she had antique and gorgeous pillows embroidered by deft fingers for the low divan, then went on to the bed-room of white and gold, of which seth had delighted to dream. she ordered pier-glasses, so many that hugh began to fear indeed for her sanity. she bought spindle-legged furniture of gold and scattered it about. she covered the gold bedstead with lace of the rarest. she hung curtains at the sunny window, but curtains of so lacey a web that no possible ray of light could they exclude. "exquisite!" exclaimed hugh, "but must you have gold door knobs?" "we must," answered cyclona; and people came in wonder to look at the beautiful house whose gold door knobs passed into one of the many traditions of the excess of insanity displayed by the very rich of that marvellous boom in their expenditure of money. cyclona caused the cellar to be lighted, according to seth's directions, until there was no dark spot in it. light gleamed throughout, if not the light of day, the light of electrics. "i never in my life," declared hugh, "saw so light a cellar. it is like a conservatory." by the time the house was finished, it was the wonder of the magic city, which itself was the wonder of the west for its beautiful houses. then, when carpenter, painter, wood-carver and decorator had departed, and the house stood in the sunshine, a gem of a house, surpassing, if possible, in beauty, the house of seth's imaginings, he came to cyclona for the last time in a dream. he stood in the dimness of a low-roofed room, looking out of a window. his face was inexpressibly sad. he stood there stilly for a long time, looking out of the window. then there rushed through cyclona's dream the heavy whirring roar of the wind, the moan of the wind, the wail of the wind. cyclona started out of the dream with a cry. what had happened? what was it? what was it? it was as if her life had gone out all at once like the flame of a candle. it was as if her heart-strings had snapped asunder. what was it? what was it? she lay back among her pillows, trembling in the dark, afraid of she knew not what, her wide eyes agaze at the ceiling's shadows. and then after a long while she fell asleep again and once more dreamed. the wind soughed through her dream again, pitifully, wailingly, as it had often soughed outside the dugout. presently it dropped to a whisper and the passing gleam of clouds let in a slab of sunlight through the window. was seth in the dugout then, or in that other room? whichever it was, the sunlight rested goldenly on the calmness of his face. it glorified it. in her dream, cyclona looked long and lovingly at the strong, fine lines of it brought out by this unexpected high light of the skies, accentuated rembrandt-like against the darkness of the hole in the ground. yes. it was in the hole in the ground and not that other room of the beautiful house. as she looked the calm dream face of seth turned to her with a smile of ineffable content. on the following day hugh said to her: "now that the beautiful house is finished, be mine. be mine!" she shook her head and looked at him with eyes that turned the heart of him cold. the pupils that had once been large and full and black had shrunk to the size of pin heads. "no," she said. "i will wait and keep the house beautiful for seth. last night i saw him in a dream. he'll be coming home soon now to the beautiful house." she walked to the window and looked out. she sank into a chair there, folded her hands and smiled contentedly, looking out through the leaves of the trees down the sunlit road. "i will wait here for seth," she repeated. "he won't be long now. he'll be coming home soon. i saw his face last night in a dream, and he smiled at me." chapter xxix. [illustration] the whittlers of the little sticks sitting on dry goods boxes which surrounded the corner grocery looked up as a wagon came lumberingly down the lexington pike, rounded the corner and made its way up main street to tom coleman's livery stable. they watched a man get out, lift an enormous trunk and carry it into the stable on his shoulders. they saw the man bend earthward beneath the weight of the trunk. "seth lawson," they explained to some newcomers. "he's got a place at last. drivin' the baggage wagon from burgin to harrodsburg and back again." tom grums, the grocer, puffed a few whiffs of his pipe. "that's the man," he explained succinctly, "whut was goin' to conquer the west. that's the man whut said he was goin' to build the magic city at the forks of two rivahs wheah the wind didn't blow." by and by, when he had unhitched and fed his horse seth came down the street, passed the whittlers of the little sticks and went on up the lexington pike to his home and celia's. he walked laggingly. there was something that he must tell celia and he was afraid. it was impossible for him to keep the place. he was not young enough. he was not sufficiently nimble. they wanted a younger man, they told him, to lift the trunks. he had been months getting the place and now he had lost it. he had lost it within a week. he walked slowly through the hall to the kitchen where celia stood at the old stove, cooking their supper. he sat by the window presently, watching her. no. he wouldn't tell her. he could not. he hadn't the courage to face the scorn of her eye, to face the cold steely blue of it. he ate the supper she set silently before him slowly. it had the taste to sawdust. after supper he went out on the porch awhile and sat looking into the dusk, looking over the fine soft green of the dim grass on the opposite lawns, his mind going back to the scorched and parched grasses of the prairie. how quiet it was! how windless. there came to him the memory of the wind as it soothed him that day of celia's home coming. he had not hated the wind. he had loved it. there came also the memory of the wind as it soughed around the dugout on those lonely nights, when he and cyclona had planned the beautiful house for celia. in a flash of light he seemed to see cyclona. with this rose by his side, he had gone sighing after the roses of memory. he arose and began to walk up and down, up and down to the gate and back, to the gate and back, thinking of cyclona and the wind. a restlessness began to possess him, a longing for the sound of the wind, for the sound of the voice of cyclona which had mingled from the first, from first to last, with the sound of the wind. the windless stillness oppressed him. he stopped at the gate and looked again across at the quiet grass of the still, dim lawns, then he walked back into the house, along the hall and up into the low-roofed garret, which had been set apart for him by celia. he closed the door of the garret very carefully behind him. he walked to the window and looked out. the stillness weighed upon him. if only he could run into the wind! if only he could hear again its wail, its sob, its grief, its moaning. oh, no. it was impossible to tell celia that he no longer had work. he had no courage to face the steel blue of her eye. impossible, too, to face the sarcastic whittlers of the little sticks who sat around the corner grocery in the morning, he who was to have conquered the west and build the magic city. they were total strangers to him. all his old friends in the town seemed to be dead. he took a pistol down from the shelf and looked at it. he turned it around and around, the dim light coming in at the window playing on it. since the first night of his arrival he had had it ready. "a man who cannot earn his salt," he said softly, "encumbers the earth." he held the thing, playing with it. he smiled as he played with it. he went to the window and stood for a long while, looking out, thinking of cyclona, thinking very lovingly of cyclona, that beautiful girl who had cared for him and the child. he would like to see cyclona once more before,--but that was impossible. in the other world, perhaps. god was not to blame. how could he look after so many? if he put them here with all their faculties, was it his fault if they failed? he was very tired. his fingers rested lovingly upon the weapon that was to send him to the other world. he was very tired. he was very tired. by and by he placed the weapon to his temple, taking careful aim. in a blinding flash of light he saw cyclona. there was the heavy roar of the wind, the wild and woeful wind of the prairies,--and stillness. chapter xxx. [illustration] some visitors from the east to the magic city, whose fame was now widespread, were driving gaily by the beautiful house, which was one of the choice show places of the town. cyclona, sitting by the window, turned her wide, soft eyes their way. "how beautiful she is," sighed one of the girls, "but how strange her eyes are! how vacant they are! there is no expression in her eyes," she said and sighed again. "she has built the house," explained the guide, "for someone she says who ought to own it. she sits there waiting for him, taking care of the house, keeping it beautiful for him." "she is very gentle and mild," he added, as they passed out of sight of the beautiful house, "and so they let her live there instead of locking her up in an asylum with all those other pioneer prairie people whose minds went the way of the wind." * * * * * +---------------------------------------------------------+ | typographical errors corrected in the text: | | | | page : longe replaced with long | | page : mesauahs replaced with measuahs | | page : buth replaced with but | | page : has replaced with was | | | +---------------------------------------------------------+ note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) the boy settlers * * * * * in uniform style. the boy settlers. by noah brooks. $ . . the boy emigrants. by noah brooks. $ . . a new mexico david. by c. f. lummis. $ . . * * * * * [illustration: sure enough, there they were, twenty-five or thirty indians.] the boy settlers a story of early times in kansas by noah brooks illustrated by w. a. rogers new york charles scribner's sons copyright, , by charles scribner's sons. to john greenleaf whittier whose patriotic songs were the inspiration of the prototypes of the boy settlers this little book is affectionately inscribed contents chapter page i. the settlers, and whence they came. ii. the fire spreads. iii. on the disputed territory. iv. among the delawares. v. tidings from the front. vi. westward ho! vii. at the dividing of the ways. viii. the settlers at home. ix. setting the stakes. x. drawing the first furrow. xi. an indian trail. xii. house-building. xiii. lost! xiv. more house-building. xv. play comes after work. xvi. a great disaster. xvii. the wolf at the door. xviii. discouragement. xix. down the big muddy. xx. stranded near home. list of illustrations to face page sure enough, there they were, twenty-five or thirty indians. _frontispiece_ in camp at quindaro. the poem of "the kansas emigrants." the yankee emigrant. oscar was put up high on the stump of a tree, and, violin in hand, "raised the tune." the polls at libertyville. the woburn man is "hoisted" over the cabin. the settlers' first home in the deserted cabin. younkins argued that settlers were entitled to all they could get and hold. sandy seized a huge piece of the freshly-turned sod, and waving it over his head cried, "three cheers for the first sod of bleeding kansas!" making "shakes" with a "frow." filling in the chinks in the walls of the log-cabin. lost! they were feasting themselves on one of the delicious watermelons that now so plentifully dotted their own corn-field. he gently touched the animal with the toe of his boot and cried, "all by my own self." a great disaster. the retreat to battles's. "home, sweet home." the boy settlers. chapter i. the settlers, and whence they came. there were five of them, all told; three boys and two men. i have mentioned the boys first because there were more of them, and we shall hear most from them before we have got through with this truthful tale. they lived in the town of dixon, on the rock river, in lee county, illinois. look on the map, and you will find this place at a point where the illinois central railroad crosses the rock; for this is a real town with real people. nearly sixty years ago, when there were indians all over that region of the country, and the red men were numerous where the flourishing states of illinois, iowa, and wisconsin are now, john dixon kept a little ferry at the point of which i am now speaking, and it was known as dixon's ferry. even when he was not an old man, dixon was noted for his long and flowing white hair, and the indians called him na-chu-sa, "the white-haired." in the sac tribe of indians, with their chief black hawk, rose in rebellion against the government, and then there happened what is now called the black hawk war. in that war many men who afterwards became famous in the history of the united states were engaged in behalf of the government. one of these was zachary taylor, afterwards better known as "rough and ready," who fought bravely in the mexican war and subsequently became president of the united states. another was robert anderson, who, at the beginning of the war of the rebellion, in , commanded the union forces in fort sumter when it was first fired upon. another was jefferson davis, who, in the course of human events, became president of the southern confederacy. a fourth man, destined to be more famous than any of the others, was abraham lincoln. the first three of these were officers in the army of the united states. lincoln was at first a private soldier, but was afterwards elected captain of his company, with whom he had come to the rescue of the white settlers from the lower part of the state. the war did not last long, and there was not much glory gained by anybody in it. black hawk was beaten, and that country had peace ever after. for many years, and even unto this day, i make no doubt, the early settlers of the rock river country loved to tell stories of the black hawk war, of their own sufferings, exploits, hardships, and adventures. father dixon, as he was called, did not choose to talk much about himself, for he was a modest old gentleman, and was not given, as they used to say, to "blowing his own horn," but his memory was a treasure-house of delightful anecdotes and reminiscences of those old times; and young and old would sit around the comfortable stove of a country store, during a dull winter evening, drinking in tales of indian warfare and of the "old settlers" that had been handed down from generation to generation. it is easy to see how boys brought up in an atmosphere like this, rich in traditions of the long-past in which the early settlement of the country figured, should become imbued with the same spirit of adventure that had brought their fathers from the older states to this new region of the west. boys played at indian warfare over the very ground on which they had learned to believe the sacs and foxes had skirmished years and years before. they loved to hear of black hawk and his brother, the prophet, as he was called; and i cannot tell you with what reverence they regarded father dixon, the white-haired old man who had actually talked and traded with the famous indians, and whose name had been given him as a title of respect by the great black hawk himself. among the boys who drank in this sort of lore were charlie and alexander howell and their cousin oscar bryant. charlie, when he had arrived at his eighteenth birthday, esteemed himself a man, ready to put away childish things; and yet, in his heart, he dearly loved the traditions of the indian occupation of the country, and wished that he had been born earlier, so that he might have had a share in the settlement of the rock river region, its reclamation from the wilderness, and the chase of the wild indian. as for alexander, commonly known as "sandy," he had worn out a thick volume of cooper's novels before he was fifteen years old, at which interesting point in his career i propose to introduce him to you. oscar was almost exactly as many years and days old as his cousin. but two boys more unlike in appearance could not be found anywhere in a long summer day. sandy was short, stubbed, and stocky in build. his face was florid and freckled, and his hair and complexion, like his name, were sandy. oscar was tall, slim, wiry, with a long, oval face, black hair, and so lithe in his motions that he was invariably cast for the part of the leading indian in all games that required an aboriginal character. mr. howell carried on a transportation business, until the railroads came into the country and his occupation was gone. then he began to consider seriously the notion of going further west with his boys to get for them the same chances of early forestalling the settlement of the country that he had had in illinois. in the west, at least in those days, nearly everybody was continually looking for a yet further west to which they might emigrate. charlie howell was now a big and willing, good-natured boy; he ought to be striking out for himself and getting ready to earn his own living. at least, so his father thought. mr. bryant was engaged in a profitable business, and he had no idea of going out into another west for himself or his boy. oscar was likely to be a scholar, a lawyer, or a minister, perhaps. even at the age of fifteen, he had written "a piece" which the editor of the dixon _telegraph_ had thought worthy of the immortality of print in his columns. but about this time, the northern states were deeply stirred by the struggle in the new territory of kansas to decide whether freedom or slavery should be established therein. this was in and thereabout. the territory had been left open and unoccupied for a long time. now settlers were pouring into it from adjacent states, and the question whether freedom should be the rule, or whether slave-holding was to be tolerated, became a very important one. missouri and arkansas, being the states nearest to kansas, and holding slavery to be a necessity, furnished the largest number of emigrants who went to vote in favor of bringing slavery into the new territory; but others of the same way of thinking came from more distant states, even as far off as south carolina, all bent on voting for slavery in the laws that were to be made. for the most part, these people from the slave states did not go prepared to make their homes in kansas or nebraska; for some went to the adjoining territory of nebraska, which was also ready to have slavery voted up or down. the newcomers intended to stay just long enough to vote and then return to their own homes. the people of the free states of the north heard of all this with much indignation. they had always supposed that the new territories were to be free from slavery. they saw that if slavery should be allowed there, by and by, when the two territories would become states, they would be slave states, and then there would be more slave states than free states in the union. so they held meetings, made speeches, and passed resolutions, denouncing this sort of immigration as wrong and wicked. then immigrants from iowa, illinois, and other northern states, even as far off as massachusetts, sold their homes and household goods and started for the promised land, as many of them thought it to be. for the men in kansas who were opposed to slavery wrote and sent far and wide papers and pamphlets, setting forth in glowing colors the advantages of the new and beautiful country beyond the missouri river, open to the industry and enterprise of everybody. soon the roads and highways of iowa were dotted with white-topped wagons of immigrants journeying to kansas, and long lines of caravans, with families and with small knots of men, stretched their way across the country nearest to the territory. some of these passed through dixon, and the boys gazed with wonder at the queer inscriptions that were painted on the canvas covers of the wagons; they longed to go with the immigrants, and taste the sweets of a land which was represented to be full of wild flowers, game in great abundance, and fine streams, and well-wooded hills not far away from the water. they had heard their elders talk of the beauties of kansas, and of the great outrage that was to be committed on that fair land by carrying slavery into it; and although they did not know much about the politics of the case, they had a vague notion that they would like to have a hand in the exciting business that was going on in kansas. both parties to this contest thought they were right. men who had been brought up in the slave states believed that slavery was a good thing--good for the country, good for the slave-owner, and even good for the slave. they could not understand how anybody should think differently from them. but, on the other hand, those who had never owned slaves, and who had been born and brought up in the free states, could not be brought to look upon slavery as anything but a very wicked thing. for their part, they were willing (at least, some of them were) to fight rather than consent that the right of one man to own another man should be recognized in the territories of kansas and nebraska. some of these started at once for the debatable land; others helped their neighbors to go, and many others stayed at home and talked about it. mrs. bryant, oscar's mother, said: "dear me, i am tired and sick of hearing about 'bleeding kansas.' i do wish, husband, you would find something else to talk about before oscar. you have got him so worked up that i shouldn't be the least bit surprised if he were to start off with some of those tired-looking immigrants that go traipsing through the town day by day." mrs. bryant was growing anxious, now that her husband was so much excited about the kansas-nebraska struggle, as it was called, he could think of nothing else. chapter ii. the fire spreads. one fine morning in may, mr. bryant was standing at his front gate watching for his brother-in-law, mr. howell, to come down the street. he held a newspaper in his hand, and with this, loosely rolled, he was impatiently tapping on the gate as mr. howell drew near. evidently something had happened to disturb him. "see here, aleck," he exclaimed, as soon as his brother-in-law was within the sound of his voice, "i can stand this sort of thing no longer. i'm bound to go to kansas. i've been thinking it over, and i have about made up my mind to go. brubaker will take my store and the good-will of the concern. oscar is wild to go, and his mother is perfectly able to take care of the house while i am getting ready for her to come out. what d'ye say? will you go too?" "well," said mr. howell, slowly, "you nearly take my breath away! what's happened to stir you up so?" "just listen to this!" cried the other, "just listen!" and, unfolding his newspaper, he read, with glowing cheeks and kindling eyes, an account of an attack made by some of the "pro-slavery men," as they were named, on a party of free-state immigrants who had attempted to cross the river near kansas city. his voice trembled with excitement, and when he had finished reading, he asked his companion what he thought of that. mr. howell looked pensively down the street, now embowered with the foliage of early summer, noted the peaceful aspect of the village, and the tranquil picture which gardens, cottages, and sauntering groups of school-children presented, and then said slowly, "i never was much of a hand at shooting, charles, leastways, shooting at folks; and i don't know that i could take steady aim at a man, even if i knew he was a border ruffian out gunning for me. but i'm with you, charles. charlie and sandy can do a heap sight better in kansas, after things get settled, than they can here. this place is too old; there's too much competition, and the boys will not have any show if they stay here. but what does amanda say?" now, amanda was mr. bryant's wife, mr. aleck howell's sister. when aleck asked this question, the two men looked at each other for a moment, queerly and without speaking. "well, she'll hate to part with oscar; he's the apple of her eye, as it were. but i guess she will listen to reason. when i read this piece in the paper to her this morning, at the breakfast-table, she was as mad as a wet hen. as for oscar, he's so fired up about it that he is down in the wood-shed chopping wood to blow off steam. hear him?" and mr. bryant laughed quietly, notwithstanding his rising anger over the news of the day. at that moment sandy came whooping around the corner, intent on overtaking a big yellow dog, his constant companion,--bose by name,--who bounded along far in advance of the boy. "see here, sandy," said his uncle, "how would you like to go to kansas with your father, oscar, charlie, and myself?" "to kansas? shooting buffaloes, deer, indians, and all that? to kansas? oh, come, now, uncle charles, you don't mean it." "but i do mean it, my laddie," said the elder man, affectionately patting the freckled cheek of the lad. "i do mean it, and if you can persuade your father to go along and take you and charlie with him, we'll make up a party--just we five--that will scare the border ruffians 'way into the middle of next year." then, with a more serious air, he added, "this is a fight for freedom, my boy, and every man and every boy who believes in god and liberty can find a chance to help. i'm sure _we_ can." this he said with a certain sparkle of his eye that may have meant mischief to any border ruffian that might have been there to see and hear. as for sandy, he turned two or three hand-springs by way of relieving his feelings; then, having once more assured himself that the two men had serious thoughts of migrating to kansas, he rushed off to the wood-shed to carry the wonderful news to oscar. dropping his axe, the lad listened with widened eyes to the story that sandy had to tell. "do you know, sandy," he said, with an air of great wisdom, "i thought there was something in the wind. oh, i never saw father so roused as he was when he read that story in the chicago _press and tribune_ this morning. why, i thought he'd just get up and howl when he had read it out to mother. jimmini! do you really suppose that he will go? and take us? and uncle aleck? oh, wouldn't that be too everlastingly bully for anything?" oscar, as you will see, was given to the use of slang, especially when under great excitement. the two boys rushed back to the gate, where the brothers-in-law were still talking eagerly and in undertones. "if your mother and aunt amanda will consent, i guess we will go," said mr. bryant, with a smile on his face as he regarded the flushed cheeks and eager eyes of sandy and oscar. sandy's father added: "and i'll answer for your mother, my son. she and i have talked this thing over many a time, more on your account and charlie's than for the sake of 'bleeding kansas,' however. i'm bound to say that. every man is in honor bound to do his duty by the country and by the good cause; but i have got to look after my boys first." and the father lovingly laid his hand on sandy's sturdy shoulder. "do you think you could fight, if the worst comes to the worst, sandy, boy?" of course the lad protested confidently that he could fight; certainly he could protect his rights and his father's rights, even with a gun, if that should be found necessary. but he admitted that, on the whole, he would rather shoot buffaloes and antelope, both of which species of large game he had already learned were tolerably plentiful in kansas. "just think of it, oscar, we might have some real indian-fighting out there, like that father dixon and the rest of the old settlers had in the time of the black hawk war." his father assured him, however, that there was no longer any danger from the red man in kansas. the wild indians were now far out on the frontier, beyond the region to which emigrants would probably go in search of homestead lands for settlement. sandy looked relieved at this explanation. he was not anxious for fighting with anybody. fun was more to his liking. the two mothers, when they were informed of the decision of the male members of the family, made very little opposition to the emigration scheme. in fact, mrs. howell had really felt for some time past that her boys would be better provided for in a new country. she had been one of the "old settlers" of dixon, having been brought out from the interior of new york when she and her brother were small children. she had the same spirit of adventure that he had, and, although she remembered very well the privations and the discomforts of those early days, it was more with amusement than sorrow that she recalled them to mind, now that they were among the traditions of long-past years. the two young howells were never weary of hearing their mother tell of the time when she killed a wildcat with her father's rifle, or of her walking fifteen miles and back to buy herself a bonnet-ribbon to wear to her first ball in the court-house. now her silent influence made it easier for the kansas exodus (as they already called their scheme) to be accepted all around. the determination of the two families to migrate made some stir in the town. it was yet a small place, and everybody knew every other body's business. the bryants and howells were among the "old families," and their momentous step created a little ripple of excitement among their friends and acquaintances. the boys enjoyed the talk and the gossip that arose around them, and already considered themselves heroes in a small way. with envious eyes and eager faces, their comrades surrounded them, wherever they went, asking questions about their outfit, their plans, and their future movements. every boy in dixon looked on the three prospective boy settlers as the most fortunate of all their young playfellows. "i wish my father would catch the 'kansas fever,'" said hiram fender, excitedly. "don't you suppose your father could give it to him, charlie? do you suppose your uncle would take me along if dad would let me go? oh, wouldn't that be just gaudy, if i could go! then there would be four of us boys. try it on him." but the two families resolutely attended to their own business, asking help from nobody, and not even so much as hinting to anybody that it would be a good thing for others to go with them to the promised land. the three boys were speedily in the midst of preparations for their migration. it was now well along in the middle of may. if they were to take up land claims in kansas and get in a crop, they had no time to spare. the delightful excitement of packing, of buying arms and ammunition, and of winding up all the small concerns of their life in dixon made the days pass swiftly by. there were all the details of tents for camping-out, provisions for the march, and rough clothing and walking gear for the new life beyond to be looked after. some of the notions of the boys, in regard to what was needed and what was to be expected from the land beyond, were rather crude. and perhaps their fathers were not in all cases so wise as they thought themselves. the boys, however, cherished the idea that absolutely everything they should require in kansas must be carried from illinois. "why," said the practical mr. howell, "if we cannot buy ploughs, cattle, and seed, cheaper in missouri than we can here, we can at least save the labor and cost of transportation. we don't want to haul a year's provisions, either. we expect to raise something to eat, don't we?" charlie, to whom this remonstrance was addressed, replied, "well, of course we can raise some garden truck, and i suppose we can buy bacon and flour cheaper in missouri than here." "then there's the game," interrupted oscar and sandy, both in one breath. "governor robinson's book says that the country is swarming with game," added sandy, excitedly. the boys had devoured a little book by mr. robinson, the free-state governor of kansas, in which the richness of the promised land was glowingly set forth. "much time we shall have to shoot buffaloes and antelope when we are breaking up the sod and planting corn," mr. howell answered with a shade of sarcasm in his voice. "and we may have to fire at bigger game than either of those," added mr. bryant, grimly. "border ruffians?" asked sandy, with a feeble attempt at a grin. his mother shuddered and hastily went out of the room. the kansas scheme seemed no longer pleasant to her, when she read the dreadful stories of violence and bloodshed with which some of the western newspapers were teeming. but it was settled that most of the tools needed for farming could be bought better in missouri than in illinois; the long haul would be saved, and the horses with which they were to start could be exchanged for oxen to good advantage when they reached "the river." they had already adopted the common phrase, "the river," for the missouri river, then generally used by people emigrating westward. "but perhaps the missourians will not sell you anything when they know that you are free-state men," suggested mrs. bryant, timidly, for this was a family council. "oh, well," answered mr. howell, sturdily, "i'll risk that. i never saw a man yet with anything to sell who wouldn't sell it when the money was shaken in his face. the newspapers paint those border men pretty black, i know; but if they stop to ask a man's politics before they make a bargain with him, they must be queer cattle. they are more than human or less than human, not americans at all, if they do business in that way." in the end they found that mr. howell was entirely right. all was settled at last, and that, too, in some haste, for the season was rapidly advancing when planting must be attended to, if they were to plant that year for the fall harvest. from the west they heard reports of hosts of people pouring into the new territory, of land being in great demand, and of the best claims near the missouri being taken by early emigrants. they must be in a hurry if they were to get a fair chance with the rest and a fair start on their farm,--a farm yet existing only in their imagination. their wagon, well stored with clothing and provisions, a few books, oscar's violin, a medicine chest, powder, shot, and rifle-balls, and an assortment of odds and ends,--the wagon, so long a magical repository of hopes and the most delightful anticipations, was ready at last. it stood at the side gate of mr. bryant's home, with a "spike team" (two horses at the pole, and one horse for a leader) harnessed. it was a serious, almost solemn, moment. now that the final parting had come, the wrench with which the two families were to be broken up seemed harder than any of the members had expected. the two mothers, bravely keeping up smiling faces, went about the final touches of preparations for the lads' departure and the long journey of their husbands. mr. howell mounted the wagon with sandy by his side; mr. bryant took his seat with the other two boys in an open buggy, which they were to drive to "the river" and there trade for a part of their outfit. fond and tearful kisses had been exchanged and farewells spoken. they drove off into the west. the two women stood at the gate, gazing after them with tear-dimmed eyes as long as they were in sight; and when the little train disappeared behind the first swale of the prairie, they burst into tears and went into the house which was now left unto them desolate. it was a quiet party that drove over the prairie that bright and beautiful morning. the two boys in the buggy spoke occasionally in far-off-sounding voices about indifferent things that attracted their attention as they drove along. mr. howell held the reins, with a certain stern sense of duty on his dark and handsome face. sandy sat silently by his side, the big tears coursing down his freckled cheeks. chapter iii. on the disputed territory. the straggling, unkempt, and forlorn town of parkville, missouri, was crowded with strangers when the emigrants arrived there after a long and toilsome drive through iowa. they had crossed the mississippi from illinois into iowa, at fulton, on the eastern shore, and after stopping to rest for a day or two in clinton, a pretty village on the opposite bank, had pushed on, their faces ever set westward. then, turning in a southwesterly direction, they travelled across the lower part of the state, and almost before they knew it they were on the sacred soil of missouri, the dangers of entering which had been pictured to them all along the route. they had been warned by the friendly settlers in iowa to avoid st. joseph, one of the crossings from missouri into kansas; it was a nest of border ruffians, so they were told, and they would surely have trouble. they must also steer clear of leavenworth; for that town was the headquarters of a number of missourians whose names were already terrible all over the northern states, from kansas to massachusetts bay. "but there is the military at fort leavenworth," replied mr. bryant. "surely they will protect the citizens of the united states who are peaceful and well-behaved. we are only peaceable immigrants." "pshaw!" answered an iowa man. "all the army officers in this part of the country are pro-slavery men. they are in sympathy with the pro-slavery men, anyhow, and if they had been sent here to keep free-state men out of the territory, they couldn't do any different from what they are doing. it's an infernal shame, that's what it is." bryant said nothing in reply, but as they trudged along, for the roads were very bad, and they could not often ride in their vehicles now, his face grew dark and red by turns. finally he broke out,-- "see here, aleck," he cried, "i don't want to sneak into the territory. if these people think they can scare law-abiding and peaceable citizens of a free country from going upon the land of these united states, we might just as well fight first as last. for one, i will not be driven out of a country that i have got just as much right to as any of these hot-headed missouri fellows." his brother-in-law looked troubled, but before he could speak the impetuous and fiery sandy said: "that's the talk, uncle charlie! let's go in by the shortest way, and tackle the border ruffians if they tackle us. who's afraid?" and the lad bravely handled his "pepper-box," as his old-fashioned five-barrelled revolver was sportively called by the men of those days; for the modern revolver with one barrel for all the chambers of the weapon had not then come into use. "who's afraid?" he repeated fiercely, looking around. everybody burst out laughing, and the valorous sandy looked rather crestfallen. "i am afraid, for one," said his father. "i want no fighting, no bloodshed. i want to get into the territory and get to work on our claim, just as soon as possible; but if we can't get there without a fight, why then, i'll fight. but i ain't seeking for no fight." when aleck howell was excited, his grammar went to the four winds. his view of the situation commended itself to the approval of oscar, who said he had promised his mother that he would avoid every appearance of hostile intention, keep a civil tongue in his head, have his weapons out of sight and his powder always dry. the emigrants decided to go into kansas by way of parkville. at claybank, half-way between the iowa line and the missouri river, they encountered a drover with a herd of cattle. he was eager to dicker with the kansas emigrants, and offered them what they considered to be a very good bargain in exchanging oxen for their horses. they were now near the territory, and the rising prices of almost everything that immigrants required warned them that they were not far from the point where an outfit could no longer be bought at any reasonable price. the boys were loth to part with their buggy; for, although they had been often compelled to go afoot through some of the worst roads in the states of iowa and missouri, they had clung to the notion that they might have a pair of horses to take into the territory, and, while the buggy was left to them, they had a refuge in times of weariness with walking; and these were rather frequent. the wagon was exchanged for another, suitable for oxen. the immigrants drove gayly into parkville. they were in sight of the promised land. the big muddy, as missourians affectionately call the turbid stream that gives name to their state, rolled sluggishly between the parkville shore and the low banks fringed with cottonwoods that were the eastern boundary of kansas. looking across, they could see long lines of white-covered wagons, level plains dotted with tents, and the rising smoke of many fires, where people who had gone in ahead of them were cooking their suppers; for they entered parkville late in the afternoon. it was a commonplace-looking view of kansas, after all, and not at all like what the lads had fancied it would be. sandy very emphatically expressed his disappointment. "what would you have, sandy?" asked his uncle, with some amusement. "did you expect to see wild honey dripping out of the cottonwoods and sycamores, buffaloes and deer standing up and waiting to be shot at, and a farm ready to be tilled?" "well," replied the boy, a little shamefacedly, "i didn't exactly expect to see all those things; but somehow the country looks awful flat and dull. don't you think so?" for answer, mr. bryant pointed out a line of blue slopes in the distance. "those are not very high hills, my boy, to be sure, but they are on the rolling prairie beyond, and as soon as we get away from the river we shall find a bluffy and diversified country, i'll warrant you." "yes; don't you remember," broke in oscar, eagerly, "governor robinson's book told all about the rolling and undulating country of the territory, and the streams that run under high bluffs in some places?" sandy admitted that this was true of the book; but he added, "some books do lie, though." "not governor robinson's book," commented his brother charlie, with a slight show of resentment. for charlie had made a study of the reports from the promised land. but a more pressing matter was the attitude of the border-state men toward the free-state emigrants, and the question of making the necessary purchases for their farming scheme. parkville was all alive with people, and there were many border-state men among them. some of these regarded the newcomers with unmistakable hostility, noting which, sandy and oscar took good care to keep near their two grown-up protectors; and the two men always went about with their weapons within easy reaching distance. all of the borderers were opposed to any more free-state men going into the territory; and many of them were disposed to stop this by force, if necessary. at one time, the situation looked very serious, and sandy got his "pepper-box" into position. but the trouble passed away, and the arrival of fifteen or twenty teams, accompanied by a full complement of men, checked a rising storm of wrath. from platte city, a short distance up the river, however, came doleful and distressing stories of the ill-treatment of the free-state men who had gone that way. they were harassed and hindered, and, in some cases, their teams were deliberately turned about and driven back on the road by which they had come. it was useless to remonstrate when the rifles of a dozen men were levelled at the would-be immigrants. but our travellers in parkville heard a good story of the bravery of one free-state man who had been refused transportation across the ferry at platte city, kept by an ardent pro-slavery man. the intending immigrant, unconscious of any hindrance to his crossing, was calmly driving down to the ferry-boat, a flat-bottomed craft propelled by long oars, or sweeps, when the ferryman stopped him with the question, "what hev ye got into yer waggin?" "oxen," sententiously replied the newcomer. "and what's them thar cattle follering on behind?" he asked, pointing to a drove of milch-cattle in the rear. "caouws," answered the immigrant, in the broad pronunciation peculiar to provincial people of the new england states. "all right," was the rejoinder; "a man that says 'caouws' can't go over this yere ferry withouten he's got the tickets." no argument would induce the ferryman to explain what the tickets were and where they could be procured. finally, his patience exhausted, the free-state man suddenly drew from the big pockets of his frock a pair of tremendous pistols, ready cocked, and, holding them full in the face of the surprised ferryman, he said,-- "here are my tickets, and i'm going across this ferry right off, caouws or no caouws!" and he went. even at parkville, where there was very little difficulty in crossing, as compared with what there had been earlier in the struggle for kansas, they were advised by discreet friends and sympathizers to be on the lookout for opposition. every fresh arrival of free-state men angered yet more the borderers who were gathered there to hinder and, if possible, prevent further immigration. mr. bryant chafed under the necessity of keeping his voice hushed on the topic that engaged all his thoughts; and oscar and sandy were ready to fight their way across the river; at least they said so. they did find, however, that the buying of provisions and farming-tools required for their future use, was out of the question in parkville. whether it was the unexpected demand, or a refusal of the missourians to sell to free-state men, they could not determine. but the prices of everything they wanted were very high. what should they do? these articles they must have. but their cost here was far beyond their most extravagant estimates. when mr. howell was reminded by his brother-in-law how he had said that no politics could interfere with trade and prices, he was amused. "of course," he said, "it does look as if these missourians would not sell at fair prices because they want to hinder us; but don't you see that the demand is greater than the supply? i know these folks are bitterly hostile to us; but the reason why they have so small a stock of goods on hand is that they have sold out to other free-state men that have come before us to buy the same things. isn't that so?" mr. bryant was obliged to admit that this was a reasonable explanation; but as he had begun by thinking that every borderer hated a free-state man and would do him an injury if he could, he did not give up that notion willingly. he was certain that there was a plot in the high prices of bacon, flour, corn-meal, and ploughs. in this serious dilemma, charlie came to the relief of the party with the information that a free-state man, whose team had just recrossed the river for a load of supplies sent him by a wagon that was to return to iowa, brought news that a large trading-post had been opened at a new kansas town called quindaro. he said that the iowa man told him that prices were just now lower in quindaro than they had ever been in parkville. "quindaro?" said oscar, musingly;--"why, that must be an indian name,--feminine indian name, too, unless i miss my guess." mr. bryant had heard of quindaro. it was a brand-new town, a few miles down the river, settled by free-state men and named for a young, full-blooded indian girl of the delaware tribe. the town was on the borders of the delaware reservation, which in those days came close to the missouri river. charlie, also, had gathered some facts about the town, and he added that quindaro was a good place to start from, going westward. the party had laid in a stock of groceries--coffee, tea, and other articles of that description--before leaving home. now they needed staple provisions, a few farming tools, a breaking-plough, and some seed corn. few thought of planting anything but corn; but the thrifty settlers from illinois knew the value of fresh vegetables, and they were resolved to have "garden truck" just as soon as seeds could be planted and brought to maturity. "and side-meat?" asked sandy, wonderingly, as he heard his father inquiring the price of that article of food. side-meat, in the south and west, is the thin flank of a porker, salted and smoked after the fashion of hams, and in those parts of the southwest it was (and probably is) the staple article of food among the people. it is sold in long, unattractive-looking slabs; and when sandy heard its name mentioned, his disgust as well as his wonder was kindled. "side-meat?" he repeated, with a rising inflection. "why, i thought we were going to live on game,--birds and buffalo and the like! side-meat? well, that makes me sick!" the two men laughed, and mr. howell said,-- "why, sandy, you are bent on hunting and not on buckling down to farm work. how do you suppose we are going to live if we have nothing to eat but wild game that we kill, and breadstuffs and vegetables that we buy?" sandy had thought that they might be able to step out into the woods or prairie, between times, as it were, and knock down a few head of game when the day's work was done, or had not begun. when he said as much, the two heads of the party laughed again, and even charlie joined in the glee. "my dear infant," said his father, seriously, but with a twinkle in his eye, "game is not so plenty anywhere as that; and if it were, we should soon tire of it. now side-meat 'sticks to the ribs,' as the people hereabouts will tell you, and it is the best thing to fall back upon when fresh meat fails. we can't get along without it, and that is a fact; hey, charlie?" the rest of the party saw the wisdom of this suggestion, and sandy was obliged to give up, then and there, his glowing views of a land so teeming with game that one had only to go out with a rifle, or even a club, and knock it over. but he mischievously insisted that if side-meat did "stick to the ribs," as the missourians declared, they did not eat much of it, for, as a rule, the people whom they met were a very lank and slab-sided lot. "clay-eaters," their new acquaintance from quindaro said they were. "clay-eaters?" asked charlie, with a puzzled look. "they are clayey-looking in the face. but it can't be possible that they actually eat clay?" "well, they do, and i have seen them chewing it. there is a fine, soft clay found in these parts, and more especially south of here; it has a greasy feeling, as if it was a fatty substance, and the natives eat it just as they would candy. why, i should think that it would form a sand-bar inside of a man, after awhile; but they take to it just as naturally!" "if i have got to choose between side-meat and clay for a regular diet," said sandy, "give me side-meat every time." that night, having made their plans to avoid the prying eyes of the border-state men, who in great numbers were now coming in, well-armed and looking somewhat grimly at the free-state men, the little party crossed the river. ten dollars, good united states money, was demanded by the ferryman as the price of their passage; it looked like robbery, but there was no other way of getting over the river and into the promised land; so it was paid, with many a wrench of the patience of the indignant immigrants; and they pitched their tent that night under the stars and slept soundly on the soil of "bleeding kansas." bright and early next morning, the boys were up and stirring, for now was to begin their camp life. hitherto, they had slept in their tent, but had taken their meals at the farm-houses and small taverns of the country through which they had passed. they would find few such conveniences in the new country into which they had come, and they had been warned that in kansas the rule was "every man for himself." they made sad work with their first breakfast in camp. oscar had taken a few lessons in cooking from his mother, before leaving home, and the two men had had some experience in that line of duty when out on hunting expeditious in illinois, years before. so they managed to make coffee, fry slices of side-meat, and bake a hoe-cake of indian-corn meal. "hog and hominy," said sandy's father. "that's the diet of the country, and that is what we shall come to, and we might as well take it first as last." "there's worse provender than this, where there's none," said mr. bryant, cheerfully; "and before we get through we shall be hungry more than once for hog and hominy." it was an enlivening sight that greeted the eyes of the newcomers as they looked around upon the flat prairie that stretched along the river-side. the tents of the immigrants glistened in the rising sun. the smoke of many camp-fires arose on the summer air. groups of men were busily making preparations for their long tramp westward, and, here and there, women and children were gathered around the white-topped wagons, taking their early breakfast or getting ready for the day's march. here, too, could now be seen the rough and surly-looking border men who were on the way to points along the route that were to be occupied by them before too many free-state men should come in. an election of some sort, the newcomers could not exactly make out what, was to take place in a day or two, and the missourians whom they had seen flocking into parkville were ready to vote as soon as they got into the territory. breakfast over, the boys sauntered around through the camps, viewing the novel sights with vast amusement. it was like a militia muster at home, except that the only soldier element they saw was the band of rough-looking and rough-talking men who were bound to vote and fight for slavery. they swaggered about with big pistols girt at their hips and rifles over their shoulders, full-bearded and swarthy, each one a captain apparently, all without much organization, but very serious in their intention to vote and to fight. it really seemed as if they had reached the fighting-ground at last. "see here, daddy," said oscar, as he came in from the camps when the dixon caravan was ready to move; "see what i found in this newspaper. it is a piece of poetry, and a mighty fine piece, too"; and the boy began to read some lines beginning thus,-- "we cross the prairie as of old the pilgrims crossed the sea, to make the west, as they the east, the homestead of the free!" "oh, well; i can't bother about poetry, now," said the father, hastily. "i have some prose work on hand, just about this time. i'm trying to drive these pesky cattle, and i don't make a very good fist at it. your uncle aleck has gone on ahead, and left me to manage the team; but it's new business to me." "john g. whittier is the name at the top of these verses. i've heard of him. he's a regular-built poet,--lives somewhere down east." "i can't help that, sonny; get on the other side of those steers, and see if you can't gee them around. dear, dear, they're dreadful obstinate creatures!" that night, however, when they were comfortably and safely camped in quindaro, amid the live-oaks and the tall sycamores that embowered the pretty little town, oscar again brought the newspaper to his father, and, with kindling eyes, said,-- "read it out, daddy; read the piece. why, it was written just for us, i do declare. it is called 'the kansas emigrants.' we are kansas emigrants, aren't we?" the father smiled kindly as he looked at the flushed face and bright eyes of his boy, and took from him the paper folded to show the verses. as he read, his eyes, too, flashed and his lip trembled. "listen to this!" he cried. "listen to this! it is like a trumpet call!" and with a voice quivering with emotion, he began the poem,-- "we cross the prairie as of old the pilgrims crossed the sea, to make the west, as they the east, the homestead of the free!" "something has got into my eyes," said mr. howell, as the last stanza was read. "great scott! though, how that does stir a man's blood!" and he furtively wiped the moisture from his eyes. it was time to put out the light and go to sleep, for the night now was well advanced. but mr. bryant, thoroughly aroused, read and re-read the lines aloud. [illustration: in camp at quindaro. the poem of "the kansas emigrants."] "sing 'em," said his brother-in-law, jokingly. bryant was a good singer, and he at once tuned up with a fine baritone voice, recalling a familiar tune that fitted the measure of the poem. "oh, come now, uncle charlie," cried sandy, from his blankets in the corner of the tent, "that's 'old dundee.' can't you give us something lively? something not quite so solemn?" "not so solemn, my laddie? don't you know that this is a solemn age we are in, and a very solemn business we are on? you'll think so before we get out of this territory, or i am greatly mistaken." "sandy'll think it's solemn, when he has to trot over a piece of newly broken prairie, carrying a pouchful of seed corn, dropping five grains in each sod," said his father, laughing, as he blew out the candle. "it's a good song; a bully good song," murmured the boy, turning over to sleep. "but it ought to be sung to something with more of a rig-a-jig-jig to it." so saying, he was off to the land of dreams. chapter iv. among the delawares. quindaro was a straggling but pretty little town built among the groves of the west bank of the missouri. here the emigrants found a store or trading-post, well supplied with the goods they needed, staple articles of food and the heavier farming-tools being the first required. the boys looked curiously at the big breaking-plough that was to be of so much consequence to them in their new life and labors. the prairies around their illinois home had been long broken up when they were old enough to take notice of such things; and as they were town boys, they had never had their attention called to the implements of a prairie farm. "it looks like a plough that has been sat down on and flattened out," was oscar's remark, after they had looked the thing over very critically. it had a long and massive beam, or body, and big, strong handles, suggestive of hard work to be done with it. "the nose," as sandy called the point of the share, was long, flat, and as sharp as a knife. it was this thin and knife-like point that was to cut into the virgin turf of the prairie, and, as the sod was cut, the share was to turn it over, bottom side up, while the great, heavy implement was drawn along by the oxen. "but the sod is so thick and tough," said oscar, "i don't see how the oxen can drag the thing through. will our three yoke of cattle do it?" the two men looked at each other and smiled. this had been a subject of much anxious thought with them. they had been told that they would have difficulty in breaking up the prairie with three yoke of oxen; they should have four yoke, certainly. so when mr. howell explained that they must get another yoke and then rely on their being able to "change work" with some of their neighbors who might have cattle, the boys laughed outright. "neighbors!" cried sandy. "why, i didn't suppose we should have any neighbors within five or ten miles. did you, oscar? i was in hopes we wouldn't have neighbors to plague us with their pigs and chickens, and their running in to borrow a cupful of molasses, or last week's newspaper. neighbors!" and the boy's brown face wore an expression of disgust. "don't you worry about neighbors, sandy," said his uncle. "even if we have any within five miles of us, we shall do well. but if there is to be any fighting, we shall want neighbors to join forces with us, and we shall find them handy, anyhow, in case of sickness or trouble. we cannot get along in a new country like this without neighbors, and you bear that in mind, master sandy." the two leaders of this little flock had been asking about the prospects for taking up claims along the kansas river, or the kaw, as that stream was then generally called. to their great dismay, they had found that there was very little vacant land to be had anywhere near the river. they would have to push on still further westward if they wished to find good land ready for the pre-emptor. rumors of fighting and violence came from the new city of lawrence, the chief settlement of the free-state men, on the kaw; and at grasshopper falls, still further to the west, the most desirable land was already taken up, and there were wild stories of a raid on that locality being planned by bands of border ruffians. they were in a state of doubt and uncertainty. "there she is! there she is!" said charlie, in a loud whisper, looking in the direction of a tall, unpainted building that stood among the trees that embowered the little settlement. every one looked and saw a young lady tripping along through the hazel brush that still covered the ground. she was rather stylishly dressed, "citified," oscar said; she swung a beaded work-bag as she walked. "who is it? who is it?" asked oscar, breathlessly. she was the first well-dressed young lady he had seen since leaving iowa. "sh-h-h-h!" whispered charlie. "that's quindaro. a young fellow pointed her out to me last night, just after we drove into the settlement. she lives with her folks in that tall, thin house up there. i have been looking for her to come out. see, she's just going into the post-office now." "quindaro!" exclaimed sandy. "why, i thought quindaro was a squaw." "she's a full-blooded delaware indian girl, that's what she is, and she was educated somewhere east in the states; and this town is named for her. she owns all the land around here, and is the belle of the place." "she's got on hoop-skirts, too," said oscar. "just think of an indian girl--a squaw--wearing hoops, will you?" for all this happened, my young reader must remember, when women's fashions were very different from what they now are. quindaro--that is to say, the young indian lady of that time--was dressed in the height of fashion, but not in any way obtrusively. charlie, following with his eyes the young girl's figure, as she came out of the post-office and went across the ravine that divided the settlement into two equal parts, mirthfully said, "and only think! that is a full-blooded delaware indian girl!" but, their curiosity satisfied, the boys were evidently disappointed with their first view of indian civilization. there were no blanketed indians loafing around in the sun and sleeping under the shelter of the underbrush, as they had been taught to expect to see them. outside of the settlement, men were ploughing and planting, breaking prairie, and building cabins; and while our party were looking about them, a party of delawares drove into town with several ox-carts to carry away the purchases that one of their number had already made. it was bewildering to boys who had been brought up on stories of black hawk, the prophet, and the sacs and foxes of illinois and wisconsin. a delaware indian, clad in the ordinary garb of a western farmer and driving a yoke of oxen, and employing the same curious lingo used by the white farmers, was not a picturesque object. "i allow that sixty dollars is a big price to pay for a yoke of cattle," said mr. howell, anxiously. he was greatly concerned about the new purchase that must be made here, according to the latest information. "we might have got them for two-thirds of that money back in illinois. and you know that iowa chap only reckoned the price of these at forty-five, when we traded with him at jonesville." "it's no use worrying about that now, aleck," said his brother-in-law. "i know you thought then that we should need four yoke for breaking the prairie; but, then, you weren't certain about it, and none of the rest of us ever had any sod-ploughing to do." "no, none of us," said sandy, with delightful gravity; at which everybody smiled. one would have thought that sandy was a veteran in everything but farming. "i met a man this morning, while i was prowling around the settlement," said charlie, "who said that there was plenty of vacant land, of first-rate quality, up around manhattan. where's that, father--do you know? _he_ didn't, but some other man, one of the new england society fellows, told him so." but nobody knew where manhattan was. this was the first time they had ever heard of the place. the cattle question was first to be disposed of, however, and as soon as the party had finished their breakfast, the two men and charlie sallied out through the settlement to look up a bargain. oscar and sandy were left in the camp to wash the dishes and "clean up," a duty which both of them despised with a hearty hatred. "if there's anything i just fairly abominate, it's washing dishes," said sandy, seating himself on the wagon-tongue and discontentedly eyeing a huge tin pan filled with tin plates and cups, steaming in the hot water that oscar had poured over them from the camp-kettle. "well, that's part of the play," answered oscar, pleasantly. "it isn't boy's work, let alone man's work, to be cooking and washing dishes. i wonder what mother would think to see us at it?" and a suspicious moisture gathered in the lad's eyes, as a vision of his mother's tidy kitchen in far-off illinois rose before his mind. sandy looked very solemn. "but, as daddy says, it's no use worrying about things you can't help," continued the cheerful oscar; "so here goes, sandy. you wash, and i'll dry 'em." and the two boys went on with their disagreeable work so heartily that they soon had it out of the way; sandy remarking as they finished it, that, for his part, he did not like the business at all, but he did not think it fair that they two, who could not do the heavy work, should grumble over that they could do. "the worst of it is," he added, "we've got to look forward to months and months of this sort of thing. father and uncle charlie say that we cannot have the rest of the family come out until we have a house to put them in--a log-cabin, they mean, of course; and uncle charlie says that we may not get them out until another spring. i don't believe he will be willing for them to come out until he knows whether the territory is to be slave or free. do you, oscar?" "no, indeed," said oscar. "between you and me, sandy, i don't want to go back to illinois again, for anything; but i guess father will make up his mind about staying only when we find out if there is to be a free-state government or not. dear me, why can't the missourians keep out of here and let us alone?" "it's a free country," answered sandy, sententiously. "that's what uncle charlie is always saying. the missourians have just as good a right here as we have." "but they have no right to be bringing in their slavery with 'em," replied the other. "that wouldn't be a free country, would it, with one man owning another man? not much." "that's beyond me, oscar. i suppose it's a free country only for the white man to come to. but i haven't any politics in me. hullo! there comes the rest of us driving a yoke of oxen. well, on my word, they have been quick about it. uncle charlie is a master hand at hurrying things, i will say," added sandy, admiringly. "he's done all the trading, i'll be bound!" "fifty-five dollars," replied bryant, to the boys' eager inquiry as to the price paid for the yoke of oxen. "fifty-five dollars, and not so very dear, after all, considering that there are more people who want to buy than there are who want to sell." "and now we are about ready to start; only a few more provisions to lay in. suppose we get away by to-morrow morning?" "oh, that's out of the question, uncle aleck," said oscar. "what makes you in such a hurry? why, you have all along said we need not get away from here for a week yet, if we did not want to; the grass hasn't fairly started yet, and we cannot drive far without feed for the cattle. four yoke, too," he added proudly. "the fact is, oscar," said his father, lowering his voice and looking around as if to see whether anybody was within hearing distance, "we have heard this morning that there was a raid on this place threatened from kansas city, over the border. this is the free-state headquarters in this part of the country, and it has got about that the store here is owned and run by the new england emigrant aid society. so they are threatening to raid the place, burn the settlement, run off the stock, and loot the settlers. i should like to have a company of resolute men to defend the place," and mr. bryant's eyes flashed; "but this is not our home, nor our fight, and i'm willing to 'light out' right off, or as soon as we get ready." "will they come to-night, do you think?" asked sandy, and his big blue eyes looked very big indeed. "because we can't get off until we have loaded the wagon and fixed the wheels; you said they must be greased before we travelled another mile, you know." it was agreed, however, that there was no immediate danger of the raid--certainly not that night; but all felt that it was the part of prudence to be ready to start at once; the sooner, the better. when the boys went to their blankets that night, they whispered to each other that the camp might be raided and so they should be ready for any assault that might come. sandy put his "pepper-box" under his pillow, and charlie had his trusty rifle within reach. oscar carried a double-barrelled shot-gun of which he was very proud, and that weapon, loaded with buckshot, was laid carefully by the side of his blankets. the two elders of the party "slept with one eye open," as they phrased it. but there was no alarm through the night, except once when mr. howell got up and went out to see how the cattle were getting on. he found that one of the sentinels who had been set by the quindaro company in consequence of the scare, had dropped asleep on the wagon-tongue of the dixon party. shaking him gently, he awoke the sleeping sentinel, who at once bawled, "don't shoot!" to the great consternation of the nearest campers, who came flying out of their blankets to see what was the matter. when explanations had been made, all laughed, stretched themselves, and then went to bed again to dream of missouri raiders. the sun was well up in the sky next day, when the emigrants, having completed their purchases, yoked their oxen and drove up through the settlement and ascended the rolling swale of land that lay beyond the groves skirting the river. here were camps of other emigrants who had moved out of quindaro before them, or had come down from the point on the missouri opposite parkville, in order to get on to the road that led westward and south of the kaw. it was a beautifully wooded country. when the lads admired the trees, mr. howell somewhat contemptuously said: "not much good, chiefly black-jacks and scrub-oaks"; but the woods were pleasant to drive through, and when they came upon scattered farms and plantations with comfortable log-cabins set in the midst of cultivated fields, the admiration of the party was excited. "only look, uncle charlie," cried sandy, "there's a real flower-garden full of hollyhocks and marigolds; and there's a rose-bush climbing over that log-cabin!" it was too early to distinguish one flower from another by its blooms, but sandy's sharp eyes had detected the leaves of the old-fashioned flowers that he loved so well, which he knew were only just planted in the farther northern air of their home in illinois. it was a pleasant-looking kansas home, and sandy wondered how it happened that this cosey living-place had grown up so quickly in this new territory. it looked as if it were many years old, he said. "we are still on the delaware indian reservation," replied his uncle. "the government has given the tribe a big tract of land here and away up to the kaw. they've been here for years, and they are good farmers, i should say, judging from the looks of things hereabouts." just then, as if to explain matters, a decent-looking man, dressed in the rude fashion of the frontier, but in civilized clothes, came out of the cabin, and, pipe in mouth, stared not unkindly at the passing wagon and its party. "howdy," he civilly replied to a friendly greeting from mr. howell. the boys knew that "how" was a customary salutation among indians, but "howdy" struck them as being comic; sandy laughed as he turned away his face. mr. bryant lingered while the slow-moving oxen plodded their way along the road, and the boys, too, halted to hear what the dark-skinned man had to say. but the indian--for he was a "civilized" delaware--was a man of very few words. in answer to mr. bryant's questions, he said he was one of the chiefs of the tribe; he had been to washington to settle the terms of an agreement with the government; and he had lived in that cabin six years, and on the present reservation ever since it was established. all this information came out reluctantly, and with as little use of vital breath as possible. when they had moved on out of earshot, oscar expressed his decided opinion that that settler was no more like james fenimore cooper's indians than the lovely quindaro appeared to be. "why, did you notice, father," he continued, "that he actually had on high-heeled boots? think of that! an indian with high-heeled boots! why, in cooper's novels they wear moccasins, and some of them go barefoot. these indians are not worthy of the name." "you will see more of the same sort before we get to the river," said his father. "they have a meeting-house up yonder, by the fork of the road, i am told. and, seeing that this is our first day out of camp on the last stage of our journey, suppose we stop for dinner at indian john's, aleck? it will be a change from camp-fare, and they say that john keeps a good table." to the delight of the lads, it was agreed that they should make the halt as suggested, and noon found them at a very large and comfortable "double cabin," as these peculiar structures are called. two log-cabins are built, end to end, with one roof covering the two. the passage between them is floored over, and affords an open shelter from rain and sun, and in hot weather is the pleasantest place about the establishment. indian john's cabin was built of hewn logs, nicely chinked in with slivers, and daubed with clay to keep out the wintry blasts. as is the manner of the country, one of the cabins was used for the rooms of the family, while the dining-room and kitchen were in the other end of the structure. indian john regularly furnished dinner to the stage passengers going westward from quindaro; for a public conveyance, a "mud-wagon," as it was called, had been put on this part of the road. "what a tuck-out i had!" said sandy, after a very bountiful and well-cooked dinner had been disposed of by the party. "and who would have supposed we should ever sit down to an indian's table and eat fried chicken, ham and eggs, and corn-dodger, from a regular set of blue-and-white plates, and drink good coffee from crockery cups? it just beats father dixon's indian stories all to pieces." oscar and charlie, however, were disposed to think very lightly of this sort of indian civilization. oscar said: "if these red men were either one thing or the other, i wouldn't mind it. but they have shed the gaudy trappings of the wild indian, and their new clothes do not fit very well. as grandfather bryant used to say, they are neither fish nor flesh, nor good red herring. they are a mighty uninteresting lot." "well, they are on the way to a better state of things than they have known, anyhow," said charlie. "the next generation will see them higher up, i guess. but i must say that these farms don't look very thrifty, somehow. indians are a lazy lot; they don't like work. did you notice how all those big fellows at dinner sat down with us and the stage passengers, and the poor women had to wait on everybody? that's indian." uncle charlie laughed, and said that the boys had expected to find civilized indians waiting on the table, decked out with paint and feathers, and wearing deerskin leggings and such like. "wait until we get out on the frontier," said he, "and then you will see wild indians, perhaps, or 'blanket indians,' anyhow." "blanket indians?" said sandy, with an interrogation point in his face. "yes; that's what the roving and unsettled bands are called by white folks. those that are on reservations and earning their own living, or a part of it,--for the government helps them out considerably,--are called town indians; those that live in wigwams, or tepees, and rove from place to place, subsisting on what they can catch, are blanket indians. they tell me that there are wild indians out on the western frontier. but they are not hostile; at least, they were not, at last accounts. the cheyennes have been rather uneasy, they say, since the white settlers began to pour into the country. just now i am more concerned about the white missourians than i am about the red aborigines." they were still on the delaware reservation when they camped that evening, and the boys went into the woods to gather fuel for their fire. they had not gone far, when sandy gave a wild whoop of alarm, jumping about six feet backward as he yelled, "a rattlesnake!" sure enough, an immense snake was sliding out from under a mass of brush that the boy had disturbed as he gathered an armful of dry branches and twigs. dropping his burden, sandy shouted, "kill him! kill him, quick!" the reptile was about five feet long, very thick, and of a dark mottled color. instantly, each lad had armed himself with a big stick and had attacked him. the snake, stopped in his attempt to get away, turned, and opening his ugly-looking mouth, made a curious blowing noise, half a hiss and half a cough, as charlie afterward described it. "take care, sandy! he'll spring at you, and bite you in the face! see! he's getting ready to spring!" and, indeed, the creature, frightened, and surrounded by the agile, jumping boys, each armed with a club, seemed ready to defend his life with the best weapons at his command. the boys, excited and alarmed, were afraid to come near the snake, and were dancing about, waiting for a chance to strike, when they were startled by a shot from behind them, and the snake, making one more effort to turn on himself, shuddered and fell dead. mr. howell, hearing the shouting of the boys, had run out of the camp, and with a well-directed rifle shot had laid low the reptile. "it's only a blow-snake," he said, taking the creature by the tail and holding it up to view. "he's harmless. well! of course a dead snake is harmless, but when he was alive he was not the sort of critter to be afraid of. i thought you had encountered a bear, at the very least, by the racket you made." "he's a big fellow, anyhow," said oscar, giving the snake a kick, "and sandy said he was a rattlesnake. i saw a rattler once when we lived in dixon. billy everett and i found him down on the bluff below the railroad; and he was spotted all over. besides, this fellow hasn't any rattles." "the boys have been having a lesson in natural history, charlie," said mr. howell to his brother-in-law, as they returned with him to camp, loaded with firewood; sandy, boy-like, dragging the dead blow-snake after him. chapter v. tidings from the front. supper was over, a camp-fire built (for the emigrants did their cooking by a small camp-stove, and sat by the light of a fire on the ground), when out of the darkness came sounds of advancing teams. oscar was playing his violin, trying to pick out a tune for the better singing of whittier's song of the kansas emigrants. his father raised his hand to command silence. "that's a yankee teamster, i'll be bound," he said, as the "woh-hysh! woh-haw!" of the coming party fell on his ear. "no missourian ever talks to his cattle like that." as he spoke, a long, low emigrant wagon, or "prairie schooner," drawn by three yoke of dun-colored oxen, toiled up the road. in the wagon was a faded-looking woman with two small children clinging to her. odds and ends of household furniture showed themselves over her head from within the wagon, and strapped on behind was a coop of fowls, from which came a melancholy cackle, as if the hens and chickens were weary of their long journey. a man dressed in butternut-colored homespun drove the oxen, and a boy about ten years old trudged behind the driver. in the darkness behind these tramped a small herd of cows and oxen driven by two other men, and a lad about the age of oscar bryant. the new arrivals paused in the road, surveyed our friends from illinois, stopped the herd of cattle, and then the man who was driving the wagon said, with an unmistakable new england twang, "friends?" "friends, most assuredly," said mr. bryant, with a smile. "i guess you have been having hard luck, you appear to be so suspicious." "well, we have, and that's a fact. but we're main glad to be able to camp among friends. jotham, unyoke the cattle after you have driven them into the timber a piece." he assisted the woman and children to get down from the wagon, and one of the cattle-drivers coming up, drove the team into the woods a short distance, and the tired oxen were soon lying down among the underbrush. "well, yes, we _have_ had a pretty hard time getting here. we are the last free-state men allowed over the ferry at parkville. where be you from?" "we are from lee county, illinois," replied mr. bryant. "we came in by the way of parkville, too, a day or two ago; but we stopped at quindaro. did you come direct from parkville?" [illustration: the yankee emigrant.] "yes," replied the man. "we came up the river in the first place, on the steamboat 'black eagle,' and when we got to leavenworth, a big crowd of borderers, seeing us and another lot of free-state men on the boat, refused to let us land. we had to go down the river again. the captain of the boat kicked up a great fuss about it, and wanted to put us ashore on the other side of the river; but the missouri men wouldn't have it. they put a 'committee,' as they called the two men, on board the steamboat, and they made the skipper take us down the river." "how far down did you go?" asked bryant, his face reddening with anger. "well, we told the committee that we came through ioway, and that to ioway we must go; so they rather let up on us, and set us ashore just opposite wyandotte. i was mighty 'fraid they'd make us swear we wouldn't go back into kansas some other way; but they didn't, and so we stivered along the road eastwards after they set us ashore, and then we fetched a half-circle around and got into parkville." "i shouldn't wonder if you bought those clothes that you have got on at parkville," said mr. howell, with a smile. "you guess about right," said the sad-colored stranger. "a very nice sort of a man we met at the fork of the road, as you turn off to go to parkville from the river road, told me that my clothes were too yankee. i wore 'em all the way from woburn, massachusetts, where we came from, and i hated to give 'em up. but discretion is better than valor, i have heern tell; so i made the trade, and here i am." "we had no difficulty getting across at parkville," said mr. bryant, "except that we did have to go over in the night in a sneaking fashion that i did not like." "well," answered the stranger, "as a special favor, they let us across, seeing that we had had such hard luck. that's a nice-looking fiddle you've got there, sonny," he abruptly interjected, as he took oscar's violin from his unwilling hand. "i used to play the fiddle once, myself," he added. then, drawing the bow over the strings in a light and artistic manner, he began to play "bonnie doon." "come, john," his wife said wearily, "it's time the children were under cover. let go the fiddle until we've had supper." john reluctantly handed back the violin, and the newcomers were soon in the midst of their preparations for the night's rest. later on in the evening, john clark, as the head of the party introduced himself, came over to the dixon camp, and gave them all the news. clark was one of those who had been helped by the new england emigrant aid society, an organization with headquarters in the eastern states, and with agents in the west. he had been fitted out at council bluffs, iowa, but for some unexplained reason had wandered down as far south as kansas city, and there had boarded the "black eagle" with his family and outfit. one of the two men with him was his brother; the other was a neighbor who had cast in his lot with him. the tall lad was john clark's nephew. in one way or another, clark had managed to pick up much gossip about the country and what was going on. at tecumseh, where they would be due in a day or two if they continued on this road, an election for county officers was to be held soon, and the missourians were bound to get in there and carry the election. clark thought they had better not go straight forward into danger. they could turn off, and go west by way of topeka. "why, that would be worse than going to tecumseh," interjected charlie, who had modestly kept out of the discussion. "topeka is the free-state capital, and they say that there is sure to be a big battle there, sooner or later." but mr. bryant resolved that he would go west by the way of tecumseh, no matter if fifty thousand borderers were encamped there. he asked the stranger if he had in view any definite point; to which clark replied that he had been thinking of going up the little blue; he had heard that there was plenty of good vacant land there, and the land office would open soon. he had intended, he said, to go to manhattan, and start from there; but since they had been so cowardly as to change the name of the place, he had "rather soured on it." "manhattan?" exclaimed charlie, eagerly. "where is that place? we have asked a good many people, but nobody can tell us." "good reason why; they've gone and changed the name. it used to be boston, but the settlers around there were largely from missouri. the company were eastern men, and when they settled on the name of boston, it got around that they were all abolitionists; and so they changed it to manhattan. why they didn't call it new york, and be done with it, is more than i can tell. but it was boston, and it is manhattan; and that's all i want to know about _that_ place." mr. bryant was equally sure that he did not want to have anything to do with a place that had changed its name through fear of anybody or anything. next day there was a general changing of minds, however. it was sunday, and the emigrants, a god-fearing and reverent lot of people, did not move out of camp. others had come in during the night, for this was a famous camping-place, well known throughout all the region. here were wood, water, and grass, the three requisites for campers, as they had already found. the country was undulating, interlaced with creeks; and groves of black-jack, oak, and cottonwood were here and there broken by open glades that would be smiling fields some day, but were now wild native grasses. there was a preacher in the camp, a good man from new england, who preached about the pilgrim's progress through the world, and the trials he meets by the way. oscar pulled his father's sleeve, and asked why he did not ask the preacher to give out "the kansas emigrant's song" as a hymn. mr. bryant smiled, and whispered that it was hardly likely that the lines would be considered just the thing for a religious service. but after the preaching was over, and the little company was breaking up, he told the preacher what oscar had said. the minister's eyes sparkled, and he replied, "what? have you that beautiful hymn? let us have it now and here. nothing could be better for this day and this time." oscar, blushing with excitement and native modesty, was put up high on the stump of a tree, and, violin in hand, "raised the tune." it was grand old "dundee." almost everybody seemed to know the words of whittier's poem, and beneath the blue kansas sky, amid the groves of kansas trees, the sturdy, hardy men and the few pale women joyfully, almost tearfully, sang,-- we crossed the prairie, as of old the pilgrims crossed the sea, to make the west, as they the east, the homestead of the free! we go to rear a wall of men on freedom's southern line, and plant beside the cotton-tree the rugged northern pine! we're flowing from our native hills as our free rivers flow; the blessing of our mother-land is on us as we go. we go to plant her common schools on distant prairie swells, and give the sabbaths of the wild the music of her bells. upbearing, like the ark of old, the bible in our van, we go to test the truth of god against the fraud of man. no pause, nor rest, save where the streams that feed the kansas run, save where our pilgrim gonfalon shall flout the setting sun! we'll tread the prairie as of old our fathers sailed the sea, and make the west, as they the east, the homestead of the free! "it was good to be there," said alexander howell, his hand resting lovingly on oscar's shoulder, as they went back to camp. but oscar's father said never a word. his face was turned to the westward, where the sunlight was fading behind the hills of the far-off frontier of the promised land. [illustration: oscar was put up high on the stump of a tree, and, violin in hand, "raised the tune."] the general opinion gathered that day was that they who wanted to fight for freedom might better go to lawrence, or to topeka. those who were bent on finding homes for themselves and little ones should press on further to the west, where there was land in plenty to be had for the asking, or, rather, for the pre-empting. so, when monday morning came, wet, murky, and depressing, bryant surrendered to the counsels of his brother-in-law and the unspoken wish of the boys, and agreed to go on to the newly-surveyed lands on the tributaries of the kaw. they had heard good reports of the region lying westward of manhattan and fort riley. the town that had changed its name was laid out at the confluence of the kaw and the big blue. fort riley was some eighteen or twenty miles to the westward, near the junction of the streams that form the kaw, known as smoky hill fork and the republican fork. on one or the other of these forks, the valleys of which were said to be fertile and beautiful beyond description, the emigrants would find a home. so, braced and inspired by the consciousness of having a definite and settled plan, the dixon party set forth on monday morning, through the rain and mist, with faces to the westward. chapter vi. westward ho! the following two or three days were wet and uncomfortable. rain fell in torrents at times, and when it did not rain the ground was steamy, and the emigrants had a hard time to find spots dry enough on which to make up their beds at night. this was no holiday journey, and the boys, too proud to murmur, exchanged significant nods and winks when they found themselves overtaken by the discomforts of camping and travelling in the storm. for the most part, they kept in camp during the heaviest of the rain. they found that the yokes of the oxen chafed the poor animals' necks when wet. and then the mud! nobody had ever seen such mud, they thought, not even on the black and greasy fat lands of an illinois prairie. sometimes the wagon sunk in the road, cut up by innumerable wheels, so that the hubs of their wheels were almost even with the surface, and it was with the greatest difficulty that their four yoke of oxen dragged the wagon from its oozy bed. at times, too, they were obliged to unhitch their team and help out of a mud-hole some other less fortunate brother wayfarer, whose team was not so powerful as their own. one unlucky day, fording a narrow creek with steep banks, they had safely got across, when they encountered a slippery incline up which the oxen could not climb; it was "as slippery as a glare of ice," charlie said, and the struggling cattle sank nearly to their knees in their frantic efforts to reach the top of the bank. the wagon had been "blocked up," that is to say, the wagon-box raised in its frame or bed above the axles, with blocks driven underneath, to lift it above the level of the stream. as the vehicle was dragged out of the creek, the leading yoke of cattle struggling up the bank and then slipping back again, the whole team of oxen suddenly became panic-stricken, as it were, and rushed back to the creek in wild confusion. the wagon twisted upon itself, and cramped together, creaked, groaned, toppled, and fell over in a heap, its contents being shot out before and behind into the mud and water. "great scott!" yelled sandy. "let me stop those cattle!" whereupon the boy dashed through the water, and, running around the hinder end of the wagon, he attempted to head off the cattle. but the animals, having gone as far as they could without breaking their chains or the wagon-tongue, which fortunately held, stood sullenly by the side of the wreck they had made, panting with their exertions. "here is a mess!" said his father; but, without more words, he unhitched the oxen and drove them up the bank. the rest of the party hastily picked up the articles that were drifting about, or were lodged in the mud of the creek. it was a sorry sight, and the boys forgot, in the excitement of the moment, the discomforts and annoyances of their previous experiences. this was a real misfortune. but while oscar and sandy were excitedly discussing what was next to be done, mr. howell took charge of things; the wagon was righted, and a party of emigrants, camped in a grove of cottonwoods just above the ford, came down with ready offers of help. eight yoke of cattle instead of four were now hitched to the wagon, and, to use the expressive language of the west, the outfit was "snaked" out of the hole in double-quick time. "ho, ho, ho! uncle charlie," laughed sandy, "you look as if you had been dragged through a slough. you are just painted with mud from top to toe. well, i never did see such a looking scarecrow!" "it's lucky you haven't any looking-glass here, young impudence. if you could see your mother's boy now, you wouldn't know him. talk about looks! take a look at the youngster, mates," said uncle charlie, bursting into a laugh. a general roar followed the look, for sandy's appearance was indescribable. in his wild rush through the waters of the creek, he had covered himself from head to foot, and the mud from the wagon had painted his face a brilliant brown; for there is more or less of red oxide of iron in the mud of kansas creeks. it was a doleful party that pitched its tent that night on the banks of soldier creek and attempted to dry clothes and provisions by the feeble heat of a little sheet-iron stove. only sandy, the irrepressible and unconquerable sandy, preserved his good temper through the trying experience. "it is a part of the play," he said, "and anybody who thinks that crossing the prairie, 'as of old the pilgrims crossed the sea,' is a sunday-school picnic, might better try it with the dixon emigrants; that's all." but, after a very moist and disagreeable night, the sky cleared in the morning. oscar was out early, looking at the sky; and when he shouted "westward ho!" with a stentorian voice, everybody came tumbling out to see what was the matter. a long line of white-topped wagons with four yoke of oxen to each, eleven teams all told, was stringing its way along the muddy road in which the red sun was reflected in pools of red liquid mud. the wagons were overflowing with small children; coops of fowls swung from behind, and a general air of thriftiness seemed to be characteristic of the company. "which way are you bound?" asked oscar, cheerily. "up the smoky hill fork," replied one of the ox-drivers. "solomon's fork, perhaps, but somewhere in that region, anyway." one of the company lingered behind to see what manner of people these were who were so comfortably camped out in a wall-tent. when he had satisfied his curiosity, he explained that his companions had come from northern ohio, and were bound to lay out a town of their own in the smoky hill region. oscar, who listened while his father drew this information from the stranger, recalled the fact that the smoky hill and the republican forks were the branches of the kaw. solomon's fork, he now learned, was one of the tributaries of the smoky hill, nearer to the republican fork than to the main stream. so he said to his father, when the ohio man had passed on: "if they settle on solomon's fork, won't they be neighbors of ours, daddy?" mr. bryant took out a little map of the territory that he had in his knapsack, and, after some study, made up his mind that the newcomers would not be "neighbors enough to hurt," if they came no nearer the republican than solomon's fork. about thirty-five miles west and south of fort riley, which is at the junction of the smoky hill and the republican, solomon's fork branches off to the northwest. settlers anywhere along that line would not be nearer the other fork than eighteen or twenty miles at the nearest. charlie and sandy agreed with oscar that it was quite as near as desirable neighbors should be. the lads were already learning something of the spirit of the west. they had heard of the man who had moved westward when another settler drove his stakes twenty miles from his claim, because the country was "gettin' too crowded." that day, passing through the ragged log village of tecumseh, they got their first letters from home. when they left illinois, they had not known just where they would strike, in the territory, but they had resolved that they would not go further west than tecumseh; and here they were, with their eyes still fixed toward the west. no matter; just now, news from home was to be devoured before anybody could talk of the possible kansas home that yet loomed before them in the dim distance. how good it was to learn all about the dear ones left at home; to find that bose was keeping guard around the house as if he knew that he was the protector of the two mothers left to themselves in one home; to hear that the brindle calf had grown very large, and that a circus was coming to town the very next day after the letter was written! "that circus has come and gone without our seeing it," said sandy, solemnly. "sandy is as good as a circus, any day," said his uncle, fondly. "the greatest show in the country would have been willing to hire you for a sight, fixed out as you were last night, after we had that upset in the creek." the boys agreed that it was lucky for all hands that the only looking-glass in camp was the little bit of one hidden away in uncle charlie's shaving-case. the next day, to their great discomfiture, they blundered upon a county election. trudging into libertyville, one of the new mushroom towns springing up along the military road that leads from fort leavenworth to fort riley, they found a great crowd of people gathered around a log-house in which the polls were open. country officers were to be chosen, and the pro-slavery men, as the borderers were now called in this part of the country, had rallied in great numbers to carry the election for their men. all was confusion and tumult. rough-looking men, well armed and generally loud voiced, with slouched hats and long beards, were galloping about, shouting and making all the noise possible, for no purpose that could be discovered. "hooray for cap'n pate!" was the only intelligible cry that the newcomers could hear; but who captain pate was, and why he should be hurrahed for, nobody seemed to know. he was not a candidate for anything. "hullo! there's our woburn friend, john clark," said mr. howell. sure enough, there he was with a vote in his hand going up to the cabin where the polls were open. a lane was formed through the crowd of men who lounged about the cabin, so that a man going up to the door to vote was obliged to run the gauntlet, as it were, of one hundred men, or more, before he reached the door, the lower half of which was boarded up and the upper half left open for the election officers to take and deposit the ballots. "i don't believe that man has any right to vote here," said charlie, with an expression of disgust on his face. "why, he came into the territory with us, only the other day, and he said he was going up on the big blue to settle, and here he is trying to vote!" "well," said uncle charlie, "i allow he has just as good a right to vote as any of these men who are running the election. i saw some of these very men come riding in from missouri, when we were one day out of quindaro." as he spoke, john clark had reached the voting-place, pursued by many rough epithets flung after him. he paused before the half-barricaded door and presented his ballot. "let's see yer ticket!" shouted one of the men who stood guard, one either side of the cabin-door. he snatched it from clark's hand, looked at it, and simply said, "h'ist!" the man on the other side of the would-be voter grinned; then both men seized the woburn man by his arms and waist, and, before he could realize what was happening, he was flung up to the edge of the roof that projected over the low door. two other men sitting there grabbed the newcomer by the shoulders and passed him up the roof to two others, who, straddling the ridge-pole, were waiting for him. then the unfortunate clark disappeared over the top of the cabin, sliding down out of sight on the farther side. the mob set up a wild cheer, and some of them shouted, "we don't want any yankee votes in this yer 'lection!" "shameful! shameful!" burst forth from mr. bryant. "i have heard of such things before now, but i must say i never thought i should see it." he turned angrily to his brother-in-law as mr. howell joined the boys in their laugh. "how can you laugh at such a shameful sight, aleck howell? i'm sure it's something to cry over, rather than to laugh at--a spectacle like that! a free american citizen hustled away from the polls in that disgraceful fashion!" "but, charlie," said uncle aleck, "you'll admit that it was funny to see the woburn man hoisted over that cabin. besides, i don't believe he has any right to vote here; do you?" "he would have been allowed to vote fast enough if he had had the sort of ballot that those fellows want to go into the box. they looked at his ballot, and as soon as they saw what it was, they threw him over the cabin." [illustration: the polls at libertyville. the woburn man is "hoisted" over the cabin.] just then, john clark came back from the ravine into which he had slid from the roof of the log-house, looking very much crestfallen. he explained that he had met some pro-slavery men on the road that morning, and they had told him he could vote, if he chose, and they had furnished him with the necessary ballot. "they took in my clothes at a glance," said clark, "and they seemed to suppose that a man with butternut homespun was true-blue; so they didn't ask any questions. i got a free-state ballot from another man and was a-goin' to plump it in; but they were too smart for me, and over i went. no, don't you worry; i ain't a-goin' up there to try it ag'in," he said, angrily, to an insolent horseman, who, riding up, told him not to venture near the polls again if he "did not want to be kicked out like a dog." "come on, neighbor; let's be goin'," he said to uncle aleck. "i've had enough voting for to-day. let's light out of this town." then the men, taking up their ox-goads, drove out of town. they had had their first sight of the struggle for freedom. chapter vii. at the dividing of the ways. the military road, of which i have just spoken, was constructed by the united states government to connect the military posts of the far west with one another. beginning at fort leavenworth, on the missouri river, it passed through fort riley at the junction of the forks of the kaw, and then, still keeping up the north side of the republican fork, went on to fort kearney, still farther west, then to fort laramie, which in those days was so far on the frontier of our country that few people ever saw it except military men and the emigrants to california. at the time of which i am writing, there had been a very heavy emigration to california, and companies of emigrants, bound to the golden land, still occasionally passed along the great military road. interlacing this highway were innumerable trails and wagon-tracks, the traces of the great migration to the eldorado of the pacific; and here and there were the narrow trails made by indians on their hunting expeditions and warlike excursions. roads, such as our emigrants had been accustomed to in illinois, there were none. first came the faint traces of human feet and of unshod horses and ponies; then the well-defined trail of hunters, trappers, and indians; then the wagon-track of the military trains, which, in course of time, were smoothed and formed into the military road kept in repair by the united states government. following this road, the dixon emigrants came upon the broad, bright, and shallow stream of the big blue. fording this, they drove into the rough, new settlement of manhattan, lately built at the junction of the blue and the kaw rivers. it was a beautiful may day when the travellers entered manhattan. it was an active and a promising town. some attempt at the laying out of streets had been made. a long, low building, occupied as a hotel, was actually painted, and on some of the shanties and rude huts of the newly arrived settlers were signs giving notice of hardware, groceries, and other commodities for sale within. on one structure, partly made of sawed boards and partly of canvas, was painted in sprawling letters, "counsellor at law." "you'll find those fellows out in the indian country," grimly remarked one of the settlers, as the party surveyed this evidence of an advancing civilization. there was a big steam saw-mill hard by the town, and the chief industry of manhattan seemed to be the buying and selling of lumber and hardware, and the surveying of land. mounted men, carrying the tools and instruments of the surveyor, galloped about. few wheeled vehicles except the ox-carts of emigrants were to be seen anywhere, and the general aspect of the place was that of feverish activity. along the banks of the two streams were camped parties of the latest comers, many of whom had brought their wives and children with them. parties made up of men only seldom came as far west as this. they pitched their tents nearer the missouri, where the fight for freedom raged most hotly. a few companies of men did reach the westernmost edge of the new settlements, and the manhattan company was one of these. the three boys from illinois were absorbed with wonder as they strolled around the new town, taking in the novel sights, as they would if they had been in a great city, instead of a mushroom town that had arisen in a night. during their journey from libertyville to manhattan, the dixon emigrants had lost sight of john clark, of woburn; he had hurried on ahead after his rough experience with the election guardians of libertyville. the boys were wondering if he had reached manhattan. "hullo! there he is now, with all his family around him," said charlie. "he's got here before us, and can tell all about the lay of the land to the west of us, i dare say." "i have about made up my mind to squat on hunter's creek," said clark, when the boys had saluted him. "pretty good land on hunter's, so i am told; no neighbors, and the land has been surveyed off by the government surveyors. hunter's creek? well, that's about six miles above the fort. it makes into the republican, and, so they tell me, there's plenty of wood along the creek, and a good lot of oak and hickory not far off. timber is what we all want, you know." as for bartlett, who had come out from new england with the clarks, he was inclined to go to the lower side of the republican fork, taking to the smoky hill country. that was the destination of the jenness party, who had passed the dixon boys when they were camped after their upset in the creek, several days before. this would leave the clarks--john and his wife and two children, and his brother jotham, and jotham's boy, pelatiah--to make a settlement by themselves on hunter's creek. which way were the dixon boys going? charlie, the spokesman of the party because he was the eldest, did not know. his father and uncle were out prospecting among the campers now. sandy was sure that they would go up the republican fork. his father had met one of the settlers from that region, and had been very favorably impressed with his report. this republican fork man was an arkansas man, but "a good fellow," so sandy said. to be a good fellow, according to sandy's way of putting things, was to be worthy of all confidence and esteem. mr. bryant thought that as there were growing rumors of troublesome indians, it would be better to take the southern or smoky hill route; the bulk of the settlers were going that way, and where there were large numbers there would be safety. while the lads were talking with the clarks, bryant and his brother-in-law came up, and, after greeting their former acquaintance and ascertaining whither he was bound, mr. howell told the boys that they had been discussing the advantages of the two routes with younkins, the settler from republican fork, and had decided to go on to "the post," as fort riley was generally called, and there decide which way they should go--to the right or to the left. as to the clarks, they were determined to take the trail for hunter's creek that very day. bartlett decided to go to the smoky hill country. he cast in his lot with a party of western men, who had heard glowing reports of the fertility and beauty of the region lying along solomon's fork, a tributary of the smoky hill. it was in this way that parties split up after they had entered the promised land. leaving the clarks to hitch up their teams and part company with bartlett, the dixon party returned to their camp, left temporarily in the care of younkins, who had come to manhattan for a few supplies, and who had offered to guide the others to a desirable place for settlement which he told them he had in mind for them. younkins was a kindly and pleasant-faced man, simple in his speech and frontier-like in his manners. sandy conceived a strong liking for him as soon as they met. the boy and the man were friends at once. "well, you see," said younkins, sitting down on the wagon-tongue, when the party had returned to their camp, "i have been thinking over-like the matter that we were talking about, and i have made up my mind-like that i sha'n't move back to my claim on the south side of the republican. i'm on the north side, you know, and my old claim on the south side will do just right for my brother ben; he's coming out in the fall. now if you want to go up our way, you can have the cabin on that claim. there's nobody living in it. it's no great of a cabin, but it's built of hewed timber, well chinked and comfortable-like. you can have it till ben comes out, and i'm just a-keeping it for ben, you know. p'raps he won't want it, and if he doesn't, why, then you and he can make some kind of a dicker-like, and you might stay on till you could do better." "that's a very generous offer of mr. younkins's, charles," said mr. howell to bryant. "i don't believe we could do better than take it up." "no, indeed," burst in the impetuous sandy. "why, just think of it! a house already built!" "little boys should be seen, not heard," said his elder brother, reprovingly. "suppose you and i wait to see what the old folks have to say before we chip in with any remarks." "oh, i know what uncle charlie will say," replied the lad, undismayed. "he'll say that the smoky hill road is the road to take. say, uncle charlie, you see that mr. younkins here is willing to live all alone on the bank of the republican fork, without any neighbors at all. he isn't afraid of indians." mr. bryant smiled, and said that he was not afraid of indians, but he thought that there might come a time when it would be desirable for a community to stand together as one man. "are you a free-state man?" he asked younkins. this was a home-thrust. younkins came from a slave state; he was probably a pro-slavery man. "i'm neither a free-state man nor yet a pro-slavery man," he said, slowly, and with great deliberation. "i'm just for younkins all the time. fact is," he continued, "where i came from most of us are pore whites. i never owned but one darky, and i had him from my grandfather. ben and me, we sorter quarrelled-like over that darky. ben, he thought he oughter had him, and i knowed my grandfather left him to me. so i sold him off, and the neighbors didn't seem to like it. i don't justly know why they didn't like it; but they didn't. then ben, he allowed that i had better light out. so i lit out, and here i am. no, i'm no free-state man, and then ag'in, i'm no man for slavery. i'm just for younkins. solomon younkins is my name." bryant was very clearly prejudiced in favor of the settler from the republican fork by this speech; and yet he thought it best to move on to the fort that day and take the matter into consideration. so he said that if younkins would accept the hospitality of their tent, the dixon party would be glad to have him pass the night with them. younkins had a horse on which he had ridden down from his place, and with which he had intended to reach home that night. but, for the sake of inducing the new arrivals to go up into his part of the country, he was willing to stay. "i should think you would be afraid to leave your wife and baby all alone there in the wilderness," said sandy, regarding his new friend with evident admiration. "no neighbor nearer than hunter's creek, did you say? how far off is that?" "well, a matter of six miles-like," replied younkins. "it isn't often that i do leave them alone over night; but then i have to once in a while. my old woman, she doesn't mind it. she was sort of skeary-like when she first came into the country; but she's got used to it. we don't want any neighbors. if you folks come up to settle, you'll be on the other side of the river," he said, with unsmiling candor. "that's near enough--three or four miles, anyway." fort riley is about ten miles from manhattan, at the forks of the kaw. it was a long drive for one afternoon; but the settlers from illinois camped on the edge of the military reservation that night. when the boys, curious to see what the fort was like, looked over the premises next morning, they were somewhat disappointed to find that the post was merely a quadrangle of buildings constructed of rough-hammered stone. a few frame houses were scattered about. one of these was the sutler's store, just on the edge of the reservation. but, for the most part, the post consisted of two- or three-story buildings arranged in the form of a hollow square. these were barracks, officers' quarters, and depots for the storage of military supplies and army equipments. "why, this is no fort!" said oscar, contemptuously. "there isn't even a stockade. what's to prevent a band of indians raiding through the whole place? i could take it myself, if i had men enough." his cousin charlie laughed, and said: "forts are not built out here nowadays to defend a garrison. the army men don't propose to let the indians get near enough to the post to threaten it. the fact is, i guess, this fort is only a depot-like, as our friend younkins would say, for the soldiers and for military stores. they don't expect ever to be besieged here; but if there should happen to be trouble anywhere along the frontier, then the soldiers would be here, ready to fly out to the rescue, don't you see?" "yes," answered sandy; "and when a part of the garrison had gone to the rescue, as you call it, another party of redskins would swoop down and gobble up the remnant left at the post." "if i were you, master sandy," said his brother, "i wouldn't worry about the soldiers. uncle sam built this fort, and there are lots of others like it. i don't know for sure, but my impression is that uncle sam knows what is best for the use of the military and for the defence of the frontier. so let's go and take a look at the sutler's store. i want to buy some letter-paper." the sutler, in those days, was a very important person in the estimation of the soldiers of a frontier post. under a license from the war department of the government, he kept a store in which was everything that the people at the post could possibly need. crowded into the long building of the fort riley sutler were dry-goods, groceries, hardware, boots and shoes, window-glass, rope and twine, and even candy of a very poor sort. hanging from the ceiling of this queer warehouse were sides of smoked meat, strings of onions, oilcloth suits, and other things that were designed for the comfort or convenience of the officers and soldiers, and were not provided by the government. "i wonder what soldiers want of calico and ribbons," whispered sandy, with a suppressed giggle, as the three lads went prying about. "officers and soldiers have their wives and children here, you greeny," said his brother, sharply. "look out there and see 'em." and, sure enough, as sandy's eyes followed the direction of his brother's, he saw two prettily dressed ladies and a group of children walking over the smooth turf that filled the square in the midst of the fort. it gave sandy a homesick feeling, this sight of a home in the wilderness. here were families of grown people and children, living apart from the rest of the world. they had been here long before the echo of civil strife in kansas had reached the eastern states, and before the first wave of emigration had touched the head-waters of the kaw. here they were, a community by themselves, uncaring, apparently, whether slavery was voted up or down. at least, some such thought as this flitted through sandy's mind as he looked out upon the leisurely life of the fort, just beginning to stir. all along the outer margin of the reservation were grouped the camps of emigrants; not many of them, but enough to present a curious and picturesque sight. there were a few tents, but most of the emigrants slept in or under their wagons. there were no women or children in these camps, and the hardy men had been so well seasoned by their past experiences, journeying to this far western part of the territory, that they did not mind the exposure of sleeping on the ground and under the open skies. soldiers from the fort, off duty and curious to hear the news from the outer world, came lounging around the camps and chatted with the emigrants in that cool, superior manner that marks the private soldier when he meets a civilian on equal footing, away from the haunts of men. the boys regarded these uniformed military servants of the government of the united states with great respect, and even with some awe. these, they thought to themselves, were the men who were there to fight indians, to protect the border, and to keep back the rising tide of wild hostilities that might, if it were not for them, sweep down upon the feeble territory and even inundate the whole western country. "perhaps some of black hawk's descendants are among the indians on this very frontier," said oscar, impressively. "and these gold-laced chaps, with shoulder-straps on, are the zack taylors and the robert andersons who do the fighting," added charlie, with a laugh. making a few small purchases from the surly sutler of fort riley, and then canvassing with the emigrants around the reservation the question of routes and locations, our friends passed the forenoon. the elders of the party had anxiously discussed the comparative merits of the smoky hill and the republican fork country and had finally yielded to the attractions of a cabin ready-built in younkins's neighborhood, with a garden patch attached, and had decided to go in that direction. "this is simply bully!" said sandy howell, as the little caravan turned to the right and drove up the north bank of the republican fork. chapter viii. the settlers at home. a wide, shallow river, whose turbid waters were yellow with the freshets of early summer, shadowed by tall and sweeping cottonwoods and water-maples; shores gently sloping to the current, save where a tall and rocky bluff broke the prospect up stream; thickets of oaks, alders, sycamores, and persimmons--this was the scene on which the illinois emigrants arrived, as they journeyed to their new home in the far west. on the north bank of the river, only a few hundred rods from the stream, was the log-cabin of younkins. it was built on the edge of a fine bit of timber land, in which oaks and hickories were mingled with less valuable trees. near by the cabin, and hugging closely up to it, was a thrifty field of corn and other garden stuff, just beginning to look promising of good things to come; and it was a refreshing sight here in the wilderness, for all around was the virgin forest and the unbroken prairie. younkins's wife, a pale, sallow, and anxious-looking woman, and younkins's baby boy, chubby and open-eyed, welcomed the strangers without much show of feeling other than a natural curiosity. with western hospitality, the little cabin was found large enough to receive all the party, and the floor was covered with blankets and buffalo-skins when they lay down to sleep their first night near their future home in the country of the republican fork. the boys were very happy that their journey was at an end. they had listened with delight while younkins told stories of buffalo and antelope hunting, of indian "scares," and of the many queer adventures of settlers on this distant frontier. "what is there west of this?" asked charlie, as the party were dividing the floor and the shallow loft among themselves for the night. "nothing but indians and buffalo," said younkins, sententiously. "no settlers anywhere?" cried sandy, eagerly. "the next settlement west of here, if you can call it a settlement, is fort kearney, on the other side of the platte. from here to there, there isn't so much as a hunter's camp, so far as i know." this was younkins's last word, as he tumbled, half dressed, into his bunk in one corner of the cabin. sandy hugged his brother charlie before he dropped off to sleep, and whispered in his ear, "we're on the frontier at last! it's just splendid!" next day, leaving their cattle and wagon at the younkins homestead, the party, piloted by their good-natured future neighbor, forded the fork and went over into the promised land. the river was rather high as yet; for the snow, melting in the far-off rocky mountains as the summer advanced, had swollen all the tributaries of the republican fork, and the effects of the rise were to be seen far down on the kaw. the newcomers were initiated into the fashion of the country by younkins, who directed each one to take off all clothes but his shirt and hat. then their garments were rolled up in bundles, each man and boy taking his own on his head, and wading deliberately into the water, the sedate younkins being the leader. it seemed a little dangerous. the stream was about one hundred rods wide, and the current was tolerably swift, swollen by the inrush of smaller streams above. the water was cold, and made an ominous swishing and gurgling among the underbrush that leaned into the margin of the river. in indian file, mr. howell bringing up the rear, and keeping his eyes anxiously upon the lads before him, they all crossed in safety, sandy, the shortest of the party, being unable to keep dry the only garment he had worn, for the water came well up under his arms. "well, that was funny, anyhow," he blithely remarked, as he wrung the water out of his shirt, and, drying himself as well as he could, dressed and joined the rest of the party in the trip toward their future home. along the lower bank of the republican fork, where the new settlers now found themselves, the country is gently undulating. bordering the stream they saw a dense growth of sycamores, cottonwoods, and birches. some of these trees were tall and handsome, and the general effect on the minds of the newcomers was delightful. after they had emerged from the woods that skirted the river, they were in the midst of a lovely rolling prairie, the forest on the right; on their left was a thick growth of wood that marked the winding course of a creek which, rising far to the west, emptied into the republican fork at a point just below where the party had forded the stream. the land rose gradually from the point nearest the ford, breaking into a low, rocky bluff beyond at their right and nearest the river, a mile away, and rolling off to the southwest in folds and swales. just at the foot of the little bluff ahead, with a background of trees, was a log-cabin of hewn timber, weather-stained and gray in the summer sun, absolutely alone, and looking as if lost in this untrodden wild. pointing to it, younkins said, "that's your house so long as you want it." the emigrants tramped through the tall, lush grass that covered every foot of the new kansas soil, their eyes fixed eagerly on the log-cabin before them. the latch-string hung out hospitably from the door of split "shakes," and the party entered without ado. everything was just as younkins had last left it. two or three gophers, disturbed in their foraging about the premises, fled swiftly at the entrance of the visitors, and a flock of blackbirds, settled around the rear of the house, flew noisily across the creek that wound its way down to the fork. the floor was of puncheons split from oak logs, and laid loosely on rough-hewn joists. these rattled as the visitors walked over them. at one end of the cabin a huge fireplace of stone laid in clay yawned for the future comfort of the new tenants. near by, a rude set of shelves suggested a pantry, and a table, home-made and equally rude, stood in the middle of the floor. in one corner was built a bedstead, two sides of the house furnishing two sides of the work, and the other two being made by driving a stake into the floor, and connecting that by string-pieces to the sides of the cabin. thongs of buffalo-hide formed the bottom of this novel bedstead. a few stools and short benches were scattered about. near the fireplace long and strong pegs, driven into the logs, served as a ladder, on which one could climb to the low loft overhead. two windows, each of twelve small panes of glass, let in the light, one from the end of the cabin, and one from the back opposite the door, which was in the middle of the front. outside, a frail shanty of shakes leaned against the cabin, affording a sort of outdoor kitchen for summer use. "so this is home," said charlie, gazing about. "what will mother say to this--if she ever gets here?" "well, we've taken a heap of comfort here, my old woman and me," said younkins, looking around quickly, and with an air of surprise. "it's a mighty comfortable house; leastways we think so." charlie apologized for having seemed to cast any discredit on the establishment. only he said that he did not suppose that his mother knew much about log-cabins. as for himself, he would like nothing better than this for a home for a long time to come. "for," he added, roguishly, "you know we have come to make the west, 'as they the east, the homestead of the free.'" mr. younkins looked puzzled, but made no remark. the younger boys, after taking in the situation and fondly inspecting every detail of the premises, enthusiastically agreed that nothing could be finer than this. they darted out of doors, and saw a corral, or pound, in which the cattle could be penned up, in case of need. there was a small patch of fallow ground, that needed only to be spaded up to become a promising garden-spot. then, swiftly running to the top of the little bluff beyond, they gazed over the smiling panorama of emerald prairie, laced with woody creeks, level fields, as yet undisturbed by the ploughshare, blue, distant woods and yet more distant hills, among which, to the northwest, the broad river wound and disappeared. westward, nothing was to be seen but the green and rolling swales of the virgin prairie, broken here and there by an outcropping of rock. and as they looked, a tawny, yellowish creature trotted out from behind a roll of the prairie, sniffed in the direction of the boys, and then stealthily disappeared in the wildness of the vast expanse. [illustration: the settlers' first home in the deserted cabin.] "a coyote," said sandy, briefly. "i've seen them in illinois. but i wish i had my gun now." his wiser brother laughed as he told him that it would be a long day before a coyote could be got near enough to be knocked over with any shot-gun. the coyote, or prairie-wolf, is the slyest animal that walks on four legs. the three men and charlie returned to the further side of the fork, and made immediate preparations to move all their goods and effects to the new home of the emigrants. sandy and oscar, being rather too small to wade the stream without discomfort, while it was so high, were left on the south bank to receive the returning party. there the boys sat, hugely enjoying the situation, while the others were loading the wagon and yoking the oxen on the other side. the lads could hear the cheery sounds of the men talking, although they could not see them through the trees that lined the farther bank of the river. the flow of the stream made a ceaseless lapping against the brink of the shore. a party of catbirds quarrelled sharply in the thicket hard by; quail whistled in the underbrush of the adjacent creek, and overhead a solitary eagle circled slowly around as if looking down to watch these rude invaders of the privacy of the dominion that had existed ever since the world began. hugging his knees in measureless content, as they sat in the grass by the river, sandy asked, almost in a whisper, "have you ever been homesick since we left dixon, oscar?" "just once, sandy; and that was yesterday when i saw those nice-looking ladies at the fort out walking in the morning with their children. that was the first sight that looked like home since we crossed the missouri." "me, too," answered sandy, soberly. "but this is just about as fine as anything can be. only think of it, oscar! there are buffalo and antelopes within ten or fifteen miles of here. i know, for younkins told me so. and indians,--not wild indians, but tame ones that are at peace with the whites. it seems too good to have happened to us; doesn't it, oscar?" once more the wagon was blocked up for a difficult ford, the lighter and more perishable articles of its load being packed into a dugout, or canoe hollowed from a sycamore log, which was the property of younkins, and used only at high stages of the water. the three men guided the wagon and oxen across while charlie, stripped to his shirt, pushed the loaded dugout carefully over, and the two boys on the other bank, full of the importance of the event, received the solitary voyager, unloaded the canoe, and then transferred the little cargo to the wagon. the caravan took its way up the rolling ground of the prairie to the log-cabin. willing hands unloaded and took into the house the tools, provisions, and clothes that constituted their all, and, before the sun went down, the settlers were at home. while in manhattan, they had supplied themselves with potatoes; at fort riley they had bought fresh beef from the sutler. sandy made a glorious fire in the long-disused fireplace. his father soon had a batch of biscuits baking in the covered kettle, or dutch oven, that they had brought with them from home. charlie's contribution to the repast was a pot of excellent coffee, the milk for which, an unaccustomed luxury, was supplied by the thoughtfulness of mrs. younkins. so, with thankful hearts, they gathered around their frugal board and took their first meal in their new home. when supper was done and the cabin, now lighted by the scanty rays of two tallow candles, had been made tidy for the night, oscar took out his violin, and, after much needed tuning, struck into the measure of wild, warbling "dundee." all hands took the hint, and all voices were raised once more to the words of whittier's song of the "kansas emigrants." perhaps it was with new spirit and new tenderness that they sang,-- "no pause, nor rest, save where the streams that feed the kansas run, save where the pilgrim gonfalon shall flout the setting sun!" "i don't know what the pilgrim's gonfalon is," said sandy, sleepily, "but i guess it's all right." the emigrants had crossed the prairies as of old their father had crossed the sea. they were now at home in the new west. the night fell dark and still about their lonely cabin as, with hope and trust, they laid them down to peaceful dreams. chapter ix. setting the stakes. "we mustn't let any grass grow under our feet, boys," was mr. aleck howell's energetic remark, next morning, when the little party had finished their first breakfast in their new home. "that means work, i s'pose," replied oscar, turning a longing glance to his violin hanging on the side of the cabin, with a broken string crying for repairs. "yes, and hard work, too," said his father, noting the lad's look. "luckily for us, brother aleck," he continued, "our boys are not afraid of work. they have been brought up to it, and although i am thinking they don't know much about the sort of work that we shall have to put in on these beautiful prairies, i guess they will buckle down to it. eh?" and the loving father turned his look from the grassy and rolling plain to his son's face. sandy answered for him. "oh, yes, uncle charlie, we all like work! afraid of work? why, oscar and i are so used to it that we would be willing to lie right down by the side of it, and sleep as securely as if it were as harmless as a kitten! afraid of work? never you fear 'the dixon boys who fear no noise'--what's the rest of that song?" nobody knew, and, in the laugh that followed, mr. howell suggested that as younkins was coming over the river to show them the stakes of their new claims, the boys might better set an extra plate at dinner-time. it was very good of younkins to take so much trouble on their account, and the least they could do was to show him proper hospitality. "what is all this about stakes and quarter-sections, anyway, father?" asked sandy. "i'm sure i don't know." "he doesn't know what quarter-sections are!" shouted charlie. "oh, my! what an ignoramus!" "well, what is a quarter-section, as you are so knowing?" demanded sandy. "i don't believe you know yourself." "it is a quarter of a section of public land," answered the lad. "every man or single woman of mature age--i think that is what the books say--who doesn't own several hundred acres of land elsewhere (i don't know just how many) is entitled to enter on and take up a quarter of a section of unoccupied public land, and have it for a homestead. that's all," and charlie looked to his father for approval. "pretty good, charlie," said his uncle. "how many acres are there in a quarter-section of land?" "yes, how many acres in a quarter of a section?" shouted sandy, who saw that his brother hesitated. "speak up, my little man, and don't be afraid!" "i don't know," replied the lad, frankly. "good for you!" said his father. "never be afraid of saying that you don't know when you do _not_ know. the fear of confessing ignorance is what has wrecked many a young fellow's chances for finding out things he should know." "well, boys," said mr. bryant, addressing himself to the three lads, "all the land of the united states government that is open to settlement is laid off in townships six miles square. these, in turn, are laid off into sections of six hundred and forty acres each. now, then, how much land should there be in a quarter-section?" "one hundred and sixty acres!" shouted all three boys at once, breathlessly. "correct. the government allows every man, or single woman of mature age, widow or unmarried, to go upon a plot of land, not more than one hundred and sixty acres nor less than forty acres, and to improve it, and live upon it. if he stays there, or 'maintains a continuous residence,' as the lawyers say, for a certain length of time, the government gives him a title-deed at the end of that time, and he owns the land." "what?--free, gratis, and for nothing?" cried sandy. "certainly," said his uncle. "the homestead law was passed by congress to encourage the settlement of the lands belonging to the government. you see there is an abundance of these lands,--so much, in fact, that they have not yet been all laid off into townships and sections and quarter-sections. if a large number of homestead claims are taken up, then other settlers will be certain to come in and buy the lands that the government has to sell; and that will make settlements grow throughout that locality." "why should they buy when they can get land for nothing by entering and taking possession, just as we are going to do?" interrupted oscar. "because, my son, many of the men cannot make oath that they have not taken up government land somewhere else; and then, again, many men are going into land speculations, and they don't care to wait five years to prove up a homestead claim. so they go upon the land, stake out their claim, and the government sells it to them outright at the rate of a dollar and a quarter an acre." "cash down?" asked charlie. "no, they need not pay cash down unless they choose. the government allows them a year to pay up in. but land speculators who make a business of this sort of thing generally pay up just as soon as they are allowed to, and then, if they get a good offer to sell out, they sell and move off somewhere else, and do the same thing over again." "people have to pay fees, don't they, uncle charlie?" said sandy. "i know they used to talk about land-office fees, in dixon. how much does it cost in fees to enter a piece of government land?" "i think it is about twenty-five dollars--twenty-six, to be exact," replied mr. bryant. "there comes younkins," he added, looking down the trail to the river bank below. the boys had been washing and putting away the breakfast things while this conversation was going on, and sandy, balancing in the air a big tin pan on his fingers, asked: "how much land can we fellows enter, all told?" the two men laughed. "well, alexander," said his father, ceremoniously, "we two 'fellows,' that is to say, your uncle charlie and myself, can enter one hundred and sixty acres apiece. charlie will be able to enter the same quantity three years from now, when he will be twenty-one; and as for you and oscar, if you each add to your present years as many as will make you twenty-one, you can tell when you will be able to enter and own the same amount of land; provided it is not all gone by that time. good morning, mr. younkins." sandy's pan came down with a crash on the puncheon floor. the land around that region of the republican fork had been surveyed into sections of six hundred and forty acres each; but it would be necessary to secure the services of a local surveyor to find out just where the boundaries of each quarter-section were. the stakes were set at the corner of each section, and younkins thought that by pacing off the distance between two corners they could get at the point that would mark the middle of the section; then, by running lines across from side to side, thus: [transcriber's note: an image of a square subdivided into four smaller squares appears here] they could get at the quarter-sections nearly enough to be able to tell about where their boundaries were. "but suppose you should build a house, or plough a field, on some other man's quarter-section," suggested charlie, "wouldn't you feel cheap when the final survey showed that you had all along been improving your neighbor's property?" "there isn't any danger of that," answered younkins, "if you are smart enough to keep well away from your boundary line when you are putting in your improvements. some men are not smart enough, though. there was a man over on chapman's creek who wanted to have his log-cabin on a pretty rise of ground-like, that was on the upper end of his claim. he knew that the line ran somewhere about there; but he took chances-like, and when the line was run, a year after that, lo, and behold! his house and garden-like were both clean over into the next man's claim." "what did he do?" asked charlie. "skip out of the place?" "sho! no, indeed! his neighbor was a white man-like, and they just took down the cabin and carried it across the boundary line and set it up again on the man's own land. he's livin' there yet; but he lost his garden-like; couldn't move that, you see"; and younkins laughed one of his infrequent laughs. the land open to the settlers on the south side of the republican fork was all before them. nothing had been taken up within a distance as far as they could see. chapman's creek, just referred to by younkins, was eighteen or twenty miles away. from the point at which they stood and toward chapman's, the land was surveyed; but to the westward the surveys ran only just across the creek, which, curving from the north and west, made a complete circuit around the land and emptied into the fork, just below the fording-place. inside of that circuit, the land, undulating, and lying with a southern exposure, was destitute of trees. it was rich, fat land, but there was not a tree on it except where it crossed the creek, the banks of which were heavily wooded. inside of that circuit somewhere, the two men must stake out their claim. there was nothing but rich, unshaded land, with a meandering woody creek flowing through the bottom of the two claims, provided they were laid out side by side. the corner stakes were found, and the men prepared to pace off the distance between the corners so as to find the centre. "it is a pity there is no timber anywhere," said howell, discontentedly. "we shall have to go several miles for timber enough to build our cabins. we don't want to cut down right away what little there is along the creek." "timber?" said younkins, reflectively. "timber? well, if one of you would put up with a quarter-section of farming land, then the other can enter some of the timber land up on the north branch." now, the north branch was two miles and a half from the cabin in which the dixon party were camped; and that cabin was two miles from the beautiful slopes on which the intending settlers were now looking for an opportunity to lay out their two claims. the two men looked at each other. could they divide and settle this far apart for the sake of getting a timber lot? it was sandy who solved the problem. "i'll tell you what to do, father!" he cried, eagerly: "you take up the timber claim on the north branch, and we boys can live there; then you and uncle charlie can keep one of the claims here. we can build two cabins, and you old folks can live in one, and we in another." the fathers exchanged glances, and mr. howell said, "i don't see how i could live without sandy and charlie." [illustration: younkins argued that settlers were entitled to all they could get and hold.] younkins brightened up at sandy's suggestion; and he added that the two men might take up two farming claims, side by side, and let the boys try and hold the timber claim on the north branch. thus far, there was no rush of emigration to the south side of the republican fork. most of the settlers went further to the south; or they halted further east, and fixed their stakes along the line of the big blue and other more accessible regions. "we'll chance it, won't we, aleck?" said mr. bryant. mr. howell looked vaguely off over the rolling slope on which they were standing, and said: "we will chance it with the boys on the timber land, but i am not in favor of taking up two claims here. let the timber claim be in my name or yours, and the boys can live on it. but we can't take up two claims here and the timber besides--three in all--with only two full-grown men among the whole of us. that stands to reason." younkins was a little puzzled by the strictness with which the two newcomers were disposed to regard their rights and duties as actual settlers. he argued that settlers were entitled to all they could get and hold; and he was in favor of the party's trying to hold three claims of one hundred and sixty acres each, even if there were only two men legally entitled to enter homesteads. wouldn't charlie be of age before the time came to take out a patent for the land? "but he is not of age to enter upon and hold the land now," said his father, stiffly. so it was settled that the two men should enter upon the quarter-section of farming land, and build a cabin as soon as convenient, and that the claim on the north fork, which had a fine grove of timber on it, should be set apart for the boys, and a cabin built there, too. the cabin in the timber need not be built until late in the autumn; that claim could be taken up by mr. howell, or by mr. bryant; by and by they would draw lots to decide which. before sundown that night, they had staked out the corners of the one hundred and sixty acre lot of farming land, on which the party had arrived in the morning. it was dark before they returned from looking over the timber land in the bend of the north fork of the republican. chapter x. drawing the first furrow. the good-natured younkins was on hand bright and early the next morning, to show the new settlers where to cut the first furrow on the land which they had determined to plough. having decided to take the northwest corner of the quarter-section selected, it was easy to find the stake set at the corner. then, having drawn an imaginary line from the stake to that which was set in the southwest corner, the tall charlie standing where he could he used as a sign for said landmark, his father and his uncle, assisted by younkins, and followed by the two other boys, set the big breaking-plough as near that line as possible. the four yoke of oxen stood obediently in line. mr. howell firmly held the plough-handles; younkins drove the two forward yoke of cattle, and mr. bryant the second two; and the two younger boys stood ready to hurrah as soon as the word was given to start. it was an impressive moment to the youngsters. "gee up!" shouted younkins, as mildly as if the oxen were petted children. the long train moved; the sharp nose of the plough cut into the virgin turf, turning over a broad sod, about five inches thick; and then the plough swept onward toward the point where charlie stood waving his red handkerchief in the air. sandy seized a huge piece of the freshly-turned sod, and swinging it over his head with his strong young arms, he cried, "three cheers for the first sod of bleeding kansas! 'rah! 'rah! 'rah!" the farming of the boy settlers had begun. charlie, at his distant post on the other side of the creek, saw the beginning of things, and sent back an answering cheer to the two boys who were dancing around the massive and slow-moving team of cattle. the men smiled at the enthusiasm of the youngsters, but in their hearts the two new settlers felt that this was, after all, an event of much significance. the green turf now being turned over was disturbed by ploughshare for the first time since the creation of the world. scarcely ever had this soil felt the pressure of the foot of a white man. for ages unnumbered it had been the feeding-ground of the buffalo and the deer. the american savage had chased his game over it, and possibly the sod had been wet with the blood of contending tribes. now all was to be changed. as the black, loamy soil was turned for the first time to the light of day, so for the first time the long-neglected plain was being made useful for the support of civilized man. no wonder the boys cheered and cheered again. [illustration: sandy seized a huge piece of the freshly-turned sod, and waving it over his head cried, "three cheers for the first sod of bleeding kansas!"] "we go to plant her common schools, on distant prairie swells, and give the sabbaths of the wild the music of her bells." this is what was in mr. charles bryant's mind as he wielded the ox-goad over the backs of the animals that drew the great plough along the first furrow cut on the farm of the emigrants. the day was bright and fair; the sun shone down on the flower-gemmed sod; no sound broke on the still air but the slow treading of the oxen, the chirrup of the drivers, the ripping of the sod as it was turned in the furrow, and the gay shouts of the light-hearted boys. in a line of marvellous straightness, younkins guided the leading yoke of cattle directly toward the creek on the other side of which charlie yet stood, a tall, but animated landmark. when, after descending the gradual slope on which the land lay, the trees that bordered the stream hid the lad from view, it was decided that the furrow was long enough to mark the westerly boundary line of the forty acres which it was intended to break up for the first corn-field on the farm. then the oxen were turned, with some difficulty, at right angles with the line just drawn, and were driven easterly until the southern boundary of the patch was marked out. turning, now, at right angles, and tracing another line at the north, then again to the west to the point of original departure, they had accurately defined the outer boundaries of the field on which so much in the future depended; for here was to be planted the first crop of the newcomers. younkins, having started the settlers in their first farming, returned across the river to his own plough, first having sat down with the dixon party to a substantial dinner. for the boys, after the first few furrows were satisfactorily turned, had gone back to the cabin and made ready the noon meal. the ploughmen, when they came to the cabin in answer to sandy's whoop from the roof, had made a considerable beginning in the field. they had gone around within the outer edge of the plantation that was to be, leaving with each circuit a broader band of black and shining loam over which a flock of birds hopped and swept with eager movements, snapping up the insects and worms which, astonished at the great upheaval, wriggled in the overturned turf. "looks sorter homelike here," said younkins, with a pleased smile, as he drew his bench to the well-spread board and glanced around at the walls of the cabin, where the boys had already hung their fishing-tackle, guns, oscar's violin, and a few odds and ends that gave a picturesque look to the long-deserted cabin. "yes," said mr. bryant, as he filled younkins's tin cup with hot coffee, "our boys have all got the knack of making themselves at home,--runs in the blood, i guess,--and if you come over here again in a day or two, you will probably find us with rugs on the floor and pictures on the walls. sandy is a master-hand at hunting; and he intends to get a dozen buffalo-skins out of hand, so to speak, right away." and he looked fondly at his freckled nephew as he spoke. "a dibble and a corn-dropper will be more in his way than the rifle, for some weeks to come," said mr. howell. "what's a dibble?" asked both of the youngsters at once. the elder man smiled and looked at younkins as he said, "a dibble, my lambs, is an instrument for the planting of corn. with it in one hand you punch a hole in the sod that has been turned over, and then, with the other hand, you drop in three or four grains of corn from the corn-dropper, cover it with your heel, and there you are,--planted." "why, i supposed we were going to plant corn with a hoe; and we've got the hoes, too!" cried oscar. "no, my son," said his father; "if we were to plant corn with a hoe, we shouldn't get through planting before next fall, i am afraid. after dinner, we will make some dibbles for you boys, for you must begin to drop corn to-morrow. what ploughing we have done to-day, you can easily catch up with when you begin. and the three of you can all be on the furrow at once, if that seems worth while." the boys very soon understood fully what a dibble was, and what a corn-dropper was, strange though those implements were to them at first. before the end of planting-time, they fervently wished they had never seen either of these instruments of the corn-planter. with the aid of a few rude tools, there was fashioned a staff from the tough hickory that grew near at hand, the lower part of the stick being thick and pointed at the end. the staff was about as high as would come up to a boy's shoulder, so that as he grasped it near the upper end, his arm being bent, the lower end was on the ground. the upper end was whittled so as to make a convenient handle for the user. the lower end was shaped carefully into something like the convex sides of two spoons put together by their bowls, and the lower edge of this part was shaved down to a sharpness that was increased by slightly hardening it in the fire. just above the thickest part of the dibble, a hole was bored at right angles through the wood, and into this a peg was driven so that several inches stuck out on both sides of the instrument. this completed the dibble. "so that is a dibble, is it?" said oscar, when the first one was shown him. "a dibble. now let's see how you use it." thereupon his uncle aleck stood up, grasped the staff by the upper end, pressed his foot on the peg at the lower end of the tool, and so forced the sharp point of the dibble downward into the earth. then, drawing it out, a convex slit was shown in the elastic turf. shaking an imaginary grain of corn into the hole, he closed it with a stamp of his heel, stepped on and repeated the motion a few times, and then said, "that's how they plant corn on the sod in kansas." "uncle aleck, what a lot you know!" said oscar, with undisguised admiration. meanwhile, mr. bryant, taking a pair of old boots, cut off the legs just above the ankles, and, fastening in the lower end of each a round bit of wood, by means of small nails, quickly made a pair of corn-droppers. sandy's belt, being passed through the loop-strap of one of these, was fastened around his waist. the dropper was to be filled with corn, and, thus accoutred, he was ready for doing duty in the newly ploughed field. when the lad expressed his impatience for another day to come so that he could begin corn-planting, the two elders of the family laughed outright. "sandy, boy, you will be glad when to-morrow night comes, so that you can rest from your labors. you remember what i tell you!" said his father. nevertheless, when the two boys stepped bravely out, next morning, in the wake of the breaking-team, they were not in the least dismayed by the prospect of working all day in the heavy furrows of the plough. bryant drove the leading yoke of oxen, charlie tried his 'prentice hand with the second yoke, and howell held the plough. "'he that by the plough would thrive, must either hold the plough or drive,'" commented oscar, filling his corn-dropper and eyeing his father's rather awkward handling of the ox-goad. uncle aleck had usually driven the cattle, but his hand was now required in the more difficult business of holding the plough. "'plough deep while sluggards sleep,'" replied his father; "and if you don't manage better with dropping corn than i do with driving these oxen, we shall have a short crop." "how many grains of corn to a hole, uncle aleck? and how many bushels to the acre?" asked oscar. "not more than five grains nor less than three is the rule, my boy. now then, step out lively." and the big team swept down the slope, leaving a broad and shining furrow behind it. the two boys followed, one about twenty feet behind the other, and when the hindermost had come up to the work of him who was ahead, he skipped the planted part and went on ahead of his comrade twenty feet, thus alternating each with the other. they were cheerily at work when, apparently from under the feet of the forward yoke of oxen, a bird somewhat bigger than a robin flew up with shrieks of alarm and went fluttering off along the ground, tumbling in the grass as if desperately wounded and unable to fly. sandy made a rush for the bird, which barely eluded his clutches once or twice, and drew him on and on in a fruitless chase; for the timid creature soon recovered the use of its wings, and soaring aloft, disappeared in the depths of the sky. "that's the deceivingest bird i ever saw," panted sandy, out of breath with running, and looking shamefacedly at the corn that he had spilled in his haste to catch his prey. "why, it acted just as if its right wing was broken, and then it flew off as sound as a nut, for all i could see." when the ploughmen met them, on the next turn of the team, uncle aleck said, "did you catch the lapwing, you silly boy? that fellow fooled you nicely." "lapwing?" said sandy, puzzled. "what's a lapwing?" but the ploughmen were already out of earshot. "oh, i know now," said oscar. "i've read of the lapwing; it is a bird so devoted to its young, or its nest, that when it fancies either in danger, it assumes all the distress of a wounded thing, and, fluttering along the ground, draws the sportsman away from the locality." "right out of a book, oscar!" cried sandy. "and here's its nest, as sure as i'm alive!" so saying, the lad stooped, and, parting the grass with his hands, disclosed a pretty nest sunk in the ground, holding five finely speckled eggs. the bird, so lately playing the cripple, cried and circled around the heads of the boys as they peered into the home of the lapwing. "well, here's an actual settler that we must disturb, sandy," said oscar; "for the plough will smash right through this nest on the very next turn. suppose we take it up and put it somewhere else, out of harm's way?" "i'm willing," assented sandy; and the two boys, carefully extracting the nest from its place, carried it well over into the ploughed ground, where under the lee of a thick turf it was left in safety. but, as might have been expected, the parent lapwing never went near that nest again. the fright had been too great. "what in the world are you two boys up to now?" shouted uncle aleck from the other side of the ploughing. "do you call that dropping corn? hurry and catch up with the team; you are 'way behind." "great scott!" cried sandy; "i had clean forgotten the corn-dropping. a nice pair of farmers we are, oscar!" and the lad, with might and main, began to close rapidly the long gap between him and the steadily moving ox-team. "leg-weary work, isn't it, sandy?" said his father, when they stopped at noon to take the luncheon they had brought out into the field with them. "yes, and i'm terribly hungry," returned the boy, biting into a huge piece of cold corn-bread. "i shouldn't eat this if i were at home, and i shouldn't eat it now if i weren't as hungry as a bear. say, daddy, you cannot think how tired my leg is with the punching of that dibble into the sod; seems as if i couldn't hold out till sundown; but i suppose i shall. first, i punch a hole by jamming down the dibble with my foot, and then i kick the hole again with the same foot, after i have dropped in the grains of corn. these two motions are dreadfully tiresome." "yes," said his uncle, with a short laugh, "and while i was watching you and oscar, this forenoon, i couldn't help thinking that you did not yet know how to make your muscles bear an equal strain. suppose you try changing legs?" "changing legs?" exclaimed both boys at once. "why, how could we exchange legs?" "i know what uncle aleck means. i saw you always used the right leg to jam down the dibble with, and then you kicked the hole full with the right heel. no wonder your right legs are tired. change hands and legs, once in a while, and use the dibble on the left side of you," said charlie, whose driving had tired him quite as thoroughly. "isn't charlie too awfully knowing for anything, oscar?" said sandy, with some sarcasm. nevertheless, the lad got up, tried the dibble with his left hand, and saying, "thanks, charlie," dropped down upon the fragrant sod and was speedily asleep, for a generous nooning was allowed the industrious lads. chapter xi an indian trail. the next day was sunday, and, true to their new england training, the settlers refrained from labor on the day of rest. mr. bryant took his pocket bible and wandered off into the wild waste of lands somewhere. the others lounged about the cabin, indoors and out, a trifle sore and stiff from the effects of work so much harder than that to which they had been accustomed, and glad of an opportunity to rest their limbs. the younger of the boy settlers complained that they had worn their legs out with punching holes in the sod while planting corn. the soles of their feet were sore with the pressure needed to jam the dibble through the tough turf. in the afternoon, they all wandered off through the sweet and silent wilderness of rolling prairie into the woods in which they proposed to lay off another claim for pre-emption. at a short distance above their present home, cutting sharply through the sod, and crossing the republican fork a mile or so above their own ford, was an old indian trail, which the boys had before noticed but could not understand. as charlie and oscar, pressing on ahead of their elders, came upon the old trail, they loitered about until the rest of the party came up, and then they asked what could have cut that narrow track in the turf, so deep and so narrow. "that's an injun trail," said younkins, who, with an uncomfortably new suit of sunday clothes and a smooth-shaven face, had come over to visit his new neighbors. "didn't you ever see an injun trail before?" he asked, noting the look of eager curiosity on the faces of the boys. they assured him that they never had, and he continued: "this yere trail has been here for years and years, long and long before any white folks came into the country. up north and east of yer, on the head-waters of the big blue, the cheyennes used to live,"--younkins pronounced it shyans,--"and as soon as the grass began to start in the spring, so as to give feed to their ponies and to the buffalo, they would come down this yere way for game. they crossed the fork just above yere-like, and then they struck down to the head-waters of the smoky hill and so off to the westwards. big game was plenty in those days, and now the injuns off to the north of yere come down in just the same way--hunting for game." the boys got down on their knees and scanned the trail with new interest. it was not more than nine or ten inches across, and was so worn down that it made a narrow trench, as it were, in the deep sod, its lower surface being as smooth as a rolled wagon-track. over this well-worn track, for ages past, the hurrying feet of wild tribes had passed so many times that even the wiry grass-roots had been killed down. "did war parties ever go out on this trail, do you suppose?" asked sandy, sitting up in the grass. "sakes alive, yes!" replied younkins. "why, the cheyennes and the comanches used to roam over all these plains, in the old times, and they were mostly at war." "where are the cheyennes and the comanches now, mr. younkins?" asked uncle aleck. "i reckon the comanches are off to the south-like somewhere. it appears to me that i heard they were down off the texas border, somewheres; the cheyennes are to the westwards, somewhere near fort laramie." "and what indians are there who use this trail now?" inquired oscar, whose eyes were sparkling with excitement as he studied the well-worn path of the indian tribes. younkins explained that the pottawottomies and the pawnees, now located to the north, were the only ones who used the trail. "blanket indians," he said they were, peaceable creatures enough, but not good neighbors; he did not want any indians of any sort near him. when one of the boys asked what blanket indians were, younkins explained,-- "there's three kinds of injuns, none on 'em good,--town injuns, blanket injuns, and wild injuns. you saw some of the town injuns when you came up through the delaware reserve--great lazy fellows, lyin' round the house all day and lettin' the squaws do all the work. then there's the blankets; they live out in the woods and on the prairie, in teepees, or lodges, of skins and canvas-like, moving round from place to place, hunting over the plains in summer, and living off'n the gov'ment in winter. they are mostly at peace with the whites, but they will steal whenever they get a chance. the other kind, and the worst, is the wild ones. they have nothing to do with the government, and they make war on the whites whenever they feel like it. just now, i don't know of any wild injuns that are at war with uncle sam; but the arapahoes, comanches, and cheyennes are all likely to break loose any time. i give 'm all a plenty of elbow room." as the boys reluctantly ceased contemplating the fascinating indian trail, and moved on behind the rest of the party, charlie said: "i suppose we must make allowance for younkins's prejudices. he is like most of the border men, who believe that all the good indians are dead. if the cheyennes and the comanches could only tell their story in the books and newspapers, we might hear the other side." the idea of a wild indian's writing a book or a letter to the newspapers tickled sandy so much that he laughed loud and long. some two miles above the point where the settlers' ford crossed the republican fork, the stream swept around a bluffy promontory, and on a curve just above this was the tract of timber land which they now proposed to enter upon for their second claim. the trees were oak, hickory, and beech, with a slight undergrowth of young cottonwoods and hazel. the land lay prettily, the stream at this point flowing in a southerly direction, with the timber claim on its northwesterly bank. the sunny exposure of the grove, the open glades that diversified its dense growth, and the babbling brook that wound its way through it to the river, all combined to make it very desirable for a timber claim. at a short distance from the river the land rose gradually to a high ridge, and on the top of this grew a thick wood of spruce and fir. "that's what you want for your next cabin," said younkins, pointing his finger in the direction of the pines. "best kind of stuff for building there is in these parts." then he explained to the boys the process of cutting down the trees, splitting them up into shakes, or into lengths suitable for cabin-building, and he gave them an entertaining account of all the ways and means of finishing up a log-cabin,--a process, by the way, which they found then more entertaining in description than they afterward found it in the reality. that night when sandy lay down to refreshing sleep it was to dream of picturesque indian fights, witnessed at a safe distance from afar. accordingly, he was not very much surprised next morning, while he was helping charlie to get ready the breakfast, when oscar ran in breathless, with the one word, "indians!" "come out on the hill back of the cabin," panted oscar. "there's a lot of 'em coming out on the trail we saw yesterday, all in indian file. hurry up!" and away he darted, sandy hastening with him to see the wonderful sight. sure enough, there they were, twenty-five or thirty indians,--blanket indians, as younkins would have said,--strung along in the narrow trail, all in indian file. it amazed the lads to see how the little indian ponies managed to keep their feet in the narrow path. but they seemed to trot leisurely along with one foot before the other, just as the indians did. behind the mounted men were men and boys on foot, nearly as many as had passed on horseback. these kept up with the others, silently but swiftly maintaining the same pace that the mounted fellows did. it was a picturesque and novel sight to the young settlers. the indians were dressed in the true frontier style, with hunting-shirt and leggings of dressed deerskin, a blanket slung loosely over the shoulder, all bareheaded, and with coarse black hair flowing in the morning breeze, except for the loose knot in which it was twisted behind. some of them carried their guns slung on their backs; and others of them had the weapons in their hands, ready for firing on the instant. "there they go, over the divide," said oscar, as the little cavalcade reached the last roll of the prairie, and began to disappear on the other side. not one of the party deigned even to look in the direction of the wondering boys; and if they saw them, as they probably did, they made no sign. "there they go, hunting buffalo, i suppose," said sandy, with a sigh, as the last indian of the file disappeared down the horizon. "dear me! don't i wish i was going out after buffalo, instead of having to dibble corn into the sod all day! waugh! don't i hate it!" and the boy turned disconsolately back to the cabin. but he rallied with his natural good-humor when he had his tale to tell at the breakfast-table. he eagerly told how they had seen the indians passing over the old trail, and had gazed on the redskins as they went "on the warpath." "warpath, indeed!" laughed charlie. "pot-hunters, that's what they are. all the warfare they are up to is waged on the poor innocent buffalo that younkins says they are killing off and making scarcer every year." "if nobody but indians killed buffalo," said mr. bryant, "there would be no danger of their ever being all killed off. but, in course of time, i suppose this country will all be settled up, and then there will be railroads, and after that the buffalo will have to go. just now, any white man that can't saddle his horse and go out and kill a buffalo before breakfast thinks they are getting scarce. but i have heard some of the soldiers say that away up north of here, a little later in the season, the settlers cannot keep their crops, the buffalo roam all over everything so." "for my part," put in charlie, "i am not in the least afraid that the buffalo will be so plenty around these parts that they will hurt our crops; and i'd just like to see a herd come within shooting distance." and here he raised his arms, and took aim along an imaginary rifle. later in the forenoon, when the two younger boys had reached the end of the two rows in which they had been planting, sandy straightened himself up with an effort, and said, "this is leg-weary work, isn't it, oscar? i hate work, anyhow," he added, discontentedly, leaning on the top of his dibble, and looking off over the wide and green prairie that stretched toward the setting sun. "i wish i was an indian." oscar burst into a laugh, and said, "wish you were an indian!--so you could go hunting when you like, and not have any work to do? why, sandy, i didn't think that of you." sandy colored faintly, and said, "well, i do hate work, honestly; and it is only because i know that i ought, and that father expects me to do my share, that i do it, and never grumble about it. say, i never do grumble, do i, oscar?" he asked earnestly. "only once in a while, when you can't help it, sandy. i don't like work any better than you do; but it's no use talking about it, we've got to do it." "i always feel so in the spring," said sandy, very gravely and with a little sigh, as he went pegging away down another furrow. forty acres of land was all that the settlers intended to plant with corn, for the first year. forty acres does not seem a very large tract of land to speak of, but when one sees the area marked out with a black furrow, and realizes that every foot of it must be covered with the corn-planter, it looks formidable. the boys thought it was a very big piece of land when they regarded it in that way. but the days soon flew by; and even while the young workers were stumping over the field, they consoled themselves with visions of gigantic ripe watermelons and mammoth pumpkins and squashes that would regale their eyes before long. for, following the example of most kansas farmers, they had stuck into many of the furrows with the corn the seeds of these easily grown vines. "keep the melons a good way from the pumpkins, and the squashes a good way from both, if you don't want a bad mixture," said uncle aleck to the boy settlers. then he explained that if the pollen of the squash-blossoms should happen to fall on the melon-blossoms, the fruit would be neither good melon nor yet good squash, but a poor mixture of both. this piece of practical farming was not lost on charlie; and when he undertook the planting of the garden spot which they found near the cabin, he took pains to separate the cucumber-beds as far as possible from the hills in which he planted his cantaloupe seeds. the boys were learning while they worked, even if they did grumble occasionally over their tasks. chapter xii. house-building. there was a change in the programme of daily labor, when the corn was in the ground. at odd times the settlers had gone over to the wood-lot and had laid out their plans for the future home on that claim. there was more variety to be expected in house-building than in planting, and the boys had looked forward with impatience to the beginning of that part of their enterprise. logs for the house were cut from the pines and firs of the hill beyond the river bluff. from these, too, were to be riven, or split, the "shakes" for the roof-covering and for the odd jobs of work to be done about the premises. now, for the first time, the boys learned the use of some of the strange tools that they had brought with them. they had wondered over the frow, an iron instrument about fourteen inches long, for splitting logs. at right angles with the blade, and fixed in an eye at one end, was a handle of hard-wood. a section of wood was stood up endwise on a firm foundation of some sort, and the thin end of the frow was hammered down into the grain of the wood, making a lengthwise split. in the same way, the section of wood so riven was split again and again until each split was thin enough. the final result was called a "shake." shakes were used for shingles, and even--when nailed on frames--for doors. sawed lumber was very dear; and, except the sashes in the windows, every bit of the log-cabin must be got out of the primitive forest. the boys were proud of the ample supply which their elders had brought with them; for even the knowing younkins, scrutinizing the tools for woodcraft with a critical eye, remarked, "that's a good outfit, for a party of green settlers." six stout wedges of chilled iron, and a heavy maul to hammer them with, were to be used for the splitting up of the big trees into smaller sections. wooden wedges met the wants of many people in those primitive parts, at times, and the man who had a good set of iron wedges and a powerful maul was regarded with envy. "what are these clumsy rings for?" oscar had asked when he saw the maul-rings taken out of the wagon on their arrival and unloading. his uncle smiled, and said, "you will find out what these are for, my lad, when you undertake to swing the maul. did you never hear of splitting rails? well, these are to split rails and such things from the log. we chop off a length of a tree, about eight inches thick, taking the toughest and densest wood we can find. trim off the bark from a bit of the trunk, which must be twelve or fourteen inches long; drive your rings on each end of the block to keep it from splitting; fit a handle to one end, or into one side of the block; and there you have your maul." "why, that's only a beetle, after all," cried sandy, who, sitting on a stump near by, had been a deeply interested listener to his father's description of the maul. "certainly, my son; a maul is what people in the eastern states would call a beetle; but you ask younkins, some day, if he has a beetle over at his place. he, i am sure, would never use the name beetle." log-cabin building was great fun to the boys, although they did not find it easy work. there was a certain novelty about the raising of the structure that was to be a home, and an interest in learning the use of rude tools that lasted until the cabin was finished. the maul and the wedges, the frow and the little maul intended for it, and all the other means and appliances of the building, were all new and strange to these bright lads. [illustration: making "shakes" with a "frow."] first, the size of the cabin, twelve feet wide and twenty feet long, was marked out on the site on which it was to rise, and four logs were laid to define the foundation. these were the sills of the new house. at each end of every log two notches were cut, one on the under side and one on the upper, to fit into similar notches cut in the log below, and in that which was to be placed on top. so each corner was formed by these interlacing and overlapping ends. the logs were piled up, one above another, just as children build "cob-houses," from odds and ends of playthings. cabin-builders do not say that a cabin is a certain number of feet high; they usually say that it is ten logs high, or twelve logs high, as the case may be. when the structure is as high as the eaves are intended to be, the top logs are bound together, from side to side, with smaller logs fitted upon the upper logs of each side and laid across as if they were to be the supports of a floor for another story. then the gable-ends are built up of logs, shorter and shorter as the peak of the gable is approached, and kept in place by other small logs laid across, endwise of the cabin, and locked into the end of each log in the gable until all are in place. on these transverse logs, or rafters, the roof is laid. holes are cut or sawed through the logs for the door and windows, and the house begins to look habitable. the settlers on the republican fork cut the holes for doors and windows before they put on the roof, and when the layer of split shakes that made the roof was in place, and the boys bounded inside to see how things looked, they were greatly amused to notice how light it was. the spaces between the logs were almost wide enough to crawl through, oscar said. but they had studied log-cabin building enough to know that these wide cracks were to be "chinked" with thin strips of wood, the refuse of shakes, driven in tightly, and then daubed over with clay, a fine bed of which was fortunately near at hand. the provident younkins had laid away in his own cabin the sashes and glass for two small windows; and these he had agreed to sell to the newcomers. partly hewn logs for floor-joists were placed upon the ground inside the cabin, previously levelled off for the purpose. on these were laid thick slabs of oak and hickory, riven out of logs drawn from the grove near by. these slabs of hard-wood were "puncheons," and fortunate as was the man who could have a floor of sawed lumber to his cabin, he who was obliged to use puncheons was better off than those with whom timber was so scarce that the natural surface on the ground was their only floor. "my! how it rattles!" was sandy's remark when he had first taken a few steps on the new puncheon floor of their cabin. "it sounds like a tread-mill going its rounds. can't you nail these down, daddy?" his father explained that the unseasoned lumber of the puncheons would so shrink in the drying that no fastening could hold them. they must lie loosely on the floor-joists until they were thoroughly seasoned; then they might be fastened down with wooden pins driven through holes bored for that purpose; nails and spikes cost too much to be wasted on a puncheon floor. in fact, very little hardware was wasted on any part of that cabin. even the door was made by fastening with wooden pegs a number of short pieces of shakes to a frame fitted to the doorway cut in the side of the cabin. the hinges were strong bits of leather, the soles of the boots whose legs had been used for corn-droppers. the clumsy wooden latch was hung inside to a wooden pin driven into one of the crosspieces of the door, and it played in a loop of deerskin at the other end. a string of deerskin fastened to the end of the latch-bar nearest the jamb of the doorway was passed outside through a hole cut in the door, serving to lift the latch from without when a visitor would enter. "our latch-string hangs out!" exclaimed charlie, triumphantly, when this piece of work was done. "i must say i never knew before what it meant to have the 'latch-string hanging out' for all comers. see, oscar, when we shut up the house for the night, all we have to do is to pull in the latch-string, and the door is barred." "likewise, when you have dropped your jackknife through a crack in the floor into the cellar beneath, all you have to do is to turn over a puncheon or two and get down and find it," said sandy, coolly, as he took up two slabs and hunted for his knife. the boys soon found that although their home was rude and not very elegant as to its furniture, it had many conveniences that more elaborate and handsomer houses did not have. there were no floors to wash, hardly to sweep. as their surroundings were simple, their wants were few. it was a free and easy life that they were gradually drifting into, here in the wilderness. charlie declared that the cabin ought to have a name. as yet, the land on which they had settled had no name except that of the river by which it lay. the boys thought it would give some sort of distinction to their home if they gave it a title. "liberty hall," they thought would be a good name to put on the roof of their log-cabin. something out of cooper's novels, oscar proposed, would be the best for the locality. "'hog-and-hominy,' how would that suit?" asked sandy, with a laugh. "unless we get some buffalo or antelope meat pretty soon, it will be hog and hominy to the end of the chapter." "why not call it the john g. whittier cabin?" said uncle aleck, looking up from his work of shaping an ox-yoke. "the very thing, daddy!" shouted sandy, clapping his hands. "only don't you think that's a very long name to say in a hurry? whittier would be shorter, you know. but, then," he added, doubtfully, "it isn't everybody that would know which whittier was meant by that, would they?" "sandy seems to think that the entire population of kansas will be coming here, some day, to read that name, if we ever have it. we have been here two months now, and no living soul but ourselves and younkins has ever been in these diggings; not one. oh, i say, let's put up just nothing but 'whittier' over the door there. we'll know what that means, and if anybody comes in the course of time, i'll warrant he'll soon find out which whittier it means." this was oscar's view of the case. "good for you, oscar!" said his uncle. "whittier let it be." before sundown, that day, a straight-grained shake of pine, free from knot or blemish, had been well smoothed down with the draw-shave, and on its fair surface, writ large, was the beloved name of the new england poet, thus: whittier. this was fastened securely over the entrance of the new log-cabin, and the boy settlers, satisfied with their work, stood off at a little distance and gave it three cheers. the new home was named. chapter xiii. lost! "we must have some board-nails and some lead," remarked uncle aleck, one fine morning, as the party were putting the finishing touches to the whittier cabin. "who will go down to the post and get them?" "i", "i", "i", shouted all three of the boys at once. "oh, you will all go, will you?" said he, with a smile. "well, you can't all go, for we can borrow only one horse, and it's ten miles down there and ten miles back; and you will none of you care to walk, i am very sure." the boys looked at each other and laughed. who should be the lucky one to take that delightful horseback ride down to the post, as fort riley was called, and get a glimpse of civilization? "i'll tell you what we'll do," said sandy, after some good-natured discussion. "let's draw cuts to see who shall go. here they are. you draw first, charlie, you being the eldest man. now, then, oscar. why, hooray! it's my cut! i've drawn the longest, and so i am to go. oh, it was a fair and square deal, daddy," he added, seeing his father look sharply at him. the matter was settled, and next morning, bright and early, sandy was fitted out with his commissions and the money to buy them with. younkins had agreed to let him have his horse, saddle, and bridle. work on the farm was now practically over until time for harvesting was come. so the other two boys accompanied sandy over to the younkins side of the river and saw him safely off down the river road leading to the post. a meal-sack in which to bring back his few purchases was snugly rolled up and tied to the crupper of his saddle, and feeling in his pocket for the hundredth time to make sure of the ten-dollar gold piece therein bestowed, sandy trotted gayly down the road. the two other boys gazed enviously after him, and then went home, wondering, as they strolled along, how long sandy would be away. he would be back by dark at the latest, for the days were now at about their longest, and the long summer day was just begun. at younkins's cabin they met hiram battles, a neighbor who lived beyond the divide to the eastward, and who had just ridden over in search of some of his cattle that had strayed away, during the night before. mr. battles said he was "powerful worrited." indians had been seen prowling around on his side of the divide: but he had seen no signs of a camp, and he had traced the tracks of his cattle, three head in all, over this way as far as lone tree creek, a small stream just this side of the divide; but there he had unaccountably lost all trace of them. "well, as for the indians," said charlie, modestly, "we have seen them passing out on the trail. but they were going hunting, and they kept right on to the southward and westward; and we have not seen them go back since." "the lad's right," said younkins, slowly, "but still i don't like the stories i hear down the road a piece. they do say that the shians have riz." "the cheyennes have risen!" exclaimed charlie. "and we have let sandy go down to the post alone!" both of the men laughed--a little unpleasantly, it seemed to the boys, although younkins was the soul of amiability and mildness. but charlie thought it was unkind in them to laugh at his very natural apprehensions; and he said as much, as he and oscar, with their clothes on their heads, waded the republican fork on the way home. "well, charlie," was oscar's comforting remark, as they scrambled up the opposite bank, "i guess the reason why they laughed at us was that if the cheyennes have gone on the warpath, the danger is out in the west; whereas, sandy has gone eastward to-day, and that is right in the way of safety, isn't it? he's gone to the post; and you know that the people down at soldier creek told us that this was a good place to settle, because the post would be our protection in case of an indian rising." meanwhile, sandy was blissfully and peacefully jogging along in the direction of the military post. only one house stood between younkins's and the fort; and that was mullett's. they all had occasion to think pleasantly of mullett's; for whenever an opportunity came for the mail to be forwarded from the fort up to mullett's, it was sent there; then sparkins, who was the next neighbor above, but who lived off the road a bit, would go down to mullett's and bring the mail up to his cabin; when he did this, he left a red flannel flag flying on the roof of his house, and younkins, if passing along the trail, saw the signal and went out of his way a little to take the mail up to his cabin. somehow, word was sent across the river to the whittier boys, as the good younkins soon learned to call the boy settlers, and they went gladly over to younkins's and got the precious letters and papers from home. that was the primitive way in which the mail for the settlers on the republican fork went up the road from fort riley, in those days; and all letters and papers designed for the settlers along there were addressed simply to fort riley, which was their nearest post-office. so sandy, when he reached mullett's, was not disappointed to be told that there were no letters for anybody up the river. there had been nobody down to the post very lately. sandy knew that, and he was confident that he would have the pleasure of bringing up a good-sized budget when he returned. so he whipped up his somewhat lazy steed and cantered down toward the fort. soon after leaving mullett's he met a drove of sheep. the drivers were two men and a boy of his own age, mounted on horseback and carrying their provisions, apparently, strapped behind them. when he asked them where they were going, they surlily replied that they were going to california. that would take them right up the road that he had come down, sandy thought to himself. and he wondered if the boys at home would see the interesting sight of five hundred sheep going up the republican fork, bound for california. he reached the fort before noon; and, with a heart beating high with pleasure, he rode into the grounds and made his way to the well-remembered sutler's store where he had bought the candy, months before. he had a few pennies of his own, and he mentally resolved to spend these for raisins. sandy had a "sweet tooth", but, except for sugar and molasses, he had eaten nothing sweet since they were last at fort riley on their way westward. it was with a feeling of considerable importance that sandy surveyed the interior of the sutler's store. the proprietor looked curiously at him, as if wondering why so small a boy should turn up alone in that wilderness; and when the lad asked for letters for the families up the river, mullett's, sparkins's, battles's, younkins's, and his own people, the sutler said: "be you one of them abolitioners that have named your place after that man whittier, the abolition poet? i've hearn tell of you, and i've hearn tell of him. and he ain't no good. do you hear me?" sandy replied that he heard him, and to himself he wondered greatly how anybody, away down here, ten miles from the new home, could possibly have heard about the name they had given to their cabin. several soldiers who had been lounging around the place now went out at the door. the sutler, looking cautiously about as if to be sure that nobody heard him, said: "never you mind what i said just now, sonny. right you are, and that man whittier writes the right sort of stuff. bet yer life! i'm no abolitioner; but i'm a free-state man, i am, every time." "then what made you talk like that, just now?" asked sandy, his honest, freckled face glowing with righteous indignation. "if you like mr. john g. whittier's poetry, why did you say he wasn't any good?" "policy, policy, my little man. this yere's a pro-slavery guv'ment, and this yere is a pro-slavery post. i couldn't keep this place one single day if they thought i was a free-state man. see? but i tell you right here, and don't you fergit it, this yere country is going to be free state. kansas is no good for slavery; and slavery can't get in here. stick a pin there, and keep your eye on it." with some wonder and much disgust at the man's cowardice, sandy packed his precious letters in the bosom of his shirt. into one end of his meal-sack he put a pound of soda-biscuit for which his uncle charlie had longed, a half-pound of ground ginger with which charlie desired to make some "molasses gingerbread, like mother's," and a half-pound of smoking-tobacco for his dear father. it seemed a long way off to his father now, sandy thought, as he tied up that end of the bag. then into the other end, having tied the bag firmly around, about a foot and a half from the mouth, he put the package of nails and a roll of sheet lead. it had been agreed that if they were to go buffalo-hunting, they must have rifle-balls and bullets for their shot-guns. the sutler, who had become very friendly, looked on with an amused smile, and said, "'pears to me, sonny, you got all the weight at one end, haven't you?" sandy did not like to be called "sonny," but he good-naturedly agreed that he had made a mistake; so he began all over again and shifted his cargo so that the nails and a box of yeast-powder occupied one end of the meal-sack, and the other articles balanced the other. the load was then tied closely to the crupper of the saddle and the boy was ready to start on his homeward trip. his eyes roved longingly over the stock of goodies which the sutler kept for the children, young and old, of the garrison, and he asked, "how much for raisins?" "two bits a pound for box, and fifteen cents for cask," replied the man, sententiously. "give me half a pound of cask raisins," said the boy, with some hesitation. he had only a few cents to spare for his own purchases. the sutler weighed out a half-pound of box raisins, did them up, and handed them across the counter, saying, "no pay; them's for whittier." sandy took the package, shoved it into his shirt-bosom, and, wondering if his "thank you" were sufficient payment for the gift, mounted his steed, rode slowly up the road to a spring that he had noticed bubbling out of the side of a ravine, and with a thankful heart, turning out the horse to graze, sat down to eat his frugal lunch, now graced with the dry but to him delicious raisins. so the sutler at fort riley was a free-state man! wasn't that funny! it was a beautifully bright afternoon, and sandy, gathering his belongings together, started up the river road on a brisk canter. the old horse was a hard trotter, and when he slackened down from a canter, poor sandy shook in every muscle, and his teeth chattered as if he had a fit of ague. but whenever the lad contrived to urge his steed into an easier gait he got on famously. the scenery along the republican fork is (or was) very agreeable to the eye. long slopes of vivid green stretched off in every direction, their rolling sides dropping into deep ravines through which creeks, bordered with dense growths of alder, birch, and young cottonwood, meandered. the sky was blue and cloudless, and, as the boy sped along the breezy uplands, the soft and balmy air fanning his face, he sung and whistled to express the fervor of his buoyant spirits. he was a hearty and a happy boy. suddenly he came to a fork in the road which he had not noticed when he came down that way in the morning. for a moment he was puzzled by the sight. both were broad and smooth tracks over the grassy prairie, and both rose and fell over the rolling ground; only, one led to the left and somewhat southerly, and the other to the right. "pshaw!" muttered sandy, and he paused and rubbed his head for an idea. "that left-hand road must strike off to some ford lower down on the fork than i have ever been. but i never heard of any ford below ours." [illustration: filling in the chinks in the walls of the log-cabin.] with that, his keen eyes noticed that the right-hand road was cut and marked with the many hoof-tracks of a flock of sheep. he argued to himself that the sheep-drivers had told him that they were going to california. the california road led up the bank of the republican fork close to the trail that led him from younkins's to the ford across the river. the way was plain; so, striking his spur into the old sorrel's side, he dashed on up the right-hand road, singing gayly as he went. absorbed in the mental calculation as to the number of days that it would take that flock of sheep to reach california, the boy rode on, hardly noticing the landmarks by the way, or taking in anything but the general beauty of the broad and smiling landscape over which the yellow light of the afternoon sun, sinking in the west, poured a flood of splendor. slackening his speed as he passed a low and sunken little round valley filled with brush and alders, he heard a queer sound like the playful squealing of some wild animal. slipping off his saddle and leading his horse by the bridle over the thick turf, sandy cautiously approached the edge of the valley, the margin of which was steep and well sheltered by a growth of cottonwoods. after peering about for some time, the lad caught a glimpse of a beautiful sight. a young doe and her fawn were playing together in the open meadow below, absolutely unconscious of the nearness of any living thing besides themselves. the mother-deer was browsing, now and again, and at times the fawn, playful as a young kitten, would kick its heels, or butt its head against its mother's side, and both would squeal in a comical way. sandy had never seen deer in a state of living wildness before, and his heart thumped heavily in his breast as he gazed on the wonderful sight. he half groaned to himself that he was a great fool to have come away from home without a gun. what an easy shot it was! how nicely he could knock over the mother, if only he had a shot-gun! she was within such short range. then he felt a sinking of the heart, as he imagined the horror of death that would have overtaken the innocent and harmless creatures, sporting there so thoughtless of man's hunting instincts and cruelty. would he kill them, if he had the weapon to kill with? he could not make up his mind that he would. so he crouched silently in the underbrush, and watched the pretty sight as if it were a little animal drama enacted here in the wilderness, mother and child having a romp in their wildwood home. "well, i'll give them a good scare, anyhow," muttered the boy, his sportive instincts getting the better of his tender-heartedness at last. he dashed up noisily from the underbrush, swung his arms, and shouted, "boo!" instantly deer and fawn, with two or three tremendous bounds, were out of the little valley and far away on the prairie, skimming over the rolls of green, and before the boy could catch his breath, they had disappeared into one of the many dells and ravines that interlaced the landscape. but another animal was scared by the boy's shout. in his excitement he had slipped the bridle-rein from his arm, and the old sorrel, terrified by his halloo, set off on a brisk trot down the road. in vain sandy called to him to stop. free from guidance, the horse trotted along, and when, after a long chase, sandy caught up with his steed, a considerable piece of road had been covered the wrong way, for the horse had gone back over the line of march. when sandy was once more mounted, and had mopped his perspiring forehead, he cast his eye along the road, and, to his dismay, discovered that the sheep-tracks had disappeared. what had become of the sheep? how could they have left the trail without his sooner noticing it? he certainly had not passed another fork of the road since coming into this at the fork below. "this is more of my heedlessness, mother would say," muttered sandy to himself. "what a big fool i must have been to miss seeing where the sheep left the trail! i shall never make a good plainsman if i don't keep my eye skinned better than this. jingo! it's getting toward sundown!" sure enough, the sun was near the horizon, and sandy could see none of the familiar signs of the country round about the fork. but he pushed on. it was too late now to return to the fork of the road and explore the other branch. he was in for it. he remembered, too, that two of their most distant neighbors, mr. fuller and his wife, lived somewhere back of battles's place, and it was barely possible that it was on the creek, whose woody and crooked line he could now see far to the westward, that their log-cabin was situated. he had seen mr. fuller over at the fork once or twice, and he remembered him as a gentle-mannered and kindly man. surely he must live on this creek! so he pushed on with new courage, for his heart had begun to sink when he finally realized that he was far off his road. the sun was down when he reached the creek. no sign of human habitation was in sight. in those days cabins and settlements were very, very few and far between, and a traveller once off his trail might push on for hundreds of miles without finding any trace of human life. in the gathering dusk the heavy-hearted boy rode along the banks of the creek, anxiously looking out for some sign of settlers. it was as lonely and solitary as if no man had ever seen its savageness before. now and then a night-bird called from a thicket, as if asking what interloper came into these solitudes; or a scared jack-rabbit scampered away from his feeding-ground, as the steps of the horse tore through the underbrush. even the old sorrel seemed to gaze reproachfully at the lad, who had dismounted, and now led the animal through the wild and tangled undergrowths. [illustration: lost!] when he had gone up and down the creek several times, hunting for some trace of a settlement, and finding none, he reflected that fuller's house was on the side of the stream, to the west. it was a very crooked stream, and he was not sure, in the darkness, which was west and which was east. but he boldly plunged into the creek, mounting his horse, and urging the unwilling beast across. once over, he explored that side of the stream, hither and yon, in vain. again he crossed, and so many times did he cross and recross that he finally had no idea where he was. then the conviction came fully into his mind: he was lost. the disconsolate boy sat down on a fallen tree and meditated. it was useless to go farther. he was tired in every limb and very, very hungry. he bethought himself of the soda-biscuits in his sack. he need not starve, at any rate. dobbin was grazing contentedly while the lad meditated, so slipping off the saddle and the package attached to it, sandy prepared to satisfy his hunger with what little provisions he had at hand. how queerly the biscuits tasted! jolting up and down on the horse's back, they were well broken up. but what was this so hot in the mouth? ginger? sure enough, it was ginger. the pounding that had crushed the biscuits had broken open the package of ginger, and that spicy stuff was plentifully sprinkled all over the contents of the sack. "gingerbread," muttered sandy, grimly, as he blew out of his mouth some of the powdery spice. "faugh! tobacco!" he cried next. his father's package of smoking-tobacco had shared the fate of the ginger. sandy's supper was spoiled; and resigning himself to spending the night hungry in the wilderness, he tethered the horse to a tree, put the saddle-blanket on the ground, arranged the saddle for a pillow, and, having cut a few leafy boughs from the alders, stuck them into the turf so as to form a shelter around his head, and lay down to pleasant dreams. "and this is saturday night, too," thought the lost boy. "they are having beans baked in the ground-oven at home in the cabin. they are wondering where i am. what would mother say if she knew i was lost out here on flyaway creek?" and the boy's heart swelled a little, and a few drops of water stood in his eyes, for he had never been lost before in his life. he looked up at the leaden sky, now overcast, and wondered if god saw this lost boy. a few drops fell on his cheek. tears? no; worse than that; it was rain. "well, this is a little too much," said sandy, stoutly. "here goes for one more trial." so saying, he saddled and mounted his patient steed, and, at a venture, took a new direction around a bend in the creek. as he rounded the bend, the bark of a dog suddenly rung from a mass of gloom and darkness. how sweet the sound! regardless of the animal's angry challenge, he pressed on. that mass of blackness was a log-barn, and near by was a corral with cows therein. then a light shone from the log-cabin, and a man's voice was heard calling the dog. fuller's! the good man of the house received the lad with open arms, and cared for his horse; inside the cabin, mrs. fuller, who had heard the conversation without, had made ready a great pan of milk and a loaf of bread, having risen from her bed to care for the young wanderer. never did bread and milk taste so deliciously to weary traveller as this! full-fed, sandy looked at the clock on the wall, and marked with wondering eye that it was past midnight. he had recounted his trials as he ate, and the sympathizing couple had assured him that he had been deceived by the sheep-driver. it was very unlikely that he was driving his flock to california. and it was probable that, coming to some place affording food and water, the sheep had left the main road and had camped down in one of the ravines out of sight. as sandy composed his weary limbs in a blanket-lined bunk opposite that occupied by fuller and his wife, he was conscious that he gave a long, long sigh as if in his sleep. and, as he drifted off into slumber-land, he heard the good woman say, "well, he's out of his troubles, poor boy!" sandy chuckled to himself and slept. chapter xiv. more house-building. it was an anxious and wondering household that sandy burst in upon next morning, when he had reached the cabin, escorted to the divide above younkins's place by his kind-hearted host of the night before. it was sunday morning, bright and beautiful; but truly, never had any home looked so pleasant to his eyes as did the homely and weather-beaten log-cabin which they called their own while they lived in it. he had left his borrowed horse with its owner, and, shouldering his meal-sack, with its dearly bought contents, he had taken a short-cut to the cabin, avoiding the usual trail in order that as he approached he might not be seen from the window looking down the river. "oh, sandy's all right," he heard his brother charlie say. "i'll stake my life that he will come home with flying colors, if you only give him time. he's lost the trail somehow, and had to put up at some cabin all night. don't you worry about sandy." "but these indian stories; i don't like them," said his father, with a tinge of sadness in his voice. sandy could bear no more; so, flinging down his burden, he bounced into the cabin with, "oh, i'm all right! safe and sound, but as hungry as a bear." the little party rushed to embrace the young adventurer, and, in their first flush of surprise, nobody remembered to be severe with him for his carelessness. quite the hero of the hour, the lad sat on the table and told them his tale, how he had lost his way, and how hospitably and well he had been cared for at fuller's. "fuller's!" exclaimed his uncle. "what in the world took you so far off your track as fuller's? you must have gone at least ten miles out of your way." "yes, uncle charlie," said the boy, "it's just as easy to travel ten miles out of the way as it is to go one. all you have to do is to get your face in the wrong way, and all the rest is easy. just keep a-going; that's what i did. i turned to the right instead of to the left, and for once i found that the right was wrong." a burst of laughter from oscar, who had been opening the sack that held sandy's purchases, interrupted the story. "just see what a hodgepodge of a mess sandy has brought home! tobacco, biscuits, ginger, and i don't know what not, all in a pudding. it only lacks milk and eggs to make it a cracker pudding flavored with ginger and smoking-tobacco!" and everybody joined in the laugh that a glance at sandy's load called forth. "yes," said the blushing boy; "i forgot to tie the bag at both ends, and the jouncing up and down of younkins's old horse (dear me! wasn't he a hard trotter!) must have made a mash of everything in the bag. the paper of tobacco burst, and then i suppose the ginger followed; the jolting of poor old 'dobbin' did the rest. ruined, daddy? nothing worth saving?" mr. howell ruefully acknowledged that the mixture was not good to eat, nor yet to smoke, and certainly not to make gingerbread of. so, after picking out some of the larger pieces of the biscuits, the rest was thrown away, greatly to sandy's mortification. "all of my journey gone for nothing," he said, with a sigh. "never mind, my boy," said his father, fondly; "since you have come back alive and well, let the rest of the business care for itself. as long as you are alive, and the redskins have not captured you, i am satisfied." such was sandy's welcome home. with the following monday morning came hard work,--harder work, so sandy thought, than miserably trying to find one's way in the darkness of a strange region of country. for another log-house, this time on the prairie claim, was to be begun at once. they might be called on at any time to give up the cabin in which they were simply tenants at will, and it was necessary that a house of some sort be put on the claim that they had staked out and planted. the corn was up and doing well. sun and rain had contributed to hasten on the corn-field, and the vines of the melons were vigorously pushing their way up and down the hills of grain. charlie wondered what they would do with so many watermelons when they ripened; there would be hundreds of them; and the mouths that were to eat them, although now watering for the delicious fruit, were not numerous enough to make away with a hundredth part of what would be ripe very soon. there was no market nearer than the post, and there were many melon-patches between whittier's and the fort. but the new log-house, taken hold of with energy, was soon built up to the height where the roof was to be put on. at this juncture, younkins advised them to roof over the cabin slightly, make a corn-bin of it, and wait for developments. for, he argued, if there should be any rush of emigrants and settlers to that part of the country, so that their claims were in danger of dispute, they would have ample warning, and could make ready for an immediate occupation of the place. if nobody came, then the corn-house, or bin, would be all they wanted of the structure. but mr. howell, who took the lead in all such matters, shook his head doubtfully. he was not in favor of evading the land laws; he was more afraid of the claim being jumped. if they were to come home from a hunting trip, some time, and find their log-cabin occupied by a "claim-jumper," or "squatter," as these interlopers are called, and their farm in the possession of strangers, wouldn't they feel cheap? he thought so. "say, uncle aleck," said oscar, "why not finish it off as a cabin to live in, put in the corn when it ripens, and then we shall have the concern as a dwelling, in case there is any danger of the claim being jumped?" "great head, oscar," said his uncle, admiringly. "that is the best notion yet. we will complete the cabin just as if we were to move into it, and if anybody who looks like an intended claim-jumper comes prowling around, we will take the alarm and move in. but so far, i'm sure, there's been no rush to these parts. it's past planting season, and it is not likely that anybody will get up this way, now so far west, without our knowing it." so the log-cabin, or, as they called it, "whittier, number two," was finished with all that the land laws required, with a window filled with panes of glass, a door, and a "stick chimney" built of sticks plastered with clay, a floor and space enough on the ground to take care of a family twice as large as theirs, in case of need. when all was done, they felt that they were now able to hold their farming claim as well as their timber claim, for on each was a goodly log-house, fit to live in and comfortable for the coming winter if they should make up their minds to live in the two cabins during that trying season. the boys took great satisfaction in their kitchen-garden near the house in which they were tenants; for when younkins lived there, he had ploughed and spaded the patch, and planted it two seasons, so now it was an old piece of ground compared with the wild land that had just been broken up around it. in their garden-spot they had planted a variety of vegetables for the table, and in the glorious kansas sunshine, watered by frequent showers, they were thriving wonderfully. they promised themselves much pleasure and profit from a garden that they would make by their new cabin, when another summer should come. "younkins says that he can walk all over his melon-patch on the other side of the fork, stepping only on the melons and never touching the ground once," said oscar, one day, later in the season, as they were feasting themselves on one of the delicious watermelons that now so plentifully dotted their own corn-field. "what a big story!" exclaimed both of the other boys at once. but oscar appealed to his father, who came striding by the edge of the field where they chatted together. had he ever heard of such a thing? "well," said mr. bryant, good-naturedly, "i have heard of melons so thick in a patch, and so big around, that the sunshine couldn't get to the ground except at high noon. how is that for a tall story?" the boys protested that that was only a tale of fancy. could it be possible that anybody could raise melons so thickly together as mr. younkins had said he had seen them? mr. bryant, having kicked open a fine melon, took out the heart of it to refresh himself with, as was the manner of the settlers, where the fruit was so plenty and the market so far out of reach; then, between long drafts of the delicious pulp, he explained that certain things, melons for example, flourished better on the virgin soil of the sod than elsewhere. "another year or so," he said, "and you will never see on this patch of land such melons as these. they will never do so well again on this soil as this year. i never saw such big melons as these, and if we had planted them a little nearer together, i don't in the least doubt that any smart boy, like sandy here, could walk all over the field stepping from one melon to another, if he only had a pole to balance himself with as he walked. there would be nothing very 'wonderful-like' about that. it's a pity that we have no use for these, there are so many of them and they are so good. pity some of the folks at home haven't a few of them--a hundred or two, for instance." it did seem a great waste of good things that these hundreds and hundreds of great watermelons should decay on the ground for lack of somebody to eat them. in the very wantonness of their plenty the settlers had been accustomed to break open two or three of the finest of the fruit before they could satisfy themselves that they had got one of the best. even then they only took the choicest parts, leaving the rest to the birds. by night, too, the coyotes, or prairie-wolves, mean and sneaking things that they were, would steal down into the melon-patch, and, in the desperation of their hunger, nose into the broken melons left by the settlers, and attempt to drag away some of the fragments, all the time uttering their fiendish yelps and howls. somebody had told the boys that the juice of watermelons boiled to a thick syrup was a very good substitute for molasses. younkins told them that, back in old missouri, "many families never had any other kind of sweetenin' in the house than watermelon molasses." so charlie made an experiment with the juice boiled until it was pretty thick. all hands tasted it, and all hands voted that it was very poor stuff. they decided that they could not make their superabundance of watermelons useful except as an occasional refreshment. chapter xv. play comes after work. the two cabins built, wood for the winter cut and hauled, and the planting all done, there was now nothing left to do but to wait and see the crop ripen. their good friend younkins was in the same fortunate condition, and he was ready to suggest, to the intense delight of the boys, that they might be able to run into a herd of buffalo, if they should take a notion to follow the old indian trail out to the feeding-grounds. in those days there was no hunting west of the new settlement, except that by the indians. in that vague and mysterious way by which reports travel--in the air, as it were--among all frontier settlements, they had heard that buffalo were plenty in the vast ranges to the westward, the herds moving slowly northward, grazing as they went. it was now the season of wild game, and so the boys were sent across to younkins's to ask him what he thought of a buffalo-hunting trip. reaching his cabin, the good woman of the house told them that he had gone into the tall timber near by, thinking he heard some sort of wild birds in the underbrush. he had taken his gun with him; in fact, younkins was seldom seen without his gun, except when he was at work in the fields. the boys gleefully followed younkins's trail into the forest, making for an opening about a half-mile away, where mrs. younkins thought he was most likely to be found. "major," the big yellow dog, a special pet of sandy's, accompanied them, although his mistress vainly tried to coax him back. major was fond of boys' society. "there's younkins now!" cried oscar, as they drew near an opening in the wood into which the hot sunlight poured. younkins was half crouching and cautiously making his way into the nearer side of the opening, and the boys, knowing that he was on the track of game, silently drew near, afraid of disturbing the hunter or the hunted. suddenly major, catching sight of the game, bounded forward with a loud bark into the tangle of berry bushes and vines. there was a confused noise of wings, a whistle of alarm which also sounded like the gobble of a turkey, and four tremendous birds rose up, and with a motion, that was partly a run and partly a flying, they disappeared into the depths of the forest. to their intense surprise, the usually placid younkins turned savagely upon the dog, and saying, "drat that fool dog!" fired one barrel loaded with fine bird-shot into poor major. "four as fine wild turkeys as you ever saw in your life!" he explained, as if in apology to the boys. "i was sure of at least two of 'em; and that lunkhead of a dog must needs dash in and scare 'em up. it's too pesky blamed bad!" the boys were greatly mortified at the disaster that they had brought upon younkins and major by bringing the dog out with them. but when charlie, as the eldest, explained that they had no idea that major would work mischief, younkins said, "never mind, boys, for you did not know what was going on-like." younkins, ashamed, apparently, of his burst of temper, stooped down, and discovering that major's wounds were not very serious, extracted the shot, plucked a few leaves of some plant that he seemed to know all about, and pressed the juice into the wounds made by the shot. the boys looked on with silent admiration. this man knew everything, they thought. they had often marvelled to see how easily and unerringly he found his way through woods, streams, and over prairies; now he showed them another gift. he was a "natural-born doctor," as his wife proudly said of him. "no turkey for supper to-night," said younkins, as he picked up his shot-gun and returned with the boys to the cabin. he was "right glad," he said, to agree to go on a buffalo hunt, if the rest of the party would like to go. he knew there must be buffalo off to the westward. he went with mr. fuller and mr. battles last year, about this time, and they had great luck. he would come over that evening and set a date with the other men for starting out together. [illustration: they were feasting themselves on one of the delicious watermelons that now so plentifully dotted their own corn-field.] elated with this ready consent of younkins, the lads went across the ford, eager to tell their elders the story of the wild turkeys and poor major's exploit. sandy, carrying his shot-gun on his shoulder, lingered behind while the other two boys hurried up the trail to the log-cabin. he fancied that he heard a noise as of ducks quacking, in the creek that emptied into the fork just below the ford. so, making his way softly to the densely wooded bank of the creek, he parted the branches with great caution and looked in. what a sight it was! at least fifty fine black ducks were swimming around, feeding and quacking sociably together, entirely unconscious of the wide-open blue eyes that were staring at them from behind the covert of the thicket. sandy thought them even more wonderful and beautiful than the young fawn and his dam that he had seen on the fort riley trail. for a moment, fascinated by the rare spectacle, he gazed wonderingly at the ducks as they swam around, chasing each other, and eagerly hunting for food. it was but for a moment, however. then he raised his shot-gun, and taking aim into the thickest of the flock, fired both barrels in quick succession. instantly the gay clamor of the pretty creatures ceased, and the flock rose with a loud whirring of wings, and wheeled away over the tree-tops. the surface of the water, to sandy's excited imagination, seemed to be fairly covered with birds, some dead, and some struggling with wounded limbs. the other two boys, startled by the double report from sandy's gun, came scampering down the trail, just as the lad, all excitement, was stripping off his clothes to wade into the creek for his game. "ducks! black ducks! i've shot a million of 'em!" cried the boy, exultingly; and in another instant he plunged into the water up to his middle, gathering the ducks by the legs and bringing them to the bank, where charlie and oscar, discreetly keeping out of the oozy creek, received them, counting the birds as they threw them on the grass. "eighteen, all told!" shouted oscar, when the last bird had been caught, as it floundered about among the weeds, and brought ashore. "eighteen ducks in two shots!" cried sandy, his freckled face fairly beaming with delight. "did ever anybody see such luck?" they all thought that nobody ever had. "what's that on your leg?" asked oscar, stooping to pick from sandy's leg a long, brown object looking like a flat worm. to the boys' intense astonishment, the thing would not come off, but stretched out several inches in length, holding on by one end. sandy howled with pain. "it is something that bites," he cried. "and there's another,--and another! why, he's covered all over with 'em!" exclaimed oscar. sure enough, the lad's legs, if not exactly covered, were well sprinkled with the things. "scrape 'em off with your knife!" cried sandy. oscar usually carried a sheath-knife at his belt, "more for the style of the thing, than use," he explained; so with this he quickly took off the repulsive creatures, which, loosening their hold, dropped to the ground limp and shapeless. "leeches," said charlie, briefly, as he poked one of them over with a stick. the mystery was explained, and wherever one of them had been attached to the boy's tender skin, blood flowed freely for a few minutes, and then ceased. even on one or two of the birds they found a leech adhering to the feathers where the poor thing's blood had followed the shot. picking up the game, the two boys escorted the elated sandy to the cabin, where his unexpected adventures made him the hero of the day. "couldn't we catch some of those leeches and sell them to the doctors?" asked the practical oscar. his father shook his head. "american wild leeches like those are not good for much, my son. i don't know why not; but i have been told that only the imported leeches are used by medical men." "well," said sandy, tenderly rubbing his wounded legs, "if imported leeches can bite any more furiously than these kansas ones do, i don't want any of them to tackle me! i suppose these were hungry, though, not having had a taste of a fresh illinois boy lately. but they didn't make much out of me, after all." very happy were those three boys that evening, as, filled with roast wild duck, they sat by and heard their elders discuss with younkins the details of the grand buffalo hunt that was now to be organized. younkins had seen mr. fuller, who had agreed to make one of the party. so there would be four men and the three boys to compose the expedition. they were to take two horses, fuller's and younkins's, to serve as pack-animals, for the way to the hunting-ground might be long; but the hunting was to be done on foot. younkins was very sure that they would have no difficulty in getting near enough to shoot; the animals had not been hunted much in those parts at that time, and the indians killed them on foot very often. if indians could do that, why could not white men? the next two days were occupied in preparations for the expedition, to the great delight of the boys, who recalled with amusement something of a similar feeling that they had when they were preparing for their trip to kansas, long ago, away back in dixon. how far off that all seemed now! now they were in the promised land, and were going out to hunt for big game--buffalo! it seemed too good to be true. bread was made and baked; smoked side-meat, and pepper and salt packed; a few potatoes taken, as a luxury in camp-life; blankets, guns, and ammunition prepared; and above all, plenty of coffee, already browned and ground, was packed for use. it was a merry and a buoyant company that started out in the early dawn of a september morning, having snatched a hasty breakfast, of which the excited boys had scarcely time to taste. buffalo beef, they confidently said, was their favorite meat. they would dine on buffalo hump that very day. oscar, more cautious than the others, asked younkins if they were sure to see buffalo soon. "surely," replied he; "i was out to the bend of the fork just above the bluffs, last night, and the plains were just full of 'em, just simply black-like, as it were." "what?" exclaimed all three boys, in a breath. "plains full of them, and you didn't even mention it! what a funny man you are." mr. howell reminded them that mr. younkins had been accustomed to see buffalo for so long that he did not think it anything worth mentioning that he had seen vast numbers of the creatures already. so, as they pressed on, the boys strained their eyes in the distance, looking for buffalo. but no animals greeted their sight, as they passed over the long green swales of the prairie, mile after mile, now rising to the top of a little eminence, and now sinking into a shallow valley; but occasionally a sneaking, stealthy coyote would noiselessly trot into view, and then, after cautiously surveying them from a distance, disappear, as sandy said, "as if he had sunk into a hole in the ground." it was in vain that they attempted to get near enough to one of these wary animals to warrant a shot. it is only by great good luck that anybody ever shoots a coyote, although in countries where they abound every man's hand is against them; they are such arrant thieves, as well as cowards. but at noon, while the little party was taking a luncheon in the shade of a solitary birch that grew by the side of a little creek, or runlet, sandy, the irrepressible, with his bread and meat in his hand, darted off to the next roll of the prairie, a high and swelling hill, in fact, "to see what he could see." as soon as the lad had reached the highest part of the swale, he turned around and swung his arms excitedly, too far off to make his voice heard. he jumped up and down, whirled his arms, and acted altogether like a young lunatic. "the boy sees buffalo," said younkins, with a smile of calm amusement. he could hardly understand why anybody should be excited over so commonplace a matter. but the other two lads were off like a shot in sandy's direction. reaching their comrade, they found him in a state of great agitation. "oh, look at 'em! look at 'em! millions on millions! did anybody ever see the like?" perhaps sandy's estimate of the numbers was a little exaggerated, but it really was a wonderful sight. the rolls of the prairie, four or five miles away, were dark with the vast and slow-moving herds that were passing over, their general direction being toward the spot on which the boys were standing. now and again, some animals strayed off in broken parties, but for the most part the phalanx seemed to be solid, so solid that the green of the earth was completely hidden by the dense herd. the boys stood rooted to the spot with the intensity of their wonder and delight. if there were not millions in that vast army of buffalo, there were certainly hundreds of thousands. what would happen if that great mob should suddenly take a notion to gallop furiously in their direction? "you needn't whisper so," said charlie, noticing the awe-struck tones of the youngsters. "they can't hear you, away off there. why, the very nearest of the herd cannot be less than five miles off; and they would run from us, rather than toward us, if they were to see and hear us." "i asked younkins if he ever had any trouble with a buffalo when he was hunting, and what do you suppose he said?" asked oscar, who had recovered his voice. "well, he said that once he was out on horseback, and had cornered a young buffalo bull in among some limestone ledges up there on the upper fork, and 'the critter turned on him and made a nasty noise with his mouth-like,' so that he was glad to turn and run. 'nasty noise with his mouth,' i suppose was a sort of a snort--a snort-like, as younkins would say. there come the rest of the folks. my! won't daddy be provoked that we didn't go back and help hitch up!" but the elders of the party had not forgotten that they were once boys themselves, and when they reached the point on which the lads stood surveying the sight, they also were stirred to enthusiasm. the great herd was still moving on, the dark folds of the moving mass undulating like the waves of a sea, as the buffalo rose and fell upon the surface of the rolling prairie. as if the leaders had spied the hunters, the main herd now swung away more to the right, or northward, only a few detached parties coming toward the little group of hunters that still watched them silently from its elevated point of observation. younkins surveyed the movement critically and then announced it as his opinion that the herd was bound for the waters of the republican fork, to the right and somewhat to the northward of the party. the best course for them to take now would be to try and cut off the animals before they could reach the river. there was a steep and bluffy bank at the point for which the buffalo seemed to be aiming; that would divert them further up stream, and if the hunters could only creep along in the low gullies of the prairie, out of the sight of the herd, they might reach the place where the buffalo would cross before they could get there; for the herd moved slowly; an expert walker could far out-travel them in a direct line. "one of you boys will have to stay here by the stuff; the rest of us will press on in the direction of the river as fast as may be," said uncle aleck. the boys looked at each other in dismay. who would be willing to be left behind in a chase so exciting as this? sandy bravely solved the puzzle. "here, you take my shot-gun, charlie," he said. "it carries farther than yours; i'll stay by the stuff and the horses; i'm pretty tired, anyhow." his father smiled approvingly, but said nothing. he knew how great a sacrifice the boy was making for the others. left alone on the hill-top, for the rest of the party moved silently and swiftly away to the northward, sandy felt the bitterness of disappointment as well as of loneliness while he sat on the grass watching with absorbed attention the motions of the great herds. all trace of his companions was soon lost as they passed down into the gullies and ravines that broke the ground adjacent to the fork to the westward of the stream. once, indeed, he saw the figures of the hunters, painted dark against the sky, rise over a distant swell and disappear just as one of them turned and waved a signal in dumb show to the solitary watcher on the hill. "if those buffalo should get stampeded," mused sandy, "and make a break in this way, it would be 'all day' with those horses and the camp stuff. i guess i had better make all fast, for there may be a gale of wind, or a gale of buffalo, which is the same thing." so saying, the thoughtful lad led the animals down into the gully where the noon luncheon had been taken, removed their packs, tethered them to the tree, and then ran back to the hill-top and resumed his watch. there was no change in the situation except that there were, if possible, more buffalo moving over the distant slopes of the rolling prairie. the boy stood entranced at the sight. more, more, and yet more of the herds were slowly moving into sight and then disappearing in the gullies below. the dark brown folds seemed to envelop the face of the earth. sandy wondered where so many creatures could find pasturage. their bodies appeared to cover the hills and valleys, so that there could not be room left for grazing. "they've got such big feet," he soliloquized aloud, "that i should think that the ground would be all pawed up where they have travelled." in the ecstasy of his admiration, he walked to and fro on the hill-top, talking to himself, as was his wont. "i wonder if the other fellows can see them as i do?" he asked. "i don't believe, after all, that it is one-half so entertaining for them as it is for me. oh, i just wish the folks at home could be here now, and see this sight. it beats all nature, as father dixon used to say. and to think that there are thousands of people in big cities who don't have meat enough to eat. and all this buffalo-meat running wild!" the boy laughed to himself at the comicality of the thought. "fresh beef running wild!" the faint report of a gun fired afar off now reached his ear and he saw a blue puff of smoke rising from the crest of a timber-bordered hill far away. the herd in that direction seemed to swerve somewhat and scatter, but, to his intense surprise, there was no hurry in their movements; the brown and black folds of the great mass of animals still slowly and sluggishly spread out and flowed like the tides of the sea, enveloping everything. suddenly there was another report, then another, and another. three shots in quick succession. "now they are getting in their work!" shouted the boy, fairly dancing up and down in his excitement. "oh, i wish i was there instead of here looking on!" now the herds wavered for a moment, then their general direction was changed from the northward to the eastward. then there was a swift and sudden movement of the whole mass, and the vast dark stream flowed in a direction parallel with the fork instead of toward it, as heretofore. "they are coming this way!" shouted sandy, to the empty, silent air around him. "i'll get a shot at 'em yet!" then, suddenly recollecting that his gun had been exchanged for his brother's, he added, "and charlie's gun is no good!" in truth, the herd was now bound straight for the hill on which the boy maintained his solitary watch. swiftly running down to the gully in which the horses were tethered, sandy got out his brother's gun and carefully examined the caps and the load. they had run some heavy slugs of lead in a rude mould which they had made, the slug being just the size of the barrel of the shot-gun. one barrel was loaded with a heavy charge of buckshot, and the other with a slug. the latter was an experiment, and a big slug like that could not be expected to carry very far; it might, however, do much damage at short range. running up to the head of the gully, which was in the nature of a shallow ravine draining the hill above, sandy emerged on the highest point of land, a few hundred feet to the right and north of his former post of observation. the herd was in full drive directly toward him. suppose they should come driving down over the hills where he was! they would sweep down into the gully, stampede the horses, and trample all the camp stuff into bits! the boy fairly shook with excitement as the idea struck him. on they came, the solid ground shaking under their thundering tread. "i must try to head 'em off," said the boy to himself. "the least i can do is to scare them a good bit, and then they'll split in two and the herd will divide right here. but i must get a shot at one, or the other fellows will laugh at me." the rushing herd was headed right for the spot where sandy stood, spreading out to the left and right, but with the centre of the phalanx steering in a bee-line for the lad. thoroughly alarmed now, sandy looked around, and perceiving a sharp outcropping of the underlying stratum of limestone at the head of the little ravine, he resolved to shelter himself behind that, in case the buffalo should continue to come that way. notwithstanding his excitement, the lad did not fail to note two discharges, one after the other, in the distance, showing that his friends were still keeping up a fusillade against the flying herds. at the second shot, sandy thought that the masses in the rear swung off more to the southward, as if panic-stricken by the firing, but the advance guard still maintained a straight line for him. there was no escape from it now, and sandy looked down at the two horses tethered in the ravine below, peacefully grazing the short, thick grass, unconscious of the flood of buffalo undulating over the prairie above them, and soon to swoop down over the hill-side where they were. in another instant the lad could see the tossing, shaggy manes of the leaders of the herd, and could even distinguish the redness of their eyes as they swept up the incline, at the head of which he stood. he hastily dodged behind the crag of rock; it was a small affair, hardly higher than his head, but wide enough, he thought, to divide the herd when they came to it. so he ducked behind it and waited for coming events. sandy was right. just beyond the rock behind which he was crouched, the ground fell off rapidly and left a stiff slope, up which even a stampeded buffalo would hardly climb. the ground trembled as the vast army of living creatures came tumbling and thundering over the prairie. sandy, stooping behind the outcropping, also trembled, partly with excitement and partly with fear. if the buffalo were to plunge over the very small barrier between him and them, his fate was sealed. for an instant his heart stood still. it was but for an instant, for, before he could draw a long breath, the herd parted on the two sides of the little crag. the divided stream poured down on both sides of him, a tumultuous, broken, and disorderly torrent of animals, making no sound except for the ceaseless beat of their tremendous hoofs. sandy's eyes swam with the bewildering motion of the living stream. for a brief space he saw nothing but a confused mass of heads, backs, and horns, hundreds of thousands flowing tumultuously past. gradually his sense of security came back to him, and, exulting in his safety, he raised his gun, and muttering under his breath, "right behind the fore-shoulder-like, younkins said," he took steady aim and fired. a young buffalo bull tumbled headlong down the ravine. in their mad haste, a number of the animals fell over him, pell-mell, but, recovering themselves with incredible swiftness, they skipped to their feet, and were speedily on their way down the hill. sandy watched, with a beating heart, the young bull as he fell heels over head two or three times before he could rally; the poor creature got upon his feet, fell again, and while the tender-hearted boy hesitated whether to fire the second barrel or not, finally fell over on his side helpless. meanwhile the ranks of buffalo coming behind swerved from the fallen animal to the left and right, as if by instinct, leaving an open space all around the point where the boy stood gazing at his fallen game. he fired, almost at random, at the nearest of the flying buffalo; but the buckshot whistled hurtlessly among the herd, and sandy thought to himself that it was downright cruelty to shoot among them, for the scattering shot would only wound without killing the animals. it was safe now for sandy to emerge from his place of concealment, and, standing on the rocky point behind which he had been hidden, he gazed to the west and north. the tumbling masses of buffalo were scattered far apart. here and there he could see wide stretches of prairie, no longer green, but trampled into a dull brown by the tread of myriads of hurrying feet; and far to the north the land was clear, as if the main herd had passed down to the southward. scattered bands still hurried along above him, here and there, nearer to the fork, but the main herd had gone on in the general direction of the settlers' home. "what if they have gone down to our cabin?" he muttered aloud. "it's all up with any corn-field that they run across. but, then, they must have kept too far to the south to get anywhere near our claim." and the lad consoled himself with this reflection. but his game was more engrossing of his attention just now than anything else. he had been taught that an animal should not bleed to death through a gunshot wound. his big leaden slug had gone directly through the buffalo's vitals somewhere, for it was now quite dead. sandy stood beside the noble beast with a strange elation, looking at it before he could make up his mind to cut its throat and let out the blood. it was a young bull buffalo that lay before him, the short, sharp horns ploughed into the ground, and the massive form, so lately bounding over the rolling prairie, forever still. to sandy it all seemed like a dream, it had come and gone so quickly. his heart misgave him as he looked, for sandy had a tender heart. then he gently touched the animal with the toe of his boot and cried, "all by my own self!" [illustration: he gently touched the animal with the toe of his boot and cried, "all by my own self."] "well done, sandy!" the boy started, turned, and beheld his cousin oscar gazing open-mouthed at the spectacle. "and did you shoot him all by your very own self? what with? charlie's gun?" the lad poured forth a torrent of questions, and sandy proudly answered them all with, "that is what i did." as the two boys hung with delight over the prostrate beast, oscar told the tale of disappointment that the others had to relate. they had gone up the ravines that skirted the fork, prowling on their hands and knees; but the watchers of the herd were too wary to let the hunters get near enough for a good shot. they had fired several times, but had brought down nothing. sandy had heard the shots? yes, sandy had heard, and had hoped that somebody was having great sport. after all, he thought, as he looked at the fallen monarch of the prairie, it was rather cruel business. oscar did not think so; he wished he had had such luck. the rest of the party now came up, one after another, and all gave a whoop of astonishment and delight at sandy's great success as soon as they saw his noble quarry. the sun was now low in the west; here was a good place for camping; a little brush would do for firing, and water was close at hand. so the tired hunters, after a brief rest, while they lay on the trampled grass and recounted the doings of the day, went to work at the game. the animal was dressed, and a few choice pieces were hung on the tree to cool for their supper. it was dark when they gathered around their cheerful fire, as the cool autumnal evening came on, and cooked and ate with infinite zest their first buffalo-meat. boys who have never been hungry with the hunger of a long tramp over the prairies, hungry for their first taste of big game of their own shooting, cannot possibly understand how good to the boy settlers was their supper on the wind-swept slopes of the kansas plains. wrapping themselves as best they could in the blankets and buffalo-robes brought from home, the party lay down in the nooks and corners of the ravine, first securing the buffalo-meat on the tree that made their camp. "what, for goodness' sake, is that?" asked charlie, querulously, as he was roused out of his sleep by a dismal cry not far away in the darkness. "wolves," said younkins, curtly, as he raised himself on one elbow to listen. "the pesky critters have smelt blood; they would smell it if they were twenty miles off, i do believe, and they are gathering round as they scent the carcass." by this, all of the party were awake except sandy, who, worn out with excitement, perhaps, slept on through all the fearful din. the mean little prairie-wolves gathered, and barked, and snarled, in the distance. nearer, the big wolves howled like great dogs, their long howl occasionally breaking into a bark; and farther and farther off, away in the extremest distance, they could hear other wolves, whose hollow-sounding cry seemed like an echo of their more fortunate brethren, nearer the game. a party of the creatures were busy at the offal from the slain buffalo, just without the range of the firelight, for the camp-fire had been kept alight. into the struggling, snarling group younkins discharged his rifle. there was a sharp yell of pain, a confused patter of hurrying feet, and in an instant all was still. sandy started up. "who's shot another buffalo?" he asked, as if struggling with a dream. the others laughed, and charlie explained what had been going on, and the tired boy lay down to sleep again. but that was not a restful night for any of the campers. the wolves renewed their howling. the hunters were able to snatch only a few breaths of sleep from time to time, in moments when the dismal ululation of the wolf-chorus subsided. the sun rose, flooding the rolling prairies with a wealth of golden sunshine. the weary campers looked over the expanse around them, but not a remnant of the rejected remains of the buffalo was to be seen; and in all the landscape about, no sign of any living thing was in sight, save where some early-rising jack-rabbit scudded over the torn sod, hunting for his breakfast. fresh air, bright sunlight, and a dip in a cool stream are the best correctives for a head heavy with want of sleep; and the hunters, refreshed by these and a pot of strong and steaming coffee, were soon ready for another day's sport. chapter xvi. a great disaster. the hunters had better success on their second day's search for buffalo; for they not only found the animals, but they killed three. the first game of the day was brought down by younkins, who was the "guide, philosopher, and friend" of the party, and oscar, the youngest of them all, slew the second. the honor of bringing down the third and last was uncle aleck's. when he had killed his game, he was anxious to get home as soon as possible, somewhat to the amusement of the others, who rallied him on his selfishness. they hinted that he would not be so ready to go home, if he yet had his buffalo to kill, as had some of the others. "i'm worried about the crop, to tell the truth," said mr. howell. "if that herd of buffalo swept down on our claim, there's precious little corn left there now; and it seemed to me that they went in that direction." "if that's the case," said the easy-going younkins, "what's the use of going home? if the corn is gone, you can't get it back by looking at the place where it was." they laughed at this cool and practical way of looking at things, and uncle aleck was half ashamed to admit he wanted to be rid of his present suspense, and could not be satisfied until he had settled in his mind all that he dreaded and feared. it was a long and wearisome tramp homeward. but they had been more successful than they had hoped or expected, and the way did not seem so long as it would if they had been empty-handed. the choicest parts of their game had been carefully cooled by hanging in the dry kansas wind, over night, and were now loaded upon the pack-animals. there was enough and more than enough for each of the three families represented in the party; and they had enjoyed many a savory repast of buffalo-meat cooked hunter-fashion before an open camp-fire, while their expedition lasted. so they hailed with pleasure the crooked line of bluffs that marks the big bend of the republican fork near which the whittier cabin was built. here and there they had crossed the trail, broad and well pounded, of the great herd that had been stampeded on the first day of their hunt. but for the most part the track of the animal multitude bore off more to the south, and the hunters soon forgot their apprehensions of danger to the corn-fields left unfenced on their claim. it was sunset when the weary pilgrims reached the bluff that overlooked the younkins cabin where the dixon party temporarily dwelt. the red light of the sun deluged with splendor the waving grass of the prairie below them, and jack-rabbits scurrying hither and yon were the only signs of life in the peaceful picture. tired as he was, oscar could not resist taking a shot at one of the flying creatures; but before he could raise his gun to his shoulder, the long-legged, long-eared rabbit was out of range. running briskly for a little distance, it squatted in the tall grass. piqued at this, oscar stealthily followed on the creature's trail. "it will make a nice change from so much buffalo-meat," said the lad to himself, "and if i get him into the corn-field, he can't hide so easily." he saw jack's long ears waving against the sky on the next rise of ground, as he muttered this to himself, and he pressed forward, resolved on one parting shot. he mounted the roll of the prairie, and before him lay the corn-field. it was what had been a corn-field! where had stood, on the morning of their departure, a glorious field of gold and green, the blades waving in the breeze like banners, was now a mass of ruin. the tumultuous drove had plunged down over the ridge above the field, and had fled, in one broad swath of destruction, straight over every foot of the field, their trail leaving a brown and torn surface on the earth, wide on both sides of the plantation. scarcely a trace of greenness was left where once the corn-field had been. here and there, ears of grain, broken and trampled into the torn earth, hinted what had been; but for the most part hillock, stalk, corn-blade, vine, and melon were all crushed into an indistinguishable confusion, muddy and wrecked. oscar felt a shudder pass down his back, and his knees well-nigh gave way under him as he caught a glimpse of the ruin that had been wrought. tears were in his eyes, and, unable to raise a shout, he turned and wildly waved his hands to the party, who had just then reached the door of the cabin. his uncle aleck had been watching the lad, and as he saw him turn he exclaimed, "oscar has found the buffalo trail over the corn-field!" the whole party moved quickly in the direction of the plantation. when they reached the rise of ground overlooking the field, oscar, still unable to speak, turned and looked at his father with a face of grief. uncle aleck, gazing on the wreck and ruin, said only, "a whole summer's work gone!" "a dearly bought buffalo-hunt!" remarked younkins. "that's so, neighbor," added mr. bryant, with the grimmest sort of a smile; and then the men fell to talking calmly of the wonderful amount of mischief that a drove of buffalo could do in a few minutes, even seconds, of time. evidently, the animals had not stopped to snatch a bite by the way. they had not tarried an instant in their wild course. down the slope of the fields they had hurried in a mad rush, plunged into the woody creek below, and, leaving the underbrush and vines broken and flattened as if a tornado had passed through the land, had thundered away across the flat floor of the bottom-land on the further side of the creek. a broad brown track behind them showed that they had then fled into the dim distance of the lands of the chapman's creek region. there was nothing to be done, and not much to be said. so, parting with their kindly and sympathizing neighbors, the party went sorrowfully home. "well," said uncle aleck, as soon as they were alone together, "i am awful sorry that we have lost the corn; but i am not so sure that it is so very great a loss, after all." the boys looked at him with amazement, and sandy said,-- "why, daddy, it's the loss of a whole summer; isn't it? what are we going to live on this whole winter that's coming, now that we have no corn to sell?" "there's no market for free-state corn in these parts, sandy," replied his father; and, seeing the look of inquiry on the lad's face, he explained: "mr. fuller tells us that the officer at the post, the quartermaster at fort riley who buys for the government, will buy no grain from free-state men. several from the smoky hill and from chapman's have been down there to find a market, and they all say the same thing. the sutler at the post, sandy's friend, told mr. fuller that it was no use for any free-state man to come there with anything to sell to the government, at any price. and there is no other good market nearer than the missouri, you all know that,--one hundred and fifty miles away." "well, i call that confoundedly mean!" cried charlie, with fiery indignation. "do you suppose, father, that they have from washington any such instructions to discriminate against us?" "i cannot say as to that, charlie," replied his father; "i only tell you what the other settlers report; and it sounds reasonable. that is why the ruin of the corn-field is not so great a misfortune as it might have been." chapter xvii. the wolf at the door. uncle aleck and mr. bryant had gone over to chapman's creek to make inquiries about the prospect of obtaining corn for their cattle through the coming winter, as the failure of their own crop had made that the next thing to be considered. the three boys were over at the younkins cabin in quest of news from up the river, where, it was said, a party of california emigrants had been fired upon by the indians. they found that the party attacked was one coming from california, not migrating thither. it brought the indian frontier very near the boys to see the shot-riddled wagons, left at younkins's by the travellers. the cheyennes had shot into the party and had killed four and wounded two, at a point known as buffalo creek, some one hundred miles or so up the republican fork. it was a daring piece of effrontery, as there were two military posts not very far away, fort kearney above and fort riley below. "but they are far enough away by this time," said younkins, with some bitterness. "those military posts are good for nothin' but to run to in case of trouble. no soldiers can get out into the plains from any of them quick enough to catch the slowest indian of the lot." charlie was unwilling to disagree with anything that younkins said, for he had the highest respect for the opinions of this experienced old plainsman. but he couldn't help reminding him that it would take a very big army to follow up every stray band of indians, provided any of the tribes should take a notion to go on the warpath. "just about this time, though, the men that were stationed at fort riley are all down at lawrence to keep the free-state people from sweeping the streets with free-state brooms, or something that-a-way," said younkins, determined to have his gibe at the useless soldiery, as he seemed to think them. oscar was interested at once. anything that related to the politics of kansas the boy listened to greedily. "it's something like this," explained younkins. "you see the free-state men have got a government there at lawrence which is lawful under the topeka legislator', as it were. the border-state men have got a city government under the lecompton legislatur'; and so the two are quarrelling to see which shall govern the city; 'tisn't much of a city, either." "but what have the troops from fort riley to do with it? i don't see that yet," said oscar, with some heat. [illustration: a great disaster.] "well," said younkins, "i am a poor hand at politics; but the way i understand it is that the washington government is in favor of the border-state fellows, and so the troops have been sent down to stand by the mayor that belongs to the lecompton fellows. leastways, that is the way the sutler down to the post put it to me when i was down there with the folks that were fired on up to buffalo creek; i talked with him about it yesterday. that's why i said they were at lawrence to prevent the streets being swept by free-state brooms. that is the sutler's joke. see?" "that's what i call outrageous," cried oscar, his eyes snapping with excitement. "here's a people up here on the frontier being massacred by indians, while the government troops are down at lawrence in a political quarrel!" the boys were so excited over this state of things that they paid very little attention to anything else while on their way back to the cabin, full of the news of the day. usually, there was not much news to discuss on the fork. "what's that by the cabin-door?" said sandy, falling back as he looked up the trail and beheld a tall white, or light gray, animal smelling around the door-step of the cabin, only a half-mile away. it seemed to be about as large as a full-grown calf, and it moved stealthily about, and yet with a certain unconcern, as if not used to being scared easily. "it's a wolf!" cried oscar. "the sunday that uncle aleck and i saw one from the bluff yonder, he was just like that. hush, sandy, don't talk so loud, or you'll frighten him off before we can get a crack at him. let's go up the trail by the ravine, and perhaps we can get a shot before he sees us." it was seldom that the boys stirred abroad without firearms of some sort. this time they had a shot-gun and a rifle with them, and, examining the weapons as they went, they ran down into a dry gully, to follow which would bring them unperceived almost as directly to the cabin as by the regular trail. as noiselessly as possible, the boys ran up the gully trail, their hearts beating high with expectation. it would be a big feather in their caps if they could only have a gray wolf's skin to show their elders on their return from chapman's. "you go round the upper side of the house with your rifle, oscar, and i'll go round the south side with the shot-gun," was charlie's advice to his cousin when they had reached the spring at the head of the gully, back of the log-cabin. with the utmost caution, the two boys crept around opposite corners of the house, each hoping he would be lucky enough to secure the first shot. sandy remained behind, waiting with suppressed excitement for the shot. instead of the report of a firearm, he heard a peal of laughter from both boys. "what is it?" he cried, rushing from his place of concealment. "what's the great joke?" "nothing," said oscar, laughing heartily, "only that as i was stealing around the corner here by the corral, charlie was tiptoeing round the other corner with his eyes bulging out of his head as if he expected to see that wolf." "yes," laughed charlie, "and if oscar had been a little quicker, he would have fired at me. he had his gun aimed right straight ahead as he came around the corner of the cabin." "and that wolf is probably miles and miles away from here by this time, while you two fellows were sneaking around to find him. just as if he was going to wait here for you!" it was sandy's turn to laugh, then. the boys examined the tracks left in the soft loam of the garden by the strange animal, and came to the conclusion that it must have been a very large wolf, for its footsteps were deep as if it were a heavy creature, and their size was larger than that of any wolf-tracks they had ever seen. when the elders heard the story on their arrival from chapman's, that evening, uncle aleck remarked with some grimness, "so the wolf is at the door at last, boys." the lads by this understood that poverty could not be far off; but they could not comprehend that poverty could affect them in a land where so much to live upon was running wild, so to speak. "who is this that rides so fast?" queried charlie, a day or two after the wolf adventure, as he saw a stranger riding up the trail from the ford. it was very seldom that any visitor, except the good younkins, crossed their ford. and younkins always came over on foot. here was a horseman who rode as if in haste. the unaccustomed sight drew all hands around the cabin to await the coming of the stranger, who rode as if he were on some important errand bent. it was battles. his errand was indeed momentous. a corporal from the post had come to his claim, late in the night before, bidding him warn all the settlers on the fork that the cheyennes were coming down the smoky hill, plundering, burning, and slaying the settlers. thirteen white people had been killed in the smoky hill country, and the savages were evidently making their way to the fort, which at that time was left in an unprotected condition. the commanding officer sent word to all settlers that if they valued their lives they would abandon their claims and fly to the fort for safety. arms and ammunition would be furnished to all who came. haste was necessary, for the indians were moving rapidly down the smoky hill. "but the smoky hill is twenty-five or thirty miles from here," said mr. bryant; "why should they strike across the plains between here and there?" battles did not know; but he supposed, from his talk with the corporal, that it was expected that the cheyennes would not go quite to the fort, but, having raided the smoky hill country down as near to the post as might seem safe, they would strike across to the republican fork at some narrow point between the two rivers, travel up that stream, and so go back to the plains from which they came, robbing and burning by the way. the theory seemed a reasonable one. such a raid was like indian warfare. "how many men are there at the post?" asked uncle aleck. "ten men including the corporal and a lieutenant of cavalry," replied battles, who was a pro-slavery man. "the rest are down at lawrence to suppress the rebellion." "so the commanding officer at the post wants us to come down and help defend the fort, which has been left to take care of itself while the troops are at lawrence keeping down the free-state men," said mr. bryant, bitterly. "for my part, i don't feel like going. how is it with you, aleck?" "i guess we had better take care of ourselves and the boys, charlie," said uncle aleck, cheerily. "it's pretty mean for uncle sam to leave the settlers to take care of themselves and the post at this critical time, i know; but we can't afford to quibble about that now. safety is the first consideration. what does younkins say?" he asked of battles. "a randyvoo has been appointed at my house to-night," said the man, "and younkins said he would be there before sundown. he told me to tell you not to wait for him; he would meet you there. he has sent his wife and children over to fuller's, and fuller has agreed to send them with mrs. fuller over to the big blue, where there is no danger. fuller will be back to my place by midnight. there is no time to fool away." here was an unexpected crisis. the country was evidently alarmed and up in arms. an indian raid, even if over twenty miles away, was a terror that they had not reckoned on. after a hurried consultation, the whittier settlers agreed to be at the "randyvoo," as battles called it, before daybreak next morning. they thought it best to take his advice and hide what valuables they had in the cabin, make all snug, and leave things as if they never expected to see their home again, and take their way to the post as soon as possible. [illustration: the retreat to battles's.] it was yet early morning, for mr. battles had wasted no time in warning the settlers as soon as he had received notice from the fort. they had all the day before them for their preparations. so the settlers, leaving other plans for the time, went zealously to work packing up and secreting in the thickets and the gully the things they thought most valuable and they were least willing to spare. clothing, crockery, and table knives and forks were wrapped up in whatever came handy and were buried in holes dug in the ploughed ground. lead, bullets, slugs, and tools of various kinds were buried or concealed in the forks of trees, high up and out of sight. where any articles were buried in the earth, a fire was afterwards built on the surface so that no trace of the disturbed ground should be left to show the expected redskins that goods had been there concealed. they lamented that a sack of flour and a keg of molasses could not be put away, and that their supply of side-meat, which had cost them a long journey to manhattan, must be abandoned to the foe--if he came to take it. but everything that could be hidden in trees or buried in the earth was so disposed of as rapidly as possible. perhaps the boys, after the first flush of apprehension had passed, rather enjoyed the novelty and the excitement. their spirits rose as they privately talked among themselves of the real indian warfare of which this was a foretaste. they hoped that it would be nothing worse. when the last preparations were made, and they were ready to depart from their home, uncertain whether they would ever see it again, sandy, assisted by oscar, composed the following address. it was written in a big, boyish hand on a sheet of letter-paper, and was left on the table in the middle of their cabin:-- good mister indian: we are leaving in a hurry and we want you to be careful of the fire when you come. don't eat the corn-meal in the sack in the corner; it is poisoned. the flour is full of crickets, and crickets are not good for the stomach. don't fool with the matches, nor waste the molasses. be done as you would do by, for that is the golden rule. yours truly, the whittier settlers. even in the midst of their uneasiness and trouble, their elders laughed at this unique composition, although mr. bryant thought that the boys had mixed their version of the golden rule. sandy said that no cheyenne would be likely to improve upon it. so, with many misgivings, the little party closed the door of their home behind them, and took up their line of march to the rendezvous. the shortest way to battles's was by a ford farther down the river, and not by the way of the younkins place. so, crossing the creek on a fallen tree near where sandy had shot his famous flock of ducks, and then steering straight across the flat bottom-land on the opposite side, the party struck into a trail that led through the cottonwoods skirting the west bank of the stream. the moon was full, and the darkness of the grove through which they wended their way in single file was lighted by long shafts of moonbeams that streamed through the dense growth. the silence, save for the steady tramp of the little expedition, was absolute. now and again a night-owl hooted, or a sleeping hare, scared from its form, scampered away into the underbrush; but these few sounds made the solitude only more oppressive. charlie, bringing up the rear, noted the glint of the moonlight on the barrels of the firearms carried by the party ahead of him, and all the romance in his nature was kindled by the thought that this was frontier life in the indian country. not far away, he thought, as he turned his face to the southward, the cabins of settlers along the smoky hill were burning, and death and desolation marked the trail of the cruel cheyennes. now and again sandy, shivering in the chill and dampness of the wood, fell back and whispered to oscar, who followed him in the narrow trail, that this would be awfully jolly if he were not so sleepy. the lad was accustomed to go to bed soon after dark; it was now late into the night. all hands were glad when the big double cabin of the battles family came in sight about midnight, conspicuous on a rise of the rolling prairie and black against the sky. lights were burning brightly in one end of the cabin; in the other end a part of the company had gone to sleep, camping on the floor. hot coffee and corn-bread were ready for the newcomers, and younkins, with a tender regard for the lads, who were unaccustomed to milk when at home, brought out a big pan of delicious cool milk for their refreshment. altogether, as sandy confessed to himself, an indian scare was not without its fun. he listened with great interest to the tales that the settlers had to tell of the exploits of gray wolf, the leader and chief of the cheyennes. he was a famous man in his time, and some of the elder settlers of kansas will even now remember his name with awe. the boys were not at all desirous of meeting the indian foe, but they secretly hoped that if they met any of the redskins, they would see the far-famed gray wolf. while the party, refreshed by their late supper, found a lodging anywhere on the floor of the cabin, a watch was set outside, for the indians might pounce upon them at any hour of the night or day. those who had mounted guard during the earlier part of the evening went to their rest. charlie, as he dropped off to sleep, heard the footsteps of the sentry outside and said to himself, half in jest, "the wolf is at the door." but no wolf came to disturb their slumbers. the bright and cheerful day, and the song of birds dispelled the gloom of the night, and fear was lifted from the minds of the anxious settlers, some of whom, separated from wives and children, were troubled with thoughts of homes despoiled and crops destroyed. just as they had finished breakfast and were preparing for the march to the fort, now only two or three miles away, a mounted man in the uniform of a united states dragoon dashed up to the cabin, and, with a flourish of soldierly manner, informed the company that the commanding officer at the post had information that the cheyennes, instead of crossing over to the republican as had been expected, or attacking the fort, had turned and gone back the way they came. all was safe, and the settlers might go home assured that there was no danger to themselves or their families. having delivered this welcome message in a grand and semi-official manner, the corporal dismounted from his steed, in answer to a pressing invitation from battles, and unbent himself like an ordinary mortal to partake of a very hearty breakfast of venison, corn-bread, and coffee. the company unslung their guns and rifles, sat down again, and regaled themselves with pipes, occasional cups of strong coffee, and yet more exhilarating tales of the exploits and adventures of indian slayers of the earlier time on the kansas frontier. the great indian scare was over. before night fell again, every settler had gone his own way to his claim, glad that things were no worse, but groaning at uncle sam for the niggardliness which had left the region so defenceless when an emergency had come. chapter xviii. discouragement. right glad were our settlers to see their log-cabin home peacefully sleeping in the autumnal sunshine, as they returned along the familiar trail from the river. they had gone back by the way of the younkins place and had partaken of the good man's hospitality. younkins thought it best to leave his brood with his neighbors on the big blue for another day. "the old woman," he said, "would feel sort of scary-like" until things had well blown over. she was all right where she was, and he would try to get on alone for a while. so the boys, under his guidance, cooked a hearty luncheon which they heartily enjoyed. younkins had milk and eggs, both of which articles were luxuries to the whittier boys, for on their ranch they had neither cow nor hens. "why can't we have some hens this fall, daddy?" asked sandy, luxuriating in a big bowl of custard sweetened with brown sugar, which the skilful charlie had compounded. "we can build a hen-house there by the corral, under the lee of the cabin, and make it nice and warm for the winter. battles has got hens to sell, and perhaps mr. younkins would be willing to sell us some of his." "if we stay, sandy, we will have some fowls; but we will talk about that by and by," said his father. "stay?" echoed sandy. "why, is there any notion of going back? back from 'bleeding kansas'? why, daddy, i'm ashamed of you." mr. howell smiled and looked at his brother-in-law. "things do not look very encouraging for a winter in kansas, bleeding or not bleeding; do they, charlie?" "well, if you appeal to me, father," replied the lad, "i shall be glad to stay and glad to go home. but, after all, i must say, i don't exactly see what we can do here this winter. there is no farm work that can be done. but it would cost an awful lot of money to go back to dixon, unless we took back everything with us and went as we came. wouldn't it?" younkins did not say anything, but he looked approvingly at charlie while the other two men discussed the problem. mr. bryant said it was likely to be a hard winter; they had no corn to sell, none to feed to their cattle. "but corn is so cheap that the settlers over on solomon's fork say they will use it for fuel this winter. battles told me so. i'd like to see a fire of corn on the cob; they say it makes a hot fire burned that way. corn-cobs without corn hold the heat a long time. i've tried it." "it is just here, boys," said uncle aleck. "the folks at home are lonesome; they write, you know, that they want to come out before the winter sets in. but it would be mighty hard for women out here, this coming winter, with big hulking fellows like us to cook for and with nothing for us to do. everything to eat would have to be bought. we haven't even an ear of corn for ourselves or our cattle. instead of selling corn at the post, as we expected, we would have to buy of our neighbors, mr. younkins here, and mr. fuller, and we would be obliged to buy our flour and groceries at the post, or down at manhattan; and they charge two prices for things out here; they have to, for it costs money to haul stuff all the way from the river." "that's so," said younkins, resignedly. he was thinking of making a trip to "the river," as the settlers around there always called the missouri, one hundred and fifty miles distant. but younkins assured his friends that they were welcome to live in his cabin where they still were at home, for another year, if they liked, and he would haul from the river any purchases that they might make. he was expecting to be ready to start for leavenworth in a few days, as they knew, and one of them could go down with him and lay in a few supplies. his team could haul enough for all hands. if not, they could double up the two teams and bring back half of leavenworth, if they had the money to buy so much. he "hated dreadfully" to hear them talking about going back to illinois. but when the settlers reached home and found amusement and some little excitement in the digging up of their household treasures and putting things in place once more, the thought of leaving this home in the far west obtruded itself rather unpleasantly on the minds of all of them, although nobody spoke of what each thought. oscar had hidden his precious violin high up among the rafters of the cabin, being willing to lose it only if the cabin were burned. there was absolutely no other place where it would be safe to leave it. he climbed to the loft overhead and brought it forth with great glee, laid his cheek lovingly on its body and played a familiar air. engrossed in his music, he played on and on until he ran into the melody of "home, sweet home," to which he had added many curious and artistic variations. "don't play that, oscar; you make me homesick!" cried charlie, with a suspicious moisture in his eyes. "it was all very well for us to hear that when this was the only home we had or expected to have; but daddy and uncle charlie have set us to thinking about the home in illinois, and that will make us all homesick, i really believe." "here is all my 'funny business' wasted," cried sandy. "no indian came to read my comic letter, after all. i suppose the mice and crickets must have found some amusement in it; i saw any number of them scampering away when i opened the door; but i guess they are the only living things that have been here since we went away." "isn't it queer that we should be gone like this for nearly two days," said oscar, "leaving everything behind us, and come back and know that nobody has been any nearer to the place than we have, all the time? i can't get used to it." "my little philosopher," said his uncle charlie, "we are living in the wilderness; and if you were to live here always, you would feel, by and by, that every newcomer was an interloper; you would resent the intrusion of any more settlers here, interfering with our freedom and turning out their cattle to graze on the ranges that seem to be so like our own, now. that's what happens to frontier settlers, everywhere." "why, yes," said sandy, "i s'pose we should all be like that man over on the big blue that mr. fuller tells about, who moved away when a newcomer took up a claim ten miles and a half from him, because, as he thought, the people were getting too thick. for my part, i am willing to have this part of kansas crowded to within, say, a mile and a half of us, and no more. hey, charlie?" [illustration: "home, sweet home."] but the prospect of that side of the republican fork being over-full with settlers did not seem very imminent about that time. from parts of kansas nearer to the missouri river than they were, they heard of a slackening in the stream of migration. the prospect of a cold winter had cooled the ardor of the politicians who had determined, earlier in the season, to hold the territory against all comers. something like a truce had been tacitly agreed on, and there was a cessation of hostilities for the present. the troops had been marched back from lawrence to the post, and no more elections were coming on for the present in any part of the territory. mr. bryant, who was the only ardent politician of the company, thought that it would be a good plan to go back to illinois for the winter. they could come out again in the spring and bring the rest of the two families with them. the land would not run away while they were gone. it was with much reluctance that the boys accepted this plan of their elders. they were especially sorry that it was thought best that the two men should stay behind and wind up affairs, while the three lads would go down to the river with younkins, and thence home by steamer from leavenworth down the missouri to st. louis. but, after a few days of debate, this was thought to be the best thing that could be done. it was on a dull, dark november day that the boys, wading for the last time the cold stream of the fork, crossed over to younkins's early in the morning, while the sky was red with the dawning, carrying their light baggage with them. they had ferried their trunks across the day before, using the oxcart for the purpose and loading all into younkins's team, ready for the homeward journey. now that the bustle of departure had come, it did not seem so hard to leave the new home on the republican as they had expected. it had been agreed that the two men should follow in a week, in time to take the last steamboat going down the river in the fall, from fort benton, before the closing of navigation for the season. mr. bryant, unknown to the boys, had written home to dixon directing that money be sent in a letter addressed to charlie, in care of a well-known firm in leavenworth. they would find it there on their arrival, and that would enable them to pay their way down the river to st. louis and thence home by the railroad. "but suppose the money shouldn't turn up?" asked charlie, when told of the money awaiting them. he was accustomed to look on the dark side of things, sometimes, so the rest of them thought. "what then?" "well, i guess you will have to walk home," said his uncle, with a smile. "but don't worry about that. at the worst, you can work your passage to st. louis, and there you will find your uncle, oscar g. bryant, of the firm of bryant, wilder & co. i'll give you his address, and he will see you through, in case of accidents. but there will be no accidents. what is the use of borrowing trouble about that?" they did not borrow any trouble, and as they drove away from the scenes that had grown so familiar to them, they looked forward, as all boys would, to an adventurous voyage down the missouri, and a welcome home to their mothers and their friends in dear old dixon. the nights were now cold and the days chilly. they had cooked a goodly supply of provisions for their journey, for they had not much ready money to pay for fare by the way. at noon they stopped by the roadside and made a pot of hot coffee, opened their stores of provisions and lunched merrily, gypsy-fashion, caring nothing for the curious looks and inquisitive questions of other wayfarers who passed them. for the first few nights they attempted to sleep in the wagon. but it was fearfully cold, and the wagon-bed, cluttered up with trunks, guns, and other things, gave them very little room. miserable and sore, they resolved to spend their very last dollar, if need be, in paying for lodging at the wayside inns and hospitable cabins of the settlers along the road. the journey homeward was not nearly so merry as that of the outward trip. but new cabins had been built along their route, and the lads found much amusement in hunting up their former camping-places as they drove along the military road to fort leavenworth. in this way, sleeping at the farm-houses and such casual taverns as had grown up by the highway, and usually getting their supper and breakfast where they slept, they crept slowly toward the river. sandy was the cashier of the party, although he had preferred that charlie, being the eldest, should carry their slender supply of cash. charlie would not take that responsibility; but, as the days went by, he rigorously required an accounting every morning; he was very much afraid that their money would not hold out until they reached leavenworth. twenty miles a day with an ox-team was fairly good travelling; and it was one hundred and fifty miles from the republican to the missouri, as the young emigrants travelled the road. a whole week had been consumed by the tedious trip when they drove into the busy and bustling town of leavenworth, one bright autumnal morning. all along the way they had picked up much information about the movement of steamers, and they were delighted to find that the steamboat "new lucy" was lying at the levee, ready to sail on the afternoon of the very day they would be in leavenworth. they camped, for the last time, in the outskirts of the town, a good-natured border-state man affording them shelter in his hay-barn, where they slept soundly all through their last night in "bleeding kansas." the "new lucy," from fort benton on the upper missouri, was blowing off steam as they drove down to the levee. younkins helped them unload their baggage, wrung their hands, one after another, with real tears in his eyes, for he had learned to love these hearty, happy lads, and then drove away with his cattle to pen them for the day and night that he should be there. charlie and oscar went to the warehouse of osterhaus & wickham, where they were to find the letter from home, the precious letter containing forty dollars to pay their expenses homeward. sandy sat on the pile of trunks watching with great interest the novel sight of hurrying passengers, different from any people he ever saw before; black "roustabouts," or deck-hands, tumbling the cargo and the firewood on board, singing, shouting, and laughing the while, the white mates overseeing the work with many hard words, and the captain, tough and swarthy, superintending from the upper deck the mates and all hands. a party of nice-looking, citified people, as sandy thought them, attracted his attention on the upper deck, and he mentally wondered what they could be doing here, so far in the wilderness. "car' yer baggage aboard, boss?" asked a lively young negro, half-clad and hungry-looking. "no, not yet," answered sandy, feeling in his trousers pocket the last two quarters of a dollar that was left them. "not yet. i am not ready to go aboard till my mates come." the hungry-looking darky made a rush for another more promising passenger and left sandy lounging where the other lads soon after found him. charlie's face was a picture of despair. oscar looked very grave, for him. "what's up?" cried sandy, starting from his seat. "have you seen a ghost?" "worse than that," said charlie. "somebody's stolen the money!" "stolen the money?" echoed sandy, with vague terror, the whole extent of the catastrophe flitting before his mind. "why, what on earth do you mean?" oscar explained that they had found the letter, as they expected, and he produced it, written by the two loving mothers at home. they said that they had made up their minds to send fifty dollars, instead of the forty that uncle charlie had said would be enough. it was in ten-dollar notes, five of them; at least, it had been so when the letter left dixon. when it was opened in leavenworth, it was empty, save for the love and tenderness that were in it. sandy groaned. the lively young darky came up again with, "car' yer baggage aboard, boss?" it was sickening. "what's to be done now?" said charlie, in deepest dejection, as he sat on the pile of baggage that now looked so useless and needless. "i just believe some of the scamps i saw loafing around there in that store stole the money out of the letter. see here; it was sealed with that confounded new-fangled 'mucilage'; gumstickum i call it. anybody could feel those five bank-notes inside of the letter, and anybody could steam it open, take out the money, and seal it up again. we have been robbed." "let's go and see the heads of the house there at osterhaus & wickham's. they will see us righted," cried sandy, indignantly. "i won't stand it, for one." "no use," groaned charlie. "we saw mr. osterhaus. he was very sorry--oh, yes!--awfully sorry; but he didn't know us, and he had no responsibility for the letters that came to his place. it was only an accommodation to people that he took them in his care, anyhow. oh, it's no use talking! here we are, stranded in a strange place, knowing no living soul in the whole town but good old younkins, and nobody knows where he is. he couldn't lend us the money, even if we were mean enough to ask him. good old younkins!" "younkins!" cried sandy, starting to his feet. "he will give us good advice. he has got a great head, has younkins. i'll go and ask him what to do. bless me! there he is now!" and as he spoke, the familiar slouching figure of their neighbor came around the corner of a warehouse on the levee. "why don't yer go aboard, boys? the boat leaves at noon, and it's past twelve now. i just thought i'd come down and say good-by-like, for i'm powerful sorry to have ye go." the boys explained to the astonished and grieved younkins how they had been wrecked, as it were, almost in sight of the home port. the good man nodded his head gravely, as he listened, softly jingled the few gold coins in his trousers pocket, and said: "well, boys, this is the wust scald i ever did see. if i wasn't so dreadful hard up, i'd give ye what i've got." "that's not to be thought of, mr. younkins," said charlie, with dignity and gratitude, "for we can't think of borrowing money to get home with. it would be better to wait until we can write home for more. we might earn enough to pay our board." and charlie, with a sigh, looked around at the unsympathetic and hurrying throng. "you've got baggage as security for your passage to st. louis. go aboard and tell the clerk how you are fixed. your pa said as how you would be all right when you got to st. louis. go and 'brace' the clerk." this was a new idea to the boys. they had never heard of such a thing. who would dare to ask such a great favor? the fare from leavenworth to st. louis was twelve dollars each. they had known all about that. and they knew, too, that the price included their meals on the way down. "i'll go brace the clerk," said sandy, stoutly; and before the others could put in a word, he was gone. the clerk was a handsome, stylish-looking man, with a good-natured countenance that reassured the timid boy at once. mustering up his waning courage, sandy stated the case to him, telling him that that pile of trunks and guns on the levee was theirs, and that they would leave them on board when they got to st. louis until they had found their uncle and secured the money for their fares. the handsome clerk looked sharply at the lad while he was telling his story. "you've got an honest face, my little man. i'll trust you. bring aboard your baggage. people spar their way on the river every day in the year; you needn't be ashamed of it. accidents will happen, you know." and the busy clerk turned away to another customer. with a light heart sandy ran ashore. his waiting and anxiously watching comrades saw by his face that he had been successful, before he spoke. "that's all fixed," he cried, blithely. "bully boy!" said younkins, admiringly. "car' yer baggage aboard, boss?" asked the lively young darky. "take it along," said sandy, with a lordly air. they shook hands with younkins once more, this time with more fervor than ever. then the three lads filed on board the steamboat. the gang-plank was hauled in, put out again for the last tardy passenger, once more taken aboard, and then the stanch steamer "new lucy" was on her way down the turbid missouri. "oh, sandy," whispered charlie, "you gave that darky almost the last cent we had for bringing our baggage on board. we ought to have lugged it aboard ourselves." "lugged it aboard ourselves? and all these people that we are going to be passengers with for the next four or five days watching us while we did a roustabout's work? not much. we've a quarter left." charlie was silent. the great stern-wheel of the "new lucy" revolved with a dashing and a churning sound. the yellow banks of the missouri sped by them. the sacred soil of kansas slid past as in a swiftly moving panorama. one home was hourly growing nearer, while another was fading away there into the golden autumnal distance. chapter xix. down the big muddy. it is more than six hundred miles from leavenworth to st. louis by the river. and as the river is crooked exceedingly, a steamboat travelling that route points her bow at every point of the compass, north, south, east, and west, before the voyage is finished. the boys were impatient to reach home, to be back in dear old dixon, to see the mother and the fireside once more. but they knew that days must pass before they could reach st. louis. the three lads settled themselves comfortably in the narrow limits of their little stateroom; for they found that their passage included quarters really more luxurious than they had been accustomed to in their kansas log-cabin. "not much army blanket and buffalo-robe about this," whispered oscar, pressing his toil-stained hand on the nice white spread of his berth. "say, wouldn't younkins allow that this was rather comfortable-like, if he was to see it and compare it with his deerskin coverlet that he is so proud of?" "well, younkins's deerskin coverlet is paid for, and this isn't," said charlie, grimly. but the light-hearted younger boys borrowed no trouble on that score. as sandy said, laughingly, they were all fixed for the trip to st. louis, and what was the use of fretting about the passage money until the time came to pay it? when the lads, having exchanged their flannel shirts for white cotton ones, saved up for this occasion, came out from their room, they saw two long tables covered with snowy cloths set for the whole length of the big saloon. they had scanned the list of meal hours hanging in their stateroom, and were very well satisfied to find that there were three meals served each day. it was nearly time for the two o'clock dinner, and the colored servants were making ready the tables. the boat was crowded with passengers, and it looked as if some of them would be obliged to wait for the "second table." on board of a steamboat, especially in those days of long voyages, the matter of getting early to the table and having a good seat was of great concern to the passengers. men stood around, lining the walls of the saloon and regarding with hungry expectation the movements of the waiters who were making ready the tables. when the chairs were placed, every man laid his hand on the top of the seat nearest him, prepared, as one of the boys privately expressed it, to "make a grab." "well, if we don't make a grab, too, we shall get left," whispered sandy, and the boys bashfully filed down the saloon and stood ready to take their seats when the gong should sound. to eyes unused to the profuseness of living that then prevailed on the best class of western steamboats, the display on the dining-tables of the "new lucy" was very grand indeed. the waiters, all their movements regulated by something like military discipline, filed in and out bearing handsome dishes for the decoration of the board. "just look at those gorgeous flowers! red, white, blue, purple, yellow! my! aren't they fine?" said sandy, under his breath. oscar giggled. "they are artificial, sandy. how awfully green you are!" sandy stoutly maintained that they were real flowers. he could smell them. but when one of the waiters, having accidentally overturned one of the vases and knocked a flaming bouquet on the carpeted floor of the cabin, snatched it up and dusted it with his big black hand, sandy gave in, and murmured, "tis true; they're false." but the boys' eyes fairly stood out with wonder and admiration when a procession of colored men came out of the pantry, bearing a grand array of ornamental dishes. pineapples, bananas, great baskets of fancy cakes, and other dainties attracted their wonder-stricken gaze. but most of all, numerous pyramids of macaroons, two or three feet high, with silky veils of spun sugar falling down from summit to base, fascinated their attention. they had never seen the like at a public table; and the generous board of the "new lucy" fairly groaned with good things when the gong somewhat superfluously announced to the waiting throng that dinner was served. "no plates, knives, or forks," said sandy, as, amid a great clatter and rush, everybody sat down to the table. just then a long procession of colored waiters emerged from the pantry, the foremost man carrying a pile of plates, and after him came another with a basket of knives, after him another with a basket of forks, then another with spoons, and so on, each man carrying a supply of some one article for the table. with the same military precision that had marked all their movements, six black hands were stretched at the same instant over the shoulders of the sitting passengers, and six articles were noiselessly dropped on the table; then, with a similar motion, the six black hands went back to their respective owners, as the procession moved along behind the guests, the white-sleeved arms and black hands waving in the air and keeping exact time as the procession moved around the table. "looks like a white-legged centipede," muttered sandy, under his breath. but more evolutions were coming. these preliminaries having been finished, the solemn procession went back to the kitchen regions, and presently came forth again, bearing a glittering array of shining metal covered dishes. at the tap of the pompous head-waiter's bell, every man stood at "present arms," as oscar said. then, at another tap, each dish was projected over the white cloth to the spot for which it was designed, and held an inch or two above the table. another tap, and every dish dropped into its place with a sound as of one soft blow. the pompous head-waiter struck his bell again, and every dish-cover was touched by a black hand. one more jingle, and, with magical swiftness and deftness, each dish-cover was lifted, and a delightful perfume of savory viands gushed forth amidst the half-suppressed "ahs" of the assembled and hungry diners. then the procession of dark-skinned waiters, bearing the dish-covers, filed back to the pantry, and the real business of the day began. this was the way that dinners were served on all the first-rate steamboats on western rivers in those days. to hungry, hearty boys, used of late to the rough fare of the frontier, and just from a hard trip in an ox-wagon, with very short rations indeed, this profusion of good things was a real delight. sandy's mouth watered, but he gently sighed to himself, "'most takes away my appetite." the polite, even servile, waiters pressed the lads with the best of everything on the generous board; and sandy's cup of happiness was full when a jolly darky, his ebony face shining with good-nature, brought him some frosted cake, charlotte russe, and spun sugar and macaroons from one of the shattered pyramids. "d'ye s'pose they break those up every day?" whispered sandy to the more dignified charlie. "suttinly, suh," replied the colored man, overhearing the question; "suttinly, suh. dis yere boat is de fastest and de finest on de big muddy, young gent; an' dere's nuttin' in dis yere worl' that the 'new lucy' doan have on her table; an' doan yer fergit it, young mas'r," he added, with respectful pride in his voice. "my! what a tuck-out! i've ate and ate until i'm fairly fit to bust," said sandy, as the three boys, their dinner over, sauntered out into the open air and beheld the banks of the river swiftly slipping by as they glided down the stream. just then, glancing around, his eye caught the amused smile of a tall and lovely lady who was standing near by, chatting with two or three rather superior-looking young people whom the lad had first noticed when the question of having the baggage brought on board at leavenworth was under discussion. sandy's brown cheek flushed; but the pretty lady, extending her hand, said: "pardon my smiling, my boy; but i have a dear lad at home in baltimore who always says just that after his christmas dinner, and sometimes on other occasions, perhaps; and his name is sandy, too. i think i heard your brother call you sandy? this is your brother, is it not?" and the lady turned towards charlie. the lad explained the relationship of the little party, and the lady from baltimore introduced the members of her party. they had been far up the river to fort benton, where they had spent some weeks with friends who were in the military garrison at that post. the young men, of whom there were three in the party, had been out hunting for buffalo, elk, and other big game. had the boys ever killed any buffalo? the pleasant-faced young gentleman who asked the question had noticed that they had a full supply of guns when they came aboard at leavenworth. yes, they had killed buffalo; at least, sandy had; and the youngster's exploit on the bluff of the republican fork was glowingly narrated by the generous and manly charlie. this story broke the ice with the newly met voyagers and, before the gong sounded for supper, the whittier boys, as they still called themselves, were quite as well acquainted with the party from baltimore, as they thought, as they would have been if they had been neighbors and friends on the banks of the republican. the boys looked in at the supper-table. they only looked; for although the short autumnal afternoon had fled swiftly by while they were chatting with their new friends or exploring the steamboat, they felt that they could not possibly take another repast so soon after their first real "tuck-out" on the "new lucy." the overloaded table, shining with handsome glass and china and decked with fancy cakes, preserves, and sweetmeats, had no present attractions for the boys. "it's just like after thanksgiving dinner," said oscar. "only we are far from home," he added, rather soberly. and when the lads crawled into their bunks, as sandy insisted upon calling their berths, it would not surprise one if "thoughts of home and sighs disturbed the sleeper's long-drawn breath." time and again, in the night-watches, the steamer stopped at some landing by the river-side. now it would be a mere wood-pile, and the boat would be moored to a cottonwood tree that overhung the stream. torches of light-wood burning in iron frames at the end of a staff stuck into the ground or lashed to the steamer rail shed a wild, weird glare on the hurrying scene as the roustabouts, or deck-hands, nimbly lugged the wood on board, or carried the cargo ashore, singing plaintive melodies as they worked. then again, the steamer would be made fast to a wharf-boat by some small town, or to the levee of a larger landing-place, and goods went ashore, passengers flitted on and off, baggage was transferred, the gang-plank was hauled in with prodigious clatter, the engineer's bell tinkled, and, with a great snort from her engines, the "new lucy" resumed her way down the river. few passengers but those who were to go ashore could be seen on the upper deck viewing the strange sights of making a night-landing. and through the whole racket and din, three lads slept the sleep of the young and the innocent in room number . "just the number of the year with the eighteen knocked off," sandy had said when they were assigned to it. when the boys had asked in leavenworth how long the trip to st. louis would be, they were told, "three or four days, if the water holds." this they thought rather vague information, and they had only a dim idea of what the man meant by the water holding. they soon learned. the season had been dry for the time of year. although it was now november, little or no autumnal rains had fallen. passengers from fort benton said that the lands on the upper missouri were parched for want of water, and the sluggish currents of the big muddy were "as slow as cold molasses," as one of the deck-hands said to sandy, when he was peering about the lower deck of the steamboat. it began to look as if the water would not hold. on the second afternoon out of leavenworth, as the "new lucy" was gallantly sweeping around prairie bend, where any boat going down stream is headed almost due north, the turn in the river revealed no less than four other steamers hard and fast on the shoals that now plentifully appeared above the surface of the yellow water. cautiously feeling her way along through these treacherous bars and sands, the "new lucy," with slackened speed, moved bravely down upon the stranded fleet. anxious passengers clustered on the forward part of the steamer, watching the course of events. with many a cough and many a sigh, the boat swung to the right or left, obedient to her helm, the cry of the man heaving the lead for soundings telling them how fast the water shoaled or deepened as they moved down stream. "we are bound to get aground," said oscar, as he scanned the wide river, apparently almost bare to its bed. "i suppose there is a channel, and i suppose that pilot up there in the pilot-house knows where it is, but i don't see any." just then the water before them suddenly shoaled, there was a soft, grating sound, a thud, and the boat stopped, hard and fast aground. the "new lucy" had joined the fleet of belated steamers on the shoals of prairie bend. the order was given for all passengers to go aft; and while the lads were wondering what they were so peremptorily sent astern for, they saw two tall spars that had been carried upright at the bow of the boat rigged into the shape of a v upside down, and set on either side of the craft, the lower ends resting on the sand-bar each side of her. a big block and tackle were rigged at the point where the spars crossed each other over the bow of the boat, and from these a stout cable was made fast to the steamer's "nose," as the boys heard somebody call the extreme point of the bow. "they are actually going to hoist this boat over the sand-bar," said sandy, excitedly, as they viewed these preparations from the rear of the boat. "that is exactly what they are going to do," said the pleasant-faced young man from baltimore. "now, then!" he added, with the air of one encouraging another, as the crew, laying hold of the tackle, and singing with a queer, jerky way, began to hoist. this would not avail. the nose of the boat was jammed deep into the sand, and so the cable was led back to a windlass, around which it was carried. then, the windlass being worked by steam, the hull of the steamer rose very slightly, and the bottom of the bow was released from the river-bottom. the pilot rang his bell, the engine puffed and clattered, and the boat crept ahead for a few feet, and then came to rest again. that was all that could be done until the spars were reset further forward or deep water was reached. it was discouraging, for with all their pulling and hauling, that had lasted for more than an hour, they had made only four or five feet of headway. "at the rate of five feet an hour, how long will it take us to spar our way down to st. louis?" asked charlie, quizzically. "oh, charlie," cried sandy, "i know now why the clerk said that there were plenty of fellows who had to spar their way on the river. it is hard work to pull this steamer over the sand-bars and shoals, and when a man is busted and has to work his way along, he's like a steamboat in a fix, like this one is. see? that's the reason why they say he is sparring his way, isn't it?" "you are quite correct, youngster," said the young man from baltimore, regarding sandy's bright face with pleasure. "correct you are. but i never knew what the slang meant until i came out here. and, for that matter, i don't know that i ever heard the slang before. but it is the jargon of the river men." by this time, even sparring was of very little use, for the spars only sank deep and deeper into the soft river-bottom, and there was no chance to raise the bow of the boat from its oozy bed. the case for the present was hopeless; but the crew were kept constantly busy until nightfall, pulling and hauling. some were sent ashore in a skiff, with a big hawser, which was made fast to a tree, and then all the power of the boat, men and steam, was put upon it to twist her nose off from the shoal into which it was stuck. all sorts of devices were resorted to, and a small gain was made once in a while; but it looked very much as if the calculation of charlie, five feet in an hour, was too liberal an allowance for the progress towards st. louis. just then, from the boat furthest down the river rose a cloud of steam, and the astonished lads heard a most extraordinary sound like that of a gigantic organ. more or less wheezy, but still easily to be understood, the well-known notes of "oh, susannah!" came floating up the river to them. everybody paused to listen, even the tired and tugging roustabouts smiling at the unwonted music. "is it really music?" asked oscar, whose artistic ear was somewhat offended by this strange roar of sounds. the young man from baltimore assured him that this was called music; the music of a steam-organ or calliope, then a new invention on the western rivers. he explained that it was an instrument made of a series of steam-whistles so arranged that a man, sitting where he could handle them all very rapidly, could play a tune on them. the player had only to know the key to which each whistle was pitched, and, with a simple arrangement of notes before him, he could make a gigantic melody that could be heard for many miles away. "you are a musician, are you not?" asked the young man from baltimore. "didn't i hear you playing a violin in your room last night? or was it one of your brothers?" oscar, having blushingly acknowledged that he was playing his violin for the benefit of his cousins, as he explained, his new-found acquaintance said, "i play the flute a little, and we might try some pieces together some time, if you are willing." as they were making ready for bed that night, the pleasant-faced young man from baltimore, who had been playing whist with his mother and sister, and the "military man," as the boys had privately named one of the party, came to their door with his flute. the two musicians were fast friends at once. flute and violin made delicious harmony, in the midst of which sandy, who had slipped into his bunk, drifted off into the land of dreams with confused notions of a giant band somewhere up in the sky playing "oh, susannah!" "love's last greeting," and "how can i leave thee?" with occasional suggestions of the "song of the kansas emigrants." another morning came on, cold, damp, and raw. the sky was overcast and there were signs of rain. "there's been rain to the nor'rard," said captain bulger, meditatively. now captain bulger was the skipper of the "new lucy," and when he said those oracular words, they were reported about the steamboat, to the great comfort of all on board. still the five boats stuck on the shoals; their crews were still hard at work at all the devices that could be thought of for their liberation. the "war eagle"--for they had found out the name of the musical steamer far down stream--enlivened the tedious day with her occasional strains of martial and popular music, if the steam-organ could be called musical. in the afternoon, oscar and the amiable young man from baltimore shut themselves in their stateroom and played the flute and violin. the lovely lady who had made sandy's acquaintance early in the voyage asked him if he could make one at a game of whist. sandy replied that he could play "a very little." the thought of playing cards here on a steamboat, in public, as he said to himself, was rather frightful. he was not sure if his mother would like to have him do that. he looked uneasily around to see what charlie would say about it. but charlie was nowhere in sight. he was wandering around, like an uneasy ghost, watching for signs of the rising of the river, now confidently predicted by the knowing ones among the passengers. "my boys all play whist," said the lady, kindly; "but if you do not like to play, i will not urge you. we lack one of making up a party." sandy had been told that he was an uncommonly good player for one so young. he liked the game; there would be no stakes, of course. with his ready habit of making up his mind, he brightly said, "i'll play if you like, but you must know that i am only a youngster and not a first-rate player." so they sat down, the lovely lady from baltimore being sandy's partner, and the military gentleman and the young daughter of the lady from baltimore being their opponents. sandy had great good luck. the very best cards fell to him continually, and he thought he had never played so well. he caught occasional strains of music from room number , and he was glad that oscar was enjoying himself. from time to time the lovely lady who was his partner smiled approvingly at him, and once in a while, while the cards were being dealt, she said, "how divinely those dear boys are playing!" the afternoon sped on delightfully, and sandy's spirits rose. he thought it would be fine if the "new lucy" should stay stuck on a sand-bar for days and days, and he should have such a good game of whist, with the lovely lady from baltimore for a partner. but the military gentleman grew tired. his luck was very poor, and when the servants began to rattle dishes on the supper-table, he suggested that it would be just as well perhaps if they did not play too much now; they would enjoy the game better later on. they agreed to stop with the next game. when they had first taken their places at the card-table, the military gentleman had asked sandy if he had any cards, and when he replied that he had none, the military gentleman, with a very lordly air, sent one of the cabin waiters to the bar for a pack of cards. now that they were through with the game, sandy supposed that the military gentleman would put the cards into his pocket and pay for them. instead of that he said, "now, my little man, we will saw off to see who shall pay for the cards." "saw off?" asked sandy, faintly, with a dim notion of what was meant. "yes, my lad," said the military gentleman. "we will play one hand of old sledge to see who shall pay for the cards and keep them." with a sinking heart, but with a brave face, sandy took up the cards dealt to him and began to play. it was soon over. sandy won one point in the hand; the military gentleman had the other three. "take care of your cards, my son," said the military gentleman; "we may want them again. they charge the extravagant price of six bits for them on this boat, and these will last us to st. louis." six bits! seventy-five cents! and poor sandy had only twenty-five cents in his pocket. that silver quarter represented the entire capital of the boy settlers from kansas. looking up, he saw charlie regarding him with reproachful eyes from a corner of the saloon. with great carefulness, he gathered up his cards and rose, revolving in his mind the awful problem of paying for seventy-five cents' worth of cards with twenty-five cents. "well, you've got yourself into a nice scrape," tragically whispered charlie, in his ear, as soon as the two boys were out of earshot of the others. "what are you going to do now? you can spar your way down to st. louis, but you can't spar your way with that barkeeper for a pack of cards." "let me alone, charlie," said sandy, testily. "you haven't got to pay for these cards. i'll manage it somehow. don't you worry yourself the least bit." "serves you right for gambling. what would mother say if she knew it? if you hadn't been so ready to show off your whist-playing before these strangers, you wouldn't have got into such a box." "i didn't gamble," replied sandy, hotly. "it isn't gambling to play a hand to see who shall pay for the cards. all men do that. i have seen daddy roll a game of tenpins to see who should pay for the alley." "i don't care for that. it is gambling to play for the leastest thing as a stake. nice fellow you are, sitting down to play a hand of seven-up for the price of a pack of cards! six bits at that!" "a nice brotherly brother you are to nag me about those confounded cards, instead of helping a fellow out when he is down on his luck." charlie, a little conscience-stricken, held his peace, while sandy broke away from him, and rushed out into the chilly air of the after-deck. there was no sympathy in the dark and murky river, none in the forlorn shore, where rows of straggling cottonwoods leaned over and swept their muddy arms in the muddy water. looking around for a ray of hope, a bright idea struck him. he could but try one chance. the bar of the "new lucy" was a very respectable-looking affair, as bars go. it opened into the saloon cabin of the steamer on its inner side, but in the rear was a small window where the deck passengers sneaked up, from time to time, and bought whatever they wanted, and then quietly slipped away again, unseen by the more "high-toned" passengers in the cabin. summoning all his courage and assurance, the boy stepped briskly to this outside opening, and, leaning his arms jauntily on the window-ledge, said, "see here, cap, i owe you for a pack of cards." "yep," replied the barkeeper, holding a bottle between his eye and the light, and measuring its contents. this was not encouraging. sandy, with a little effort, went on: "you see we fellows, three of us, are sparring our way down to st. louis. we have got trusted for our passage. we've friends in st. louis, and when we get there we shall be in funds. our luggage is in pawn for our passage money. when we come down to get our luggage, i will pay you the six bits i owe you for the cards. is that all right?" "yep," said the barkeeper, and he set the bottle down. as the lad went away from the window, with a great load lifted from his heart, the barkeeper put his head out of the opening, looked after him, smiled, and said, "that boy'll do." when sandy joined his brother, who was wistfully watching for him, he said, a little less boastfully than might have been expected of him, "that's all right, charlie. the barkeeper says he will trust me until we get to st. louis and come aboard to get the luggage. he's a good fellow, even if he did say 'yep' instead of 'yes' when i asked him." in reply to charlie's eager questions, sandy related all that had happened, and charlie, with secret admiration for his small brother's knack of "cheeking it through," as he expressed it, forbore any further remarks. "i do believe the water is really rising!" exclaimed the irrepressible youngster, who, now that his latest trouble was fairly over, was already thinking of something else. "look at that log. when i came out here just after breakfast, this morning, it was high and dry on that shoal. now one end of it is afloat. see it bob up and down?" full of the good news, the lads went hurriedly forward to find oscar, who, with his friend from baltimore, was regarding the darkening scene from the other part of the boat. "she's moving!" excitedly cried oscar, pointing his finger at the "war eagle"; and, as he spoke, that steamer slid slowly off the sand-bar, and with her steam-organ playing triumphantly "oh, aren't you glad you're out of the wilderness!" a well-known air in those days, she steamed steadily down stream. from all the other boats, still stranded though they were, loud cheers greeted the first to be released from the long embargo. presently another, the "thomas h. benton," slid off, and churning the water with her wheels like a mad thing, took her way down the river. all these boats were flat-bottomed and, as the saying was, "could go anywhere if the ground was a little damp." a rise of a very few inches of water was sufficient to float any one of them. and, in the course of a half-hour, the "new lucy," to the great joy of her passengers, with one more hoist on her forward spars, was once more in motion, and she too went gayly steaming down the river, her less fortunate companions who were still aground cheering her as she glided along the tortuous channel. "well, that was worth waiting some day or two to see," said oscar, drawing a long breath. "just listen to that snorting calliope, playing 'home, sweet home' as they go prancing down the big muddy. i shall never forget her playing that 'out of the wilderness' as she tore out of those shoals. it's a pretty good tune, after all, and the steam-organ is not so bad now that you hear it at a distance." chapter xx. stranded near home. it was after dark, on a saturday evening, when the "new lucy" landed her passengers at the levee, st. louis. they should have been in the city several hours earlier, and they had expected to arrive by daylight. the lads marvelled much at the sight of the muddy waters of the missouri running into the pure currents of the mississippi, twenty miles above st. louis, the two streams joining but not mingling, the yellow streak of the big muddy remaining separate and distinct from the flow of the mississippi for a long distance below the joining of the two. they had also found new enjoyment in the sight of the great, many-storied steamboats with which the view was now diversified as they drew nearer the beautiful city which had so long been the object of their hopes and longings. they could not help thinking, as they looked at the crowded levee, solid buildings, and slender church spires, that all this was a strange contrast to the lonely prairie and wide, trackless spaces of their old home on the banks of the distant kansas stream. the republican fork seemed to them like a far-off dream, it was so very distant to them now. "where are you young fellows going to stop in st. louis?" asked the pleasant-faced young man from baltimore. the lads had scarcely thought of that, and here was the city, the strange city in which they knew nobody, in full sight. they exchanged looks of dismay, sandy's face wearing an odd look of amusement and apprehension mixed. charlie timidly asked what hotels were the best. the young man from baltimore named two or three which he said were "first-class," and charlie thought to himself that they must avoid those. they had no money to pay for their lodging, no baggage as security for their payment. as soon as they could get away by themselves, they held a council to determine what was to be done. they had the business address of their uncle, oscar bryant, of the firm of bryant, wilder & co., wholesale dealers in agricultural implements, front street. but they knew enough about city life to know that it would be hopeless to look for him in his store at night. it would be nearly nine o'clock before they could reach any hotel. what was to be done? charlie was certain that no hotel clerk would be willing to give them board and lodging, penniless wanderers as they were, with nothing but one small valise to answer as luggage for the party. they could have no money until they found their uncle. before they could make up their minds what to do, or which way to turn, the boat had made her landing and was blowing off steam at the levee. the crowds of passengers, glad to escape from the narrow limits of the steamer, were hurrying ashore. the three homeless and houseless lads were carried resistlessly along with the crowd. charlie regretted that they had not asked if they could stay on the boat until sunday morning. but sandy and oscar both scouted such a confession of their poverty. "besides," said sandy, "it is not likely that they would keep any passengers on board here at the levee." "ride up? free 'bus to the planters'!" cried one of the runners on the levee, and before the other two lads could collect their thoughts, the energetic sandy had drawn them into the omnibus, and they were on their way to an uptown hotel. when the driver had asked where their baggage was, sandy, who was ready to take command of things, had airily answered that they would have it sent up from the steamer. there were other passengers in the 'bus, and charlie, anxious and distressed, had no chance to remonstrate; they were soon rattling and grinding over the pavements of st. louis. the novelty of the ride and the glitter of the brightly lighted shops in which crowds of people were doing their saturday-night buying, diverted their attention for a time. then the omnibus backed up before a handsome hotel, and numerous colored men came hurrying down the steps of the grand entrance to wait upon the new arrivals. with much ceremony and obsequiousness, the three young travellers were ushered into the office, where they wrote their names in a big book, and were escorted to a large and elegant room, in which were ample, even luxurious, sleeping accommodations for the trio. the colored porter assiduously brushed off the clothing of the lads. "baggage?" the clerk at the desk had asked when they registered. "baggage, sah?" the waiter asked again, as he dusted briskly the jackets of the three guests. neither charlie nor oscar had the heart to make reply to this very natural question. it was sandy who said: "we will not have our baggage up from the steamer to-night. we are going right on up north." but when sandy tipped the expectant waiter with the long-treasured silver quarter of a dollar, charlie fairly groaned, and sinking into a chair as the door closed, said, "our last quarter! great scott, sandy! are you crazy?" sandy, seeing that there was no help for it, put on a bold front, and insisted that they must keep up appearances to the last. he would hunt up uncle oscar's place of abode in the city directory after supper, and bright and early sunday morning he would go and see him. they would be all right then. what use was that confounded old quarter, anyhow? they might as well stand well with the waiter. he might be useful to them. twenty-five cents would not pay their hotel bill; it would not buy anything they needed in st. louis. the darky might as well have it. "and this is one of the swellest and most expensive hotels in the city," cried charlie, eyeing the costly furniture and fittings of the room in which they were lodged. "i just think that we are travelling under false pretences, putting up at an expensive house like this without a cent in our pockets. not one cent! what will you do, you cheeky boy, if they ask us for our board in advance? i have heard that they always do that with travellers who have no baggage." "well, i don't know what we will do," said sandy, doggedly. "suppose we wait until they ask us. there'll be time enough to decide when we are dunned for our bill. i suppose the honestest thing would be to own right up and tell the whole truth. it's nothing to be ashamed of. lots of people have to do that sort of thing when they get into a tight place." "but i'm really afraid, sandy, that they won't believe us," said the practical oscar. "the world is full of swindlers as well as of honest fellows. they might put us out as adventurers." "we are not adventurers!" cried sandy, indignantly. "we are gentlemen when we are at home, able to pay our debts. we are overtaken by an accident," he added, chuckling to himself. "distressed gentlemen, don't you see?" "but we might have gone to a cheaper place," moaned charlie. "here we are in the highest-priced hotel in st. louis. i know it, for i heard that baltimore chap say so. we might have put up at some third-rate house, anyhow." "but it is the third-rate house that asks you for your baggage, and makes you pay in advance if you don't have any," cried sandy, triumphantly. "i don't believe that a high-toned hotel like this duns people in advance for their board, especially if it is a casual traveller, such as we are. anyhow, they haven't dunned us yet, and when they do, i'll engage to see the party through, master charlie; so you set your mind at rest." as for charlie, he insisted that he would keep out of the sight of the hotel clerk, until relief came in the shape of money to pay their bill. oscar, who had been reading attentively a printed card tacked to the door of the room, broke in with the declaration that he was hungry, and that supper was served until ten o'clock at night. the others might talk all night, for all he cared; he intended to have some supper. there was no use arguing about the chances of being dunned for their board; the best thing he could think of was to have some board before he was asked to pay for it. and he read out the list of hours for dinner, breakfast, and supper from the card. "there is merit in your suggestion," said charlie, with a grim smile. "the dead-broke boy settlers from the roaring republican fork will descend to the banquet-hall." charlie was recovering his spirits under oscar's cool and unconcerned advice to have board before being in the way of paying for it. after supper, the lads, feeling more cheerful than before, sauntered up to the clerk's desk, and inspected the directory of the city. they found their uncle's name and address, and it gave them a gleam of pleasure to see his well-remembered business card printed on the page opposite. under the street address was printed mr. bryant's place of residence, thus: "h. at hyde park." "where's that?" asked sandy, confidently, of the clerk. "oh! that's out of the city a few miles. you can ride out there in the stage. only costs you a quarter." only a quarter! and the last quarter had gone to the colored boy with the whisk-broom. "here's a go!" said sandy, for once a little cast down. "we might walk it," oscar whispered, as they moved away from the desk. but to this charlie, asserting the authority of an elder brother, steadfastly objected. he knew his uncle oscar better than the younger boys did. he remembered that he was a very precise and dignified elderly gentleman. he would be scandalized greatly if his three wandering nephews should come tramping out to his handsome villa on a sunday, like three vagabonds, to borrow money enough to get home to dixon with. no; that was not to be thought of. charlie said he would pawn his watch on monday morning; he would walk the streets to keep out of the way of the much-dreaded hotel clerk; but, as for trudging out to his uncle oscar's on sunday, he would not do it, nor should either of the others stir a step. so they went to bed, and slept as comfortably in their luxurious apartment as if they had never known anything less handsome, and had money in plenty to pay all demands at sight. it was a cloudy and chilly november sunday to which the boys awoke next day. the air was piercingly raw, and the city looked dust-colored and cheerless under the cold, gray sky. breaking their fast (charlie keeping one eye on the hotel office), they sallied forth to see the city. they saw it all over, from one end to the other. they walked and walked, and then went back to the hotel; and after dinner, walked and walked again. they hunted up their uncle's store in one of the deserted business streets of the city; and they gazed at its exterior with a curious feeling of relief. there was the sign on the prosperous-looking outside of the building,--"oscar g. bryant & co., agricultural implements." there, at least, was a gleam of comfort. the store was a real thing. their uncle, little though they knew about him, was a real man. then, as the evening twilight gathered, they walked out to the borders of the suburb where he lived. they did not venture into the avenue where they had been told his house was, vaguely fearing that he might meet and recognize them. as they turned their steps towards the hotel, oscar said: "it's lucky there are three of us to keep ourselves in countenance. if that wasn't the case, it would be awfully lonely to think we were so near home, and yet have gone ashore, hard and fast aground; right in sight of port, as it were." the parents of these boys had been born and brought up near the seacoast of new england, and not a few marine figures of speech were mingled in the family talk. so charlie took up the parable and gloomily said: "we are as good as castaways in this big ocean of a city, with never a soul to throw us a spar or give us a hand. i never felt so blue in all my life. look at those children playing in that dooryard. pretty poor-looking children they are; but they've got a home over their heads to-night. we haven't." "oh, pshaw, charlie!" broke in sandy; "why will you always look on the dark side of things? i know it's real lonesome here in a strange city, and away from our own folks. but they are not so far away but what we can get to them after a while. and we have got a roof over our heads for to-night, anyway; the planters' is good enough for me; if you want anything better, you will have to get outside of st. louis for it; and, what is more, they are not going to dun us for our board bill until after to-day. i'm clean beat out traipsing around this town, and i give you two fellows notice that i am not going to stir a step out of the hotel to-night. unless it is to go to church," he added by way of postscript. they did go to church that night, after they had had their supper. it was a big, comfortable, and roomy church, and the lads were shown into a corner pew under the gallery, where they were not conspicuous. the music of choir and organ was soothing and comforting. one of the tunes sung was "dundee," and each boy thought of their singing the song of "the kansas emigrants," as the warbling measures drifted down to them from the organ-loft, lifting their hearts with thoughts that the strangers about them knew nothing of. the preacher's text was "in my father's house are many mansions." then they looked at each other again, as if to say, "that's a nice text for three homeless boys in a strange city." but nobody even so much as whispered. later on in the sermon, when the preacher touched a tender chord in oscar's heart, alluding to home and friends, and to those who wander far from both, the lad, with a little moisture in his eyes, turned to look at sandy. he was fast asleep in his snug corner. oscar made a motion to wake him, but charlie leaned over and said, "leave the poor boy alone. he's tired with his long tramp to-day." when they went out after the service was over, oscar rallied sandy on his sleeping in church, and the lad replied: "i know it was bad manners, but the last thing i heard the minister say, was 'rest for the weary.' i thought that was meant for me. leastways, i found rest for the weary right off, and i guess there was no harm done." with monday morning came sunshine and a clear and bracing air. even charlie's face wore a cheerful look, the first that he had put on since arriving in st. louis, although now and again his heart quaked as he heard the hotel porter's voice in the hall roaring out the time of departure for the trains that now began to move from the city in all directions. they had studied the railroad advertisements and time-tables to some purpose, and had discovered that they must cross to east st. louis, on the illinois side of the mississippi river, and there take a train for the northern part of the state, where dixon is situated. but they must first see their uncle oscar, borrow the needed money from him, settle with the steamboat people and the hotel, and then get to the railroad station by eleven o'clock in the forenoon. it was a big morning's work. they were at their uncle's store before he arrived from his suburban home; and, while they waited, they whisperingly discussed the question, who should ask for the money? charlie was at first disposed to put this duty on sandy; but the other two boys were very sure that it would not look well for the youngest of the party to be the leader on an occasion so important; and charlie was appointed spokesman. mr. oscar bryant came in. he was very much surprised to see three strange lads drawn up in a row to receive him. and he was still more taken aback when he learned that they were his nephews, on their way home from kansas. he had heard of his brother's going out to kansas, and he had not approved of it at all. he was inclined to think that, on the whole, it would be better for kansas to have slavery than to do without it. a great many other people in st. louis thought the same way, at that time, although some of them changed their minds later on. mr. oscar bryant was a tall, spruce-looking, and severe man in appearance. his hair was gray and brushed stiffly back from his forehead; and his precise, thin, white whiskers were cut "just like a minister's," as sandy afterwards declared; and when he said that going to kansas to make it a free state was simply the rankest kind of folly, charlie's heart sunk, and he thought to himself that the chance of borrowing money from their stern-looking uncle was rather slim. "but it doesn't make any difference to you boys whether slavery is voted up or down in kansas, i suppose," he continued, less sternly. "you will live to see the day when, if you live in kansas, you will own slaves and work them. you can never clear up a wild country like that without slave-labor, depend upon it. i know what i am talking about." and uncle oscar stroked his chin in a self-satisfied way, as if he had settled the whole kansas-nebraska question in his own manner of thinking. sandy's brown cheeks flushed and his eyes sparkled. he was about to burst out with an indignant word, when charlie, alarmed by his small brother's excited looks, blurted out their troubles at once, in order to head off the protest that he expected from sandy. the lad was silent. "eh? what's that?" asked the formal-looking merchant. "busted? and away from home? why, certainly, my lads. how much do you need?" and he opened his pocket-book at once. greatly relieved, perhaps surprised, charlie told him that they thought that fifty dollars would pay all their bills and get them back to dixon. the money was promptly handed over, and charlie, emboldened by this good nature, told his uncle that they still owed for their passage down the river from leavenworth. "and did they really trust you three boys for your passage-money? how did that happen?" asked the merchant, with admiration. charlie, as spokesman, explained that sandy had "sparred" their way for them; and when he had told how sandy still owed for a pack of cards, and how it was his honest face and candid way of doing things that had brought them thus far on their homeward journey, uncle oscar, laughing heartily and quite unbending from his formal and dry way of talking, said, "well done, my little red-hot abolitionist; you'll get through this world, i'll be bound." he bade the wanderers farewell and goodspeed with much impressiveness and sent messages of good-will to their parents. "how do you suppose uncle oscar knew i was an abolitionist?" demanded sandy, as soon as they were out of earshot. "i'm not an abolitionist, anyhow." "well, you're a free-state man; and that's the same thing," said charlie. "a free-state boy," added oscar. with a proud heart the cashier of the boy settlers paid their bill at the hotel, and reclaimed their valise from the porter, with whom they had lodged it in the morning before going out. then they hurried to the levee, and, to their surprise, found that the little steamer that conveyed passengers across the river to the east st. louis railway station lay close alongside the "new lucy." their task of transferring the baggage was easy. "say, sandy, you made the bargain with the clerk to bring us down here on the security of our luggage; it's nothing more than business-like that you should pay him what we owe," said charlie. "right you are, charlie," added oscar, "and it's fair that sandy, who has had the bother of sparring our way for us, should have the proud satisfaction of paying up all old scores." so sandy, nothing loth, took the roll of bills and marched bravely up to the clerk's office and paid the money due. the handsome clerk looked approvingly at the boy, and said: "found your friends? good boy! well, i wish you good luck." the barkeeper said he had forgotten all about the pack of cards that he had trusted sandy with, when the lad gave him the seventy-five cents due him. "i can't always keep account of these little things," he explained. "but you don't often trust anybody with cards coming down the river, do you?" asked sandy, surprised. "heaps," said the barkeeper. "and do they always pay?" "some of 'em does, and then ag'in, some of 'em doesn't," replied the man, as with a yawn he turned away to rearrange his bottles and glasses. with the aid of a lounger on the landing, whom they thought they could now afford to fee for a quarter, the youngsters soon transferred their luggage from the "new lucy" to the little ferry-boat near at hand. to their great pleasure, they found on board the pleasant-faced lady from baltimore and her party. she was apparently quite as pleased to meet them, and she expressed her regret that they were not going eastward on the train with herself and sons. "we have had such a pleasant trip down the river together," she said. "and you are going back to illinois? will you return to kansas in the spring?" "we cannot tell yet," replied charlie, modestly. "that all depends upon how things look in the spring, and what father and uncle aleck think about it. we are free-state people, and we want to see the territory free, you see." the pleasant-faced lady's forehead was just a little clouded when she said, "you will have your labor lost, if you go to kansas, then; for it will certainly be a slave state." they soon were in the cars with their tickets for dixon bought, and, as sandy exultingly declared, paid for, and their baggage checked all the way through. then sandy said, "i'm sorry that pretty lady from baltimore is a border ruffian." the other two boys shouted with laughter, and oscar cried: "she's no border ruffian. she's only pro-slavery; and so is uncle oscar and lots of others. you ought to be ashamed of yourself to be so--what is it, charlie? intolerant, that's what it is." the train was slowly moving from the rude shed that was dignified by the name of railroad depot. looking back at the river with their heads out of the windows, for the track lay at right angles with the river bank, they could now see the last of the noble stream on which they had taken their journey downwards from "bleeding kansas" by the big muddy. they were nearing home, and their hearts were all the lighter for the trials and troubles through which they had so lately passed. "we don't cross the prairies as of old our fathers crossed the sea, any more, do we, charlie?" said oscar, as they caught their last glimpse of the mighty mississippi. "no," said the elder lad. "we may not be there to see it; but kansas will be the homestead of the free, for all that. mind what i say." typography by j. s. cushing & co., boston. presswork by berwick & smith, boston. winning the wilderness in all the story of the world of man, who blazed the way to greater, better things? who stopped the long migration of wild men, and set the noble task of building human homes? the learned recluse? the forum teacher? the poet-singer? the soldier, voyager, or ruler? 't was none of this proud line. the man who digged the ground foretold the destiny of men. 't was he made anchor for the heart; gave meaning to the hearthstone, and the birthplace, and planted vine and figtree at the door. he made e'en nations possible. aye, when with his stone axe he made a hoe, he carved, unwittingly, the scepter of the world. the steps by which the multitudes have climbed were all rough-hewn by this base implement. in its rude path have followed all the minor arts of men. hark back along the centuries, and hear its march across the continents. from zone to zone, all 'round the bounteous world, the man whose skill makes rich the barren field and causes grass to grow, and flowers to blow, and fruits to ripen, and grain turn to gold-- that man is king! long live the king! --mrs. j. k. hudson. [illustration: they sought the trail and followed it westward in the face of the wind] winning the wilderness by margaret hill mccarter author of "the price of the prairie," "a wall of men," "the peace of the solomon valley," "a master's degree," etc. illustrations by j. n. marchand chicago a. c. mcclurg & co. copyright a. c. mcclurg & co. published september, copyrighted in great britain w. f. hall printing company, chicago to that farmer father and mother with their hands on today but with their eyes on tomorrow who through labor and loneliness and hopes long deferred have won a desert to fruitfulness a wilderness to beauty foreword a reach of level prairie bounded only by the edge of the world--misty ravelings of heliotrope and amber, covered only by the arch of heaven--blue, beautiful and pitiless in its far fathomless spaces. to the southwest a triple fold of deeper purple on the horizon line--mere hint of commanding headlands thitherward. across the face of the prairie streams wandering through shallow clefts, aimlessly, somewhere toward the southeast; their course secured by gentle swells breaking into sheer low bluffs on the side next to the water, or by groups of cottonwood trees and wild plum bushes along their right of way. and farther off the brown indefinite shadowings of half-tamed sand dunes. aside from these things, a featureless landscape--just grassy ground down here and blue cloud-splashed sky up there. the last indian trail had disappeared. the hoofprints of cavalry horses had faded away. the price had been paid for the prairie--the costly measure of death and daring. but the prairie itself, in its loneliness and loveliness, was still unsubdued. through the fury of the winter's blizzard, the glory of the springtime, the brown wastes of burning midsummer, the long autumn, with its soft sweet air, its opal skies, and the land a dream of splendor which the far mirage reflects and the wide horizon frames in a curtain of exquisite amethyst--through none of these was the prairie subdued. only to the coming of that king whose scepter is the hoe, did soul of the soil awake to life and promise. to him the wilderness gave up everything except its beauty and the sweep of the freedom-breathing winds that still inspire it. contents part i chapter page i the blessing of asher ii the sign of the sunflower iii the will of the wind iv distress signals v a plainsman of the old school vi when the grasshopper was a burden vii the last bridge burned viii anchored hearthstones ix the beginning of service x the coming of love xi lights and shadows xii the fat years part ii xiii the rollcall xiv the second generation xv the coburn book xvi the humaneness of champers xvii the purple notches xviii remembering the _maine_ xix the "fighting twentieth" xx the crooked trail xxi jane aydelot's will xxii the farther wilderness xxiii the end of the wilderness xxiv the call of the sunflower illustrations page they sought the trail and followed it westward in the face of the wind "read these," she said, "then promise me that in the hour when leigh needs my help you will let me help her" "it's a friendly act on somebody's part." he said grimly leigh turned to see thaine aydelot looking down at her as he leaned over the high back of the rustic seat part one the father the old antaean fable of strength renewed from the ground was a human truth for the ages; since the hour of the eden-birth. that man among men was strongest who stood with his feet on the earth! --sharlot m. hall. winning the wilderness chapter i the blessing of asher unless there be in the background a mother, no portrait of a man is complete. --winston churchill the old aydelot farm reached quite down to the little village of cloverdale, from which it was separated by clover creek. but the aydelot farmhouse stood a good half-mile away up the national pike road toward the virginia state line. the farm consisted of two long narrow strips of ground, bordering the road on either side and walled about by forests hiding stagnant marshes in their black-shadowed depths. francis aydelot had taken up the land from the government before the townsite was thought of. farming was not to his liking and his house had been an inn, doing a thriving business with travelers going out along that great national highway in ante-railway days. but when the village took root and grew into a little town, the village tavern absorbed the revenue from the traveling public, and francis aydelot had, perforce, to put his own hands to the plow and earn a living from the land. it was never a labor of love with him, however, and although he grew well-to-do in the tilling, he resented the touch of the soil as something degrading. cloverdale did not grow toward him, because, out of prejudice at its being, he would not sell one foot of his ground for town lot purposes. nevertheless, since he was upright in all his dealings, the villagers grew proud of him, deferred to his judgment, quoted his opinions, and rated him generally the biggest asset of the community, with one exception. that exception was young asher aydelot, a pink-cheeked, gray-eyed boy, only son of the house of aydelot and heir to all the long narrow acres from the wooded crest on the east to the clear waters of clover creek on the west. he was heir to more than these, however, if the heritage of ancestry counts for anything. jean aydelot, the first of the name in america, driven from france by his family on account of his huguenot beliefs, had settled in virginia. he had quickly grasped the american ideals of freedom, the while he affiliated easily with the exclusive english cavaliers. something of the wanderlust in his blood, however, kept him from rooting too firmly at once. it happened that when a band of quaker exiles had sought refuge in virginia and was about to be driven out by the autocratic cavaliers, young aydelot, out of love for a quaker girl, had championed their cause vehemently. and he was so influential in the settlement that he might have succeeded, but for one family--the wealthy and aristocratic thaines. through the son of this family the final expulsion of these quakers was accomplished. the woman in the case was mercy pennington, a pretty quakeress with whom young jerome thaine fell in love, promising protection to all her people in return for her hand. when she refused his offer, the thaines carried the day, and the quakers again became exiles. jean aydelot followed them to pennsylvania and married mercy pennington, who was promptly disowned by the quaker church for this marriage to one outside its membership. in spite of all this heresy, however, the aydelots became one of the leading families in the development of the colonies. their descendants fell heir to the traits of their french-english forbears: freedom of belief, courage to follow a cause, a touch of the wanderlust, the mercurial french mind, and the steady poise of the followers of the inward light. a trace of bitterness had come down the years, however, with the family history; a feud-like resentment against the family of jerome thaine of virginia. francis aydelot had crossed the alleghanies and settled in ohio in frontier days. here his life, like his narrow, woods-bound farm, was clean and open but narrowed by surroundings and lack of opportunity. what had made for freedom and reform in his ancestors, in him became prejudice and stubborn will. mrs. aydelot was a broad-minded woman. something of vision was in her clear gray eyes. love of beauty, respect for learning, and an almost statesman-like grasp of civic duty and the trend of national progress were hers, too. from such ancestry came asher aydelot, the healthiest, happiest country boy that ever waked the echoes of the old ohio woodlands, or dared the currents of her mad little rivers, or whistled fearlessly as he scampered down the dusty pike road in the soft black summer nights. asher was just fifteen when the civil war swept the nation off its feet. the quaker spirit of mercy pennington made fighting repulsive to his father, but in asher the old huguenot courage of jean aydelot blazed forth, together with the rash partisanship of a young hot-blood whose life has been hemmed in too narrowly by forest walls. almost before cloverdale knew there was a war, the third ohio regiment was on its way to the front. among its bearded men was one beardless youth, a round-faced drummer boy of fifteen, the only child of the big farmhouse beside the national road. in company with him was his boyhood chum, jim shirley, son of the cloverdale tavern keeper. * * * * * an april sun was slipping behind the treetops, and the twilight mists were already rising above the creek. francis aydelot and his wife sat on the veranda watching asher in the glory of a military suit and brass buttons coming up the pike with springing step. "how strong he is! i'm glad he is at home again," the mother was saying. "yes, he's here to stay at last. i have his plans all settled," francis aydelot declared. "but, francis, a man must make some plans for himself. asher may not agree," mrs. aydelot spoke earnestly. "how can our boy know as well as his father does what is best for him? he must agree, that's all. we have gone over this matter often enough together. i won't have any jim shirley in my family. he's gone away and nobody knows where he is, just when his father needs him to take the care of the tavern off his hands." "what made jim go away from cloverdale?" mrs. aydelot asked. "nobody seems to know exactly. he left just before his brother, tank, married that leigh girl up the clover valley somewhere. but everything's settled for asher. he will be marrying one of the cloverdale girls pretty soon and stay right here in town. we'll take it up with him now. there's no use waiting." "and yet i wish we might wait till he speaks of it himself. remember, he's been doing his own thinking in the time he's been away," the mother insisted. just then, asher reached the corner of the door yard. catching sight of the two, he put his hands on the top of the paling fence, leaped lightly over it, and came across to the veranda, where he sat down on the top step. "just getting in from town? the place hasn't changed much, has it?" the father declared. "no, not much," asher replied absently, looking out with unseeing eyes at the lengthening woodland shadows, "a church or two more, some brick sidewalk, and a few stores and homes--just added on, not improved. i miss jim shirley everywhere. the older folks seem the same, but some of the girls are pushing baby-carriages and the boys are getting round-shouldered and droopy-jawed." he drew himself up with military steadiness as he spoke. "well, you are glad to settle down anyhow," his father responded. "the old french spirit of roving and adventure has had its day with you, and now you will begin your life work." "yes, i'm done with fighting." asher's lips tightened. "but what do you call my life work, father?" it was the eighth april after the opening of the civil war. asher had just come home from two years of army service on the western plains. few changes had come to the little community; but to the young man, who eight springtimes ago had gone out as a pink-cheeked drummer boy, the years had been full of changes. he was now twenty-three, straight as an indian, lean and muscular as a veteran soldier. the fair, round cheeks of boyhood were brown and tinged with red-blooded health. there was something resolute and patient in the clear gray eyes, as if the mother's own far vision had crept into them. but the ready smile that had made the cloverdale community love the boy broke as quickly now on the man's face, giving promise that his saving sense of humor and his good nature would be factors to reckon with in every combat. asher had staid in the ranks till the end of the war, had been wounded, captured, and imprisoned; had fought through a hospital fever and narrowly escaped death in the front of many battle lines. but he did not ask for a furlough, nor account his duty done till the war was ended. just before that time, when he was sick in a southern prison, a rebel girl had walked into his life to stay forever. with his chum, jim shirley, he had chafed through two years in a little eastern college, the while bigger things seemed calling him to action. at the end of the second year, he broke away, and joining the regular army, began the hazardous life of a plains scout. two years of fighting a foe from every way the winds blow, cold and hunger, storms and floods and desert heat, poisonous reptiles, poisoned arrows of indians, and the deadly asiatic cholera; sometimes with brave comrades, sometimes with brutal cowards, sometimes on scout duty, utterly and awfully alone; over miles on endless miles of grassy level prairies, among cruel canyons, in dreary sand lands where men die of thirst, monotonous and maddening in their barren, eternal sameness; and sometimes, between sunrises of superb grandeur, and sunsets of sublime glory, over a land of exquisite virgin loveliness--it is small wonder that the ruddy cheeks were bronze as an indian's, that the roundness of boyhood had given place to the muscular strength of manhood, that the gray eyes should hold something of patience and endurance and of a vision larger than the cloverdale neighborhood might understand. when asher had asked, "what do you call my life work, father?" something impenetrable was in his direct gaze. francis aydelot deliberated before replying. then the decisive tone and firm set of the mouth told what resistance to his will might cost. "it may not seem quite homelike at first, but you will soon find a wife and that always settles a man. i can trust you to pick the best there is here. as to your work, it must be something fit for a gentleman, and that's not grubbing in the ground. of course, this is aydelot soil. it couldn't belong to anybody else. i never would sell a foot of it to cloverdale to let the town build this way. i'd as soon sell to a thaine from virginia as i'd sell to that town." he waved a hand toward the fields shut in by heavy woodlands, where the shadows were already black. after a moment he continued: "everything is settled for you, asher. i've been pretty careful and lucky, too, in some ways. the men who didn't go to war had the big chances at money making, you know. while you were off fighting, i was improving the time here. i've done it fairly, though. i never dodged a law in my life, nor met a man into whose eyes i couldn't look squarely." as he spoke, the blood left asher's cheeks and his face grew gray under the tan. "father, do you think a man who fights for his country is to be accounted below the man who stays at home and makes money?" "well, he certainly can do more for his children than some of those who went to this war can do for their fathers," francis aydelot declared. "suppose i was helpless and poor now, what could you do for me?" there was no attempt at reply, and the father went on: "i have prepared your work for you. you must begin it at once. years ago cloverdale set up a hotel, a poor enough tavern even for those days, but it robbed me of the patronage this house had before that time, and i had to go to farming. every kind of drudgery i've had to do here. cutting down forests, and draining swamps is a back-breaking business. i never could forgive the founders for stopping by clover creek, when they might have gone twenty miles further on where a town was needed and left me here. but that's all past now. i've improved the time. i have a good share of stock in the bank and i own the only hotel in cloverdale. i closed with shirley as soon as i heard you were coming home. shirley's getting old, and since jim has gone there's no one to help him and take his place later, so he sold at a very good figure. he had to sell for some reason, i believe. the shirleys are having some family trouble that i don't understand nor care about. you've always been a sort of idol in the town anyhow. now that you are to go into the shirley house as proprietor i suppose cloverdale will take it as a dispensation of providence in their favor, and you can live like a gentleman." "but, father, i've always liked the country best. don't you remember how jim shirley was always out here instead of my going down town when we were boys?" "you are only a boy, now, asher, and this is all i'll hear to your doing. you ought to be thankful for having such a chance open to you. i have leased the farm for five years and you don't want to be a hired man at twenty dollars a month, i reckon. of course, the farm will be yours some day, unless you take a notion to run off to virginia and marry a thaine." the last words were said jokingly, but asher's mother saw a sudden hardening of the lines of his face as he sat looking out at the darkening landscape. there was only a faint glow in the west now. the fields toward cloverdale were wrapped in twilight shadows. behind the eastern treetops the red disk of the rising moon was half revealed. asher aydelot waited long before he spoke. at length, he turned toward his father with a certain stiffening of his form, and each felt a space widening gulf-wise between them. "you stayed at home and grew rich, father." "well?" the father's voice cut like a steel edge. he saw only opposition to his will here, but the mother forecasted the end from that moment. "father, war gives us to see bigger things than hatred between two sections of the country. there is education in it, too. that is a part of the compensation. once, when our regiment was captured and starving, the fifty-fourth virginia boys saved our lives by feeding us the best supper i ever tasted. and a rebel girl--" he broke off suddenly. "well, what of all this? what are you trying to say?" queried the older man. "i'm trying to show you that i cannot sit down here in the shirley house and play mine host any more than i could--" hesitatingly--"marry a cloverdale girl on demand. no cloverdale girl would have me so. i've seen too much of the country for such a position, father. let the men who staid at home do the little jobs." he had not meant to say all this, but the stretch of boundless green prairies was before his eyes, the memory of heroic action where men utterly forget themselves was in his mind, making life in that little ohio settlement seem only a boy's pastime, to be put away with other childish things. while night and day, in the battle clamor, in the little college class room, on boundless prairie billows, among lonely sand dunes--everywhere, he carried the memory of the gentle touch of the hand of a rebel girl, who had visited him when he was sick and in prison. and withal, he resented dictation, as all the aydelots and penningtons before him had done. "what do you propose to do?" his father asked. "i don't know yet what i can do. i only know what i cannot do." "and that is--?" "just what i have said. i cannot be a tavern keeper here the rest of my days with nothing to do half of the time except to watch the men pitch horseshoes behind the blacksmith shop, and listen to the flies buzz in the windows on summer afternoons; and everything else so quiet and dead you don't know whether you are on the street or in the graveyard. if you'd ever crossed the mississippi river you'd understand why." "well, i haven't, and i don't understand. but the only way to stop this roving is to make a home of your own. will you tell me how you expect to support a cloverdale girl when you marry one?" "i don't expect to marry one." the smile was winning, but the son's voice sounded dangerously like the father's. "why not?" "because when i marry it will be to a southern girl--" asher hesitated a moment. when he went on, his voice was not as son to father, but as man to man. "it all happened down in virginia, when i was wounded and in prison. this little girl took care of me. only a soldier really knows what a woman's hand means in sickness. but she did more. she risked everything, even her life, to get letters through the lines to you and to get me exchanged. i shiver yet when i think of her, disguised as a man in soldier's clothes, taking the chance she did for me. and, well, i left my heart down there. that's all." "why haven't you ever told us this before, asher?" his father asked. asher stood up where the white moonlight fell full on his face. somehow the old huguenot defiance and the old quaker endurance of his ancestors seemed all expressed in him. "i wasn't twenty-one, then, and i have nothing yet to offer a girl by way of support," he said. "why, asher!" mrs. aydelot exclaimed, "you have everything here." "not yet, mother," he replied. "and i haven't told you because her name is virginia thaine, and she is a descendant of jerome thaine. are the aydelots big enough to bury old hates?" francis aydelot sat moveless as a statue. when at length he spoke, there was no misunderstanding his meaning. "you have no means by which to earn a living. you will go down to town and take charge of the shirley house at once, or go to work as a hired hand here. but remember this: from the day you marry a thaine of virginia you are no longer my son. family ties, family honor, respect for your forefathers forbid it." he rose without more words, and went into the house. then came the mother's part. "sit down, asher," she said, and asher dropped to his place on the step. "we don't seem to see life through the same spectacles," he said calmly. "am i wrong, mother? nobody can choose my life for me, nor my wife, either. didn't old grandfather, jean aydelot, leave his home in france, and didn't grandmother, mercy pennington, marry to suit her own choice?" even in the shadow, his mother noted the patient expression of the gray eyes looking up at her. "asher, it is aydelot tradition to be determined and self-willed, and the bitterness against jerome thaine and his descendants has never left the blood--till now." she stroked his hair lovingwise, as mothers will ever do. "do you suppose father will ever change?" "i don't believe he will. we have talked of this many times, and he will listen to nothing else. he grows more set in his notions as we all do with years, unless--" "well, you don't, mother. unless what?" asher asked. "unless we think broadly as the years broaden out toward old age. but, asher, what are your plans?" "i'm afraid i have none yet. you know i was a farmer boy until i was fifteen, a soldier boy till i was nineteen, a college student for two years, and a plains scout for two years more. tell me, mother, what does all this fit me for? not for a tavern in a town of less than a thousand people." he sat waiting, his elbow resting on his knee, his chin supported by his closed hand. "asher, when you left school and went out west, i foresaw what has happened tonight," mrs. aydelot began. "i tried to prepare your father for it, but he would not listen, would not understand. he doesn't yet. he never will. but i do. you will not stay in ohio always, because you do not fit in here now. newer states keep calling you westward, westward. this was frontier when we came here in the thirties; we belong here. but, sooner or later, you will put your life into the building of the west. something--the war or the plains, or may be this virginia thaine, has left you too big for prejudice. you will go sometime where there is room to think and live as you believe." "mother, may i go? i dream of it night and day. i'm so cramped here. the woods are in my way. i can't see a mile. i want to see to the edge of the world, as i can on the prairies. a man can win a kingdom out there." he was facing her now, his whole countenance aglow with bright anticipation. "there is only one way to win that kingdom," mrs. aydelot declared. "the man who takes hold of the plow-handles is the man who will really conquer the prairies. his scepter is not the rifle, but the hoe." for all his life, asher aydelot never forgot his mother's face, nor the sound of her low prophetic words on that moonlit night on the shadowy veranda of his childhood home. "you are right, mother. i don't want to fight any more. it must be the soil that is calling me back to the west, the big, big west! and i mean to go when the time comes. i hope it will come soon, and i know you will give me your blessing then." his mother's hands were pressed lovingly upon his forehead, as he leaned against her knee. "my blessing, and more than mine. the blessing of moses to asher of old, as well. 'thy shoes shall be iron and brass; and as thy days, so shall thy strength be. the eternal god is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.'" she bent over her boy, and pushing back the hair from his forehead, she kissed it reverently, nor dreamed in how many a bitter strife would the memory of this sacred hour come back to him, with the blessed note of victory. the next morning asher put on his working clothes and began the life of a hired man on his father's farm. the summer was long and hot, and in the late august the dread typhoid malaria swept up from the woods marshes. it was of virulent form and soon had its way with asher's father and mother. when the will of francis aydelot was read in court, the inexorable will of a stubborn man, it declared that the cloverdale hotel, the bank stock, and the farm with all the appurtenances thereunto pertaining, should descend to asher aydelot, provided he should remain a resident of ohio and should never be united in marriage to any descendant of jerome thaine of the state of virginia. failing in this, all the property, except a few hundred dollars in cash, should descend to one jane aydelot, of philadelphia, and her heirs and assigns forever; provided these heirs were not the children of virginia thaine of the state of virginia. on the same day, asher wrote to one jane aydelot, of philadelphia, to come to ohio and take possession of her property. then he carefully sodded the two mounds in the graveyard, and planted old-fashioned sweet pinks upon them, and bidding good-by to the home of his boyhood, he turned his face hopefully to the west. chapter ii the sign of the sunflower little they knew what wealth untold lay hid where the desolate prairies rolled: who would have dared, with brush or pen, as this land is now, to paint it then? --allerton. the trail had left the woodland far to the eastward, and wound its way over broad prairie billows, past bluffy-banked streams, along crests of low watersheds, until at last it slid down into an open endlessness of the lord's earth--just a vasty bigness of landstuff seemingly left over when geography-making was done. it was untamed stuff, too, whereon one man's marking was like to the track of foam in the wake of one ship in mid-ocean. upon its face lay the trail, broad and barren of growth as the dusty old national pike road making its way across uplands and valleys of ohio. but this was the only likeness. the pike was a gravel-built, upgraded highway, bordered by little rail-fenced fields and deep forests hiding malarial marshes in the lower places. this trail, flat along the ungraded ground, tended in the direction of least resistance, generally toward the southwest. it was bounded by absence of landmarks, boulder or tree or cliff. along either side of it was a fringe of spindling sunflower stalks, with their blooms of gold marking two gleaming threads across the plains far toward the misty nothingness of the western horizon. the mid-september day had been intensely hot, but the light air was beginning to flow a bit refreshingly out of the sky. a gray cloud-wave, creeping tide-like up from the southwest, was tempering the afternoon glare. in all the landscape the only object to hold the eye was a prairie schooner drawn by a team of hard-mouthed little indian ponies, and followed by a free-limbed black mare of the kentucky blue blood. asher aydelot sat on the wagon seat holding the reins. beside him was his wife, a young, girlish-looking woman with large dark eyes, abundant dark hair, a straight, aristocratic nose, and well-formed mouth and chin. the two, coming in from the east on the evening before, had reached the end of the stage line, where asher's team and wagon was waiting for them. the outfit moved slowly. it had left carey's crossing at early dawn and had put twenty-five miles between itself and that last outpost of civilization. "why don't you let the horses trot down this hill slope, asher?" the woman's voice had the soft accent of the south. "are you tired, virgie?" asher aydelot looked earnestly down at his wife. "not a bit!" the bright smile and vigorous lift of the shoulders were assuring. "then we won't hurry. we have several miles to go yet. it is a long day's run from carey's to our claim. wolf county is almost like a state. the crossing hopes to become the county seat." "why do they call that place carey's crossing?" mrs. aydelot asked. "it was a trading post once where the north and south trail crossed the main trail. later it was a rallying place for cavalry. now it's our postoffice," asher explained. "i mean, why call it carey? i knew careys back in virginia." "it is named for a young doctor, the only one in ten thousand miles, so far as i know." "and his family?" virginia asked. "he's a bachelor, i believe. by the way, we aren't going down hill. we are on level ground." mrs. aydelot leaned out beyond the wagon bows to take in the trail behind them. "why, we are right in a big saucer. all the land slopes to the center down there before us. can't you see it?" "no, i've seen it too often. it is just a trick of the plains--one of the many tricks for the eye out here. look at the sunflowers, virgie. don't you love them?" virginia aydelot nestled close to her husband's side and put one hand on his. it was a little hand, white and soft, the hand of a lady born of generations of gentility. the hand it rested on was big and hard and brown and very strong looking. "i've always loved them since the day you sent me the little one in a letter," she said in a low voice, as if some one might overhear. "i thought you had forgotten me and the old war days. i wasn't very happy then." there was a quiver of the lip that hinted at the memory of intense sorrow. "i had gone up to the spring in that cool little glen in the mountain behind our home, you know, when a neighbor's servant boy, bo peep, boanerges peeperville, he named himself, came grinning round a big rock ledge with your letter. just a crushed little sunflower and a sticky old card, the deuce of hearts. i knew it was from you, and i loved the sunflower for telling me so. were you near here then? this land looks so peaceful and beautiful to me, and homelike somehow, as if we should find some neighbors just over the hill that you say isn't there." "neither the hill nor the neighbors, yet, although settlers will be coming soon. we won't be lonesome very long, i'm sure." asher shifted the reins to his other hand and held the little white fingers close. "it wasn't anywhere near here. it was away off in the southwest corner of--nowhere. i was going to say a shorter word, for that's where we were. i took that card out of an old deck from the man nearest me. the comanches had fixed him, so he didn't need it in his game any more. there were only two of us left, a big half-breed cheyenne scout and myself. i picked the sunflower from the only stalk within a hundred miles of there. i guess it grew so far from everything just for me that day. weak as i was, i'll never forget how hopefully it seemed to look at me. the envelope was one mother had sent me, you remember. i told the cheyenne how to start it to you from the fort. he left me there, wounded and alone--'twas all he could do--while he went for help about a thousand miles away it must have seemed, even to an indian. i thought it was my last message to you, dearie, for i never expected to be found alive; but i was, and when you wrote back, sending your letter to 'the sign of the sunflower,' oh, little girl, the old trail blossom was glorified for me forever." he broke off so suddenly that his wife looked up inquiringly. "i was thinking of the cool spring and the rocks, and that shady glen, and the mountains, and the trees, and the well-kept mansion houses, and servants like bo peep to fetch and carry--and here--virginia, why did you let me persuade you away from them? everything was made ready for you there. the lord didn't do anything for this country but go off and leave it to us." "yes, to us. here is the sunflower and the new home in the new west and asher aydelot. and underfoot is the prairie sod that is ours, and overhead is heaven that kept watch over you for me, and over both of us for this. and i persuaded you to bring me here because i wanted to be with you always." "you can face it all for me?" he asked. "with you, you mean. yes, for we'll stop at 'the sign of the sunflower' so long as we both shall live. how beautiful they are, these endless bands of gold, drawing us on and on across the plains. asher, you forget that virginia is not as it was before the war. but we did keep inherited pride in the thaine family, and the will to do as we pleased. you see what has pleased me." "and it shall please me to make such a fortune out of this ground, and build such a home for you that by and by you will forget you ever were without the comforts you are giving up now," asher declared, looking equal to the task. "virgie," he added presently, "on the night my mother told me to come out west she gave me her blessing, and the blessing of the old bible asher also--'thy shoes shall be iron and brass; and as thy days, so shall thy strength be.' i believe the blessing will stay with us; that the eternal god will be our refuge in this new west and new home-building." they rode awhile in silence. then asher said: "look yonder, virginia, south of the trail. just a faint yellow line." "is it another trail, or are you lost and beginning to see things?" "no, i'm found," asher replied. "we scattered those seeds ourselves; did it on sundays when i was living on my claim, waiting till i could go back and bring you here. we blazed the way, marked it with gold, i'd better say; a line clear to grass river. it leaves the real sunflower trail right here." "who were _we_ in this planting?" virginia asked. "oh, me and my first wife, jim shirley, and his shepherd dog, pilot. jim and i have done several things together besides that. we were boys together back in cloverdale. we went to the war together to fight you obstreperous rebels." there was a twinkle in asher's eyes now. "yes, but in the end who really won?" virginia asked demurely. "you did, of course--in my case. jim went back to cloverdale for awhile. then he came out here. he's a fine fellow. plants a few more seeds by the wayside than is good for him, maybe, but a friend to the last rollcall. he was quite a ladies' man once, and nobody knows but himself how much he would have loved a home. he has something of a story back of his coming west, but we never speak of that. he's our only neighbor now." it was twilight when asher and his wife slipped down over a low swell and reached their home. the afterglow of sunset was gorgeous in the west. the gray cloud-tide, now a purple sea, was rifted by billows of flame. level mist-folds of pale violet lay along the prairie distances. in the southwest the horizon line was broken by a triple fold of deepest blue-black tones, the mark of headlands somewhere. across the landscape a grassy outline marked the course of a stream that wandered dimly toward the darkening night shadows. the subdued tones of evening held all the scene, save where a group of tall sunflowers stood up to catch the last light of day full on their golden shields. "we are here at last, mrs. aydelot. welcome to our neighborhood!" asher said bravely as the team halted. virginia sat still on the wagon seat, taking in the view of sunset sky and twilight prairie. "this is our home," she murmured. "i'm glad we are here." "i'm glad you are glad. i hope i haven't misrepresented it to you," her husband responded, turning away that he might not see her face just then. it was a strange place to call home, especially to one whose years had been spent mainly in the pretty mountain-walled virginia valleys where cool brooks babbled over pebbly beds or splashed down in crystal waterfalls; whose childhood home had been an old colonial house with driveways, and pillared verandas, and jessamine-wreathed windows; with soft carpets and cushioned chairs, and candelabra whose glittering pendants reflected the light in prismatic tintings; and everywhere the lazy ease of idle servants and unhurried lives. the little sod house, nestled among sheltering sunflowers, stood on a slight rise of ground. it contained one room with two windows, one looking to the east and the other to the west, and a single door opening on the south. above this door was a smooth pine board bearing the inscription, "sunflower inn," stained in rather artistic lettering. a low roof extending over the doorway gave semblance to a porch which some scorched vines had vainly tried to decorate. there was a rude seat made of a goods box beside the doorway. behind the house rose the low crest of a prairie billow, hardly discernible on the level plains. before it lay the endless prairie across which ran the now half-dry, grass-choked stream. a few stunted cottonwood trees followed its windings, and one little clump of wild plum bushes bristled in a draw leading down to the shallow place of the dry watercourse. all else was distance and vastness void of life and utter loneliness. virginia aydelot looked at the scene before her. then she turned to her husband with a smile on her young face, saying again, "i am glad i am here." there is one chord that every woman's voice touches some time, no matter what her words may be. as virginia spoke, asher saw again the moonlight on the white pillars of the south veranda of the old aydelot farmhouse, and his mother sitting in the shadows; and again he caught the tone of her voice saying, "thy shoes shall be iron and brass; and as thy days, so shall thy strength be." he leaped from the wagon seat and put up his arms to help his wife to the ground. "this is the end of the trail," he said gaily. "we have reached the inn with 'the sign of the sunflower.' see the signboard jim has put up for us." at that moment a big shepherd dog came bounding out of the weeds by the river and leaped toward them with joyous yelps; a light shone through the doorway, and a voice at once deep and pleasant to the ear, called out: "well, here you are, just as supper is ready. present me to the bride, asher, and then i'll take the stock off your hands." "mrs. aydelot, this is mr. james shirley, at present the leading artistic house decorator as well as corn king of the southwest. allow me, jim, to present my wife. you two ought to like each other if each of you can stand me." they shook hands cordially, and each took the other's measure at a glance. what shirley saw was a small, well-dressed woman whose charm was a positive force. it was not merely that she was well-bred and genial of manner, nor that for many reasons she was pretty and would always be pretty, even with gray hair and wrinkles. there was something back of all this; something definite to build on; a self-reliance and unbreakable determination without the spirit that antagonizes. "a thoroughbred," was shirley's mental comment. "the manners of a lady and the will of a winner." what virginia saw was a big, broad-shouldered man, tanned to the very limit of brownness, painfully clean shaven, and grotesquely clean in dress; a white shirt, innocent of bluing in its laundry, a glistening celluloid collar, a black necktie (the last two features evidently just added to the toilet, and neither as yet set to their service), dark pantaloons and freshly blacked shoes. but it was shirley's face that caught virginia's eyes, for even with the tan it was a handsome face, with regular features, and blue eyes seeing life deeply rather than broadly. just a hint of the artistic, however, took away from rather than added to the otherwise manly expression. clearly, jim shirley was a man that men and women, too, must love if they cared for him at all.. and they couldn't help caring for him. he had too much of the quality of eternal interest. "i'm glad to meet you, and i bid you welcome to your new home, mrs. aydelot. the house is in order and supper is ready. i congratulate you, asher," he said, as he turned away to take the ponies. "you will come in and eat with us," virginia said cordially. "not tonight. i must put this stock away and hurry home." asher opened his lips to repeat his wife's invitation, but something in jim's face held the words, so he merely nodded a good-by as he led his wife into the sod cabin. two decades in kansas saw hundreds of such cabins on the plains. the walls of this one were nearly two feet thick and smoothly plastered inside with a gypsum product, giving an ivory-yellow finish, smooth and hard as bone. there was no floor but the bare earth into which a nail could scarcely have been driven. the furniture was meager and plain. there was only one picture on the wall, the sweet face of asher's mother. a bookshelf held a bible with two or three other volumes, some newspapers and a magazine. sundry surprising little devices showed the inventive skill of the home-builder, but it was all home-made and unpainted. it must have been the eyes of love that made this place seem homelike to these young people whose early environment had been so vastly different in everything! jim shirley had a supper of fried ham, stewed wild plums, baked sweet potatoes, and hot coffee, with canned peaches and some hard little cookies. surely the lord meant men to be the cooks. society started wrong in the kitchen, for the average man prepares a better meal with less of effort and worry than the average or super-average woman will ever do. it was not the long ride alone, it was this appetizing food that made that first meal in the sod mansion one that these two remembered in days of different fortune. they remembered, too, the bunch of sunflowers that adorned the table that night. the vase was the empty peach can wrapped round with a piece of newspaper. as they lingered at their meal, asher glanced through the little west window and saw jim shirley sitting by the clump of tall sunflowers not far away watching them with the eager face of a lonely man. a big white-throated scotch collie lay beside him, waiting patiently for his master to start for home. "i am glad jim has pilot," asher thought. "a dog is better than no company at all. i wish he had a wife. poor lonely fellow!" half an hour later the two came outside to the seat by the doorway. the moon was filling the sky with its radiance. a chorus of crickets sang joyously in the short brown grass about the sunflowers. the cottonwoods along the river course gleamed like alabaster in the white night-splendor, and the prairie breeze sang its low crooning song of evening as it flowed gently over the land. "how beautiful the world is," virginia said, as she caught the full radiance of the light on the prairie. "is this beautiful to you, virgie?" asher asked, as he drew her close to him. "i've seen these plains when they seemed just plain hell to me, full of every kind of danger: cholera, poison, cold, hunger, heat, hostile indian, and awful loneliness. and yet, the very fascination of the thing called me back and hardened me to it all. but why? what is there here on these kansas prairies to hold me here and make me want to bring you here, too? not a feature of this land is like the home country in virginia. when the lord gave adam and eve a tryout in the garden of eden, he gave them everything with which to start the world off right. out here we doubt sometimes if there is any god west of the missouri river. he didn't leave any timber for shelter, nor wood, nor coal for fuel, nor fruit, nor nuts, nor roots, nor water for the dry land. all there is of this piece of the lord's leftovers is just the prairie down here, and the sky over it. and it's so big i wonder sometimes that there is even enough skystuff to cover it. and yet, it is beautiful and maddening in its hold, once it gets you. why?" "maybe it is the very unconquerableness that cries out to the love of power in you. maybe the lord, who knew how easily adam let eden slip through his fingers, decided that on the other side of the world he would give a younger race of men, a fire-tried race in battle, the chance to make their own eden. so he left the stuff here for such as you and me to picture out our own plan and then work to the pattern. it is the real land of promise. everything waiting to be done here." "and there's only one way to do it. i am sure of that," asher replied. "armies don't win, they terrorize and destroy. we whipped back the indians out here; they'd come again, if they dared--but they never will," he added quickly, as he saw his wife's face whiten in the moonlight. "it's a struggle to win the soil, with loneliness and distance and a few thousand other things to fight, beside. but i told you all this before i asked you to come out here." "i wish i could have brought some property to you to help you, asher, but you know how the thaine estate was reduced." "yes, i helped the family to that," asher replied. "well, i seem to have helped you to lose the aydelot inheritance. we are starting neck and neck out here," virginia cried, "and we'll win. i can see our plantation--ranch, you call it--now, with groves and a little lake and a big ranch house, and just acres of wheat and meadows, and red clover and fine stock and big barns, and you and me, the peers of a proud countryside when we have really conquered. 'instead of the thorn shall come up the fir tree, and instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle tree.' isn't that the promise?" "oh, virgie, any man could win a kingdom with a wife like you," asher said tenderly. "back in ohio, when i grubbed the fence corners, i saw this country night and day, waiting for us here, and i wondered why the folks were willing to let the marshes down in the deep woods stagnate and breed malaria, and then fight the fever with calomel and quinine every summer, instead of opening the woodland and draining the swamps. nevertheless, i've left enough money in the cloverdale bank to take you back east and start up some little sort of a living there, if you find you cannot stay here. i couldn't bring you here and burn all the bridges. all you have to do is to say you want to go back, and you can go." "you are very good, asher." his wife's voice was low and soft. "but i don't want to go back. not until we have failed here. and we shall not fail." and together that night on the far unconquered plains of kansas, with the moon shining down upon them, these two, so full of hope and courage, planned their future. in the cottonwood trees by the river sands a night bird twittered sleepily to its mate; the chirp of many crickets in the short grass below the sunflowers had dwindled to a mere note at intervals. the soft breeze caressed the two young faces, then wandered far and far across the lonely land, and in its long low-breathed call to the night there was a sigh of sadness. chapter iii the will of the wind naught but the endless hills, dim and far and blue, and sighing wind, and sailing cloud, and nobody here but you. --james w. steele. the next day, and for many days following, the wind blew; fiercely and unceasingly it blew, carrying every movable thing before it. whatever was tending in its direction, it helped over the ground amazingly. whatever tried to move in the face of it had to fight for every inch of the way. it whipped all the gold from the sunflowers and threshed them mercilessly about. it snapped the slender stems of the big, bulgy-headed tumble-weeds and sent them tumbling over and over, mile after mile, until they were caught at last in some draw, like helpless living things, to swell the heap for some prairie fire to feed upon. it lifted the sand from the river bed and swept it in a prairie simoon up the slope, wrapping the little cabin in a cloud of gritty dust. the cottonwoods along the waterway moaned as if in pain and flung up their white arms in feeble protest. the wild plum bushes in the draw were almost buried by the wind-borne drift smothering the narrow crevice, while out on the plains the long lashing waves of bended grass made the eyes burn with weariness. and the sun watched it all with unpitying stare, and the september heat was maddening. but it was cool inside the cabin. sod houses shut out the summer warmth as they shed off the winter's cold. virginia aydelot stood at the west window watching her husband trying to carry two full pails of water which the wind seemed bent on blowing broadcast along his path. he had been plowing a double fireguard around the premises that morning and his face and clothes were gray with dust. these days of unceasing winds seemed to virginia to sap the last atom of her energy. but she was young and full of determination. "why did you put the well so far away, asher?" she asked, as he came inside. the open door gave the wind a new crevice to fill, and it slapped wrathfully at the buckets, splashing the contents on the floor. "we have to put wells close to the water in this country. i put this one in before i built here. and if we have a well, we are so glad we don't try to move it. the wind might find it out and fill it up with sand while we were doing it. it's a jealous wind, this." asher's smile lit up his dust-grimed face. "i've tried all day to keep the dust off the table. i meant to do a washing this morning, but how could any garment stay on the line out there and not be whipped to shreds?" "virginia, did you ever do a washing before the war?" asher asked through the towel. he was trying to scrub his face clean with the least possible amount of water. "oh, that's ancient history. no, nor did i do anything else. i was too young. did you ever try to till a whole section of land back in ohio before the war?" virginia asked laughingly. asher took the towel from his head to look at her. "you are older than when i first knew you--the little lady of the old jerome thaine mansion home. but you haven't lost any of that girl's charms and you have gained some new ones with the years." "stop staring at me and tell me why you didn't put the house down by the well, then," virginia demanded. "i did pitch my tent there at first, but it is too near the river, and several things happened, beside," he replied. "is that a river, really?" she inquired. "it looks like a weed trail." "yes, it is very real when it elects to be. they call it grass river because there's no grass in it--only sand and weeds--and they call it a river because there is seldom any water in it. but i've seen such lazy sand-foundered streams a mile wide and swift as sin. so i take no risk with precious property, even if i have to tote barrels of water and slop the parlor rug on windy days." "then, why didn't you put another door in the kitchen end of the house?" virginia questioned. "two reasons, dearie. first, can you keep one door shut on days like this, even when there is no draught straight through the house?" he inquired. "yes, when i put a chair against it, and the table against the chair, and the bed against the table, and the cookstove to back up the bed. i see. shortage of furniture." "no, the effect on this cabin if the wind had a sweep through two weak places in the wall. i built this thing to stay till i get ready to go away from it, not for it to go off and leave me sitting here under the sky some stormy day. of course, the real home, the old colonial style of house, will stand higher up after awhile, embowered in trees, and the wind may play about its vine-covered verandas, and its stately front columns, but that comes later." "all right, but what was the second reason for the one doorway? you said you had two?" virginia broke in. "oh, did i? well, the other reason is insignificant, but effective in its way. i had only one door and no lumber within three hundred miles to make another, and no money to buy lumber, anyhow." "you should have married a fortune," his wife said demurely. "i did." the smile on the lips did not match the look in the gray eyes. "my anxiety is that i shall not squander my possession, now i have it." "you are squandering your dooryard by plowing out there in front of the house. isn't there ground enough if the wind will be merciful, not to use up our lawn?" virginia would not be serious. "i have plowed a double fireguard, and i've burned off the grass between the two to put a wide band of protection about us. i take no chances. everything is master in the wilderness except man. when he has tamed all these things--prairie fire, storm and drouth, winds and lonely distances, why, there isn't any more wilderness. but it's tough work getting acclimated to these september breezes, i know." virginia did not reply at once. all day the scream of the wind had whipped upon her nerves until she wanted to scream herself. but it was not in the blood of the breed to give up easily. something of the stubborn determination that had made the oldtime thaines drive the quakers from virginia shone now in the dark eyes of this daughter of a well-bred house. "it's all a matter of getting one's system and this september wind system to play the same tune," she said. "virginia, you look just as you did that day when you said you were going through the rebel ranks in a man's dress to take a message for me to the union officer of my command, although you ran the risk of being shot for a spy on either side of the lines. when i begged you not to do it, you only laughed at me. i thought then you were the bravest girl i ever saw. now i know it." "well, i'll try not to get hysterical over the wind out here. it is a matter of time and adjustment. let's adjust ourselves to dinner now." beyond her lightly spoken words asher caught the undertone of courage, and he knew that a battle for supremacy was on, a struggle between physical outcry and mental poise. after the meal, he said, "i must take my plow down to shirley's this afternoon. his is broken and i can mend it while he puts in his fireguard with mine. i don't mind the wind, but i won't ask you to face it clear down to shirley's claim. i don't like to leave you here, either." "i think i would rather stay indoors. what is there to be afraid of, anyhow?" virginia asked. "nothing in the world but loneliness," her husband replied. "well, i must get used to that, you know. i can begin now," virginia said lightly. but for all her courage, she watched him drive away with a sob in her throat. in all the universe there was nothing save a glaring sunlight and an endless cringing of yellow, wind-threshed grass. asher aydelot had come here with half a dozen other young fellows, all of whom took up claims along grass river. six months later jim shirley had come to the settlement with a like company who extended the free-holdings until it was seven miles by the winding of the river from aydelot's claim on the northwest down the river to shirley's claim on the southeast. eighteen months later only two men were left in the grass river valley, aydelot and shirley. the shorter trail as the crow flies between their claims was marked by a golden thread of sunflowers. at the third bend of the winding stream a gentle ripple of ground rose high enough to hide the cabin lights from each other that otherwise might have given a neighborly comfort to the two lone settlers. shirley's cabin stood on a tiny swell of ground, mark of a one-time island, set in a wide bend in the river that was itself a natural fireguard for most of the circle of the premises. the house was snug as a squirrel's nest. before it was a strip of white clover, as green and fresh looking as if it were on the banks of clover creek in ohio. above the door a plain board bore the one word, "cloverdale." jim shirley stood watching asher coming down the trail against the wind, followed by the big shepherd dog, pilot, who had bounded off to meet him. "hello! how did you get away on a day like this?" he called, as the team drew near. "why, you old granny!" asher stopped here. both men had been on the kansas plains long enough not to mind the wind. it flashed into asher's mind that jim was hoping to see his wife with him, and he measured anew the loneliness of the man's life. "most too rude for ladies just yet, although i didn't like to leave virginia alone." "what could possibly harm her? your fireguard's done, double done; there's no water to drown in, no indian to frighten, no wild beast to enter, no white man, in god knows how many hundred miles. just nothing to be afraid of." "yes, that's it--just nothing. and it's enough to make even a braver woman afraid. it's the eternal vast nothingness, when the very silence cries out at you. it's the awful loneliness of the plains that makes the advance attack in this fight with the wilderness. don't we both know that?" "i reckon we do, but we got over it, and so will mrs. aydelot." "how do you know that?" asher inquired eagerly. "i believe she could hardly keep back the tears till i got away." "then why didn't you get away sooner? i know she will get over it, because she's as good a woman as we are men, and we stood for it." "well, here's your plow. better get your guard thrown up. i can smell smoke now. there's a prairie fire sweeping in on this wind somewhere. there's a storm brewing, too. remember what a fight we had with fire a year ago?" asher was helping to put jim's team in the harness. "yes, you saved your well and a few other little things. but you've got your grit, you darned buckeye, to hold on and start again from the ashes. and now you have your wife here. you are lucky," jim declared. "where's that broken plow of yours? is it bolt or weld? maybe i can mend it." asher was casting about for tools. "it's bolt. everything is on the stable shelves," jim called back against the wind, as he drove the plow deep in the black soil. "be sure you put 'em back when you are through with 'em, too." "poor jim!" asher said to himself with a smile. "the artist in him makes him keep the place in order. he'd stop to hang up his coat and vest if he had to fight a mad bull. poor judgment puts a good many tragedies into lives as well as stage villain types of crime." and then asher thought of virginia, and wondered what she was doing through the long afternoon. he was whistling softly with a smile in his eyes as jim shirley made the tenth round of the premises and stopped opposite the stable door. "hey, asher, come out and see the sky now," he called. "it's prairie fire and equinoctial storm combined." asher hurried out to see the dull southwest heavens shutting off the sunlight out of which raged a wind searing the sky to a dun gray. "don't stand there staring, you idiot. why don't you get your plowing done?" he cried to shirley. shirley began to loose the trace-chain from the plow. "that strip is wide enough now," he declared. "i've got a clover guard, anyhow. i don't need to back-fire like my neighbors do." as asher untied his ponies and climbed into the wagon, jim held their reins. "stop a minute. let a single man offer you a word of advice, will you?" he asked. "all right, i need advice," asher smiled down on jim's earnest face. "then heed it, too. no use to tell you to take care of your wife. you'll do that to a fault. but don't make any mistake about mrs. asher aydelot. she went through rebel and union lines once to save your life. don't doubt her strength to hold her own here as soon as the first fight is over. she is like that kentucky thoroughbred of hers; she's got endurance as well as grace and beauty." "bless you, jim," asher said, as he clasped shirley's hand. "i wish you had a wife." "well, they are something of an anxiety, too. hustle home ahead of the storm. i've always wished that bluff at the deep bend didn't hide us from each other's sight. i'd like to blast it out." asher aydelot hurried northward ahead of the hot winds and deepening shadows of the coming storm. and all the time, in spite of jim's comforting words, an anxiety grew and grew. the miles seemed endless, the heavens darkened, and the wind suddenly gave a gasp and died away, leaving a hot, blank stillness everywhere. meanwhile, virginia, alone in the cabin, had fallen asleep from sheer nerve weariness. when she awoke, it was late in the afternoon. the screaming outside had ceased, but the whir and whine were still going on, and the blaring light was toned by the dust-filled air. "i was only tired," virginia said to herself. "now i am rested, i don't mind the wind." she went out to watch the trail for asher's coming. he was not in sight, so she came inside again, but nothing there could interest her. "i'll go out and wait awhile," she thought. tying a veil over her head, she shut the cabin door and sat down outside. the wind died suddenly away, the trail was lifeless, and all the plain cut by the trail as well. then the solitude of the thing took up the flight where the wind had left off. "how can i ever stand this," virginia cried, springing up. "but asher stood it before i came, or even promised to come. no knight of the old chivalry days ever endured such hardships as the claimholders on these kansas plains must endure. but it takes women to make homes. they can never, never win here without wives. i could go back to virginia if i would." she shut her teeth tightly, and the small hands were clenched. "but i won't do it. i'll stay here with asher aydelot. other men and women as eager as we are will come soon. we can wait, and some day, oh, some day, we'll not miss what the thaines lost by the war and the aydelots lost by the thaines, for we'll have a prince's holdings on these desolate plains!" she stood with her hands clasped looking with far-seeing dark eyes down the long trail by the dry river bed, like a goddess of conquest on a vast untamed prairie. a sudden sweep of the wind aroused her, and the loneliness of the plains rose up again. "i'll get juno and follow the trail till i meet asher. i can't get lost where there's nothing but space," she said aloud, as she hurried to the stable and led out the petted thoroughbred. horses are very human creatures, responding not only to the moods of their masters, but to the conditions that give these moods. the west was no kinder to the eastern-bred horse than to the eastern-bred man. all day juno had plunged about the stable and pawed the hard earth floor in sheer nervousness. she leaped out of doors now at virginia's call, as eager for comfort as a homesick child. "we'll chase off and meet asher, darling." even the soft voice the mare had heard all her days did not entirely soothe her. as virginia mounted the wind flung shut the stable door with a bang. juno leaped as from a gunshot, and dashed away up the river to the northwest. her rider tried in vain to change her course and quiet her spirit. the mare only surged madly forward, as if bent on outrunning the tantalizing, grinding wind. with the sense of freedom, and with the boundlessness of the plains, some old instinct of the unbridled days of by-gone generations woke to life and power in her, and with the bit between her teeth, she swept away in unrestrained speed. virginia was a skilled horsewoman, and she had no fear for herself, so she held the reins and kept her place. "i can go wherever you can, you foolish juno," she cried, giving herself up to the exhilarating ride. "we'll stay together to the end of the race, and we will get it out of our systems once for all, and come back 'plains-broke.'" beyond a westward sweeping curve of the river's course the chase became a climb up a long slope that grew steeper and steeper, cutting off the view of the stream. here juno's speed slackened, then dropped into a steady canter, as she listened for a command to turn back. "we'll go on to the edge of that bluff, lady, now we are here, and see what is across the river," virginia said. "then we will hurry home to asher and prairie hay." when they came at last over a rough shale outcrop to the highest headland, the river bed lay between its base and a barren waste of sand dunes, with broad grassy regions beyond them spreading southward. the view from the bluff's top was magnificent. virginia held juno to the place and looked in wonder at the vast southwest on this strange september afternoon. across a reach of level land, miles wide, a prairie fire was sweeping in the majesty of mastery. the lurid flames leaped skyward, while roll on surging roll of black smoke-waves, with folds of gray ashes smothering between, poured out along the horizon. beyond the fire was the dark blue storm-cloud, banded across the front by the hail mark of coppery green. virginia sat enchanted by the grandeur of the scene. the veil had fallen from her head, and with white face and fascinated eyes, she watched the glowing fury, a graceful rider on a graceful black horse, on the crest of the lone headland outlined against the sky. suddenly the terror of it broke upon her. she was miles from the cabin with its double fireguard. asher had said such fires could leap rivers. between her and safety were many level banks where the sandy stream bed was narrow, and many grassy stretches where there was no water at all. distance, storm wind, fire and hail, all seemed ready to close down upon her, making her senses reel. one human being, alone before the wrath of nature! in all the years that followed, she never forgot that scene. for in that moment a whisper came from somewhere out of the void, "the eternal god is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms," and she clasped her hands in a wordless prayer. the wind that had been cruel all day grew suddenly kind. a dead calm held the air in a hot stillness. then with a whip and a whirl, it swung its course about and began to pour cool and strong out of the northwest. "the wind is changing," virginia cried, as she felt its chill and saw the flame and smoke tower upward and bend back from the way. "it is blowing the fire to the east, to the southeast. but, will it catch asher? oh, you good wind, blow south! blow south!" she pleaded, as she dashed down the long slope for the homeward race. * * * * * when asher reached his claim, he looked in vain for virginia's face as he passed the cabin window. he hurried the ponies into the corral, and the wagon under the lean-to beside the stable, half conscious that something was missing inside. then he hastened to the cabin, but virginia was not there. "she may be in the stable." he half whispered the words in his anxiety. the ponies in the corral were greedily eating their hay, but the black mare juno was gone. as asher turned toward the house, he caught the low roaring of the tempest and felt a rush of cool wind from somewhere. a huge storm-wave of yellow dust was rolling out of the southwest; beyond it the heavens were copper-green, and back of that, midnight darkness; while, borne onward by its force, low waves of prairie fire were swept along the ground. down at the third bend of the river where long growths overhung the stream, the flames crossed easily. even as asher aydelot watched the storm cloud, long tongues of fire came licking up the valley toward him, not a towering height, but a swift crawling destruction which he looked at with unseeing eyes, for his only thought was for virginia. "how could i have missed her if she started to meet me? yet, where can she be now?" he groaned. the hungry flames gnawed vainly about his broad fireguard, then wavered back and forth along the south prairie, while he watched them under the fascination the mastery of the elements can exert. he turned at last from the fire and storm to see juno and her rider swinging down the northwest prairie, keeping close to the river line before the chill north wind. "oh, virgie, virgie," he cried, as she slipped from the saddle and he caught her in his arms. "i've lived a hundred years since i left you this afternoon. what made you run away?" in the joy of her safe return, he forgot the fire. "why, don't you see the wind is from the north? and it is blowing everything south now? i saw it begin away up the river. did that guard really keep off that thing i saw from the high bluff up yonder?" "i put it there to do it, and i'd take the chances. awful as it is, it can't do anything but burn, and there's nothing here to burn. if it hadn't been there, everything would have been gone and you would have come back to a pile of ashes if the wind had left a pile." "and you put your puny hands to the plow handles and say to that awful fury, 'so far, and no farther. this is my home.' you, one little human being!" virginia's eyes were glowing with wonder at the miracle. "yes, with my puny hands. me--a little man," asher smiled quizzically, as he spread his broad brown hands before his face and drew himself up to his full six feet of height. "only i say, 'our home.' but i was so scared about you, i forgot to notice the change in the wind. the fire is chasing to the south, and the hailstorm has veered off down that stream this side of those three headlands over there. the wind gives and the wind takes away. you can't plow a guard around it." they sat down by the cabin door to watch the storm and flame blown far away in whirls of glaring light and surging cloud, until the rain at last drowned all the fury and washed it over the edge of the south horizon out of the world. "sometime we'll plant hedges and forest trees and checker the country with windbreaks until days like this will belong only to an old pioneer's memory," asher said, as the storm swept wide away. "then, i'm glad i came early enough to see this. i'm getting 'plains-broke' along with juno. isn't it wonderful to be a real pioneer? back in virginia we were two centuries of generations away from the first settlers," virginia exclaimed. but asher did not answer. he was thinking of jim shirley's declaration: "she's got endurance as well as grace and beauty." chapter iv distress signals also, we will make promise. so long as the blood endures, i shall know that your will is mine; ye shall feel that my strength is yours. --a song of the english. virginia aydelot soon grew brown as a berry in the tanning prairie winds, and it seemed impossible that this strong young woman of the sod cabin, with her simple dress and her cheeks abloom, could have been the dainty child of the old southern mansion house. no other autumn had ever seemed quite so beautiful to the aydelots as this, their first autumn together. life was before them with its call to victory. youth and health, exuberant spirits and love were theirs. theirs, too, was the great boundless world of mists and mirages, of rainbow tinted grasses and opal heavens, where no two sunsets were ever the same. they could laugh at their poverty, believing in a time when ease and plenty would rule the land where now they must fight for the bare necessities of existence, picturing life not as it was then with its many hardships, but as it would be in a future day when the real world whose last outpost they had left almost fifty miles to the eastward, should move toward them and help to people the prairies. all the week days were full of duties, but every sabbath morning found the three settlers of the valley making a prairie sanctuary of the aydelot cabin. the elder aydelots had not united with any church, but asher and jim, when they were only boys, had been converted at a methodist revival in cloverdale. it was an old-fashioned kind of religious leading, but it was strong enough to hold the two for all the years that followed. virginia had been reared an episcopalian, but the men out-voted her and declared that the aydelot home was the sunflower inn for six days in the week, but on the seventh it was the "first methodist church of the conference of the prairies." there was no levity in its service, however, and he who dwelleth not in temples made with men's hands blessed with his own benediction of peace and trust and courage the three who set up their altar to him in this far-away place. on sabbath afternoons they explored the sand dunes and grassy levels up and down the river. sometimes they rode northward to the main trail in hope of sighting some prairie schooner coming hitherward, but not once that season did the trail hold a human being for them. october slipped into november with a gradual sharpening of the frosty air. everything had been made as snug as possible for the winter. the corrals were enlarged for the stock. the houses and stables were thatched against the cold and storms; and fuel and food were carefully stored. but november was almost passed before the end of the bright and sometimes even balmy days. "we must have jim up to the sunflower inn for thanksgiving dinner. might as well invite the whole neighborhood," asher said one evening, as he helped virginia with the supper dishes. "i'm planning a real dinner, too," his wife declared, "just like old mammy diane used to cook. you couldn't tell it from hers if you'd ever eaten one of her spreads." "i suppose it will taste about as near like one of diane's meals as you will look like the cook that made her meals," asher answered. "well, i'm getting along that way. look at my tanned arms now. there's a regular dead line, a perfect fireguard at the elbow. and my muscles, mammy diane would say, 'is jus' monst'ous.'" virginia pushed back her sleeve to show the well-marked line where white above met tan below. "jim will think anything is better than eating alone out of his own grub box, and your dinner will be a feast," asher said, opening the door to carry out the dish water. "what do you think of this?" a gust of cold rain swished in as the door fell open. "our rain is here, at last. maybe it will bring snow for thanksgiving, and we could have a touch of new england here," virginia said. the pelting rain and deepening chill made the little home a very snug nest that night. there was only one stove to warm the house, but they kept up a fiction of parlor and dining room, kitchen and bed chamber. even the library was there, although it encroached dreadfully on the parlor, bedroom and kitchen, all three, for it consisted of space enough for two chairs, one footstool, and a tiny lamp-stand, beside which they spent their evenings. "who's likely to drop in tonight, and what's the program for the evening: charades, music, readings, dancing, cribbage, or political speeches?" asher inquired. they had invented all sorts of pastimes, with make-believe audiences, such as little children create for their plays. for these two were children in a big child world. the wilderness is never grown up. it is nature's little one waiting to be led on and disciplined to mature uses. asher and virginia had already peopled the valley with imaginary settlers, each one of a certain type, and they adapted their pastime to the particular neighbors whom they chose to invite for the evening. how little the helpless folk in the city, bored with their own dullness, and dependent on others for amusement--how little could such as these cope with the loneliness of the home on the plains, or comprehend the resourcefulness of the home-makers there! "oh, let's just spend the evening alone. it's too stormy for the arnolds and archibalds beyond the deep bend, and the spoopendykes have relatives from the east and the gilliwigs are all down with colds." virginia had tucked herself down in the one rocking chair, with her feet on the footstool. "it's such a nice night to be to ourselves. watch the rain washing that west window. it's getting worse. i always think of jim on nights like this." "so do i," asher said, as he sat down in the armed chair he had made for himself of cottonwood limbs with a gunny sack seat. "he's all alone with his dog these dark nights, and loneliness cuts to the heart of a man like jim. i'm glad i have you, virginia. i couldn't do without you now. the rain is getting heavier every minute. sounds like it was thumping on the door. listen to that wind!" "tell me about jim, asher. what made him come out here anyhow?" virginia asked. "i don't know all the story. jim has never seemed to want to tell me, and i've never cared to ask him," asher replied. "when we were away together at school, he was in love with one of the prettiest girls that ohio ever grew. she lived in the country up the valley from cloverdale. her name was alice leigh, and she was a whole cut above the neighborhood. jim said she was an artist, could do wonderful things with a brush and she was just wild to go somewhere and take lessons. "jim was planning always how to give her the opportunity to do it, but her mother, who owned a lot of land for that country and could afford to send alice away to study, couldn't see any dollar sign in it, so she kept her daughter on the farm." asher paused and looked at virginia. his own happiness made his voice tremble as he went on. "he has a brother tank. i suppose his real name is thaddeus, or tantalus, or something like it; i never knew, and i never liked him well enough to ask. tank was a black-eyed little runt whom none of the boys liked, a grasping cuss, younger than jim, and as selfish as jim is kind. "just before i came west to scout the indians off the map, jim came back to school one time so unlike himself that i made him tell me what was the matter. it was tank, he said, who was making trouble for him up in the leigh neighborhood, and he was so grieved and unhappy, i wouldn't ask any more about it. i left for the west soon after that. when i went back to cloverdale, tank shirley had married alice leigh and her mother's farm, and jim had left the country. i ran on to him by accident up at carey's crossing when i came west again, but i've never heard him say a word about the matter, and, of course, i don't mention it, although i believe it would do jim good if he could bring himself to tell me about it. he's never been quite the same since. he has a little tendency to lung trouble, which the plains air is taking out of him, but he's had a bad attack of pneumonia, and it's an old enemy of his, as it always is to a man of his physique. he's a good worker, but lacks judgment to make his work count. doesn't really seem to have much to work for. but he's a friend to the last ditch. just hear the rain!" "it seems to be knocking against the door again," virginia said, "and how the wind does howl! poor jim!" "listen to that! sounds like something loose against the window. there's something out there." asher started up with the words. something white had seemed to splash up against the window and drop back again. it splashed up a second time, and fell again. asher hurried to the door, and as he opened it, pilot, the big white-throated dog from the shirley claim, came bounding in, so wet and shaggy he seemed to bring all the storm in with him. "why, pilot, what's the news?" asher asked. "jim's sent him, virgie. he's done this trick often." pilot slipped to the warm stove and shook a whole shower out of his long, wet hair, while asher carefully untied a little leather bag fastened to the collar under the dog's throat. "you brave fellow. you've come all the way in the rain to bring me this." he held up a little metal box from which he took a bit of paper. bending close to the lamp, he read the message it contained. "something is wrong, virginia. he says, 'i need you.' what's the matter with jim, pilot? come here and get up in the chair!" the dog whimpered and sat still. "come out here, then! come on, i tell you!" asher started as if to open the door, but the dog did not move. "he's not out of doors, and he isn't sitting up in a chair. tell me, now, pilot, exactly where jim is! jim, mind you!" the dog looked at him with watchful eyes. "where's jim? poor jim!" asher repeated, and pilot, with a sorrowful yelp, stretched himself at full length beside the stove. "jim's sick, then?" pilot wagged his tail understandingly. "virgie, jim needs me. i must go to him." asher looked at his wife. "if jim needs you, you'll need me," she replied. "and we'll both need pilot. so we'll keep all the human beings together," asher said, as he helped his wife to fasten her heavy cloak and tie a long old-fashioned nubia about her head. then they went out into the darkness and the chilling rain, as neighbor to neighbor, answering this cry for help. pilot ran far ahead of them and was waiting with a dog's welcome when they reached shirley's cabin. but the master, lying where he caught the chill draught from the open door, was rigid with cold. a sudden attack of pneumonia had left him helpless. and tonight, pilot, doing a dog's best, did not understand the danger of leaving doors open, and of joyously shaking his wet fur down on the sick man to whom help was coming none too soon. "hello, jim! we're all here, doctor, nurse, cook, and hired man, and the little dog under the wagon," asher said cheerily, bending over jim's bunk. "that pup pretty nearly killed you with kindness, didn't he?" jim smiled wanly, then looked blankly away and lay very still. the plains frontier had no use for the one talent folk. people must know how to take care of life there. asher's first memory of virginia was when she bent over him, fighting the fever in a prison hospital. he knew her talent for helping, and he had fairly estimated her quick ingenuity for this sod house emergency. but a new vision of the plains life came to her as she watched him, gentle-handed, swift, but unhurried, never giving an inch to the enemy in fighting with death for the life of jim shirley. "he's safe from that congestion," asher said when the morning broke. "but his fever will come on now." "where did you learn to do all these things for sick people?" virginia asked. "partly from a hospital nurse i had in the war. also, it's a part of the game here. i learned a few things fighting the cholera in sixty-seven. we must look everything on the frontier squarely in the face, danger and death along with the rest, just as we have to do everywhere else, only we have to depend on each other more here. hold on there, jim!" asher sprang toward shirley, who was sitting upright, staring wildly at the two. then a struggle began, for the sick man, crazed with delirium, was bent on driving his helpers from the cabin. when he lay back exhausted at length, asher turned to his wife. "one of us must go to carey's crossing for a doctor. you can't hold jim. it's all i can do to hold him. but it's a long way to carey's. can you go?" "i'll try," virginia replied. and asher remembered what jim had said on the windy september day: "she's as good a woman as we are men." "you must take pilot with you and leave him at home. you can't get lost, for you know the way up to the main trail, and that runs straight to the crossing. dr. carey knows jim, and he will come if he can, i am sure. he pulled jim back once a year or two ago when the pneumonia had him. heaven keep you safe, you brave little soul. jim may turn the trick for us some day." he kissed her good-by and watched her gallop away on her errand of mercy. "the men will have all the credit by and by for settling this country. little glory will come to their wives," he thought. "and yet, the women make anchor for every hearthstone, and share in every deed of daring and every test of endurance. god make me worthy of such a wife!" virginia aydelot had spoken truly when she declared that the war had left the thaines little except inherited pride and the will to do as they pleased. inherited tendencies take varying turns. what had made a reformer of old jean aydelot made a narrow bigot of his descendant, francis. what had made a proud, exclusive autocrat of jerome thaine, in virginia thaine developed into a pride of conquest for the good of others. it was this pride and the thaine will to do as she pleased in defiance of the prairie perils that sent her now on this errand of mercy for a neighbor in need. and she took little measure of the reality of the journey. but she was prudent enough to stop at the sunflower inn and make ready for it. she slipped on a warm jacket under her heavy cloak, and put on her thickest gloves and overshoes. she wound a long red scarf about her neck and swathed her head in the gray nubia. then she mounted her horse for her long, hard ride. the little sod house with all its plainness seemed very cosy as she took leave of it, and the woman instinct for home made its outcry in her when she turned her face resolutely from its sheltering warmth and felt the force of the north wind whipping mercilessly upon her. but she steeled herself to meet the cold, and her spirits rose with the effort. "you are a mean little wind. not half as big as the september zephyrs. do your worst, you can't scare me," she cried, tucking her head down against its biting breath. upon the main trail the snow that had fallen after midnight deepened in the lower places as the wind whirled it from the prairie swells. it was not smooth traveling, although the direction of the trail was clear enough at first. virginia's heart bounded hopefully as juno covered mile after mile with that persistent, steady canter that means everything good for a long ride. but the open plains were bitterly cold and the wind grew fiercer as the hours passed. high spirits and hope began to give place to determination and endurance. virginia shut her teeth in a dogged resolve not to give up. indeed, she dared not give up. she must go on. a life depended on her now, and two lives might be forfeited if she let this unending wind chill her to forgetfulness. and so, alone in a white cruelty of solitary land, bounded only by the gray cruelty of the sky, with a dimming trail before her under a deeper snowfall, and with long miles behind her, she struggled on. she tried to think of everything cheerful and good. she tried to find comfort in the help she would take to jim. truly, she was not nearly so cold now and she was very weary and a wee bit sleepy. a tendency to droop in the saddle was overcoming her. she roused herself quickly, and with a jerk at the reins plunged forward at a gallop. "it will take the stupor out of me," she cried. then the reins drooped and the fight with the numbing cold began again. "i wonder how far along i am. i must be nearly there. i remember we lost sight of carey's crossing soon after we left last september. some swell of ground cut us off quickly--and i've never seen a human being since then, except asher and jim shirley and pilot," she added. "the snow is so much heavier right here. it varies so. i've passed half a dozen changes, but this is the deepest yet. i'm sure i can see the town beyond this slope ahead. why! where's the trail, anyhow?" it was nearing mid-afternoon. neither horse nor rider had had food nor water, save once when juno drank at a crossing. virginia sat still, conscious suddenly that she has missed the trail somewhere. "it isn't far, i know. could i have left it when i took that gallop?" she asked herself. she was wide awake now, for the reality of the situation was upon her, and she searched madly for some sign of the trail. in that level prairie sea there was no sign to show where the trail might lie. the gray sky was pitiless still, and with no guiding ray of sunshine the points of the compass failed, and the brave woman lost all sense of direction. "i won't give up," she said at last, despairingly, "but we may as well rest a little before we try again." she had dropped down a decided slope and hurried to a group of low bushes in a narrow draw. while the wind was sliding the snow endlessly back and forth on the higher ground, the bushes were moveless. slipping to the ground beside them, she stamped her feet and swung her arms until the blood began to warm her chilled body. "it is so much warmer here. but what next? oh, dear father, help me, help me!" she cried in the depth of her need. and again the same clear whisper that had spoken to her on the headland when she watched the september prairie fire, a voice from out of the vast immensity of the universe, came to her soul with its calm strength. "the eternal god is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms." how many a time in the days of winning the wilderness did the blessed promise come to the pioneer women who braved the frontier to build the homes of a conquering nation. "i can't try that blind game again for awhile," virginia said to herself. "i'll run up a distress signal; maybe somewhere help is coming to me. i know now how jim felt all alone with only a dog's instinct to depend on. i'm glad i've tried to help him, even if i have failed." she unwound the long red scarf from her neck and bound her nubia closer about her throat. then bending the tallest bush that she could reach she fastened the bright fabric to its upper limbs and let it swing to its place again. the scarf spread a little in the breeze and hung above her, a dumb signal of distress where help was not. the minutes dragged by like hours to virginia, trying vainly to decide on what to do next. the fury of a plains blizzard would have quickly overcome her, but this was a lingering fight against cold and a pathless solitude. suddenly the memory of one lonely sabbath day came to her, and how asher, always resourceful, had said: "when you are afraid, pray; but when you are lonely, sing." she had prayed, and comfort had come with the prayer. she could sing for comfort, if for nothing else. somebody might hear. and so she sang. the song heard sometimes in the little prayer meeting in some country church; sometimes by sick beds when the end of days is drawing near; sometimes in hours of shipwreck, above the roar of billows on wide, stormy seas; and sometimes on battlefields when mangled forms lie waiting the burial trench and the mournful drumbeat of the last dead march--the same song rose now on the lonely prairie winds sweeping out across the hidden trails and bleak open plains. nearer, my god, to thee, nearer to thee, e'en though it be a cross that raiseth me. still all my song shall be nearer, my god, to thee, nearer to thee. chapter v a plainsman of the old school i have eaten your bread and salt, i have drunk your water and wine; the deaths ye died i have watched beside, and the lives ye led were mine. --kipling. the little postoffice at carey's crossing in wolf county was full of men waiting for the mail due at noon. mail came thrice a week now, and business on the frontier was looking brighter. the postoffice was only one feature of the room it occupied. drugs, hardware, horse-feed, groceries, and notions each had claims of their own, while beside the united states mail department was an inksplashed desk holding a hotel register, likewise inksplashed. beyond the storeroom was a long, narrow dining room on one side and a few little cell-like rooms on the other with a crack of a hall between them leading back to the kitchen, the whole structure, only one story high, having more vertical boards than horizontal in its making. but the lettering over the front door bore the brave information that this was the post office, the general merchandise store, and the jacobs house, all in one. the rain of the night had shifted to a light snow that whiffed about in little white pellets, adding nothing to the land in the way of moisture, or beauty, or protection from cold. just a chill fraying out of the rain's end that matched the bitterness of the wind's long sweep from out of the vast northwest. a gray sky was clamped down over all, so dull and monotonous, it seemed that no rainbow tint could ever again brighten the world. "the stage is late again," observed one of the men. "always is when you want her particular." this from a large man who held the door open long enough to stare up the open street for the sign of the coming stage and to let in a surge of cold air at the same time. "well, shut the door, champers. the stage doesn't come inside. it stops at hans wyker's saloon first, anyhow," one of the men behind a counter declared. "if you'd open a bar here you'd do some business and run that wyker fellow out. steward, you and jacobs are too danged satisfied with yourselves. we need some business spirit in this town if we want to get the county seat here," champers declared. "that may help your real estate, but it's not my kind of business, and no bar is going into this tavern," jacobs replied, leaning his elbow against the back of stewart, who was bending over the desk. stewart and jacobs were young men, the former a finely built, fair-haired scotchman from whom good nature, good health, and good morals fairly radiated; not the kind of man to become a leader, but rather to belong to the substantial following of a leader. jacobs was short, and slender, and dark--unmistakably of jewish blood--with a keen black eye, quick motions, and the general air of a shrewd business man, letting no dollar escape him. he had also the air of a gentleman. nobody in carey's crossing had ever heard him swear--the language of the frontier always--nor seen him drink, nor had taken a parcel from his store that had been tied up with soiled fingers. the jacobs house register might be splashed with ink, but the ledger records of the business concern were a joy to the eye. at stewart's words champers shut the door with a slam and blustered toward the stove, crowding smaller men out of their places before it. "i am glad i don't have to run other men's affairs--"he began, when the rear door flew open and a slender young negro hurried in with the announcement: "de stage done sighted approachin' from de east, gen'lemen. hit's done comin' into town right now." "all right, bo peep; take care of the team," stewart responded, and a general re-swarming of the crowd followed. just before the stage--a covered wagon drawn by two indian ponies--reached the jacobs house a young man crossed the street and entered the door. some men are born with a presence that other men must recognize everywhere. to this man's quiet, "hello, gentlemen," the crowd responded, almost to a man: "good morning, doctor." "hello, carey." "hello, doc." each man felt the wish to be recognized by such greeting, and a place was given him at once. only champers, the big man, turned away with a scowl. "always gets the best of everything, even to the first chance to get his mail," he muttered under his breath. but the mail was soon of secondary interest to the dealer in real estate. letters were of less importance to him than strangers, and a stranger had registered at the desk and was waiting while stewart called out the mail in the postoffice department. champers leaned over the shoulders of shorter men to read the entry in a cramped little hand, the plain name, "thomas smith, wilmington, delaware." then he looked at the man and drew his own conclusions. dr. carey was standing beside the letter counter when todd stewart read out, "'mr. james shirley,'" and, with a little scrutiny--"'southwest of carey's crossing.' anybody here know mr. james shirley?" the stranger made a hasty step forward, but dr. carey had already taken the letter. "i'll take care of that for you, stewart," he said quietly. and turning, he looked into the eyes of the stranger. it was but a glance, and the latter stepped aside. men formed quick judgments on the frontier. as carey passed the register he read the latest entry there, and like champers he too drew his own conclusions. at the door he turned and said to jacobs. "tell bo peep to have your best horse ready by one o'clock for a long ride." "all right, doctor," jacobs responded. half an hour later the jacobs house dining room was crowded for the midday meal. by natural selection men fell into their places. stewart and jacobs, with dr. carey and pryor gaines, the young minister school teacher, had a table to themselves. the other patrons sat at the long board, while the little side table for two was filled today with champers, the real estate man, and the latest arrival, mr. thomas smith, of wilmington, delaware. "who's the man with the dark mustache up there?" thomas smith asked. "doc carey," champers replied with a scowl. "you don't seem to need him?" there was a double meaning in the query, and champers caught both. "no ways," he responded. "has some influence here?" the stranger asserted rather than questioned. "a lot. has the whole town under hoodoo. it's named for him. he has all the doctoring he can do and won't half charge, so's no other doctor'll come here. that's no way to build up a town. he'd get up at one o'clock in the morning to doctor a widder's cow. now, sure he would, when he knows even a dead cow'd make business for the butcher to render up into grease and the cattle dealer to sell another cow." "not your style of a man then?" the stranger observed. "oh, pshaw, no, but, as i say, he's got the whole country hoodoo'd. notice how everybody give him right of way to get his mail first? why him? and hear him order the best horse? i'll bet a tree claim in hades right now that he's off somewhere to doctor some son of a gun out of cussed good will." "who is this james shirley whose mail he seems to look after?" there was a half-tone lowering of the voice as smith pronounced the name, which was not lost on champers, whose business was to catch men at all corners. "jim shirley lives out in one of the rich valleys west. him and a fellow named aydelot have some big notions of things out there. i don't know the doc's claim to control his mail, but nobody here would deny carey any danged thing he wanted." champers twisted his face in disgust. "you are in the real estate business here?" thomas smith asked after a pause, as if the subject fell into entirely new lines. "yes," champers answered absently with eyes alert on the opposite wall. "i'd like to see you later, mr.--" "champers--darley champers," and the dealer in land shoved a soiled card across the table. "come in any time. this cold snap will soon be over and i can show you no end of land worth a gold mine any time you are ready. but make it soon. land's goin' faster here'n you delaware fellers think, and"--in a lower voice--"doc carey's drivin' over it all the time, and that jew of a jacobs ain't in business here on account of no lung trouble, and his hatred of saloons is somethin' pisen." they finished their meal in silence, for they had come to an understanding. the afternoon was too short and cold for real estate business to be brisk, and nobody in carey's crossing noted that the front window of darley champer's little office was covered with a newspaper blind all the rest of that day, nor did anybody pay attention to the whereabouts of the stranger--mr. thomas smith, of wilmington, delaware--during this same time. nobody, except john jacobs, of the jacobs house, who gained his knowledge mostly by instinct; never, at least, by rude inquiry. he had been up on the roof helping bo peep to fasten the sign over the door which the wind had torn loose. from this place he could see above the newspaper screen of the window across the street that champers and smith were in a tremendously earnest consultation. he would have thought nothing of it had not champers chanced to sight him on the roof and immediately readjusted the newspaper blind to prevent observation. "i'll offer to sell darley a window shade cheap tomorrow and see how he bites," and the little jewish merchant smiled shrewdly at the thought. * * * * * out on the trail that day the snow lay deeper to the westward, hiding the wagon ruts. the dead sunflower stalks made only a faint black edging along the white monotony of the way and sometimes on bleak swells there were no markings at all. some distance from carey's crossing a much heavier snowfall, covering a wide swath, under which the trails were entirely lost, had wandered in zigzag lines down from the northwest. in the early afternoon dr. horace carey had started west on the surest horse in the stewart-jacobs livery stable, taking his old-fashioned saddle-bags with him through force of habit, and by mid-afternoon was floundering in the edge of this deeper snowfall. nature must have meant horace carey for the plains. he was of medium height, compactly built, without an ounce of unnecessary weight. the well-rounded form took away all hint of spareness, while it did not destroy the promise of endurance. his heavy, dark hair and dark gray eyes, his straight nose and firm mouth under a dark mustache, and his well-set chin made up an attractive but not handsome face. the magnetism of his personality was not in manly beauty. it was an inborn gift and would have characterized him in any condition in life. there was about him a genial dignity that made men look up to him and a willingness to serve that made selfishness seem mean. he could not have been thirty, although he had been on the plains for five years. the west was people by young men. it's need for daring spirits found less response in men of maturer life. but the west had most need for humane men. the bully, the dare-devil, the brutal, and the selfish were refuse before the force that swept the frontier onward; but they were never elements in real state building. before such men as carey they lost power. the doctor rode away toward the west, bowing his head before the strong wind that he knew too well to fear, yet wondering as he rode if he had done wisely to dare the deepening snow of the buried trail. "i might have waited a day, anyhow," he thought. "it's a devil of a ride over to jim shirley's, and we got only the tag ends of that storm down at the crossing from the looks of this. however, i may as well keep at it now." he surged on for a few miles without any signs of an open trail appearing. then he dropped to a slow canter. "i'd better get this worry straightened and my mind untangled if i am to have any comfort on this ride," he said aloud, as was his wont to do when out in the open alone. "everything happens to a man who gives too much leeway to that indefinite inside guide saying, 'do this! let that alone!' and yet that guide hasn't failed me when i've listened to it." he let the pony have the rein as he looked ahead with unseeing eyes. "what made me take this day? first, everybody is well enough to be left for two or three days, good time for a vacation, and stewart can take care of emergencies always. second, i promised jim i'd see that his letters got to him straightway. third, yes, third, something said, 'go now!' but here's the other side. why go on the heels of a snowstorm? why not keep jim's letter a day or two? it's in my hands. and why mistrust a man who calls himself innocent 'thomas smith?' that's it. he's too innocent. there's no place on these wide kansas prairies for that man thomas smith. he'd better get back to his home and his real name at once." the doctor smiled at the thought, then he frowned at the cold wind and the shifting snows above the trail. "you are a fool--a stack of fools, dr. horace carey, to beat out of town miles on miles on a fool's errand over a lost trail, trusting your instinct that never lost you a direction yet, and all because of an inward call to an unrevealed duty. some other day will do as well. and here's where i may as well cut off these notions of being led by inside signals. what should make me sight danger in a man i never saw before, and who will probably go out on the stage tomorrow morning? oh, well, the lord made us as we are. he knows why." he wheeled the pony about and began to trot toward carey's crossing. suddenly he halted. "let me see. i'm not twenty miles along, though i've come at a good rate. i believe i'll cut across northwest and hit some of the settlers up on big wolf creek for the night. lucky i've no wife to worry about me." a wave of sadness swept over the man's face--just a sweep of sorrow that left no mark. he turned abruptly from the trail and struck in a definite direction across the snow-covered prairie. presently his path veered to the north, then to northwest. "i know an ugly little creek running into big wolf that's the dickens to cross. i'll run clear round it, even if it takes longer. after all, i'm doing just what i said i wouldn't do. i don't know why i didn't go on, nor why i am tacking off up here. something tells me to do it, and i'll do it." but however changeable of mind he seemed to himself, dr. carey was a man who formed his judgments so quickly and acted upon them so promptly that he seemed most stable to other men. he rode forward now to a land wave that dropped on one side to a creek, a quarter of a mile away, where black shrubbery marked the water line. a long swell of wind swung down the valley, whirling the snow in eddies before it. as the doctor's eye followed them, he suddenly noted a red scarf lift above the tallest clumps of bushes and flutter out to its full length, then drop again as the wind swell passed. "there's nobody in fifteen miles of here. i reckon that scarf blew there and caught some time this fall when somebody was going out on the trail. mighty human looking thing, though. it seemed waving a signal to me. but i must hurry on." he hastened at a gallop up the ridge away from the creek, his mind still on that red scarf flung about by the winter wind. "it was a strange thing," he thought, "but every human token is startling out here. what's that now?" the doctor had a plainsman's ear as well as a plainsman's eye. as he listened, through the wail of the wind borne along the distance, he caught the words of a song, low and pleading like a plaintive cry for help: though, like the wanderer, the sun gone down, darkness be over me, my rest a stone-- yet in my dreams i'd be nearer, my god, to thee, nearer to thee. it was a woman's voice and carey faced about to listen. he knew it came from the bushes below the red scarf. so he changed his course and hurried around a bend in the stream to the other side of the brush where virginia aydelot stood beside juno. "i'm afraid there isn't even a stone to rest on here, madam. can i be of any service to you?" he said, lifting his hand toward his cap in semi-military salute. virginia stood looking at the stranger with a half-comprehending gaze. she had been less than an hour beside the bushes, but it had seemed to her like many hours. and the terrifying certainty of a night alone on the prairie made the sudden presence of a human being unreal to her. "i beg your pardon; i am dr. carey, of carey's crossing, and i was striking across the prairie to the big wolf settlement when i saw your scarf and heard your singing. i took them both to be distress signals and came over to see if you needed me." one had only to listen to dr. carey's voice to understand why darley champers should accuse him of laying a charm on the whole settlement. virginia recovered herself quickly, saying with a wan smile: "you came just in time, doctor. i am lost and need help. i was going to you, anyhow." each one's face was so muffled against the wind that the eyes and lips and a bit of the cheeks alone were visible. "not a bad-looking woman for all the kansas tan," the doctor thought. "she has a voice like a true virginian and fine eyes and teeth. but any woman who bundles up for a horseback ride across the plains on a day like this isn't out for a beauty show contest. i've seen eyes like that before, though, and as to her voice--" "i am mrs. asher aydelot from the grass river valley," virginia went on. "there are only three settlers out there now, mr. shirley and my husband and myself. mr. shirley is very sick with pneumonia, and mr. aydelot could not leave him, so i started to carey's crossing to see if you could come to him. i missed the trail somewhere. i was trying to help, but i failed, you see." the doctor was looking at her with a puzzled expression which she thought was born of his sympathy. to the mention of her failing he responded quickly: "no, mrs. aydelot, you succeeded. i had started to shirley's myself on personal business, and i was letting some whim turn me aside. if you had kept the trail we should have missed each other, for i was on my way to big wolf creek, a good distance away, and your leaving the trail and wandering down here was providential for shirley. shall i show you on to the crossing?" "oh, no, doctor, if you will only come back with me. i don't want to go on," virginia insisted. "you are a regular westerner, mrs. aydelot," carey declared. "but you haven't been out here long. i heard of your passing through our town late last summer. i was up on big wolf then and failed to see you. i know something of your husband, but i have never met him." he helped her to mount her horse and together they sought the trail and followed it westward in the face of the wind. * * * * * near midnight down in jim shirley's cabin asher aydelot turned from a lull in the sick man's ravings to see dr. horace carey entering the door with a pair of saddle bags in his hand. "hello, sir! aydelot? i'm carey, the doctor." then as his quick eye took in the haggard face of the man before him, he said cheerily: "everything fit as a fiddle up your way. i left your cabin snug and warm as a prairie dog's hole, and your wife is sound asleep by this time, with a big dog on guard. yes, i understand," he added, as asher silently gripped his hand. "you've died a thousand deaths today. forget it, and give me a hand here. my own are too stiff, and i must get these wet boots off. i always go at my work dry shod." he had pulled a pair of heavy shoes from the saddle bags, and was removing his outer coat and sundry scarfs, warming his hands between whiles and seemingly unconscious of the sick man's presence. "you are wet to the knees. you dared the short trail and the strange fords of rivers on a night so dark as this," asher declared as he helped carey to put off his wrappings. "it's a doctor's business to forget himself when he sees a distress signal." then carey added quietly: "tell me about shirley. what have you been doing for him?" he was beside jim's bunk now and his presence seemed to fill the whole cabin with its subtle strength. "you know your business, doctor; i'm a farmer," asher said, as he watched this frontier physician moving deftly about his work. "well, if you mean to farm so far from pill bags you have done well to follow my trade a little, as you seem to have done with shirley," carey asserted, as he noted the evidences of careful nursing. "oh, virginia--mrs. aydelot--helped me," asher assured him. "she's a nurse by instinct." "what did you call your wife?" the doctor inquired. "virginia--from her own state. pretty sick man here." asher said this as dr. carey suddenly bent over shirley with stern eyes and tightening lips. but the eyes grew tender when jim looked up into his face. "you're all right, shirley. you must go to sleep now." and shirley, who in his delirium had fought his neighbor all day, became as obedient as a child, as a very sick child, that night under horace carey's hand. the next morning virginia aydelot was not able to rise from her bed, and for many days she could do nothing more than to sit in the rocking chair by the windows and absorb sunshine. on the fourth day after carey had reached shirley's asher went down the river in the early afternoon to find how jim's case was progressing, leaving his wife comfortably tucked up in the rocking chair by the west window. the snow was gone and the early december day was as crisp and beautiful as an indian summer day in a colder climate. virginia sat watching the shadows of the clouds flow along the ground and the prairie hues changing with the angle of the afternoon sunlight. suddenly a sound of ponies' feet outside was followed by a loud rap on the door. "come in!" virginia called. "lie down, pilot!" pilot did not obey, but sat up alert before his mistress as darley champers' bulk filled the doorway. "excuse me, madam," the real estate dealer said, lifting his hat, "me and my friend, mr. smith out there, are looking up a claim for a friend of ours somewhere out in the grass river settlement. can you tell me who owns the last claim taken up down the river, and how far it is from here?" "mr. shirley's claim is a few miles down the river, if you go by the short trail and ford at the bends, but much longer if you go around by the long trail," virginia explained. "is it occupied?" champers put the question in a careless tone. pilot's bristles, that had fallen at the sound of virginia's voice, rose again with the query. it is well to be wary of one whom a dog distrusts. but the woman's instinct in virginia responded little to the dog's uneasiness, and she replied courteously: "yes, mr. shirley is there, very sick." "um, who have i the honor of addressing now?" champers asked awkwardly, as if to change the subject. "mrs. asher aydelot." "well, now, i've heard of aydelot. where is your man today? i'd like to meet him, mrs. a." it was the man's way of being friendly, but even a duller-fibred man than champers would have understood mrs. aydelot's tone as she said: "you will find him at shirley's, or on the way. only the long trail winds around some bluffs, and you might pass each other without knowing it." "how many men in this settlement now?" champers asked. "only two," virginia replied, patting pilot's head involuntarily. "only two! that's sixteen more'n'll ever make it go here," darley champers declared. "excuse me for saying it, mrs. aydelot, but i've been pretty much over kansas, and this is the poorest show for settlement the lord ever left out of doors. i've always heard this valley was full of claims you simply couldn't give away, but my friend, who has no end of money and influence fur developin' the country, wanted me to look over the ground along the grass river, it's dead desolation, that's all; no show on earth in fifty year out here, and in fifty year we won't none of us care for more'n six feet of ground anywhere. i'm sorry for you, madam. you must be awfully lonely here, but you'll be gettin' away soon, i hope. i must be off. thank you, madam, for the information. good day," and he left the cabin abruptly. the sunshine grew pallid and the prairies lay dull and endless. the loneliness of solitude hung with a dead heaviness and hope beat at the lowest ebb for virginia aydelot, trying bravely to deny his charge against the future of the land she had struggled so to dream into fruitfulness. she was only a woman, strong to love and brave to endure, but neither by nature nor heritage shrewd to read the tricks of selfish trade. and she believed that while asher and jim shirley were hopeful dreamers like herself, here was an ill-mannered but unprejudiced man who saw the situation as they could not see it. "that woman and her fool dog were half afraid of me at first. they don't know that women aren't in my line. i'd never harm a one of 'em." "they're in my line always. was she good looking? i never pass a pretty woman," thomas smith said smoothly. "don't be a danged fool, smith. i might cut a man's throat to some extent, if it would help my business any, but i'd cut it more'n some if he forgets his manners round a woman. we're a coarse, grasping lot out here fur as property goes, and we ain't got drawing-room manners, but it takes your smug little easterners to be the real dirty devils. come on." and thomas smith knew that the big, coarse-grained man was sincere. "yonder's aydelot now. want to see him?" darley champers declared, sighting asher down the short trail beyond the deep bend. "i've no business with him, and he's the man i don't want to see," thomas smith said hastily. "i'll ride on out of sight round this bend and wait for you. it's a good place when you don't want to be seen." "depends on how much of a plainsman aydelot is. he ought to have sighted both of us half a mile back," champers declared. but smith hurried away and was soon behind the low bluff at the deep bend. asher aydelot had seen the two before they saw him, and he saw them part company and only one come on to meet him. "you're aydelot from the claim up the river, i s'pose. i'm just out lookin' at the country. not much to it but looks," champers declared as the two met at the deep bend. "yes, sir; my name is aydelot," asher replied, deciding at once that this stranger was not to be accepted on sight, a judgment based not on a woman's instinct but on a man's experience. "any of these claims ever been entered?" champers asked. "yes, sir; most of them," asher responded. "i see. couldn't make it out here. i s'pose you'll get out next. hard place to take root. most too far away, and land's a little thin, i see," the real estate dealer remarked carelessly. "yes, it's pretty well out," asher assented. "the river ever get low here?" was the next query. "not often, in the winter," asher replied. "most too uncertain for water power, though, and the railroad ain't comin' this way at all. i must be gettin' on. one man's too few to be travelin' so fur from civilization." "come up to the cabin for the night," asher said, with a plainsman's courtesy. "thank you, no. hope to see you again nearer to the lord's ground; losin' game here. good-by." asher did not look like a disappointed man when he reached the sunflower inn. "best news in the world," he declared when virginia related what had happened in the cabin that afternoon. "a man who goes prospecting around the kansas prairies doesn't discourage the poor cuss he pities; he tries to encourage the wretch to hold on to land he wouldn't have himself. listen to me, virgie. that man has his eye on grass river right now. i know his breed." meanwhile the early dusk found champers and smith approaching shirley's premises. "i don't know about aydelot," champers declared as they lariated their ponies beyond the corral. "he's one of the clear-eyed fellows who sees a good thing about as soon as you sight it yourself, and then he turns clam and leach and you won't move him nor get nothin' out of him, and that's all there is to it." "yes, i know that. i mean, you say he does?" smith seemed too preoccupied to follow his own words, but champers followed smith shrewdly enough. they made a hasty but careful examination of the premises, keeping wide of the cabin where the sick man lay. "he's got three horses in there. he's well fixed," champers declared, peering into the stable, where it was too dark to discover that the third horse was dr. carey's. "let's hike off for some deserted shack for the night and get an early start for the crossing in the morning. easy trick, this, gettin' in and out of here unseen. and it's one of the best claims on grass river." "couldn't we slip into the cabin?" smith asked in a half whisper. "if he's too sick"--something in the man's face made it look diabolical in the fading twilight, and he seemed about to start toward the house. "now, see here, mr. smith," champers said with slow sternness. "what'd i say back there about women? neither we ain't man-slaughterers out here, though your _police gazette_ and your dime novels paint us that way. there's more murderers per capiter to a single street in new york than in the whole state of kansas, right now. if it's land and money, we're after it, tooth an' toenail, but forget the thing in your mind this minute or you an' me parts company right here, an' you can hoof it back to carey's crossing or wilmington, delaware." smith made no reply and they mounted their ponies and galloped away. and all the while dr. horace carey, inside the unlighted cabin, had watched their movements with grim curiosity, even to the hesitating, half-expressed intention of entering the dwelling. "champers would pull up another man's stakes and drive them into his own ground if he wanted them, but that thomas smith would drive them through the other fellow's body if nobody else was around," was the doctor's mental comment as he went outside and watched the course of the two men till the twilight gathered them in. * * * * * when the turning point came to the sick man, the up-climb was marvelous, as his powers of recoil asserted themselves. "it is just a matter of self-control and good spirits now, shirley, and you have both," dr. carey said, as he sat by his patient on the ninth day. "you staid the game out, carey," shirley said with an undertone of hopelessness behind his smile. "what possessed you to happen in, anyhow?" "i was possessed not to come and turned back after i'd started. if i hadn't met mrs. aydelot coming after me i'd have rampsed off up on big wolf creek for a week, maybe, and missed your case entirely." "and likewise my big fee," jim interrupted. "some men are born lucky. and so mrs. aydelot went after you. asher's a fortunate man to have a wife like virginia, although he had to give up an inheritance for her." "how was that?" carey asked, glad to see the hopeless look leaving jim's eyes. "oh, it's a pretty long story for a sick man. the mere facts are that asher aydelot was to have bank stock, a good paying hotel, and a splendid big farm if he'd promise never to marry any descendant of jerome thaine, of virginia. asher hiked out west and enlisted in the cavalry and did united states scout duty for two years, hoping to forget virginia thaine, who is a descendant of this jerome thaine. but it wasn't any use. distance don't count, you know, in cases like that." "yes, i know." shirley was too sick to notice dr. carey's face, and he did not remember afterward how low and hard those three words sounded. "it seems virginia had pulled asher through a fever in a rebel hospital, and we all love our nurses." jim patted the doctor's knee as he said this. "and when the father's will was read out against ever, ever, ever his son marrying a thaine, asher promptly said that the whole inheritance, bank stock, hotel, and farm, might go where--the old man aydelot had already gone--maybe. anyhow, he married virginia thaine and she was game to come out here and pioneer on a grass river claim. strange what a woman will do for love, isn't it? and to go on a forty-mile ride to save a worthless pup's life! that's me. think of the daughter of one of those old virginia homes up to a trick like that?" "you've talked enough now." shirley looked up in surprise at this stern command, but dr. carey had gone to the other side of the cabin and sat staring out at the river running bank-full at the base of the little slope. when he turned to his patient again, the old tender look was in his eyes. men loved jim shirley if they cared for him at all. and now the pathetic hopelessness of jim's face cut deep as carey studied it. "i say, shirley, did you ever know a man back east named thomas smith?" he asked. "no. strange name, that! where'd you run onto it? smith! smith! how do you spell it?" jim replied indifferently. "with a spoonful of quinine in epsom salts, taken raw, if you don't pay attention. now listen to me." the doctor's tone was as cheery as ever. "well, don't make it necessary for me to tell you when you've talked enough." in spite of the joking words, there was a listless hopelessness in shirley's voice, matching the dull, listless eyes. and horace carey rose to the situation at once. "a stranger named thomas smith came to the crossing the day i came down here. rather a small man, with close-set, dark eyes; signed his name in a cramped, left-handed writing. i noticed his right hand seemed a little stiff, sort of paralyzed at the wrist. but here's the funny thing. he made me uneasy, and he made me think of you. could you identify him? he looked as much like you as i look like that young darkey, bo peep, up at the jacobs house." "none of my belongings. you are a delicate plant to be so sensitive to strangers." jim sighed from mental weariness more than from physical weakness. "i was sensitive, and when i heard stewart call out your name in the mail and saw this man step up as if to take the letter, i took it. and if you'll take a brace and decide it's worth while you can have it. it's addressed in a woman's handwriting, not a thomas smith style of pinching letters out of a penholder and squeezing them off the pen point. lie down there, man!" for jim was sitting up, listening intently. with trembling fingers he took the letter and read it eagerly. then he looked at carey with eyes in which listlessness had given place to determination. "doctor, i was ready to throw up the game five minutes ago. now i'll do anything to get back to strength and work." "you don't seem very joyous, however," the doctor responded. "joy don't belong to me. we parted company some years ago. but life is mine." "and duty?" "yes, and duty. say, doctor, if you'd ever cared all there was in you to care for one woman, and then had to give her up, you'd know how i feel. and if, then, a sort of service opened up before you, you'd know how i welcome this." jim's face, white from his illness, was wonderfully handsome now, and he looked at his friend with that eager longing for sympathy men of his mould need deeply. horace carey stood up beside the bed and, looking down with a face where intense feeling and self-control were manifest, said in a low voice: "i have cared. i have had to give up, and i know what service means." chapter vi when the grasshopper was a burden although the figtree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines, the labor of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls: yet i will rejoice in the lord. --habakkuk. while jim shirley was getting back to health, he and his physician had many long talks regarding the west and its future; its products and its people. there was only one topic in which horace carey was but intermittently interested, namely, jim's neighbors--the aydelots. at least, it seemed so to jim, who had loved asher from boyhood, and had taken virginia on sight and paid homage to her for all the years that followed. jim accepted the doctor's manner at first as a mere personal trait, but, having nothing to do except to lie and think, he grew curiously annoyed over it. "i wish you'd tell me what ails you?" he blurted out one evening, as the two sat together in the twilight. "about what?" the doctor inquired. "if i knew, i might even risk my own medicine to get over it." "don't joke, horace carey, not with a frail invalid. i've tried all day to talk to you about my neighbors and you turn the subject away as if it was of no consequence, and now, tonight, you settle down and say, 'tell me about the aydelots.' why do you want to hear in the dark what you won't listen to in the daylight?" "oh, you are a sick man, jim, or you wouldn't be so silly," the doctor replied, "but to please you, i'll tell you the truth. i'm homesick." "yes?" "and this mrs. aydelot was a virginia woman." "yes?" "well, i'm a true son of virginia, and i thought it might make me happy to hear about somebody from--" "you are a magnificent liar," jim broke in. "evidently it's better to have you talk about your neighbors than your medical advisor tonight," carey retorted. "oh, i won't say a word more," jim declared. "more ananias magnificence! do you suppose the aydelots will be down before we go away?" the doctor asked. "we?" "yes, i am going to take you with me, or give you a quieting powder when i leave here. on your own declaration you'd do anything to get back to strength and work. now, the only way to get well, with or without a physician, is to get well. and you'll never do that by using up a little more strength every day than you store up the night before. men haven't sense enough to be invalids. nothing else is such a menace to human life as the will of the man who owns that life. you'll obey my will for a month or two." "you are a--doctor, carey. no, the aydelots won't be down before we go away, because virginia has been sick ever since that awful trip to carey's crossing," jim said sadly. "why haven't you told me?" carey's voice was hardly audible. "because asher just told me today, and because you took no interest in them." "sickness is a doctor's interest, always," carey replied in a stern voice. and then the two sat in silence while the night shadows darkened the little cabin. * * * * * as soon as shirley was able to ride, he went up to carey's crossing for a two months' stay, and the aydelots were left far away from the edge of civilization. a heavy snowfall buried all the trails and the world, the happy, busy world, forgot these two holding their claim on the grim wilderness frontier. in after years they often talked of the old pioneer days, but of this one winter they spoke but rarely. "we lived alone with each other and god," virginia said once. "he walked beside us on the prairie and made our little sod house his sanctuary. those were consecrated days to asher and me, like the stormy days of our first love in the old war times, and the first hours of our baby's life. we were young and full of hope and belief in the future, and we loved each other. but we had need to have shoes of iron and brass, as moses promised asher of old. it was a hard, hard way, but it was his way. i am glad we walked through it all. it made the soil of kansas sacred to us two forevermore." one march day spring came up the grass river valley with a glory all its own, and sky and headland and low level prairie were baptized with a new life. a month later a half-dozen prairie schooners moved out on the old sunflower-bordered trail. then following down the grass river trail, the schooner folk saw that the land, which darley champers had denounced, was very good. and for asher and virginia aydelot, the days of lonely solitude were ended. but the prairie had no gifts to bestow. it yielded slowly to its possessors only after they had paid out time and energy and hope and undying faith in its possibilities. the little sum of money per acre turned over to the government represented the very least of the cost. there were no forests to lay waste here, nor marshes to be drained. instead, forests must be grown and waters conserved. what francis aydelot with the clover valley community had struggled to overcome on the ohio frontier, his son, asher, with other settlers now strove to develop in kansas. but these were young men, many of them graduates, either in the north or the south, from a four years' course in the university of the civil war. no hardship of the plains could be worse than the things they had already endured. these men who held the plow handles were state builders and they knew it. into the state must be builded schools and churches, roads and bridges, growing timber and perpetual water reservoirs; while fields of grain and orchard fruitage, and the product of flock and herd must be multiplied as the sinews of life and larger opportunity. for all these things the kansas plains offered to asher aydelot and his little company of neighbors only land below, crossed by a grass-choked river, and sky overhead, crossed but rarely by blessed rain-dropping clouds. and yet the less the wilderness voluntarily gave up, the more these farmer folk were determined to win from it. truly, they had need not only for large endurance in the present, but for large vision of a future victory, and they had both. the weight of pioneer hardship, however, fell heaviest on the women of whom virginia aydelot was a type. into the crucible out of which a state is moulded, she cast her youth and strength and beauty; her love of luxury, her need for common comforts, her joy in the cultured appointments of society. she had a genius for music, trained in the best schools of the east. and sometimes in the lonely days, she marked her only table with a bit of charcoal to the likeness of a keyboard. then she set her music against her clean dishpan and dumbly fingered the melodies she had loved, hoping her hands might not lose all their cunning in these years of home-making on the plains. the spring of the memorable year of opened auspiciously. the peach trees on the aydelot and shirley claims bloomed for the first time; more sod had been turned for wheat and corn; gardens and truck patches were planted; cattle were grazing beyond the sand dunes across the river, while the young cottonwood and catalpa groves, less than three feet high it is true, began to make great splotches of darker green on the prairie, promising cool forest shade in coming years. mail went west on the main trail three times a week. the world was coming nearer to the grass river settlement which, in spite of his doleful view once, darley champers was helping to fill up to the profit of the real estate business. carey's crossing, having given up all hope of becoming a county seat, had faded from the face of the earth. the new county seat of wolf county was confidently expected to be pitched at wykerton, up in the big wolf creek settlement, where one hans wyker, former saloon-keeper of carey's crossing, was building up a brewery for the downfall of the community. dr. carey was taking an extended medical course in the east, whither bo peep had followed him. darley champers was hovering like a hawk between wykerton and the grass river settlement. todd stewart had taken a claim, while john jacobs, temporarily in the east, was busy planting the seeds for a new town which no wyker brewery should despoil. all lovely was this springtime of . midsummer had another story to tell. a story of a wrathful sun in a rainless sky above a parched land, swept for days together by the searing south winds. in all the prairie there was no spot of vivid green, no oasis in the desert of tawny grasses and stunted brown cornstalks, and bare, hot stubble wherefrom even the poor crop of straw had been chaffless and mean. on a sabbath morning in late july, the little grass river schoolhouse was crowded, for sabbath school was the event of the week. it did not take a multitude to crowd the sod-built temple of learning. even with the infant class out of doors in the shade, the class inside filled the space. the minister school-teacher, pryor gaines, called it the "old folks' class," although there was not a person over thirty-five years of age in the whole settlement. asher aydelot was the superintendent, and virginia took care of the infant class. jim shirley led the singing, and pryor gaines taught the "old folks." he was the same minister school-teacher who had sat at the table with dr. carey and todd stewart and john jacobs on the day that thomas smith ate his first meal at the jacobs house. with the passing of carey's crossing, he had taken a homestead claim on grass river. this morning the lesson was short, and the children, finding the heat of the shade outside unbearable, were sitting on the earth floor beside their parents. nobody seemed ready to go home. "times are getting worse every day," one man observed. "no rain since the tenth of may, and the prettiest stand of wheat i ever saw, burned to a half-yield or less before cutting time. i'd counted on wheat for my living this year." "it's the same if you'd had corn, bennington," jim shirley observed. "i was polishing my crown for a corn king festival this fall. i don't believe i'll harvest fifteen bushels to the acre." "fifteen bushels!" another neighbor exclaimed. "fifteen ears to the row a section long would encourage me, darley champers told me when i took up my claim, if i'd plant a grove or two, that in three years the trees would be so big that rainfall would be abundant. you all know my catalpa woods is a wonder," he added with a wink. darley champers himself had just come down the trail and was entering the door. "well, come over our way if you are on the hunt for prosperity," todd stewart interposed. "grass river isn't living up to its name any better than our creek; isn't any fuller of weeds than our brook is of--shale. i did lose the trail in your river this morning, though. the weeds are nearly up to the pony's flanks. think of the fertility of a river bed that will grow weeds three feet high and two shades more yellow green than the dead grass on the bank. if there's a drop of water in our creek for twenty miles, i'd go get it and have brother gaines analyze it to make sure it wasn't resin." "you do well to see the humor of the situation, stewart," pryor gaines began, with the cheery tone of a man who believes in hope. "i don't see that that helps any," bennington, the first speaker, broke in dolefully. "joking isn't going to give us food and clothes and fuel till crop time comes again--if it ever does." "i'm not suffering for extra clothes. what i wear now is a burden," todd stewart declared. "well, gentlemen." darley champers took the floor. "what are you going to do? that's what brought me here today. i knowed i'd find you all here. when i sent some of you fellows into this blasted sahara, i was honest. i thought grass river was a real stream, not a weed patch and a stone outcrop. i'd seen water in it, as i can prove by aydelot. remember, when we met down by the bend here, one winter day?" "yes, i remember," asher replied. "well, i just come by there and there ain't a drop of water in that deep bend, no more'n in my hat." champers plumped his hat down on the floor with the words. "and the creek, on stewart's testimony, is a blasted fissure in the earth." "i always said when that bend went dry, i'd leave the country, but i can't," jim shirley said doggedly. "why not?" champers inquired. "because i can't throw away the only property i have in the world, and i haven't the means to get away, let alone start up anywhere else." "we're all in the same boat," bennington declared. "same boat, every fellow rocking it, too, and no water to drown in if we fall out. we're in the queerest streak of luck yet developed," todd stewart observed. "let's take a vote, then, and see how many of us really have no visible means of support and couldn't walk out of here at all. let's have a show of hands," jim shirley proposed. "how did you decide?" champers asked, as the hands dropped. his eyes were on asher aydelot, who had not voted. "didn't you see? everybody, except asher there, is nailed fast to the gumbo," stewart declared. darley champers looked asher aydelot straight in the eyes, and nobody could have said that pity or dislike or surprise controlled the man's mind, for something of all three were in that look. then he said: "gentlemen, i know your condition just as well as you do. you're in a losing game, and it's stay and starve, or--but they ain't no 'or.' now, i'll advance money tomorrow on every claim held here and take it and assume the mortgage. not that they are worth it. oh, lord, no. i'll be land-logged, and it's out of kindness to you that i'm willin' to stretch them fellers i represent in the east. but i'll take chances. i'll help each feller of you to get away for a reasonable price on your claim. it's a humanitarian move, but i may be able to lump it off for range land in a few years for about what it costs to pay taxes. but, gents, i got some of you in and i'm no scallawag when it comes to helpin' you out. think it over, and i'll be down this way in two weeks. i've got to go now. it's too infernal hot to keep alive here. i know where there's two sunflower stalks up on the trail that's fully two feet tall. i've got to have shade. goodday." and champers was gone. "what do you say?" the question seemed to come from all at once. "let pryor gaines speak first. he's our preacher," asher said with a smile. pryor gaines was a small, fair-faced man, a scholar, a dreamer, too, maybe. by birth or accident, he had suffered from a deformity. he limped when he walked, and his left hand had less than normal efficiency. on his face the pathos of the large will and the limited power was written over by the ready smile, the mark of abundant good will toward men. "i am out of the race," he said calmly. "i'm as poor as any of you, of course, and i must stay here anyhow, dr. carey tells me. i came west on account of heart action and some pulmonary necessities. i cannot choose where i shall go, even if i had the means to carry out my choice. but my necessities need not influence anyone," he added with a smile. "i can live without you, if i have to." "how about you?" stewart said, turning to asher. "you take no risk at all in leaving, so you'll go first, i suppose?" all this time the settlers' wives sat listening to the considerations that meant so much to them. they wore calico dresses, and not one of them had on a hat. but their sun-bonnets were clean and stiffly starched, and, while they were humbly clad, there was not a stupid face among them; neither was their conversation stupid. their homes and home devices for improvement, the last reading in the all too few papers that came their way, the memories of books and lectures and college life of other days, and the hope of the future, were among the things of which they spoke. virginia aydelot was no longer the pretty pink and white girl-bride who had come to the west three years before. her face and arms were brown as a gypsy's, but her hair, rumpled by the white sunbonnet she had worn, was abundant, and her dark eyes and the outlines of her face had not changed. she would always be handsome without regard to age or locality. nor had the harshness of the wilderness made harsh the soft southern tongue that was her heritage. at stewart's words, asher glanced at his wife, and he knew from her eyes what her choice would be. "when i was a boy on the old farm back at cloverdale, ohio, my mother's advice was as useful to me as my father's." swift through asher's mind ran the memory of that moonlit april night on his father's veranda five years before. "out here it is our wives who bear the heaviest burdens. let us have their thoughts on the situation." "that's right," jim shirley exclaimed. "mrs. aydelot, you are first in point of time in this settlement. what do you say?" "it's a big responsibility, mrs. aydelot," bennington, who had not smiled hitherto, said with a twinkle in his eye. "as goes asher aydelot, so goes grass river," todd stewart declared. "you speak for him, mrs. aydelot, and tell us what to do." "i cannot tell _you_ what to do. i can speak only for the aydelots," virginia said. "when we came west asher told me he had left one bridge not burned. he had put aside enough money to take us back to ohio and to start a new life, on small dimensions, of course, back east, whenever we found the prairies too hostile. they've often been rough, never worse than now, but"--her eyes were bright with the unconquerable will to do as she pleased, true heritage of the thaines of old--"but i'm not ready to go yet." jim shirley clapped his hands, but pryor gaines spoke earnestly. "there is no failure in a land where the women will to win. by them the hearthstones stand or crumble to dust. the plains are master now. they must be servant some day." "amen!" responded asher aydelot, and the sabbath service ended. two weeks later darley champers came again to the barren valley and met the settlers in the sod schoolhouse. not a cloud had yet scarred the heavens, not a dewdrop had glistened in the morning sunlight. clearly, august was outranking july as king of a season of glaring light and withering heat. the settlers drooped listlessly on the backless seats, and the barefoot children did not even try to recite the golden text. "i'd like to speak to you, aydelot," champers said at the door, as the school service ended. the two men sought the shady side of the cabin and dropped on the ground. "i'm goin' to be plain, now, and you mustn't misunderstand me for a minute," champers declared. the blusterer is rarely tactful. "all right." champers seemed to take the cheery tone as a personal matter. "two weeks ago, i understand you and mrs. aydelot headed off these poor devils from their one chance of escape. now, you know danged well you _don't_ intend to stay here a minute longer'n it'll take to kite out of this in the fall. and you are sacrificing human lives by persuadin' these folks to hold onto this land they just can't keep, nor make a livin' on, under five years and pay the interest till their mortgages expire. and i've just this to say:" champers spoke persuasively. "i'm not a shark. i'm humane. if you'll help me to get these poor settlers out of grass river valley, i'm willing to pay you a good commission on every single claim and take no commission at all on yours. it will help you a lot toward makin' a bigger start back east. don't listen to your woman now; listen to me, for i'm givin' you the chance of your life, robbin' myself to do it, too. but"--his tone changed abruptly--"if you figger you can take your danged rainy-day bank account out'n the cloverdale bank and grab onto this land, you leave yourself, and hold onto it while you stay east a few years, and then sneak back here and get rich off their loss, i tell you now, you can't do it. and if you don't use your influence right now to get 'em to sell out to my company, you're going to regret it. don't ask how i know. i _know_. i warn you once for all. you go in there and help the men decide right now--i'll buy at a reasonable figger, you understand--and you're goin' to help make 'em sell to save their fool skins from starvation and their wives and their little ones, or you're going to rue the day you drove into kansas. what do you say? what are you goin' to do?" the man's voice was full of menace, and he looked at asher aydelot with the determination of one who will not be thwarted. asher looked back at him with clear gray eyes that saw deeper than the threatening words. a half smile hovered about his lips as he replied. "so that's your game, darley champers. if i'll help you to get hold of this land, you'll pay the settlers more than the claims are worth and you'll pay me more than they are worth. a pretty good price for worthless ground." "well, look at the landscape and tell me what you see." darley champers flung his hand out toward the sweep of brown prairie with the dry river bed and the brazen sands beyond it. lean cattle stood disconsolately in the shadeless open, while the cultivated fields were a mass of yellow clods about the starveling crops. asher did not heed the interruption. "you declare that i'll leave here as soon as i can get away, and that i'm brutal to use my influence to keep the settlers here; that i am working a trick _you_ have worked out already for me, to get the land myself because it is valuable; you, in your humane love for your fellowmen, you threaten me with all unknown calamities if i refuse your demand. and then you ask me what i have to say, what i am going to do, and, with fine gestures, what i see?" "well?" champers queried urgently. the plains life made men patient and deliberate of speech, and asher did not hasten his words for all the bluster. "i say i am not using my influence to keep any man here or push him out of here. i speak only for the family at the sunflower inn. i know 'danged well' i am not going to leave the grass river country this fall. further, i know your hand before you play it, and i know that if you can play it against todd stewart and jim shirley and cyrus bennington and the rest of them, i haven't taken their measure right. i know, again, that i am not afraid of you, nor can any threat you make have an influence on my action. and, lastly, as to what i see." asher turned toward the west where the hot air quivered between the iron earth and a sky of brass. "i see a land fair as the garden of eden, with grazing herds on broad meadows, and fields on fields of wheat, and groves and little lakes and rivers, a land of comfortable homes and schools and churches--and no saloons nor breweries." "i see a danged fool," darley champers cried, springing up. "come down here in twenty-five years and make a hunt for me, then," asher said with a smile, but champers had already plunged inside the schoolhouse. the council following was a brief one. three or four grass river settlers agreed to give up the equity on their claims of one hundred and sixty acres for enough money to transport themselves and their families to their former homes east of the mississippi river. this decision left only one child of all the little ones there, todd stewart, a stubby little fellow, as much of a scotchman as his fair-haired father, who wound one arm about his father's neck, and whispered: "they can't budge us, can they, dad?" when the matter was concluded, darley champers rose to his feet. "i want to say one thing," he began doggedly. "i give you the chance. don't never blame me because you are too green to know what's good for you. you are the only green things here, though. and don't forget, there ain't a man of you can get out of here on your own income or on your own savin's. not a one. you're all locked into this valley an' the key's in purgatory. an' i'd see you all with the key before i'd ever lift a finger to help one of you, and not a one of you can help yourselves." with these words champers left the company and rode away up the trail toward civilization and safety. in the silence that followed, pryor gaines said: "friends, let us not forget that this is the sabbath day on the prairie as in the crowded city. let us not leave until we ask for his blessing in whose sight no sparrow falls unnoticed." and together the little band of resolute men and women offered prayer to him whose is the earth and the fulness, or the emptiness, thereof. four days and nights went by. on the fifth morning at daybreak the cool breeze that sweeps the prairies in the early dawn flowed caressingly along the grass river valley. the settlers rose early. this was the best part of the day, and they made use of it. "you poor juno!" virginia aydelot said, as she leaned against the corral post in the morning twilight, and patted the mare gently. "you and i are 'plains-broke' for certain. we don't care for hot winds, nor cold winds, nor prairie fire, nor even a hailstorm, if it would only come. never mind, old juno, asher has the greenest fields of all the valley because he hasn't stopped plowing. that's why you must keep on working. maybe it will rain today, and you'll get to rest. rain and rest!" she looked toward the shadowy purple west, and then away to the east, decked in the barbaric magnificence of a plains sunrise. "it may rain today, but it won't rain rain. it will be hot air and trouble. the sod shack is cool, anyhow, juno. not so cool, though, as that little glen in the mountains where the clear spring bubbles and babbles all day long." she brushed her hair back from her forehead and, squeezing juno's mane, she added, "we don't want to go back yet, though. not yet, do we, juno, even if it rains trouble instead of rain? inherited pride and the will to do as we please make us defy the plains, still." the day was exceedingly hot, but by noon a cloud seemed rising in the northwest; not a glorious, black thunder-cloud that means cool wind and sharp lightning and a shower of longed-for rain. a yellow-gray cloud with no deeper nor shallower tints to it, rising steadily, moving swiftly, shut off the noonday glare. the shadows deepened below this strange un-cloud-like cloud, not dark, but dense. the few chickens in the settlement mistook the clock and went to roost. at every settler's house, wondering eyes watched the unheard-of phenomenon, so like, yet utterly unlike, the sun's eclipse. "listen, asher," virginia exclaimed, as the two stood on the low swell behind the house. "listen to the roar, but there's no wind nor thunder." "hear that rasping edge to the rumble. it isn't like anything i ever knew," asher said, watching the coming cloud intently. from their height they could see it sweeping far across the land, not high in the air, but beclouding the prairie like a fog. only this thing was dry and carried no cool breath with it. nearer it came, and the sun above looked wanly through it, as surging, whipping, shimmering with silver splinters of light, roaring with the whir of grating wings, countless millions of grasshoppers filled the earth below and the air above. "the plague of egypt," asher cried, and he and virginia retreated hastily before its force. but they were not swift enough. the mosquito netting across the open windows was eaten through and the hopping, wriggling, flying pest surged inside. they smeared greasily on the floor; they gnawed ravenously at every bit of linen or cotton fabric; they fell into every open vessel. truly, life may be made miserable in many ways, but in the kansas homes in that memorable grasshopper year of life was wretchedly uncomfortable. out of doors the cloud was a disaster. nor flood, nor raging wind nor prairie fire, nor unbroken drouth could claim greater measure of havoc in its wake than this billion-footed, billion-winged creature, an appetite grown measureless, a hunger vitalized, and individualized, and endowed with power of motion. no living shred of grass, or weed, or stalk of corn, or straw of stubble or tiniest garden growth; no leaf or bit of tender bark of tree, or shrub, escaped this many-mouthed monster. in the little peach orchard where there were a few half-ripe peaches, the very first fruits of the orchards in this untamed land, the hard peach stones, from which the meat was eaten away, hung on their stems among the leafless branches. the weed-grown bed of grass river was swept as by a prairie fire. and for the labor of the fields, nothing remained. the cottonwood trees and wild plum bushes belonged to a mid-winter landscape, and of the many young catalpa groves, only stubby sticks stood up, making a darker spot on the face of the bare plains. for three days the saint bartholomew of vegetation continued. then the pest, still hungry, rose and passed to the southeast, leaving behind it only a honey-combed soil where eggs were deposited for future hatching, and a famine-breeding desolation. in days of great calamity or sorrow, sometimes little things annoy strangely, and it is not until after the grief has passed that the memory recalls and the mind wonders why trifles should have had such power amid such vastly important things. while the grasshopper was a burden, one loss wore heavily on virginia aydelot's mind. she had given up hope for vines and daintier flowers in the early summer, but one clump of coarse sunflowers she had tended and watered and loved. "it is our flower," she said to asher, who laughed at her care. "i won't give them up. i can get along without the other blooms this year, but my sunflowers are my treasure here--the only gold till the wheat turns yellow for us." "you are a sentimental sister," asher declared. but he patiently carried water from the dwindling well supply to keep the drouth from searing them. when they fell before the ravenous grasshoppers, foolish as it was, virginia mourned their loss above the loss of crops--so scanty were the joys of these women state builders. the day after the pests left was the sabbath. when asher aydelot read the morning lesson in the sunday school, his voice was deep and unfaltering. he had chosen the eighth chapter of deuteronomy, with its sublime promises to a wilderness-locked people. then pryor gaines offered prayer. "although the figtree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines"--the old, old chant of habakkuk on mount shigionoth--"the labor of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls: yet i will rejoice in the lord, i will joy in the god of my salvation. the lord god is my strength, and he will make my feet like hind's feet, and he will make me to walk upon mine high places." so the scholarly man, crippled and held to the land, prayed; and comfort came with his words. then jim shirley stood up to sing. "i'm no preacher," he said, holding the song book open a moment, "but i do believe the lord loves the fellow who can laugh at his own hard luck. we weren't so green as darley champers tried to have us believe, because the hoppers didn't bite at us when they took every other green and growing thing, and we have life enough in us to keep on growing. furthermore, we aren't the only people that have been pest-ridden. it's even worse up on big wolf creek, where wyker's short on corn to feed his brewery this fall. i'm going to ask everyone who is still glad he's in the grass river settlement in kansas to stand up and sing just like he meant it. it's the old portuguese hymn. asher and i learned it back on clover creek in ohio. how firm a foundation, ye saints of the lord, is laid for your faith--in his excellent word!" every man and woman rose at once. "the 'ayes' have it," jim declared. then strong and sweet the song floated out across the desolate drouth-ridden, pest-despoiled prairie. the same song was sung that day, no doubt, where many worshipers were met together. the same song, sung in country chapel and city church; in mining villages, and in lonely lumber camps; on vessels far out at sea, and in the missionary service of distant heathen lands; by sick beds in humble homes, and beneath the groined arches of the old world cathedrals. but nowhere above the good green sod of christendom did it rise in braver, truer worship from trustful and unconquered hearts than it rose that day in the little sod schoolhouse on the kansas prairie, pouring its melody down the wide spaces of the grass river valley. chapter vii the last bridge burned ...scores of better men had died. i could reach the township living, but--he knew what terrors tore me-- but i didn't! but i didn't! i went down the other side. --the explorer. pryor gaines never preached a better sermon than the one that followed the singing of that old portuguese hymn; and there were no doleful faces in that little company when the service closed. the men stopped long enough to discuss the best crops to put in for the fall, and how and where they might get seeds for the same; to consider ways for destroying the eggs left by the grasshoppers in the honey-combed ground, and to trade help in the wheat-breaking to begin the next day. the women lingered to plan a picnic dinner for the coming saturday. jim shirley hummed an old love tune as he helped pryor gaines to close the windows and door for the week. only little todd stewart, with sober face, scratched thoughtfully at the hard earth with his hard little toes. "can't there be no more little children where there's grasshoppers and darley champerses?" he asked his mother. "yes, yes, todd. you won't be lonesome long," his mother assured him. "some time when you are a man you can say, 'i was the only little boy the grasshoppers and darley champers didn't get.' you stout little trojan!" and then todd, too, caught the spirit of the day and went singing blithely away. across the bare hollow of grass river, and beyond the sand dunes into the brown wastes that had been grassy prairies, his young voice came trailing back still singing, as he rode behind his father, following the long hot trail toward their home. and the other settlers went their ways, each with courage renewed, for the new week's work. yet, they were lonesomely few in number, and the prairies were vast; they were poverty-stricken, with little means by which to sustain life through the coming season; on every hand the desolate plains lay robbed of every green growth, and to this land they were nailed hand and foot as to a cross of crucifixion. but they were young. they believed in the west and in themselves. their faces were set toward the future. they had voted themselves into holding on, and, except for the aydelots, no one family had more resource than another. the aydelots could leave the west if they chose. but they did not choose. so together they laughed at hardship; they made the most of their meager possessions; they helped each other as one family--and they trusted to providence for the future. and providence, albeit she shows a seamy side to poverty, still loves the man who laughs at hard luck. the seasons following were not unkind. the late summer rains, the long autumn, and the mild winter were blessings. but withal, there were days on days of real hunger. stock died for lack of encouragement to live without food. and the grim while of waiting for seed time and signs of prosperity was lived through with that old anglo-saxon tenacity that has led the english speaking peoples to fight and colonize to the ends of the earth. "virginia," asher said one noontime, as the two sat at their spare meal, "the folks are coming up tonight to hold a council. i saw bennington this morning and he had heard from the men over todd stewart's way. dust the piano, polish up the chandelier, and decorate with--smiles," he added, as he saw the shadow on his wife's face. "i'll have the maid put the reception room in order," virginia replied, with an attempt at merriment. then through the long afternoon she fought to a finish with the yearning for the things she missed daily. at supper time, however, she was the same cheery woman who had laughed at loss and lack so often that she wondered sometimes if abundance might not really make her sad. in the evening the men sat on the ground about the door of the sunflower inn. their wives had not come with them. one woman was sick at home; little todd stewart was at the beginning of a fever, and the other women were taking turns at nursing. virginia's turn had been the night before. she was weary now and she sat in the doorway listening to the men, and remembering how on just such a moonlit september night she and asher had sat together under the sign of the sunflower and planned a future of wealth and comfort. "the case is desperate," cyrus bennington was saying. "sickness and starvation and the horses failing every day and the need for all the plowing and getting winter fuel. something must be done." others agreed, citing additional needs no less pressing. "there are supplies and money coming from the east right now," jim shirley declared. "a hunting party crossed south two days ago. i was down on lower plum creek searching for firewood, and i met them. they said we might get help from wykerton if we went up right away." "well, you are mr. swift, jim," one of the men exclaimed. "if you knew it two days ago, why in thunder didn't you report. we'd have made a wooden horse gallop to wykerton before night." "how'd i round up the neighborhood? i didn't get home till nearly noon today. and, besides, they said darley champers has the distributing of the supplies and money, and he's putting it where it will do the most good, not giving to everybody alike, he says." a sudden blankness fell upon each face, as each recalled the last words of champers when he left them on the sabbath day in august. "well, you said a wooden horse could have galloped up to wykerton." jim shirley tried to speak cheerfully. "a horse of iron might, too, but who's got a critter in grass river valley right now that could make a trip like that? mine couldn't. it took me two days and a half to haul up a load of stuff, mostly sunflower stalks, that i gathered down south." "aydelot's black mare could do it if anything could," pryor gaines declared, trying to speak cheerfully, yet he was the least able to meet the hardships of that season. "yes, maybe," shirley commented. "she's a thoroughbred, and they finally win, you know. but knowing what you do, who of you wants to face darley champers?" again a hopeless despair filled the hearts of the little company. todd stewart clinched his hands together. the husband of the sick woman set his jaws like iron. pryor gaines turned his face away and offered no further word. asher aydelot sat looking out across the prairie, touched to silvery beauty by the pitying moonlight, and jim shirley bowed his head and said nothing. "i will go to wykerton," virginia aydelot's soft voice broke the silence. "i'll take juno and go tomorrow morning. if darley champers refuses me, he would do the same to you." "oh, mrs. aydelot, will you go? can you try it? do you think you could do it?" the questions came from the eager settlers. "we'll try it, juno and i," virginia replied. "thoroughbreds, both of 'em," jim shirley murmured under his breath, and pryor gaines' face expressed the things he could not say. "i believe that is the best thing to do," asher aydelot declared. then the settlers said good night, and sought their homes. as virginia aydelot rode away in the early morning, the cool breeze came surging to her out of the west. the plains were more barren than she had ever seen them before, but the sky above them had lost nothing of its beauty. no color had faded from the eastern horizon line, no magnificence had slipped away from the sunset. "'the heavens declare the glory of god,'" virginia said to herself. "has he forgotten the earth which is his also?" she turned at the little swell to the northward to wave good-by to asher, standing with arms folded beside a corral post, looking after her. "is he thinking of cloverdale and the big cool farmhouse and the well-kept farm, and the many people coming and going along that old national pike road? he gave it all up for me--all his inheritance for me and this." she looked back once more at the long slope of colorless land and the solitary figure watching her in the midst of it all. "i'll tell him tonight i'm ready to go back east. we can go to ohio, and asher can live where his boyhood days were spent. my virginia can never be as it was in my childhood, but asher can have some of the pleasures of his eastern home." she pushed back the sunbonnet from her face, and let the west breeze sweep across it. "i used to wear a veil and was somewhat acquainted with cold cream, and my hands were really white and soft. they are hard and brown now. when i get home i'll put it straight to asher about going back to civilization, even if there are only a few dollars waiting to take us there, and nothing waiting for us to do." with a sigh, half of anticipation and half of regret, she rode away toward the little town of wykerton in the big wolf creek settlement. there were few differences between the new county seat and carey's crossing, except that there were a few more houses, and over by the creek bank the brewery, by which hans wyker proposed to save the west. there was, however, one difference between the vanished carey's crossing and this place, the difference between the community whose business leaders have ideals of citizenship, and the community wherein commerce is advanced by the degradation of its citizens. wykerton had no dr. carey nor john jacobs to control it. the loafers stared boldly at virginia aydelot as she rode up before the livery stable and slipped from her saddle. not because a woman in a calico dress and sunbonnet, a tanned, brown-handed woman, was a novelty there, but because the license of the place was one of impudence and disrespect. the saloon was on one side of the livery stable and the postoffice was on the other side. darley champers' office stood next to the postoffice, a dingy little shack with much show of maps and real estate information. behind the office was a large barren yard where one little lilac bush languished above the hard earth. the wyker hotel and store were across the street. virginia had been intrusted with small sums for sundry purchases for the settlement, especially for the staple medicines and household needs--camphor and turpentine, quinine and certain cough syrups for the winter; castor oil, some old and tried ointment, and brand of painkiller; thread and needles and pins--especially pins--and buttons for everybody's clothes. one settler had ridden back at midnight to ask for the purchase of a pair of shoes for his wife. it was a precious commission that virginia aydelot bore that day, although to the shopper in a kansas city today, the sum of money would have seemed pitifully small. in the postoffice, printed rulings and directions regarding the supplies were posted on the wall, and virginia read them carefully. then with many misgivings and a prayer for success, she crossed the street to darley champers' place of business. in spite of her plain dress, virginia aydelot was every inch a lady, and darley champers, dull as he was in certain lines, felt the difference her presence made in the atmosphere of his office when she entered there. "i understood, mr. champers, that you have charge here of the supplies sent into the state for the relief of those who suffered from the grasshoppers," she said, when she was seated in the dingy little room. "yes, mom!" champers replied. "i am mrs. asher aydelot, and i represent the grass river settlement. i have come to ask for a share of this relief fund, and as i must start back as soon as possible after dinner, perhaps we can make all arrangements now." she never knew how near her gentle manner and pleasant voice came to winning the day at once. champers' first impulse was to grant her anything she asked for; his second was to refuse everything; his third, his ruling principle always, was to negotiate to his own advantage. he dropped his eyes and began to play for time. "i don't know as i can help you at all, madam," he said, half sympathetically. "the supplies and money is about gone, except what's promised, and, well--you ought to have come sooner. i'd a been glad to help you, but i thought you grass river folks had about everything you needed for the winter." "oh, mr. champers," virginia cried, "you know that nobody could foretell the coming of the plague. we were as well off as hundreds of other settlers this dry summer before the grasshoppers came." "yes, yes, madam, but the supplies is gone, about." "and you cannot promise that any more will be coming soon?" the pathos of the woman's voice was appealing. "if you could only understand how poor and how brave those settlers are!" "i thought your man had some little means to get you and him away, if he'd use it that way." the sorrow of failure here and the suffering that must follow it made virginia sick at heart. a homesick longing suddenly possessed her; a wish to get away from the country and forget it altogether. and champers was cunning enough to understand. "you'd just like to get away from it, now, wouldn't you?" he asked persuasively. "i surely would, when i think of the suffering there will be," virginia replied. "our staying won't help matters any." "not a bit! not a bit," champers asserted. "it's too bad you can't go." virginia looked up wonderingly. "madam, i haven't no supplies. they're all gone, i think. but if you'll come in right after dinner, i'll see if i can't do something. i'm a humane man." "i'll be here at one o'clock," she replied. it was the last hope, and anything was better than utter failure in her errand. when she registered her name at the hotel for dinner, virginia's eye was caught by the two names on the page. both belonged to strangers, but it was the sharp contrast of the writing that made her read them. one recorded in a cramped little hand the name of thomas smith, wilmington, delaware. the other in big, even, backward slanting letters spelled out the name of john jacobs, cincinnati, ohio. the dining room was crowded with men when virginia entered. whoever is hunting for evidence of good breeding and unselfishness, must not expect too much in any eating-house, be it dining car on the empire limited or grub shack on the western frontier, if only men are accustomed to feed there. the best places were filled with noisy talkers and eaters, who stared at her indifferently, and it was not until gretchen wyker, tow-haired, pimpled, and short-necked like her father, chose to do so, that she finally pointed out a chair at a shabby side table and waved her empty tin waiter toward it. virginia was passing the long table of staring men to reach this seat, when a man rose from the small table at the other side of the room and crossed hastily to her. "excuse me, madam," he said politely. "will you come over to our table? we are strangers to you, but you will get better service here than you might get alone. my name is jacobs. i saw you in the store this morning, and i know nearly every man in your settlement." it was a small service, truly, but to virginia it was a grateful one in that embarrassing moment. "you can take dr. carey's place. he's away today, locating a claim on the upper fork of grass river somewhere. he hasn't been back a month, but he's busy as ever. tell me about your neighborhood," jacobs said. virginia told the story of the community that differed little from the story of the whole frontier line of kansas settlements in the early seventies. "do you have hope of help through mr. champers?" jacobs asked. "i don't know what to hope for from mr. champers. he seems kind-hearted," virginia replied. "i hope you will find him a real friend. he is pretty busy with a man from the east today," jacobs answered, with a face so neutral in its expression that virginia wondered what his thought might be. as she rose to leave the table, mr. jacobs said: "i shall be interested in knowing how you succeed this afternoon. i hope you may not be disappointed. i happen to know that there are funds and goods both on hand. it's a matter of getting them distributed without prejudice." "you are very kind, mr. jacobs," virginia replied. "it is a desperate case. i feel as if i should be ready to leave the west if i do not get relief for our neighborhood today." jacobs looked at her keenly. "can you go?" he asked. "i wonder you have waited until now." "i've never wanted to go before. i wouldn't now. i could stand it for our household." the dark eyes flashed with the old thaine will to do as she pleased. "but it is my sympathy for other people, for our sick, for discouraged men." jacobs smiled kindly and bowed as she left the room. when she returned to champers' office mr. thomas smith was already there, his small frame and narrow, close-set eyes and secretive manner seeming out of place in the breezy atmosphere of the plain, outspoken west of the settlement days. in the conversation that followed it seemed to virginia that he controlled all of the real estate dealer's words. "i am sorry to say that there ain't anything left in the way of supplies, mrs. aydelot, except what's reserved for worthy parties. i've looked over things carefully." darley champers broke the silence at once. "who draws the line between the worthy and the unworthy, mr. champers?" virginia asked. "i am told the relief supply is not exhausted." "oh, the distributin's in my hands in a way, but that don't change matters," champers said. "i read the rulings in the postoffice," virginia began. "yes, i had 'em put there. it saves a lot of misunderstandin'," the guardian of supplies declared. "but it don't change anything here." virginia knew that her case was lost and she rose to leave the room. she had instinctively distrusted darley champers from their first meeting. she had disliked him as an ill-bred, blustering sort of man, but she had not thought him vindictive until now. now she saw in him a stubborn, unforgiving man, small enough to work out of petty spite to the complete downfall of any who dared oppose his plans. "sit down, mrs. aydelot. as i said this mornin', it's too bad you can't go back east now," champers said seriously. "we can." virginia could not keep back the words. champers and smith exchanged glances. "no, mom, you can't, mrs. aydelot. let me show you why." he opened the drawer of his rickety desk and out of a mass of papers he fished up a copy of the _cincinnati enquirer_, six weeks old. "look at this," and he thrust it into virginia's hand. the head-lines were large, but the story was brief. the failure of the cloverdale bank, the disappearance of the trusted cashier, the loss of deposits--a story too common to need detail. virginia aydelot never knew until that moment how much that reserve fund had really meant to her. she had need of the inherited pride of the thaines now. "the papers are not always accurate," she said quietly. "no, mom. but mr. smith here has interests in cloverdale. he's just come from there, and he says it's even worse than this states it." virginia looked toward mr. smith, who nodded assent. "the failure is complete. fortunately, i lost but little," he said. "why hasn't mr. aydelot been notified?" she demanded. "it does seem queer he wasn't," thomas smith assented. something in his face made virginia distrust him more than she distrusted darley champers. "now, mrs. aydelot, seein' your last bridge is burned, i'm humane enough to help you. you said this mornin' you wanted to get away. mr. smith and i control some funds together, and he's willing to take shirley's place and i'll give you a reasonable figger, not quite so good as i could 'a done previous to this calamity--but i'll take the aydelot place off your hands." champers smiled triumphantly. "the aydelot place is not for sale. good afternoon." and virginia left the office without more words. when she was gone champers turned to smith with a growl. "it's danged hard to turn agin a woman like her. what made you so bitter?" smith half grinned and half snarled in reply: "oh, her neighbor, shirley, you know." hopeless and crushed, virginia sat down on the bench before the wyker house to wait for juno to be brought to her from the stables. the afternoon sun was beginning to creep under the roof shading the doorway. before her the dusty street ran into the dusty trail leading out to the colorless west. it was the saddest moment she had known in the conflict with the wilderness. "thy shoes shall be iron and brass," ran the blessing of asher through her mind. "it must be true today as in the desert long ago. and asher lives by the memory of his mother's blessing." the drooping shoulders lifted. the dark eyes brightened. "i won't give up. i'm glad the money's gone," she declared to herself. "we did depend on it so long as we knew we had it." "what luck, mrs. aydelot?" it was john jacobs who spoke as he sat down beside her. "all bad luck, but we are not discouraged," she replied bravely, and jacobs read the whole story in the words. a silence fell. virginia sat looking at the vacant street, while the young man studied her face. then juno was brought to the door and virginia rose to mount her. "mrs. aydelot," john jacob's sharp eyes seemed to pierce to her very soul as he said slowly, "i believe you are not discouraged. you believe in this country, you, and your neighbors. i believe in it, and i believe in you. stewart and i had to dissolve partnership when carey's crossing dissolved. he took a claim. it was all he could do. i went back to cincinnati, but only for a time. i'm ready to start again. i will organize a company of town builders, not brewery builders. you must not look for favors in a whisky-ridden place like this. there'll be no saloon to rule our town." virginia listened interestedly but not understandingly. "what of this?" jacobs continued. "i have some means. i'm waiting for more. i'll invest them in grass river. go back and tell your homesteaders that i'll make a small five-year loan to every man in the settlement according to his extreme needs. i'll take each man's note with five per cent interest and the privilege of renewing for two years if crops fail at the end of the term. i am selfish, i'll admit," he declared, as virginia looked at him incredulously, "and i want dollar for dollar--always--sometimes more. my people are popularly known as shylocks. but you note that my rate of usury is small, the time long, and that i want these settlers to stay. i am not trying to get rid of them in order to speculate on their land in coming days of prosperity--the days when you will be landlords over broad acres and i a merchant prince. i say again, i believe in the west and in you farmer people who must turn the west from a wilderness to a land of plenty. i'm willing to risk something on your venture." "oh, mr. jacobs," was all virginia could say, and, womanlike, the tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks. "tell the men to send a committee up here with their needs listed," jacobs said hastily, "or better, i'll go out there myself the day after tomorrow. i want to see what kind of a claim carey has preempted. good-by, now, good-by." he hurried virginia to her horse and watched her ride away. down at the ford of wolf creek the willow brush fringed the main trail thinly for a little distance and half hid the creek trail, winding up a long canyon-like hollow, until a low place in the bank and a steep climb brought it up to the open prairie. it was the same trail that dr. carey had spoken of as belonging to an ugly little creek running into big wolf, the trail he had wanted to avoid on the day he had heard virginia singing when she was lost on the prairie one cold day. virginia paused in this semblance of shade to let juno drink. she pushed back her sunbonnet and sat waiting. her brown face grew radiant as she thought of the good news she was bearing to the waiting home-makers of the grass river valley. a song came to her lips, and as she sang a soft little measure she remembered how somewhere down a tributary to this very creek she had sung for help in pleading tones one cold hopeless day three years before. so intent was she on the triumph of the hour she did not even look up the willow-shadowed creek trail. dr. horace carey, coming in from a distant claim, had dropped into this trail for the bits of shade here and there and was letting his pony take its way leisurely along the side of the creek bed. there were only a few shallow pools now where the fall rains would soon put a running stream, and as the doctor's way lay along the moist places the pony's feet fell noiselessly on the soft ground. as he rounded a bend in the stream he caught sight of virginia, her face outlined against the background of willow sprays, making a picture worth a journey to see, it was such a hopeful, happy face at that moment. dr. carey involuntarily checked his pony at the sight. his own countenance was too pale for a kansas plainsman, and he sat so still that the low strain of virginia's song reached his ears. presently juno lifted her head and virginia rode away out on the sunflower trail, bordered now only by dead pest-ridden stalks. suddenly lifting her eyes she saw far across a stretch of burned prairie a landscape of exquisite beauty. in a foreground lay a little lake surrounded by grassy banks and behind it, on a slight elevation, stood a mansion house of the old colonial style with white pillared portico, and green vines and forest trees casting cool shade. beyond it, wrapped in mist, rose a mountain height with a road winding picturesquely in and out along its side. virginia caught her breath as a great sob rose in her throat. this was all so like the old thaine mansion house of her childhood years. "it's only the mirage," she said aloud. "but it was so like--what?" she held juno back as she looked afar at the receding painting of the plains. "it's like the house we'll have some day on that slope beyond the sunflower inn. the mountains are misty. they are only the mountains of memory. but the home and the woods and the water--all may be real." then she thought of asher and of the dull prairie everywhere. "i wonder if he would want to go back if he could see this as i see it," she questioned. "but i know he has seen it daily. i can tell by that look in his gray eyes." it was long after moonrise when asher aydelot, watching by the corral, heard the sound of hoof-beats and saw the faint outline of a horse and rider swinging in from the northward as once before he had watched the same horse and rider swinging over the same trail before the cool north wind that beat back the september prairie fire. "i have supper all ready. see what grew just for you!" asher said as he and his wife entered the house. a bunch of forlorn little sunflowers in a brown pitcher graced the table. they could scarcely be called flowers, but to virginia, who had hardly seen a blossom through the days of drouth, the joy they brought was keener than the joy that the roses and orchids gave in the days of a later prosperity. "i found them in the draw where the wild plums grow," asher said. "how they ever escaped the hoppers is a miracle." "we will christen our claim 'the sunflower ranch' tonight, and these are our decorations for the ceremony. it is all we have now. but it is ours," virginia declared. and then she told the story of the bank failure at cloverdale. "the last bridge is burned surely," asher commented as he looked across the table at virginia. "this is the only property we have except youth and health and hope--and--each other." "and the old aydelot heritage to stand for principle, and your mother's belief in the west and in you, and the thaine stubbornness about giving up what they want to keep," virginia declared. "as our days so shall our strength be," asher added, as he saw his wife's face bright with hope and determination, and remembered the sweet face of his mother as it had looked that night on the veranda of the old farmhouse by the national pike road. * * * * * for a long time down by the willows thinly shadowing wolf creek a white-faced man sat looking out toward the west, where a horse and rider had vanished into the mellow tones of distance. chapter viii anchored hearthstones dear mother of christ, who motherhood blessed, all life in thy son is complete. the length of a day, the century's tale of years do his purpose repeat. as wide as the world a sympathy comes to him who has kissed his own son, a tenderness deep as the depths of the sea, to motherhood mourning is won. no life is for naught. it was heaven's own way that the baby who came should stay only a day. living by faith, which is the substance of things hoped for, is good for the spirit but reducing to the flesh. yet it was much by faith that the frontier settlers lived through the winter after the grasshopper raid. jim shirley often declared in that time between crops that he could make three meals a day on pryor gaines' smile. and todd stewart asserted that when the meat was all gone from their larder his family lived one whole week on john jacobs' belief in the future of their settlement. for the hardship of that winter was heavy. all the more heavy because the settlers were not stupid pauper-bred folk but young men and women of intelligence and culture, whose early lives had known luxuries as well as comforts. but the saving sense of humor, the saving power of belief in themselves, and the saving grace of brotherly love carried them through. the winter was mercifully mild and the short grass of the prairies was nourishing to the stock that must otherwise have perished. late in february a rainfall began that lasted for days and grass river, rising to its opportunity, drowned all the fords, so that the neighbors on widely separated claims were cut off from each other. no telephones relieved the loneliness of the country dwellers in those days, and each household had to rely on its own resources for all its needs. march came raging in like a lion. all the rain turned to snow and the wind to a polar blast as the one furious blizzard of that season fell upon the plains and for many hours threshed the snow-covered land. on the night before the coming of the blizzard the light did not go out in the aydelot cabin. and while the wind and rain without raved at door and window, a faint little cry within told that a new life had come to the world, a baby girl born in the midst of the storm. morning brought no check to the furious elements. and asher, who had fought in the front line at antietam, had forced his way through a storm of indian arrows out of a death-trap in the foothills of the rockies, had ministered to men on the plains dying of the asiatic plague, and had bound up the wounds of men who returned to the battle again, found a new form of heroism that morning in his own little cabin--the heroism of motherhood. "you must go for help, asher," virginia said, smiling bravely. "leave the baby beside me here. we'll wait till you come back. little sweetheart, you are welcome, if you did come with the storm, a little before you were expected." the young mother looked fondly at the tiny face beside her. "i can't leave you alone, virgie," asher insisted. "but you must." virginia's voice was full of courage. "you can go as far as pryor gaines' and send him on for you. little daughter and i will be all right till you come back." so asher left her. pryor gaines was waterbound across grass river. of the three women living east of the stream one was sick abed, one was kept at home with a sick husband, and the third had gone with her husband to wykerton for supplies and was stormstaid somewhere along the sunflower trail. "i must go for jim. any neighborhood is blessed that has a few good-hearted unmarried folks in it," asher thought as he braced himself against the driving rain and hurried away. when he reached home again the fire was low, the house was very quiet, and virginia's face was white against her pillow. "our little daughter is asleep," she said, and turning away she seemed not to hear her husband's voice assuring her that jim would bring the doctor as soon as possible. the blizzard was just beginning in the early evening when jim shirley fairly blew down the trail from the north. he slipped into the kitchen and passed quietly to the next room. asher was bending over his wife, who lay in a delirium. jim shirley had one of those sympathetic natures that read the joys and sorrows of their friends without words. one look at asher told him what had been. "the doctor was away up wolf creek, but i left word with his colored man for him to come at once, and he'll do it," jim assured asher as he stood for a moment beside the bed. "i didn't wait because you need me." asher lifted his head and looked at jim. as man to man they knew as never before the strength of their lifetime friendship. "i need you. she needs the doctor. the baby--" "doesn't need any of us," jim said softly. "i'll do what i can." it is no strange, unreal story of the wilderness day, this fluttering in and out of a little life, where no rosewood grew for coffins nor florists made broken columns of white lilies and immortelles. but no mother's hands could have been more gentle than the gentle hands of jim shirley as he prepared the little form for burial. meantime the wind was at its wildest, and the plains blizzard swirled in blinding bitterness along the prairie. the hours of the night dragged by slowly to the two men hoping for the doctor's coming, yet fearing that hope was impossible in the face of such a night. "carey has the keenest sense of direction i ever knew in a human being," jim assured asher. "i know he will not fail us." yet the morning came and the doctor came not. the day differed from the night only in the visible fierceness of the storm. the wind swept howling in long angry shrieks from the northwest. the snow seemed one dizzy, maddening whirlpool of white flakes hanging forever above the earth. inside the cabin virginia's delirium was turning to a frenzy. and asher and jim forgot that somewhere in the world that day there was warmth and sunlight, health and happiness, flowers, and the song of birds, and babies cooing on their mothers' knees. and the hours of the day dragged on to evening. * * * * * meanwhile, dr. carey had come into wykerton belated by the rains. "the wind is changing. there'll be a snowstorm before morning, bo peep," he said wearily as the young colored man assisted him into warm, dry clothes. "it's glorious to sit by a fire on a night like this. i didn't know how tired i was till now." "yes, suh, i'se glad you all is home for the night, suh. i sho' is. i got mighty little use for this yuh country. i'se sorry now i eveh done taken my leave of ol' virginny." bo peep's white teeth glistened as he laughed. "any calls while i was gone?" dr. carey asked. bo peep pretended not to hear as he busied himself over his employer's wraps, until carey repeated the question. "no, suh! no, suh! none that kaint wait till mawhnin', suh," bo peep assured him, adding to himself, "tiahd as he is, he's not gwine way out to grass riveh this blessed night, not if i loses my job of bein' custodian of this huh 'stablishment. not long's my name's bone-ah-gees peepehville, no, suh!" dr. carey settled down for the evening with some inexplicable misgiving he could not overcome. "i didn't sleep well last night, bo peep," he said when he rose late the next morning. "i reckon we doctors get so used to being called out on especially bad nights we can't rest decently in our beds." "i didn't sleep well, nutheh," bo peep replied. "i kep thinkin' bout that man come heah foh you yestedy. i jes wa'n't gwine to le' yuh go out again las' night." "what did he want?" the doctor asked, secretly appreciative of bo peep's goodness of heart as he saw the street full of whirling snow. "he done said hit wah a maturity case." bo peep tried to speak carelessly. in truth, his conscience had not left him in peace a moment. "what do you mean? who was it?" horace carey demanded. "don't be mad, doctah, please don't. hit wah cuz you all wah done woah out las' night. hit wah misteh shulley from grass riveh, suh. he said hit wah misteh asheh aydelot's wife--" "for the love of god!" horace carey cried hoarsely, springing up. "do you know who mrs. aydelot is, bo peep?" "no, suh; neveh see huh." "she was virginia thaine of the old thaine family back at home." bo peep did not sit down. he fell in a heap at dr. carey's feet, moaning grievously. "fo' gawd, i neveh thought o' harm. i jus' thought o' you all, deed i did. oh! oh!" "help to get me off then," carey commanded, and bo peep flew to his tasks. when the doctor was ready to start he found two horses waiting outside in the storm and bo peep, wrapped to the eyes, beside them. "why two?" he asked kindly, for bo peep's face was so full of sorrow he could not help pitying the boy. "please, kaint i go with you all? i can cook betteh'n miss virginia eveh could, an' i can be lots of help an' you all'll need help." "but it's a stinger of a storm, bo peep," the doctor insisted, anxious to be off. "neveh mind! neveh mind! lemme go. i won't complain of no stom." and the doctor let him go. it was already dark at the sunflower ranch when the two, after hours of battling with wind and snow and bitter cold, reached the cabin door. bo peep, instead of giving up early or hanging a dead weight on dr. carey's hands, as he had feared the boy might do, had been the more hopeful of the two in all the journey. the hardship was bo peep's penance, and right merrily, after the nature of a merry-hearted race, he took his punishment. jim shirley, putting wood on the kitchen fire, bent low as he heard the piteous moanings from the sick room. "oh, lord, if you can work miracles work one now," he pleaded below his breath. "bring help out of this storm or give us sense to do the best for her. we need her so, dear lord. we need her so." he lifted his eyes to see horace carey between himself and the bedroom door, slipping out of his snowy coat. and beside him stood bo peep, helping him to get ready for the sick room. "i know miss virginia back in the souf, suh. i done come to take keer of this kitchen depahtment. i know jus' what she lak mos' suh," bo peep said to jim, who had not moved nor spoken. "i'se misteh bone-ah-gees peepehville, an' i done live with doctah carey's family all mah life, suh, 'cept a short time i spent in the jacobs house at carey's crossing. i'se his custodian now, suh, and i know a few things about the cookin' depahtment, suh." he looked the part, and jim accepted him gladly. it is given to some men to know the power of the healing spirit. dr. carey was such a man. his presence controlled the atmosphere of the place. there was balm in his voice and in the touch of his hand as much as in his medicines. to him his own calling was divine. who shall say that the hope and belief with which his few drugs were ministered carried not equal power with them toward health and wholeness? when virginia aydelot had fallen asleep at last the doctor came into the kitchen and sat down with the two haggard men to whom his coming had brought unspeakable solace. "you can take comfort, mr. aydelot," he said assuringly. "your wife has been well cared for. hardly one man in a thousand could do as well as you have done. i wonder you never studied medicine." "you seem confident of results, doctor," asher said gratefully. "i have known the thaine family all my life," horace carey said quietly. and asher, whose mind was surged with anxiety, did not even think to be surprised. "we did not recognize each other when i found her on the way to carey's crossing three or four years ago, and--i did not know she was married then." he sat a while in silence, looking at the window against which the wind outside was whirling the snow. when he spoke again his tone was hopeful. "mrs. aydelot has had a nervous shock. but she is young. she has a heritage of will power and good blood. she will climb up rapidly with the coming on of spring." how strange it was to asher aydelot to listen to such words! he had not slept for fifty hours. it had seemed to him that the dreadful storm outside and sickness and the presence of death within were to be unending, and that in all the world jim shirley would henceforth be his only friend. "you both need sleep," carey was saying in a matter-of-fact way. "bo peep will take care of things here, and i will look after mrs. aydelot. you will attend to the burial at the earliest possible time in order to save her any signs of grieving. and you will not grieve either until you have more time. and remember, aydelot," he put his hand comfortingly on asher's shoulders. "remember in this affliction that your ambition may stake out claims and set up houses, but it takes a baby's hand to really anchor the hearthstones. and sometimes it takes even more. it needs a little grave as well. i understood from shirley that some financial loss last fall prevented you from going back to ohio. you wouldn't leave grass river now if you could." dr. carey's face was magnetic in its earnestness, and even in the sorrow of the moment asher remembered that he had known virginia all her life and he wondered subconsciously why the two had not fallen in love with each other. and so it was that as the sunflower inn had received the first bride and groom to set up the first home in the grass river valley, so the first baby born in the valley opened its eyes to the light of day in the same sunflower inn. and out of this sod cabin came the first form to its burial. and it was the sunflower ranch that gave ground for god's acre there for all the years that followed. it happened, too, that as jim shirley had been the friendly helper at that bridal supper and happy house-warming more than three years ago, so now it was jim shirley who in the hour of sorrow was the helper still. * * * * * the winter season passed with the passing of the blizzard. the warm spring air was delicious and all the prairies were presently abloom with a wild luxuriance of flowers. asher carried virginia to the sunshine at the west window from which she could see the beautiful outdoor world. "we wouldn't leave here now if we could," she declared as she beheld all the glory of the springtime rolling away before her eyes. "bank accounts bring comforts, but they do not make all of life nor consecrate death. we have given our first-born back to the prairie. it is sacred soil now," asher replied. and then they talked of many things, but mostly of dr. carey. "i have known him from childhood," virginia said. "he was my very first sweetheart, as very first sweethearts go. he went into the war when he was young. i didn't know much that happened after that. he was at home, i think, when you were in that hospital where i first saw you, and--oh, yes, asher, dear, he was at home when your blessed letter came, the one with the old greasy deuce of hearts and the sunflower. it was this same bo peep, carey's boy, who brought it to me up in the glen behind the big house. horace left virginia just after that." virginia closed her eyes and lived in the past again. "i wonder you never cared for dr. carey, virgie. he is a prince among men," asher said, as he leaned over her chair. "oh, i might, if my king had not sent me that sunflower just then. it made a new world for me." "but i am only a common farmer, virgie, just a king of a kansas claim, just a home-builder on the prairie," asher insisted. "asher, if you had your choice this minute of all the things you might be, what would you choose to be?" virginia asked. "just a common farmer, just a king of a kansas claim," asher replied. then looking out toward the swell of ground beside the grass river schoolhouse where the one little mound of green earth marked his first-born's grave, he added, "just a home-builder on the prairies." the second generation of grasshoppers tarried but briefly, then all together took wing and flew away, no man knew, nor cared, whither. and the grass river settlers who had weathered the hurricane of adversity, poor, but patient and persistent still, planted, sometimes in tears to reap in joy, sometimes in hope to reap only in heartsick hope deferred, but failed not to keep on planting. other settlers came rapidly and the neighborhood thickened and broadened. and so, amid hardships still, and lack of opportunity and absence of many elements of culture, a sturdy, independent, god-fearing people struggled with the soil, while they lifted up faces full of hope and determination to the skies above them. what of the prairies they could subdue they bent to their service. what they could not overcome they defied the right to overcome them. there were no lines of social caste. they were needy or full together. they shared their pleasures; together they laughed at calamities; and they comforted one another in every sorrow. a new town was platted on the claim that dr. carey had preempted where the upper fork of grass river crossed the old sunflower trail. the town founders ruled hans wyker out of a membership among them. moreover, they declared their intentions of forever beating back all efforts at saloon building within the corporation's limits, making wykerton their sworn enemy for all time. in the new town, which was a ten-by-ten shack of vertical boards, a sod stable, and two dugout homes, the very first sale of lots, for cash, too, was made to darley champers & co., dealers in real estate, mortgages, loans, etc. one summer sabbath afternoon, three years after the grasshopper raid of dreadful memory, asher came again to the little grave in the grass river graveyard where other graves were consecrating the valley in other hearts. this time he bore in his arms a dimpled, brown-eyed baby boy who cooed and smiled as only babies can and flung his little square fists aimlessly about in baby joy of living. "we'll wait here, thaine, till your mother comes from bennington's to tell us about the little baby that just came to our settlement only two days ago and staked out a claim in a lot of hearts." little thaine had found that his fist and his mouth belonged together, so he offered no comment. asher sat down on the warm sod with the baby on his knees. "this is your little sister's grave, thaine. she staid with us less than a day, but we loved her then and we love her still. her name was to have been mercy pennington aydelot, after the sweet quaker girl your two great-great-grandfathers both loved. such a big name for such a tiny girl! she isn't here, thaine. this is just the little sod house she holds as her claim. she is in a beautiful mansion now. but she binds us always to the grass river valley because she has a claim here. we couldn't bear to go away and leave her little holding. and now you've come and all the big piece of prairie soil that is your papa's and mamma's now will be yours some day. i hope you'll want to stay here." a stab of pain thrust him deeply as he remembered his own father and understood for the first time what francis aydelot must have felt for him. and then he remembered his mother's sacrifice and breadth of view. "oh, thaine, will you want to leave us some day?" he said softly, gazing down into the baby's big dark eyes. "heaven give me breadth and courage and memory, too," he added, "when that time comes not to be unkind; but to be brave to let you go. only, thaine, there's no bigger place to go than to a big, fine kansas farm. oh! we fathers are all alike. what clover creek was to francis aydelot, grass river is to me. will it be given to you to see bigger things?" thaine aydelot crowed and stretched his little legs and threw out his hands. "thaine, there are no bigger things than the gifts of the soil. i may only win it, but you can find its hundredfold of increase. see, yonder comes your mother. not the pretty, dainty virginia girl i brought here as my bride. but i tell you truly, baby boy, she will always be handsome, because--you wouldn't understand if i told you, but you will some day." "oh, asher, the new baby is splendid, and mrs. bennington is ever so well," virginia said, coming up to where he sat waiting for her. "they call her josephine after mr. bennington's mother. thaine will never be lonely here, as we have been. after all, it is not the little graves alone that anchor us anywhere, for we can take memory with us wherever we go; it is the children living, as well, that hold our hearthstones fast and build a real community, even in a wilderness. we are just ready to begin now. the real story of the prairie is the story of the second generation. the real romance out here will be thaine aydelot's romance, for he was born here." chapter ix the beginning of service amid all the din of the everyday battle some peace may begin, like the silence of god in its regal content, till we learn what the lesson of yesterday meant. hans wyker had managed skillfully when he pulled the prospective county seat of wolf county up big wolf creek to wykerton, a town he hoped to build after his own ideals. and his ideals had only one symbol, namely, the dollar sign. hans had congratulated himself not a little over his success. "i done it all mineself," he was wont to boast. "so long as doc carey tink he own der town vots name for him, an' so long as yon yacob, der ding-busted little chew, tink him an' todd stewart run all der pusiness mitout regardin' my saloon pusiness, an' so long as pryor gaines preachin' an' teachin' all time gifin' black eye to me, 'cause i sells wisky, i not mak no hetway." "you are danged right," darley champers would always assure him. "yah, i be. but von day i pull a lot of strinks at vonce. i pull der county seat locate to pig wolf creek, an' i put up mine prewery here mit water power here vot dey vassent not at carey's crossing. an' der railroat comin' by dis way soon, i know. i do big business two times in vonce. i laugh yet to tink how easy yon yacob fall down. if yon yacob say so he hold carey's for der county seat. but no. he yust sit shut oop like ant neffer say von sinkle vord. an' here she coom--my prewery, my saloon, my county seat, an' all in vonce." hans would laugh till the tears ran down his rough red cheeks. then blowing his nose like a blast against the walls of jericho he would add: "yon yacob go back to cincinnati. doc carey, he come vest an' locate again right here. course he tak up claim on nort fork of grass river. but dat's yust for speculation some yet. gaines an' stewart go to grass river settlement an' homestead. oh, i scatter 'em like chaffs. ho! ho!" and again the laughter would bring tears to his watery little white-gray eyes. what hans wyker said of john jacobs was true, for in the council that decided the fate of the town it was his silence that lost the day and put carey's crossing off the map. hans, while rejoicing over the result, openly accused jacobs of being a ding-busted, selfish jew who cared for nobody but john jacobs. secretly hans admired jacobs for his business ability, and all men respected him for a gentleman. hence it was no small disappointment to the brewery owner to find when jacobs returned to kansas that he did not mean to open a business in wykerton. instead, he loaned his money to grass river homesteaders. when crops began to bring returns jacobs established a new town farther west on the claim that dr. carey had taken up. jacobs insisted on calling the place careyville in honor of the doctor, because he had been the means of annihilating the first town named after carey. and since he had befriended the settlers in the days after the grasshopper raid he drew all the trade west of big wolf to this new town, cutting deep into the wykerton business. misfortunes hunt in couples when they do not gather in larger companies. not only did the jacobs store decrease the income of the wykerton stores, but, following hard after, came the shifting of county lines. wolf county fell into three sections, to increase three other counties. the least desirable ground lay in the north section, and the town built up on a brewery and the hopes of being hit by a railroad survey, and of holding the county seat, was left in this third part which, like caesar's third part of all gaul, was most barbarous because least often the refining influences of civilization found their way thither. then came the crushing calamity, the prohibitory law, which put hans wyker out of business. and hand in hand with this disaster, when the railroad came at last it drove its steel lines imperiously westward, ignoring wykerton, with the ugly little canyons of big wolf on the north, and the site of carey's crossing beside the old blossom-bordered trail on the south. finding the new town of careyville a strategic point, it headed straight thither, built through it, marked it for a future division point, and forged onward toward the sunset. dr. carey had located an office on his claim when there were only four other buildings on the careyville townsite. darley champers opened a branch office there about the same time, although he did not leave wykerton. but the downfall of wyker and his interests cut deeper into the interests of the grass river settlement than anyone dreamed of at the time. it sifted into wyker's slow brain that the jew, as he called jacobs with many profane decorations, had been shrewd as well as selfish when his silent vote had given wykerton the lead in the race for a county seat location. "infernal scoundrel," hans would cry with many gestures, "he figger it out in his own little black het and neffer tell nobody, so. he know to hisself dat carey's crossing's too fur sout, so--an' big wolf creek too fur nort, so." hands wide apart, and eyes red with anger. "he know der survey go between like it, so! and he figger it hit yust fer it hit grass river, nort fork. an' he make a townsite dere, yust where doc carey take oop. devil take him! an' he pull all my town's trade mit his fat pocketbook, huh! i send champers to puy all grass river claims. dey don't sell none. i say, 'champers, let 'em starf.' den champers, he let 'em. when supplies for crasshopper sufferers cooms from east we lock 'em oop in der office, tight. an' ve sell 'em. huh! cooms yon yacob an' he loan claim-holters money--fife per cent, huh! puy 'em, hide an' hoof, an' horn, an' tail! dey all swear py yon yacob. he rop me. i fix him yet sometime. i hate yon yacob!" and hans wyker's hate was slow, but it was incurably poison. one morning in early autumn dr. horace carey drove leisurely down the street of the town that bore his name. the air was crisp and invigorating, for the september heat had just been broken by copious showers. todd stewart stood in the doorway of jacobs' store, watching the doctor's approach. "good morning, doctor," he called. "somebody dying or a highwayman chasing after you for your pocketbook, that you drive so furiously?" "good morning, stewart. no, nobody is in danger. can't a doctor enjoy life once in a while? the country's so disgustingly healthy i have to make the best of it and kill time some way. come, help at the killing, won't you?" carey drew rein before the door of the store. "i can't do it, carey. jacobs is away up on big wolf appraising some land and i want to be here when he comes in. i must do some holding up myself pretty soon if things don't pick up after this hot summer." "you're an asset to the community, to be growling like that with this year's crops fairly choking the market," horace carey declared. with a good-by wave of his hand he turned his horses' heads toward the south and took his way past the grain elevator toward the railroad crossing. the morning train was just pulling up to the station, blocking the street, so carey sat still watching it with that interest a great locomotive in motion always holds for thinking people. "papa, there's doctor carey," a child's voice cried, and thaine aydelot bounded across the platform toward him, followed by his less-excited father. thaine was a sturdy, sun-browned little fellow of seven years, with blooming cheeks and big dark eyes. he was rather under than over normal size, and in the simplicity of plains life he had still the innocence of the very little boy. "good morning, thaine. good morning, aydelot. are you just getting home? let me take you out. i'm going your way myself," dr. carey said. "good morning. yes, we are getting home a little earlier than we were expected and nobody is here to meet us. we'll be glad to ride out with you." asher lifted thaine into the buggy with the words. a certain reserve between the two men had never been broken, although they respected each other deeply and were fast friends. the train cleared the crossing and the three went south over the bridge across the dry north fork creek, beyond the cattle pens, and on to the open country leading out toward the grass river valley. the morning was glorious with silvery mists lifting along the river's course and a shimmering light above golden stubble and brown plowed land and level prairie; while far away, in all its beauty, hung the deep purple veil that nature drops between her finite and her infinite, where the things that are seen melt into the things that are not seen. "take the lines, aydelot, and let me visit with thaine," horace carey said, giving asher the reins. he was fond of children and children were more than fond of him. thaine idolized him and snuggled up in his lap now with complete contentment of soul. "tell me all about it now, thaine. where have you been so long? i might have missed you down on the sunflower ranch this morning if i had driven faster and headed off the through train as it came in." "oo-o!" thaine groaned at the possible disaster to himself. "we've been to topeka, a very long way off." "and you saw so many fine things?" carey questioned. "yes, a big, awful big river. and a bridge made of iron. and it just rattled when we went across. and there were big pieces of the statehouse lying around in the tall weeds. and such greeny green grass just _everywhere_. and, and, oh, the biggest trees. so many, all close together. papa said it was like ohio. oh, so big. i never knew trees could grow so big, nor so many of them all together." little thaine spread his short arms to show how wondrous large these trees were. "he has never seen a tree before that was more than three inches through, except two or three lonesome cottonwoods. the forests of his grandfather's farm in ohio would be gigantic to him. how little the prairie children know of the world!" asher declared. dr. carey remembered what jim shirley had told him of that lost estate in ohio, and refrained from comment. "you'd like to live in topeka where the big kaw river is, and the big trees along its banks, and so much green grass, wouldn't you, thaine?" "no!" the child's face was quaintly contemptuous. "it's too--too choky." the little hand clutched at the fat brown throat. "and the grass is so mussy green, and you can't _see_ to _any_where for the bumpy hills and things. i like our old brown prairies best. it's so--nice out here." and with a sigh of perfect satisfaction thaine leaned against dr. carey's shoulder and gazed out at the wide landscape swathed in the early morning sunlight. the two men exchanged glances. "this will be the land of memory for him some day, as you look back to the mountains of virginia and i to the woodlands of ohio," asher said. "it is worth remembering, anyhow," carey replied. "i can count twenty young windbreaks from the swell just ahead, and the groves are springing up on many ranches from year to year. your grove is the finest in the valley now, aydelot." "it is doing well," asher said. "mrs. aydelot and i planned our home-to-be on the first evening we came to the sunflower inn. it was a sort of mirage-of-the-desert picture, it is true, but we were like the tapestry weavers. we hung the pattern up before our eyes and worked to it. it is slow weaving, i'll admit, but we kept on because we wanted to at first, then because we had to, and finally because our hearts took root in a baby's grave. they say the tapestry makers work on the wrong side of the threads, but when their work is done the pattern comes out complete. i hope ours will too. but there's many a day of aching muscles, and many a day of disappointment along the way. crops prosper and crops fail, but we can't let the soil go untilled." "i think we are all tapestry weavers. the trouble is sometimes in the pattern we hang up before us and sometimes in the careless weaving," dr. carey added. they rode a while in silence. the doctor's cheek was against thaine's dark hair and asher looked down at his hard brown hands and then away at the autumn prairie. fifteen years on a plains claim, with all the daily grind of sowing and reaping and care of stock and garden, had not taken quite all the military bearing from him. he was thirty-eight years old now, vigorous and wholesome and hopeful. the tanning kansas sunshine had not hidden the old expression of patience and endurance, nor had the sight of many hardships driven the vision from the clear, far-seeing gray eyes. "look at the sunflowers, papa," thaine cried as a curve of the trail brought a long golden line to view. "you like the sunflowers, don't you?" carey asked. "oh, yes, better than all the flowers on the prairie. my mamma loves them, too, because they made her think once papa wasn't dead." "thaine, what do you mean to do when you grow up?" horace carey interrupted the child. "i'm going to be a soldier like my papa was," thaine declared decisively. "but there will probably be no wars. you see, your papa and i fought the battles all through and settled things. maybe you can't go to war," dr. carey suggested. "oh, yes, i can. there'll be another war by that time, and i'm going, too. and when i come back i'm going away to where the purple notches are and have a big ranch and do just like my papa," thaine asserted. "where are the purple notches?" the doctor asked. "see yonder, away, way off?" thaine pointed toward the misty southwest horizon where three darker curves were outlined against a background of pale purple blending through lilac up to silvery gray. "i'm going there some day," the boy insisted. "and leave your papa and mamma?" "they left their papas and mammas, too," thaine philosophized. the men laughed, although each felt a curious deep pain at the boy's words. thaine settled back, satisfied to be silent as he watched the wonderful prairie landscape about him. "i am going down to shirley's," carey began, as if to change the subject. "strange fellow, jim; i never knew another like him." "i was just thinking of shirley," asher responded. "he is a royal neighbor and true friend, better to everybody else than he is to himself. his own crops suffer sometimes while he helps other folks lay theirs by. and yet his premises always look like he was expecting company. one cannot help wondering what purpose stays him in his work." "there is the tragedy of it," horace carey declared. "i never knew a more affectionate man, yet he has lived a bachelor all these years." "how long have you known him, carey?" asher asked. "since the night at kelley's ferry, back in the civil war. our regiment, the fifty-fourth virginia, was taken. we were worn out with fighting and marching, and we were nearly starved besides. the third ohio boys had been in the same fix once and our boys--" "yes, i was a third ohio boy. i know what you fellows did. you saved our lives," asher broke in. "well, you paid us back at kelley's ferry. i first knew jim shirley that night, although he remembered me from the time we had your regiment at our mercy. he brought me bacon and hard tack and coffee. we have been friends ever since. how long have you known him?" "i am going to war when i get big, before i ever go to the purple notches. i know i am." thaine had been listening intently and now he broke in with face aglow and eyes full of eagerness. "god forbid!" carey said. "the lure of the drum beat might be hard for older men to resist even now." "your hand will fit a plow handle better than a gun-stock, thaine," his father assured him, looking down at the boy's square, sun-browned hand with a dimple in each knuckle. thaine shut his lips tightly and said no more. but his father, who knew the heart of a boy, wondered what thoughts might lie back of that silence. "i have known jim all my life," asher aydelot took up the conversation where thaine had interrupted it. "that is why i have wondered at the tenacity of his holding on out here. a man of his temperament is prone to let go quickly. besides, jim is far from being a strong man physically." "when he was down with pneumonia in the early seventies he was ready to give up. didn't want to get well and was bound not to do it," dr. carey said, "but somehow a letter i had brought him seemed to change him with one reading. 'i will do anything to get back to strength and work,' he declared, and he has worked ever since like a man who knew his business, even if his business judgment is sometimes faulty." they rode awhile in silence, drinking in the delicious air of early autumn. presently dr. carey said: "aydelot, i am taking a letter down to jim this morning. it is in the same handwriting as the one i took when he had the pneumonia so severely. i learned a little something of jim's affairs through friends when i was east studying some years ago." he paused for a moment. then, as if to change the subject, he continued: "by the way, there was a bank failure at cloverdale once that interested you. did you ever investigate it?" "there was nothing to investigate," asher replied. it did not occur to him to connect the query with carey's knowledge of shirley's affairs or with his studying in the east. "you have relatives there?" carey asked. "yes, a jane aydelot. married, single, widowed, i can't tell. my father left his estate to her. i was in love with the west then, and madly in love with my wife. my father wasn't impressed with either one. but, you see, i was rash about little things like money matters. i had so much faith in myself and i couldn't give up a girl like virginia thaine. understand, i have no quarrel with jane aydelot. her property is absolutely her own, not mine to crave and look forward to getting some day." "i understand," horace carey said, looking out toward the purple notches now more clearly outlined against the sky. "how this country has changed since that cold day when mrs. aydelot came almost to the old crossing after me. the sand dunes narrow and the river deepens a little every year. the towns come and go on the prairies, but the homesteaders build better. it is the farmer who really makes a new country habitable." "that's what my mother said when i talked of coming west. but the real test will come with the second generation. if it is loyal we will have won. here is the old grass river trail that jim and i followed many lonely days. the valley is slowly coming out of the wilderness," asher replied, remembering his wife's words long before when she said: "the real story of the plains is the story of the second generation. the real romance out here will be thaine aydelot's romance." they had reached the old trail that led to the grass river settlement now. it was still a new country where few trees, save some lone cottonwoods, were as tall as a cabin, and nothing broke the view. but groves had rooted, low windbreaks cut the country at frequent intervals; many acres of sod had been turned by the plow, and many more were being shut in by fences where the open cattle range was preempted by freeholds. one bit of woodland, however, was beginning to dignify the valley. the aydelot grove spread over a hundred acres before the one-time sod sunflower inn. the new home was on the swell now as virginia had seen the colonial mansion of the mirage on the day she went seeking aid for the grasshopper-beset neighborhood. but this was just a little cottage waiting, like the grove, for years of time in which to grow a mansion shaded with tall trees, with the lake and the woodland before it, and the open prairie beyond. down at jim shirley's ranch the changes were many, for jim had an artist's eye. and the energy other settlers spent on the needs of wives and children jim spent on making his little dwelling attractive. he had brought clover seed from ohio, and had carefully sowed a fire guard around his sod shack. year by year the clover business increased; fire guard grew to clover-lot, and clover-lot to little meadow. then the little meadow expanded along grass river to a small cattle range. over the door of his four-roomed cottage he put the name "cloverdale," as he had put it over his sod cabin years before. and the cloverdale ranch, like the sunflower ranch farther up the river, became a landmark on the trail. pryor gaines, still the teacher-preacher of the grass river settlement, had come to the cloverdale ranch on an errand, and he and jim shirley were chatting beside the well curb when dr. carey drove up. "hello, carey. how did you scent chicken pie so far? and a plum pudding all brown and ready?" shirley called hospitably. "it's my business to find what produces sickness as well as to provide cures," carey responded as he stepped from his buggy to tie his horses. "take him in the house, pryor, while i stable his crowbaits," jim said, patting one of the doctor's well groomed horses the while. "i hope you will stay, too," horace carey said to pryor gaines. "i have some important news for shirley, and you and he are fast friends." "the bachelor twins of grass river," pryor gaines declared. "jim hasn't any lungs and i haven't any heart, so we manage to keep a half a household apiece, and added together make one fairly reputable citizen. i'll stay if jim wishes me to, of course." "the two most useful men in the community," carey declared. "jim has been father and mother, big brother, and hired girl for half the settlement, while you, you marry and train up and bury. no neighborhood is complete without a couple of well-meaning old bachelors." "how about a bachelor m. d.?" pryor gaines asked. "i've not been able to get in my work on you yet." "purely a necessary evil, the m. d. business," carey insisted. "here's jim now. we wait the chicken and plum pudding, host shirley." jim's skill as a cook had not decreased since the day when he prepared asher aydelot's wedding supper, and the three men who sat together at that day's meal took large enjoyment in this quiet hour together. "i have a letter for you, shirley," the doctor said at last. "it was sent to me some months ago with the request that i give it to you when i had word to do so. i have had word. here it is." "i think i'll be going now." pryor gaines rose with the words. "don't go," jim insisted. "i want you here." so gaines sat down. shirley, who was quick in intuitive power, knew instinctively what awaited him. he opened the letter and read it while the two friends busied themselves with a consideration of jim's bookcase, reading-table, and toolchest combined, all made out of one goods box with sundry trimmings. jim said nothing when he had finished, grateful that no painful silence on the part of the other two men forced him to words until he was ready to speak. "listen to me," he said at length. "i need your help now. when i came west life didn't seem worth living at first, but i had it on my hands and couldn't throw it away. i tried to take an interest in asher aydelot's home. but it is a second-rate kind of pleasure to sit by your own lonely fireside and enjoy the thought of the comfort another man has in his home with the wife of his choice." a shadow fell on dr. carey's face as he sat looking through the open window at the stretch of green clover down the valley. "i was about ready to call time on myself one winter here when carey brought me a letter. it was from alice leigh, my brother tank's wife. tank and i were related--by marriage. we had the same father, but not the same mother. my mother died the day i was born. nobody else is so helpless as a man with a one-day-old baby. my father was fairly forced into a second marriage by my step-mother, betsy tank. she was the housekeeper at the tavern after my mother's death. her god was property and tank is just like her. she married the old shirley house. it looked big to her. oh, well! i needn't repeat a common family history. i never had a mother, nor a wife, nor a sister, nor a brother. even my father was early prejudiced in tank's interest against mine, always. the one happy memory of my boyhood years was the loving interest of asher aydelot's mother, who made the old aydelot farmhouse on the national road a welcome spot to me. for the lord made me with a foolish longing for a home and all of these things--father, mother, sister, and brother." "so you have been father and mother, brother and sister to this whole settlement," pryor gaines said. "which may be vastly satisfying to these relatives, but does not always fill the lack in one's own life," horace carey added, as a man who might know whereof he spoke. "i won't bore you with details," jim began again. "the letter i had from alice leigh, tank's wife, a dozen or more years ago, asked me if i would take the guardianship of her children if they should need a guardian. i knew they would need one, if she were--taken from earth, as she had reason to fear then that she might be soon. i began to live with a new motive--a sense that i was needed, a purpose to be ready to help her children--the one service i could give to her. there's a long, cruel story back of her marriage to tank--a story of deception, coercion, love of money, and all the elements of common cussedness--too common to make a good story. and, as generally happens, when tank married the girl who didn't want him he treated her as he's always treated everybody else." jim clinched his fists hard and shut his teeth with a grip as he sat silent for a moment. then drawing a deep breath, as if he were lifting a weight from his life, he said calmly: "mrs. shirley died some time ago. only one child survived her--a little girl six years old. the letter says--"the letter fluttered in jim's trembling hands. "it says, 'my little leigh is just six. she has been taught to love her uncle jim.... through the help of a friend here'--she doesn't give the name--'i have made you her guardian. i want her to go to your home. her father will not take any responsibility, nor try to keep her. i know you will not fail me.'" jim folded the letter abruptly. "it is a dead woman's last wish. how can i make a home for a little girl? what shall i do?" he looked at the two men for answer. the doctor lifted his hand to pryor gaines, but the preacher waited awhile before replying. then he said thoughtfully: "it is easy for us two to vote a duty on you, shirley. i answer only because you ask, not because i would advise. from my angle of vision, this looks like your call to service. your lonely fireside is waiting for a little child's presence--the child already taught to love you. i would say send for her at once." "but how can i send?" jim questioned. "how can i do a parent's part by her? i can help a neighbor in need. i can't bring up his children. i'm not fit for that kind of work. i've hung on here for more than a dozen years to be ready to help when the time came, and now the thing seems impossible." "'as thy day, so shall thy strength be.' if you have prepared yourself to do anything, you can do it," pryor gaines assured him. "well, how can i send?" jim asked again. "there's nobody there to bring her, and nobody here to go after her. it's an awfully long way from here to ohio. a little six-year-old girl can't come alone. i couldn't go back myself. i may be a coward, but the almighty made me as i am. i can't go back to cloverdale and see only a grave--i can stay here and remember, and maybe do a kind of a man's part, but i can't go back." he bowed his head and sat very still. "you are right, shirley," pryor gaines spoke softly still. "unless you were close to the life in its last days, don't hang any graves like dead weights of ineffectual sorrow about your neck. look back to the best memories. look up to the eternal joy no grave can withhold." there was a sympathetic chord in pryor gaines' voice that spoke home to the heart, and so long as he lived in the grass river valley, he gave the last service for everyone who left it for the larger life beyond it. "i will go for you, shirley," horace carey said. "you forget who brought you this letter. that it was sent to me for you, and that the time to give it to you was left until i was notified. this friend of your brother's wife is a friend of mine. let me go." "horace carey, since the night your virginia regiment fed us poor starving fellows in the old war times, you've been true blue." "well, i wore the gray that night, and i'd probably do it again. i can't tell. it was worth wearing, if only for men to find out how much bigger manhood and brotherhood are than any issue of war to be satisfied only by shedding of innocent blood," horace carey replied, glad to lift the burden of thought from shirley's mind. "could a sectional war ever have begun out here on these broad prairies, where men need each other so?" pryor gaines asked, following the doctor's lead. "something remarkably like it did make a stir out here once. like it, only worse," horace carey answered with a smile. "but the little girl, what's her name? leigh? we'll have her here for you. your service is only beginning, but think of the comfort of such a service. i envy you, jim." "a little child shall lead them," pryor gaines added reverently. then they fell to talking of the coming of little leigh shirley. the hours of the day slipped by. the breeze came pouring over the prairie from the far southwest where the purple notches stood sentinel. the warm afternoon sunlight streamed in at the door. the while these childless men planned together for the welfare of one motherless, and worse than fatherless, little girl away in the clover creek valley in ohio, waiting for a home and guardianship and love under far kansas skies. chapter x the coming of love i love the world with all its brave endeavor, i love its winds and floods, its suns and sands, but, oh, i love most deeply and forever the clinging touch of timid little hands. the ohio woods were gorgeous with the october coloring. the oak in regal purple stood outlined against the beech in cloth-of-gold, while green-flecked hickory and elm, and iridescent silver and scarlet ash, and flaming maple added to the kaleidoscope of splendor. the old national pike road leading down to cloverdale was still flanked by little rail-fenced fields that were bordered by deep woodlands. the old aydelot farmhouse was as neat and white, with gardens and flower beds as well kept, as if only a day had passed since the master and mistress thereof had gone out to their last earthly home in the cloverdale graveyard. fifteen years had seen the frontier pushed westward with magic swiftness. the grass river valley, once a wide reach of emptiness and solitude, where only one homestead stood a lone bulwark against the forces of the wilderness, now, after a decade and a half, beheld its prairie dotted with freeholds, where the foundations of homes were laid. fifteen years marked little appreciable change in the heritage given up by asher aydelot out of his love for a girl and his dream of a larger opportunity in the new west. for fifteen springtimes the old-fashioned sweet pinks had blossomed on the two mounds where his last service had been given to his native estate. hardly a tree had been cut in the aydelot woods. the marshes in the lower ground had not been drained. the only change in the landscape was the high grade of the railroad that cut a triangle from the northwest corner of the farm in its haste to reach cloverdale and be done with it. the census of , however, showed an increase in ten years of seventy-five citizens in clover county, and the community felt satisfied with itself. the afternoon train on the cloverdale branch was late getting into town, but the station parasites were rewarded for their patience by the sight of a stranger following the usual two or three passengers who alighted. strangers were not so common in cloverdale that anyone's face would be forgotten under ten years of time. "that's that same feller that come here ten year or mebby twelve year ago. i'd know him in guinea," one of the oldest station parasites declared. "that's him, sure as shootin'," his comrade-in-laziness agreed. "a doctor, don't you ricolleck? name's corrie, no, craney, no, that's not it neither--a-ah!" trying hard to think a little. "carey. don't you remember?" the first speaker broke in, "doc carey. they say he doctored miss jane in philadelphia, an' got in good with her, more'n a dozen years ago." "well," drawled the second watcher of affairs, "if he thinks he can get anything out'n o' her by hangin' round cloverdale, he's barkin' up the wrong saplin'. miss jane, she's close, an' too set in her ways now. she must be nigh forty." "that's right. but, i'll bet he's goin' there now. let's see." the two moved to the end of the station, from which strategic point both the main street, the national pike road, of course, and the new street running "cat-i-cornered" from the station to the creek bridge could be commanded. "darned fool! is what he is! hikin' straight as a plumbline fur the crick. if he was worth it, i'd foller him." "oh, the ornery pup will be back all right. lazy fellers waitin' to marry rich old maids ain't worth follerin'. darn 'em! slick skeezicks, tryin' to git rich jes' doin' nothin'." so the two citizens agreed while they consigned a perfect stranger to a mild purgatory. his brisk wholesomeness offended them, and the narrowness of their own daily lives bred prejudice as the marshes breed mosquitoes. dr. carey walked away with springing step. he was glad to be at his journey's end; glad to be off the slow little train, and glad to see again the october woods of the alleghany foothills. to the eastern-bred man, nothing in the grandeur of the prairie landscape can quite meet the craving for the autumn beauty of the eastern forests. the slanting rays of the late afternoon sun fell athwart the radiant foliage of the woods as dr. carey's way led him between the two lines of flaming glory. when he had cleared the creek valley, his pace slackened. something of the old boyhood joy of living, something of the sorrowful-sweet memory, the tender grace of a day that is dead, but will never be forgotten, came with the pensive autumn mood of nature to make the day sweet to the pensive mind. jane aydelot sat on the veranda of the aydelot home, looking eagerly toward cloverdale, when she discovered dr. carey coming leisurely up the road. she was nearly forty years old, as the railroad station loafers had declared, but there was nothing about her to indicate the "old maid, set in her ways." she might have passed for asher's sister, for she had a certain erect bearing and strong resemblance of feature. all single women were called old maids at twenty-five in those days. else this fair-faced woman, with clear gray eyes and pink cheeks, and scarce a hint of white in her abundant brown hair, would not have been considered in the then ridiculed class. there was a mixture of resoluteness and of timidity in the expression of her face betokening a character at once determined of will but shrinking in action. and withal, she was daintily neat and well kept, like her neat and well-kept farm and home. as dr. carey passed up the flower-bordered walk, she arose to greet him. if there was a look of glad expectancy in her eyes, the doctor did not notice it, for the whole setting of the scene was peacefully lovely, and the fresh-cheeked, white-handed woman was a joy to see. some quick remembrance of the brown-handed claimholders' wives crossed his mind at that instant, and like a cruel stab to his memory came unbidden the picture of virginia thaine in her dainty girlishness in the old mansion house of the years now dead. was he to blame that the contrast between asher aydelot's wife, now of kansas, and jane aydelot of ohio should throw the favor toward the latter, that he should forget for the moment what the women of the frontier must sacrifice in the winning of the wilderness? "i am glad to see you again, doctor," jane aydelot said in cordial greeting. "this is a very great pleasure to me, i assure you, miss aydelot," horace carey replied, grasping her hand. inside the house everything was as well appointed as the outside suggested. as the doctor was making himself more presentable after his long journey, he realized that the pretty, old-fashioned bedroom had evidently been a boy's room once, asher aydelot's room. and with a woman's loving sentiment, neither asher's mother nor the present owner had changed it at all. the petals of a pink rose of the wallpaper by the old-styled dresser were written over in a boyish hand and the doctor read the names of "jim and alice," and "asher and nell." "old sweethearts of 'the kerry dancing' days," he thought to himself. from the open window he looked out upon the magnificence of the autumn forests and saw the white pike road leading down to clover creek and the church spires and courthouse tower above the trees. "the heir to all this comfort and beauty gave it up because he didn't want to be a tavern-keeper here, and because he did want a girl--virginia!" horace carey said the name softly. "i know what her jessamine-draped window looked out upon. i hardly realized when i was here before what asher's early home had been. yet those two for love of each other are building their lives into the life of their chosen state. it is the tiller of the soil who must make the west. but how many times in the lonely days in that little sod cabin must they have remembered their childhood homes! how many times when the hot fall winds swept across the dead brown prairie have their memories turned to the beauty of the october days here in the east! oh, well, the heroes weren't all killed at lexington and bunker hill, nor at bull run and gettysburg. some of them got away, and with heroic wives went out to conquer the plains from the harsh rule of nature there." when the doctor went downstairs again, a little girl met him, saying, "miss jane says you may sit in the parlor, or out on the meranda, till supper is ready." "how pleasant! won't you come and sit with me?" doctor carey replied. "i must put the--the lap-robes on the tables to everybody's plate, and the knives and forks and poons. nen i'll come," she answered. carey sat on the veranda enjoying the minutes and waiting for the little girl. "what is your name?" he asked when she appeared, and climbed into miss jane's vacant chair. "leigh shirley. what's yours?" "horace carey." the doctor could not keep from smiling as he looked at her. she was so little and pretty, with yellow hair, big blue eyes, china-doll cheeks, and with all the repose of manner that only childhood and innocence can bestow. "i think i like you, horace," leigh said frankly, after carefully looking carey over. "then, we'll be friends," he declared. "not for so mery long." leigh could not master the v of the alphabet yet. "'cause i'm going away pretty soon, miss jane say. you know my mamma's dead." the little face was very grave now. "and my uncle jim out in kansas wants me. i'm going to him." even in her innocence, doctor carey noted the very definite tone and clear trend of the young mind. "miss jane loves me and i love her," leigh explained further. "don't you love miss jane, horace?" "certainly," carey said, with some hesitancy. "i'll tell her so. she will love you, too. she is mery sweet," leigh assured him. "where are you going to?" "i'm going back to kansas soon." "wim me?" "i should like to. let's go together." leigh slid quickly from the chair and ran inside, where doctor carey heard her clear childish voice saying, "he is going to kansas, too, miss jane. he says he loves you. his name is horace, and he's mery nice. he's not mery pretty, though, but you love him, too, don't you, miss jane?" evidently the child was close to miss jane, for the doctor heard something like a kiss and low words that seemed to send her away on some errand. presently he caught sight of a sunny head and two big blue eyes and a little hand beckoning to him, as leigh peeped around the corner of the house. "miss jane says i mustn't talk too much and mustn't call you horace, but just doctor carey. won't you come with me to get flowers for supper?" the two strolled together into the old flower garden where verbenas and phlox and late asters and early chrysanthemums and a few monthly roses under miss jane's careful covering had weathered the first frosts. leigh knew each plant and shrub, and gave out information freely. "would you rather stay with miss jane?" doctor carey knew he should not ask the question, but it came anyhow. "oh, no, i want to go to my uncle jim." leigh settled the matter once for all. * * * * * that night leigh fell asleep early, for miss jane was methodical with children. then she and doctor carey sat until late by the open wood fire and talked of many things, but first of leigh and her future. "you will miss her, i'm sure," the doctor said. "more than anyone will know," miss jane replied. "but i could not be happy without fulfilling my promise. i wrote you to come soon because each day makes the giving up a little harder for me. but i must know the truth about this uncle jim. i cannot send leigh out of my house to be neglected and unloved. she demands love above all things." the pink color deepened in miss jane's fair cheek as she recalled what leigh had said to doctor carey about loving her. the doctor remembered also, and knew why she blushed. yet blushes, he thought, were becoming to her. "i'll tell you all i know of mr. shirley. we have been friends for many years," he said. then as truthfully as possible he told her of the life and mind of the lonely loving plainsman. when he had finished, miss jane sat awhile in silent thought. "it is right that you should know something of conditions here, doctor," she said at last. "the older shirleys are dead. tank's life hastened the end for them, the cloverdale gossips say. and as i have owned the shirley house for several years, i came to know them well, and i do not think the gossips were far out of the way." "what of tank's life?" doctor carey asked. "i have some personal reasons for asking." miss jane looked up quickly. she was a pretty woman, and a keenly intelligent one as well. to horace carey, she seemed most charming at that moment. "let me tell you of alice first," she said. "you know, of course, that she loved jim. they were just suited to each other. but her mother and tank's mother planned otherwise. alice was submissive. tank was greedy. he wanted the old leigh farm. and envious, for he seemed to hate jim always. it grew to be the passion of his life to want to take whatever jim had. his mother hated jim before he was born. it was his pre-natal heritage, combined with a selfish nature. there was misrepresentation and deception enough to make a plot for a novel; a misunderstanding and brief estrangement, separating jim and alice forever--all managed by tank and his mother, for the farm first, and the downfall of jim second. they took no account of alice, who must be the greatest loser. and after they were married, both mothers-in-law were disappointed, for the leigh farm was heavily incumbered and sold by the sheriff the same fall, and the shirley house fell into uncle francis aydelot's hands in about the same way. love of property can be the root of much misery." miss jane paused, for the story brought bitterness to her kindly soul. "it is ended now," horace carey said gently. "it is well that it is, i am sure." "yes, alice rests now beside her two little ones who went before her. she had no sorrow in going, except for leigh. and"-- "and you lifted that, i know." doctor carey finished the sentence. "i tried to," miss jane said, struggling between timidity and truthfulness. "i made her last hours peaceful, for she knew leigh would be cared for and safe. i saw to that. tank shirley is bound to a surrender of all legal claim to her. it was left to jim to take her, if he chose. if not, she belongs to me. she is a strange child, wise beyond her years, with a sort of power already for not telling all she knows. you can rely on her in almost anything. she will make a strong woman some day." doctor carey read the loving sacrifice back of the words, and his heart warmed toward this sweet-spirited, childless woman. "jim wants her, else i could not have come," he said gently, "but you can come to grass river to see her sometimes." "oh, no, it is so far," jane aydelot said, and carey realized in how small an orbit her life revolved. "but she does good in it. what does distance count, against that?" he thought to himself. aloud he said: "tell me of tank, miss aydelot." "he has run his course here, but he is shrewd enough to escape the law. his parents mortgaged the shirley house to get money to keep his doings quiet. my uncle francis foreclosed on them at last. but by jim's abrupt leaving, cloverdale blamed him for a long time for the family misfortunes. tank broke every moral law; he invested his money wildly in his greed to make more money, until finally the bank failure came. that is a long story, and it was a dead loss. but the cashier's suicide stopped investigation. all blame was laid on him. and he, being dead, made no complaint and incriminated nobody." "where is tank now?" carey asked. he did not know why the image of thomas smith of wilmington, delaware, should come unbidden to his mind just now, nor why he should feel that the answer to his question held only a portion of what could have been told him then. "nobody knows exactly where," jane aydelot replied. "he left his wife penniless. she lived here with me and died here. tank hasn't been seen in cloverdale for a long time. it is strange how family ties get warped sometimes. and oftenest over property." doctor carey thought of asher, and was silent. but jane aydelot divined his thought. "i am thinking of our own family," she said, looking into the heart of the wood fire. "i have my cousin asher's heritage, which by law now neither he nor any child of his can receive from me." "miss aydelot, he doesn't want it. and there is no prejudice in him against you at all. moreover, if his dreams come true, little thaine aydelot will never need it." there was a sternness in carey's voice that pained his hostess. "but, doctor carey!" she began hesitatingly. then, as if to change the trend of thought, she added simply, "i try to use it well." horace carey was by nature and experience a keen reader of human minds. as jane aydelot studied the burning coals in the grate, he studied her face, and what he read there gave him both pleasure and pain. between him and that face came the image of virginia aydelot, who should be there instead; of the brown-handed farmer's wife, who had given up so much for the west. and yet, that face, framed in its dark hair, lighted by luminous dark eyes, seemed to blot out the dainty pink and white jane aydelot. a strength of will, a view of life at wide angles of vision, a resourcefulness and power of sacrifice seemed to deify the plainly clad prairie home-maker, winning, not inheriting, her possessions. had jane been anywhere else save in the home that virginia might have had, her future might have had another story. but why forecast the might-have-been? "you do use your property well, i am sure," doctor carey said, replying to the last words spoken between them, "and yet, you would give it up?" he knew her answer, or he would not have asked the question. for reply, she rose and went to the little writing desk where the aydelot papers were kept. taking therefrom two documents, she placed them in carey's hands. "read these," she said, "then promise me that in the hour when leigh needs my help you will let me help her." they were the will of francis aydelot and her own will. how much of sacrifice lay in that act of hers, only horace carey could understand. [illustration: "read these," she said, "then promise me that in the hour when leigh needs my help you will let me help her"] "i promise gladly, miss aydelot. i see why you are willing to give up little leigh now," he said, looking up with eyes filled with sincerest admiration. "you are a wonderful woman. you have the same aydelot heritage of endurance and patience and the large view of duty that characterizes your cousin asher. your setting is different. i hope the time may come soon when ohio and kansas will not be so far apart as they are tonight." he rose and took her hand in his. if doctor carey's magnetism made men admire him, it was no less an attractive force with women. as he looked into jane aydelot's gray eyes, he saw a new light there. and swiftly its meaning translated itself to him. he dropped her hand and turned away, and when their eyes met again, the light was gone. * * * * * it was still indian-summer weather on the prairie when doctor carey with little leigh shirley reached careyville. he had a feeling that jim would prefer meeting leigh in his own home, so no word had been sent forward as to the time of the coming of the two. all through the journey, the doctor had wondered how jane aydelot could have given leigh up at all. she was such a happy prattler, such an honest, straightforward little body, such an innocent child, and, withal, so loving that carey lost his own heart before the first half day was ended. in her little gray wool gown and her gray cap with its scarlet quill above her golden hair, she was as dainty and pretty as a picture of childhood could be. down on the grass river trail, the two came upon thaine aydelot trudging in from some errand to a distant neighbor, and the doctor hailed him at once. "come, ride with us. we'll take you home," he said, turning the wheel for thaine's convenience. "this is leigh shirley, who is coming to live with her uncle, jim. you'll like to go to the cloverdale ranch more than ever now." thaine was only a little country boy, unused to conventionalities, so he took leigh on her face value at once. and leigh, honest as she was innocent, returned the compliment. at the sunflower ranch, carey drew rein to let thaine leave them. leigh, putting both arms about the little boy's neck, kissed him good-by, saying: "i have known you always because you are the thaine"--she caught her breath, and added: "you must come to my uncle jim's and see me." "i will, i will," thaine assured her. doctor carey looked back to wave good-by just in time to see virginia aydelot coming toward thaine, who stood watching the buggy. instantly the pretty face of jane aydelot came to his mind, her face as she had looked on the night when they sat by the wood fire in the aydelot farmhouse. against that picture stood the reality of virginia with her richer coloring. "nor storm nor stress can rob her of her beauty," he thought. "however sweet and self-sacrificing jane aydelot may be, the plains would have broken her long ago." he turned about at once and came back to where thaine stood beside his mother. "this is jim shirley's little girl, mrs. aydelot," he said, gently patting leigh's shoulder. "that's my wife," little thaine said gravely. "we will go and live at the purple notches when i come home from the war." virginia's heart warmed toward the motherless little one, and leigh understood her at once. nor once in all the years that followed did the two fail each other. the cloverdale homestead never had known such a gala fixing as jim shirley had kept there for nearly a week awaiting the doctor's return. truly, love is genius in itself, and only genius could have put so many quaint and attractive touches to such common surroundings as now embellished the little four-roomed house in the bend of grass river. doctor carey tied his horses to the post beside the trail, and, lifting leigh from the buggy, he said: "uncle jim is up there waiting for you, and oh, so glad, so glad to have you come. go and meet him, leigh." leigh smoothed her little gray wool frock down with her dainty little hands. then, pushing back the gray cap with its scarlet quill from her forehead where the golden hair fell in soft rings, she passed up the grassy way to meet jim shirley. he could never have looked bigger and handsomer than he did at that moment. in his eyes all the heart hunger of years seemed centered as he watched the little six-year-old child coming towards him. just before reaching the doorway, she paused, and with that clear penetration only a little child possesses, she looked up into the strong man's face. "uncle jim. my uncle jim," she cried. "i can love you always." jim gathered her close in his arms, and she clung about his neck, softly patting his brown cheek as they passed into the house. while all unseen, the light of love went in with them, a light that should never fade from the hearthstone, driving loneliness and sorrow from it, far away. leigh shirley's coming marked an epoch in the annals of the grass river settlement, for her uncle often declared that he could remember only two events in the west before that time: the coming of mrs. aydelot and the grasshopper raid. with leigh in his home, he almost forgot that he had ever been sad-hearted. this loving little child was such a constant source of interest and surprise. she was so innocently plain-spoken and self-dependent sometimes, and such a strange little dreamer of dreams at other times. she would drive a shrewd bargain for whatever she wanted--some more of uncle jim's good cookies, or a ride all alone on the biggest pony, or a two-days' visit at the aydelot ranch, scrupulously rendering back value received of her own wares--kisses, or washing all the supper dishes for her tired uncle, or staying away from her play to watch that the chickens did not scratch in the garden. but there were times when she would go alone to the bend in the river and people her world with folk of her own creation and live with them and for them. chief among them all was a certain prince quippi, who would come from china some day to marry her and take her away to a house made of purple velvet and adorned with gold knobs. she had to send a letter to prince quippi every day or he would think she did not love him. of course, she loved uncle jim best of what she called folks--but prince quippi was big and brown and handsome; and, strangely enough, the only kind of letter he could read from her was in a flower. so leigh dropped a flower on the waters of grass river every day to float away to china telling her love to prince quippi. and oftenest it was the tawny sunflower, because it was big and strong and could tell a big love story. thus she dreamed her happy dreams until one day thaine aydelot, listening to her, said: "why my papa sent my mamma a sunflower once, and made her love him very much. i'll be your real prince quippi--not a--a paper-doll, thinkish one, and come after you." "clear from china?" leigh queried. "yes, when i'm a big soldier like my papa, and we'll go off to the purple notches and live." "you don't look like my prince quippi," leigh insisted. "but i can grow to look like _any_ thing i want to--like a big elephant or a hippopopamus or a--angel, or _any_ _thing_," thaine assured her. "well, escuse me from any of the free--a angel or a elephant. i don't know what the poppy one is, but it's too poppy," leigh said decisively. there were others in the grass river settlement who would have envied the mythical prince quippi also. for even at six years of age leigh had the same quality that marked her uncle. people must love her if they cared for her at all; and they couldn't help caring for her. she fitted into the life of the prairie, too, as naturally as thaine aydelot did, who was born to it. the baby gold was soon lost from her hair for the brown-gold like the shimmering sunlight on the brown prairie. the baby blue eyes deepened to the deep violet-blue of overhead skies in june. the pretty pink and white complexion, however, did not grow brown under the kisses of the prairie winds. the delicate china-doll tinting went with other baby features, but, save for the few little brown freckles in midsummer, leigh shirley kept year after year the clear complexion with the peach blossom pink on her cheeks that only rarely the young girls of the dry western plains possessed in those days of shadeless homes. thaine aydelot looked like a gypsy beside her, he was so brown, and his big dark eyes and heavy mane of dark hair, and ruddy cheeks made the contrast striking. from the first day of their meeting, the children were playmates and companions as often as opportunity offered. they sat together in the grass river sabbath school; they exchanged days on days of visits, and the first sorrow of their hitherto unclouded lives came when they found that leigh was too far away to attend the week-day school. settlers were filling up the valley rapidly, but they all wanted ranches, and ranches do not make close neighbors. land-lust sometimes overshadows the divine rights of children. and the lower part of the settlement was not yet equal to the support of a school of its own. the two families still kept the custom of spending their sabbaths together. and one sabbath thaine showed leigh the books and slate and sponge and pencils he was to take to school the next week. leigh, who had been pleased with all of them, turned to her guardian, saying gravely: "uncle jim, can i go to school wif thaine?" "you must meet that question every day now, jim," asher said. "why not answer it and be rid of it?" "how can i answer it?" jim queried. "virgie, help us with this educational problem of the state," asher turned to his wife. "women are especially resourceful in these things, jim. i hope kansas will fully recognize the fact some day." "who is kansas?" virginia asked with a smile. "oh, all of us men who depend so much on some woman's brain every day of our lives," jim assured her. "tell me, what to do for my little girl. mrs. bennington and some of the other neighbors say i should send her east for her sake--" "and for both of your sakes, jim, i say, no," virginia broke in. "the way must open for all of our children here. it always has for everything else, you know." "thaine can walk the two miles. he's made of iron, anyhow. but leigh can't make the five miles 'up stream,'" asher declared. "jim," virginia aydelot said gravely, "pryor gaines will be our teacher for many years, we hope, but he is hardly equal to tilling his ground now. john jacobs holds the mortgage on his claim still that he put there after the grasshopper loan, which he could not pay. life is an uphill pull for him, and he bears his burdens so cheerfully. i believe mr. jacobs would take the claim and pay him the equity. we all know how unlike a shylock john jacobs really is, even if he is getting rich fast. now, jim, why not take pryor into your home and let him drive up to the school with leigh and the other little folks down your way. we can pay him better wages and he will have a real home, not a lonely cabin by himself, and you will be fortunate in having such a man in your household." "just the thing, virginia," jim declared. "why haven't we done it before? he always says i'm his heart and he's my lungs. we might stack up to a one-man power. old bachelors should be segregated, anyhow, out here. the west needs more families. and think what pryor gaines' cultivated mind will mean to a little artist soul like leigh shirley's. glorious!" "well, virgie, if you will also segregate john jacobs and dr. carey, we'll settle the bachelors once for all. a quartette of royal good fellows, too, state-makers who really make. they ought to be in the legislature, but carey and pryor are democrats and jim and jacobs are republican. they balance too well for the interests of any party. anyhow, if pryor agrees, the school problem is fixed," asher asserted. pryor gaines did agree, to the welfare of many children, who remember him still with that deep-seated affection of student for teacher unlike any other form of human devotion. but especially did this cultured man put into leigh shirley's life a refining artistic power that stood her well in the years to come. chapter xi lights and shadows they saw not the shadow that walked beside, they heard not the feet with silence shod. --whittier. with successive seasons of good crops, combining with the time of the crest between two eras of financial depression, and with eastern capital easy to reach, a mania of speculation known as "the boom" burst forth; a mania that swept men's minds as prairie fires sweep along the wide lengths of the plains, changing both the face of the land and the fortunes of the land owners, and marking an epoch in the story of the west. new counties were organized out of the still unoccupied frontier. thousands of citizens poured into these counties. scores of towns were chartered and hundreds of miles of railroad were constructed. colleges and universities sprouted up from the virgin soil of the prairie. loans on real estate were easy to secure. land, especially in town lots, took on an enormously inflated valuation and the rapid investment in real estate and the rapid transference from buyer to seller was bewildering, while voting bonds for extensive and extravagant improvements in cities-to-be was not the least phase of this brief mania of the fortune-making, fortune-breaking "boom." when hans wyker had seen his own town wane as careyville waxed, he consigned the newer community, and all that it was, to all the purgatories ever organized and some yet to be created. wykerton was at a standstill now. the big brewery had become a flouring mill, but it was idle most of the time. the windows served as targets for the sons of the men who consumed its brewing product in other days, and the whole structure had a disconsolate, dismantled appearance. there was neither a schoolhouse nor a church inside the corporation limits. the land along big wolf was not like the rich prairies west of it, and freeholds entered first with hopes in wykerton's prosperity had proved disappointing, if not disastrous, to their owners. the rough ground, mortgaged now, and by the decline of the town, decreased in value, began to fall into the hands of john jacobs, who made no effort at settlement, but turned it to grazing purposes. his holdings joined the property foreclosed by wyker when his town failed, but inhabited still by tenants too poor to leave it. the boundary line between wyker and jacobs was the same ugly little creek that doctor carey had turned his course to avoid on that winter day when he had seen virginia aydelot's distress signal and heard her singing a plaintive plea for help. it was an ugly little stream, with much mire and some quicksand to be avoided; with deep earth-canyons and sliding avalanches of dirt on steep slopes, and now and then a stone outcrop jagged and difficult, not to say dangerous, to footways, and impossible to stock. it was called little wolf because it was narrower than the willow-fringed stream into which it emptied. but big wolf creek could rarely boast of half the volume of water that the sluggish little tributary held. big wolf was shallow, with more shale and sand along its bed. little wolf was narrow and deceivingly deep in places. one spring day, john jacobs and asher aydelot rode out to jacobs' ranches together. "you are improving your stock every year, stewart tells me," asher was saying. "i may try sheep myself next year." "i am hoping to have only thoroughbreds some day. that's a good horse you ride," jacobs replied. "yes, he has a strain of kentucky blue-blood. my wife owned a thoroughbred when we came west. we keep the descent still. we've never been without a black horse in the stable since that time. do we turn here?" they were following the lower trail by the willows, when jacobs turned abruptly to a rough roadway leading up a shadowy hollow. "yes. it's an ugly climb, but much shorter to the sheep range and the cattle are near." "how much land have you here, jacobs?" asher asked. "from little wolf to the corporation line of wykerton. five hundred acres, more or less; all fenced, too," jacobs added. "this creek divides wyker's ground from mine. all the rest is measured by links and chains. we agreed to metes and bounds for this because it averages the same, anyhow, and i'd like a stream between wyker and myself in addition to a barbed wire fence. it gives more space, at least." they had followed the rough way only a short distance when asher, who was nearest the creek, halted. the bank was steep and several feet above the water. "does anybody else keep sheep around here?" he inquired. "not here," john jacobs answered. "look over there. isn't that a sheep?" asher pointed to a carcass lying half out of the water on a pile of drift where the stream was narrow, but too deep for fording. "maybe some dog killed it and the carcass got into the creek. my sheep can't get to the water because my pasture is fenced. that's on wyker's side, anyhow. i won't risk fording to get over there. it's as dead right now as it will ever be," jacobs asserted. their trail grew narrower and more secluded, winding up a steep hill between high banks. half way up, where the road made a sharp turn, a break in the side next to the creek opened a rough way down to the water. as they neared this, a woman coming down the hill caught sight of the two horsemen around the bend, and made a swift movement toward this opening in the bank, as if to clamber down from their sight. she was not quick enough, however, and when she found she had been seen, she waited by the roadside until the men had passed on. asher, who was next to her, looked keenly at her as he bade her good morning, but john jacobs merely lifted his hat without giving her more than a glance. the woman stared at both, but made no response to their greetings. she was plainly dressed, with a black scarf tied over her tow-colored hair. she had a short club in one hand and a big battered tin can in the other, which she seemed anxious to conceal. when the men had passed, she looked after them with an ugly expression of malice in her little pale gray eyes. "that's a bad face," asher said, when they were out of her hearing. "i wonder why she tried to hide that old salt can." "how do you know it was a salt can?" jacobs asked. "because it is exactly like a salt can i saw at pryor gaines' old cabin, and because some salt fell out as she tipped it over," asher replied. "you have an eye for details," jacobs returned. "that was gretchen gimpke, hans wyker's girl. she married his bartender, and is raising a family of little bartenders back in the hilly country there, while gimpke helps hans run a perfectly respectable tavern in town." "well, i may misjudge her, but if i had any interest near here, i should want her to keep on her own side of the creek," asher declared. and somehow both remembered the dead sheep down in the deep pool at the foot of the hill. the live sheep were crowding along the fence on the creek side of the big range when the two men entered it. "what ails the flock?" asher asked, as they saw it following the fence line eagerly. "let's ride across and meet them," jacobs suggested. the creek side was rough with many little dips and draws hiding the boundary line in places. the men rode quietly toward the flock by the shortest way. as they faced a hollow deepening to a draw toward the creek, asher suddenly halted. "look at that!" he cried, pointing toward the fence. john jacobs looked and saw where the ground was lowest that the barbed wires had been dragged out of place, leaving an opening big enough for two or more sheep to crowd through at a time. as they neared this point, asher said: "it's a pretty clear case, jacobs. see that line of salt running up the bare ground, and here is an opening. the flock is coming down on that line. they will have a chance to drink after taking their salt." john jacobs slid from his horse, and giving the rein to asher, he climbed through the hole in the fence and hastily examined the ground beyond it. "it's a friendly act on somebody's part," he said grimly. "the creek cuts a deep hole under the bank here. there's a pile of salt right at the edge. somebody has sprinkled a line of it clear over the hill to toll the flock out where they will scramble for it and tumble over into that deep water. all they need to do is to swim down to the next shallow place and wade out. the pool may be full of them now, waiting their turn to go. sheep are polite in deep water; they never rush ahead." "they swim well, too, especially if they happen to fall into the water just before shearing time when their wool is long," asher said ironically. "what did you say gretchen gimpke had in that tin can?" jacobs inquired blandly. "oil of sassafras, i think," asher responded, as he tied the horses and helped to mend the weakened fence. "nobody prospers long after such tricks. i'll not lose sleep over lost sheep," john jacobs declared. "let's hunt up the cattle and forget this, and the woman and the scary little twist in the creek trail." [illustration: "it's a friendly act on somebody's part." he said grimly] "why scary?" asher asked. "are you so afraid of women? no wonder you are a bachelor." jacobs did not smile as he said: "once when i was a child i read a story of a man being killed at just such an out-of-the-way place. every time i go up that crooked, lonesome hill road, i remember the picture in the book. it always makes me think of that story." when the fence was made secure, the two rode away to look after the cattle. and if a shadow rode beside them, it was mercifully unseen, and in nowise dimming to the clear light of the spring day. it was high noon when they reached wykerton, where hans wyker still fed the traveling public, although the flourishing hotel where virginia aydelot first met john jacobs had disappeared. the eating-place behind the general store room was divided into two parts, a blind partition wall cutting off a narrow section across the farther end. ordinary diners went through the store into the dining room and were supplied from the long kitchen running parallel with this room. there were some guests, however, who entered the farther room by a rear door and were likewise supplied from the kitchen on the side. but as there was no opening between the two rooms, many who ate at wyker's never knew of the narrow room beyond their own eating-place and of the two entrances into the kitchen covering the side of each room. of course, the prime reason for such an arrangement lay in wyker's willingness to evade the law and supply customers with contraband drinks. but the infraction of one law is a breach in the wall through which many lawless elements may crowd. the place became, by natural selection, the council chamber of the lawless, and many an evil deed was plotted therein. "how would you like to keep a store in a place like this, jacobs?" asher aydelot asked, as the two men waited for their meal. "i had the chance once. i turned it down. how would you like to keep a tavern in such a place?" jacobs returned. "i turned down a bigger tavern than this once to be a farmer. i have never regretted it," asher replied. "the sunflower ranch has always interested me. how long have you had it?" jacobs asked. "since . i was the first man on grass river. shirley came soon afterward," asher said. "and your ranches are typical of you, too," john jacobs said thoughtfully. "how much do you own now?" "six quarters," asher replied. "i've added piece by piece. mortgaged one quarter to buy another. there's a good deal of it under mortgage now." "you seem to know what's ahead pretty well," jacobs remarked. "i know what's in the prairie soil pretty well. i know that crops will fail sometimes and boom sometimes, and i know if i live i mean to own three times what i have now; that i'll have a grove a mile square on it, and a lake in the middle, and a farmhouse of colonial style up on the swell where we are living now and that neither john jacobs nor the first national bank of careyville will hold any mortgage on it." asher's face was bright with anticipation. "you are a dreamer, aydelot." "no, jim shirley's a dreamer," asher insisted. "mrs. aydelot and i planned our home the first night she came a bride to our little one-roomed soddy. there are cottonwoods and elms and locust trees shading our house now where there was only a bunch of sunflowers then, and except for jim's little corn patch and mine, not a furrow turned in the grass river valley. we have accomplished something since then. why not the whole thing?" "you have reason for your faith, i admit. but you are right, shirley is a dreamer. what's the matter with him?" "an artistic temperament, more heart than head, a neglected home life in his boyhood, and a fight for health to do his work. he'll die mortgaged, but he has helped so many other fellows to lift theirs, i envy jim's 'abundant entrance' by and by. but now he dreams of a thousand things and realizes none. poor fellow! his dooryard is a picture, while the weeds sometimes choke his garden." "yes, he'll die mortgaged. he's never paid me interest nor principal on my little loan, yet i'd increase it tomorrow if he asked me to do it," john jacobs declared. "you are a blood-sucking shylock, sure enough," asher said with a smile. "i wish jim would take advantage of you and quit his talking about the boom and his dreams of what it might do for him." "how soon will you be platting your sunflower ranch into town lots for the new town that i hear is to be started down your way?" john jacobs inquired. "town lots do not appeal to me, jacobs," asher replied. "i'm a slow-growing buckeye, i'll admit, but i can't see anything but mushrooms in these towns out west where there is no farming community about them. i've waited and worked a good while; i'm willing to work and wait a while longer. some of my dreams have come true. i'll hold to my first position, even if i don't get rich so fast." "you are level-headed," jacobs assured him. "you notice i have not turned an acre in on this boom. why? i'm a citizen of kansas. and while i like to increase my property, you know my sect bears that reputation--"jacobs never blushed for his jewish origin--"i want to keep on living somewhere. why not here? why do the other fellows out of their goods, as we jews are always accused of doing, if it leaves me no customer to buy? i want farmers around my town, not speculators who work a field from hand to hand, but leave it vacant at last. it makes your merchant rich today but bankrupt in a dead town tomorrow. i'm a merchant by calling." "horace greeley said thirty years ago that the twin curses of kansas were the land agent and the one-horse politician," asher observed. "you are a grub, aydelot. you have no ambition at all. why, i've heard your name mentioned favorably several times for the legislature next winter," jacobs insisted jokingly. "which reminds me of that rhyme of hosea bigelow: if you're arter folks o' gumption you've a darned long row to hoe. "i'm not an office seeker," asher replied. "do i understand you won't sell lots off that ranch of yours to start a new town, and you won't run for the legislature when you're dead sure to be elected. may i ask how you propose to put in the fall after wheat harvest?" jacobs asked, with a twinkle in his black eyes. "i propose to break ground for wheat again, and to experiment with alfalfa, the new hay product, and to take care of that aydelot grove and build the aydelot lake in the middle of it. and i'll be supplying the wheat market and banking checks for hay one of these years when your town starters will be hunting clerkships in your dry goods emporium, and your farmers, who imagine themselves each a cincinnatus called to office, will be asking for appointment as deputy county assessor or courthouse custodian. few things can so unfit a kansas fellow for the real business of life as a term in the lower house of the kansas legislature. if you are a merchant, i'm a farmer, and we will both be booming the state when these present-day boomers are gone back east to wife's folks, blaming kansas for their hard luck. now, mark my words. but to change the subject," asher said smiling, "i thought we should have company for dinner. i saw darley champers and another fellow head in here before us. darley is in clover now, planning to charter a town for every other section on grass river. did you know the man who was with him?" "that's one fly-by-night calling himself thomas smith. innocent name and easy to lose if you don't want it. not like gimpke or aydelot, now. he's from wilmington, delaware--maybe." "you seem to doubt his genuineness," asher remarked. "i don't believe he will assay well," jacobs agreed. "i've doubted him since the day he landed in carey's crossing fifteen years ago. inside of an hour and a half i caught him and champers in a consultation so secret they fastened newspapers across the window to keep from being seen." "where were you meanwhile?" "up on the roof, fixing the sign the wind had blown loose. when they saw me through the uncovered upper pane, they shaded that, too. i've little interest in a man like that." "does he come here often?" asher inquired. "he's here and away, but he never sets foot in careyville. my guess is that he's a part of the 'co.' of 'champers and co.' and that hans wyker is the rest of it. also that in what they can get by fair means, each of the trio reserves the right to act alone and independently of the other two, but when it comes to a cut-throat game, they combine as readily as hydrogen and sulphur and oxygen; and, combined, they have the same effect on a proposition that sulphuric acid has on litmus paper. but this is all only a jew's guess, of course. for myself, i have business with only one of the three, wyker. he doesn't like my sheep, evidently, because he knows i keep track of his whisky selling in this town and keep the law forever hanging over him. but i've sworn under high heaven to fight that curse to humanity wherever i find it threatening, and under high heaven i'll do it, too." jacobs' face was the face of a resolute man with whom law was law. then the two talked of other things as they finished their meal. john jacobs was city bred, a merchant by instinct, a jew in religion, and a strictly honest and exacting business man. asher aydelot had been a country boy and was by choice a farmer. he was a protestant of the methodist persuasion. it must have been his business integrity that first attracted jacobs to him. jacobs was a timid man, and no one else in kansas, not even doctor carey, understood him or appreciated him quite as keenly as asher aydelot did. chapter xii the fat years "the lean years have passed, and i approve of these fat ones." "be careful, old man. that way lies bad work." --_the light that failed._ john jacobs little realized how true was his estimate of the firm of "champers & co." nor did he suspect that at this very minute the firm was in council in the small room beyond the partition wall--the "blind tiger" of the wyker eating-house. "i tell you it's our chance," darley champers was declaring emphatically. "you mustn't hold back your capital now. this firm isn't organized to promote health nor sunday schools nor some other fellow's fortune. we are together for yours truly, every one of us. if you two have some other games back of your own pocketbooks, they don't cut any against this common purpose. i'm for business for darley champers. that's why i'm here. i've got no love for doc carey, ruling men's minds like they was all putty, and him a putty knife to shape 'em finer yet. and another fellow i'd like to put down so hard he'll never get over it is that straight-up-and-down farmer, asher aydelot of the sunflower ranch, who walks like a military captain, and works like a hired man, and is so danged independent he don't give a damn for no man's opinion of him. if it hadn't been for him we'd a had the whole grass river valley now to speculate on. i'm something of a danged fool, but i knowed this boom was comin'. i felt it in my craw." "so you always said, champers," thomas smith broke in, "but it's been a century coming. and look at the capital i've sunk. if you'd worked that deal through, time of the drouth in seventy-four, we'd be in clover and no careyville and no aydelots in the way. i could have saved asher's little bank stock then, too." "you could?" darley champers stared at the speaker. "yes, if he'd given up right that first trip of yours down there. when he refused i knew his breed too well. he's as set and slow and stubborn as his old dad ever was. that's what ailed those two, they were too near alike; and you'll never catch asher aydelot bending to our plans now. i warn you." "well, but about this bank account?" champers queried. "oh, the fates played the devil with everything in two weeks. doc carey got in with miss jane aydelot down at philadelphia, and she came straight to cloverdale, and, womanlike, made things so hot there i had to let loose of everything at once or lose everything i had saved for myself. serves her right, for asher's pile went into the dump, although there's naturally no love lost between the two. but this miss jane is aydelot clear through. she's so honest and darned set you can't budge her. but she's a timid woman and so she's safe if you keep out of her range. she won't chase you far, but she's got fourteen rattles and a button." "well, well, let her rattle, and get to pusiness," hans wyker demanded. "here's champers says he's here yust for pusiness and he wants to get aydelot and carey, too." "gentlemen!" champers struck the table with his fist. "let's play fair now, so's not to spoil each other's games. i'll fix aydelot if it's in me to do it, just because he's stood in my way once too often. but he's my side line, him and carey is. i'm here for business. tell me what you are here for." hans wyker's little eyes were red with pent-up anger and malice as he burst out: "shentlemen, you know my hart luck. you see where i be today. i not repeat no tiresome history here. kansas yust boomin'! wykerton dead! yon yacob own all der groun' right oop to der corporation line on tree side, an' he not sell one inch for attitions to dis town. he say dere notings to keep town goin' in two, tree year. what we care? we be rich by den an' let it go to der devil. but he not sell. den i go mit you and we organize town company. we mark townsite, we make grass river sell to us. we boom! boom! boom! we knock careyville from de prairie alretty, mak' yon yacob go back to cincinnati where he belong mit his chews. he damned queer chew, but he chew all de same all right, all right. i want to down yon yacob, an' i do it if it take tree hundred fifty years. i'll kill him if he get in my way. i hate him. he run me off my saloon in ol' carey crossin'; my prewery goin' smash mit der damned prohibittery law; he growin' rich in careyville, an' me!" his voice rose to a shriek and he stamped his foot in rage. "hold your noise, wyker!" champers growled. "don't you know who's on the other side of that partition?" "i built that partition mineself. it's von dead noise-breaker," wyker began. but champers broke in: "it's your turn, smith." dr. carey had described smith once as rather small, with close-set dark eyes and a stiff, half-paralyzed right arm and wrist, a man who wrote in a cramped left-handed style. there was a crooked little scar cutting across his forehead now above the left eye that promised to stay there for life. he had a way of evading a direct gaze, suggesting timidity. and when hans wyker had threatened to kill john jacobs he shivered a little, and for the instant a gray pallor crept across his face, unnoted by his companions. "we propose to start a town in the grass river country that will kill careyville. we two put up the capital. you do the buying and selling. we'll handle real estate lively for a few months. we'll advertise till we fill the place with buyers, and we'll make our pile right there and then--and it's all to be done by darley champers & co. we two are not to be in the open in the game at all." thomas smith spoke deliberately. there seemed to be none of champers' bluster nor wyker's malice in the third part of the company, or else he was better schooled in self-control. "you have it exactly," champers declared. "the first thing is to take in fellows like jim shirley and cyrus bennington and todd stewart, and aydelot, if we can." "yes, if we can, but we can't," thomas smith insisted. "and having got the land, with or without their knowing why, we boom her to destruction. but to be fair, now, why do you want to keep yourself in hiding, and who's the fellow you want to kill?" darley champers said with a laugh. "i may as well let you know now why i can't be known in this," thomas smith said smoothly, even if the same gray hue did flit like a shadow a second time across his countenance--a thing that did not escape the shrewd eye of darley champers this time. "wyker is pitted against jacobs. you are after asher aydelot's scalp, if you can get it. i must get jim shirley, fair or foul." smith's low voice was full of menace, boding more trouble to his man than the bluster and threat of the other two could compass. "i paid you well, darley champers, for all information concerning jim when i came here fifteen years ago. i was acting under orders, and as jim would have known me then i had to keep out of sight a little." "vell, and vot has shirley ever done mit you that you so down on him?" hans wyker asked. the smooth mask did not drop from smith's face, save that the small dark eyes burned with an intense glow. "i tell you i was acting under orders from shirley's brother tank in cloverdale, ohio. and if dr. carey hadn't been so blamed quick i'd have gotten a letter mrs. tank shirley had written to jim the very day i got to carey's crossing. no brother ever endured more from the hands of a relative than tank shirley endured from jim. in every way jim tried to defraud him of his rights; tried to prejudice their own father against him; tried to rob him of the girl, a rich girl, too, that he married in spite of jim--and at last contrived to prejudice his wife against him, and with jane aydelot interfering all the time, like the old maid that she is, managed to get tank shirley's only child away from him and given legally to jim. do you wonder tank hates his brother? you wouldn't if i dared to tell you all of jim's cussedness, but some things i'm sworn to secrecy on. that's tank's streak of kindness he can't overcome. gets it from his mother. i'm his agent, and i'm paid for my work. you both understand me, i reckon." "we unterstant, an' we stay py you to der ent," hans wyker exclaimed enthusiastically. but darley champers had a different mind. "i'll watch you, my man, and i'll do business with you accordin'," he said to himself. "devil knows whether you are thomas smith workin' for tank shirley, or tank shirley workin' for hisself under a assoomed name. long as i get your capital to push my business i don't care who you are." aloud he remarked: "so that's how jim shirley got that little girl. she's a comely youngun, anyhow. but smith, since you are only an agent and nobody knows it but us, why keep yourself so secret? where's the harm in letting shirley lay eyes on you? why not come out into the open? how'll shirley know you from the mayor of wilmington, delaware, anyhow?" thomas smith's face was ashy and his voice was hoarse with anger as he replied: "because i'm not now from wilmington, delaware, any more than i ever was. i'm from cloverdale, ohio. you know, wyker, how i lost money in your brewery, investing in machinery and starting the thing, only to go to smash on us." he turned on hans fiercely. "and you know how i lost by you in this town and the land around it. it was my money took up all this ground to help build up wykerton and you, as my agent, sold every acre of it to jacobs." this as fiercely as darley champers. both men nodded and darley broke in: "i was honest. i thought jacobs was gettin' it to boom wykerton with, or i'd never sold. and him bein' right here was a danged sight easier'n havin' some man in wilmington, delaware, to write to. that's why i let him in on three sides, appealin' to his pride." but thomas smith stopped him abruptly. "hold on! you need money to push your schemes now. and i'm the one who does the financing for you." both men agreed. "then it's death to either of you if you ever tell a word of this. you understand that? i'm not to be known here because i'm a dead man. i'm the cashier that was mixed up in the cloverdale bank affair. and, as i say, if jane aydelot had let things alone tank shirley and i could have pulled out honorably, but, womanlike, because she had a lot of bank stock and was the biggest loser of anybody, in her own mind, she pushed things where a man would not have noticed or kept still, and she kept pushing year after year. damn a woman, anyhow! all i could do at last was to commit suicide. tank planned it. it saved me and helped tank. you see, miss jane had a line around his neck, too. she was the only one who really saw me go down and she spread the report that i'd committed suicide on account of the bank failure. so, gentlemen, i'm really drowned in clover creek right above where the railroad grade that cuts the aydelot farm reaches the water." darley champers wondered why thomas smith was so particular in his description. "i've known jim shirley all my life. he was as bad a boy as ever left cloverdale, ohio, under a cloud. got into trouble over some girl, i believe, finally. but you can see why i'm out of this game when it comes to the open. and maybe you could understand, if you knew the brothers as well as i do, why tank keeps me after him. and i'll get him yet." the vengeance of the last words was venomous. "well, now we understand each other we'll not be tramping on anybody's corns," darley champers urged, anxious to get away from the subject. with all of his shortcomings he was a man of different mould from the other men. eagerness to represent and invest large capital and to make by far the best of a bargain by any means just inside the law were his besetments. but he had not the unremitting hatred that enslaved thomas smith and hans wyker. champers' store of energy seemed exhaustless. following this council he fell upon the grass river valley and threshed it to his profit. one mid-june evening the grass river schoolhouse was lighted early, while up from the prairie ranches came the work-worn farmers. this year the crop outlook was bad, yet somehow an expectant spirit lifted sagging shoulders and looked out through hopeful eyes. while the men exchanged neighborly greetings, a group of children, the second generation in the valley, romped about in the twilight outside. "here comes thaine," they shouted as asher aydelot and his boy came down the trail. "come on, thaine," leigh shirley said, reaching for his hand. "we are going to play drop the handkerchief." "thaine's going to stand by me," pretty jo bennington declared, pushing leigh boisterously aside. josephine, the week-old baby mrs. aydelot had gone to see one day nine years ago, had grown into a big, black-eyed, rosy-cheeked girl who lorded it over every other child in the neighborhood. and every other child submitted except leigh shirley, who had a quiet habit of going straight ahead about her affairs in a way that vexed the pretty jo not a little. from the first coming of leigh among the children jo had resented her independence. but, young as they all were, she objected most to thaine aydelot's claiming leigh as his playmate. thaine was jo's idol from earliest memory. "what's the row here?" todd stewart, junior, broke in. "you mustn't fuss or you'll all have to go in and listen to darley champers and i'll play out here by myself." todd was a young-hearted, half-grown boy now, able to work all day in the hayfield or to romp like a child with younger children in the evening. he was half a dozen years older than thaine and jo, a difference that would tend to disappear by the end of a decade. "we'll be good, toddie, if you'll let us stay and you'll play with us," the children entreated, and the game began, with thaine between leigh and jo. when asher aydelot joined the group inside darley champers rapped on the desk and called the men to order. "gentlemen, let's have a businesslike proceeding," he said. "who shall preside at the meeting?" "i move jim shirley be made chairman. he's the best looking man here," todd stewart said, half seriously. the motion carried and jim, looking big and handsome and kindly as always, took the chair. "i'll ask mr. champers to state the purpose of the meeting," he said. "gentlemen," champers began with tremendous dignity, "i represent the firm of the champers town company, just chartered, with half a million dollars' capital. gentlemen, you have the finest valley in kansas." the same was said of every other valley in kansas in the fat years of the boom. but to do darley justice, he had never made a finer effort in his life of many efforts than he was bent on making tonight. "and this site is the garden spot of it all," he continued. "the elevation, the water power at the deep bend of grass river (where at that moment only a trace of water marked the river's grassy right of way), the fine farming land--everything ready for a sudden leap into prosperity. and, gentlemen, the a. and t. (arctic and tropic) north and south railroad will begin grading down this very stream inside of thirty days. a town here this year will be a city next year, a danged sight bigger city than careyville will ever be. why, that town's got its growth and is beginning to decay right now. the a. and t. will miss it comin' south, by ten mile." he paused and looked at the men before him. they were farmers, drooped to rest after the long summer day's work, yet they listened with intense eagerness. only asher aydelot sat in easy dignity, looking straight at darley champers with steady interest. the four years' training in the university of the civil war had not been overcome by his hold on the plow handles. and no farmer will grow hopelessly stooped in shoulders and sad of countenance who lifts his face often from the clods beneath his feet to the stars above his head. "you all know crops was poor last year and only moderately promisin' this year," champers continued. "but this is temporary and you are stayers, as i can testify. the champers town company is ready to locate a townsite and start a town right here at the deep bend of grass river. we propose to plat the prairie into town lots with a public square for the courthouse and sites for the railroad station and grain elevators, a big hotel, an opera house, and factories and foundries that's bound to come." the speaker paused a moment. then the inspiration of the evening came to him. "when you first came here, aydelot, there wasn't nothing but imagination to make this a farming community. and it looked lots more impossible then than this looks to me now. what's to prevent a metropolis risin' right here where a decade and a half ago there wasn't nothing but bare prairie?" the appeal was forceful, and the very men who had stood like heroes against hardships and had fought poverty with a grim, unyielding will-power, the same men fell now before darley champers' smooth advances. "our company's chartered with no end of stock for sale now that in six months will be out of sight above par and can't be bought for no price. it's your time to invest now. you can easy mortgage your farms to raise the money, seein' you can knock the mortgage off so quick and have abundance left over, if you use your heads 'stead of your tired legs to make money out of your land." cyrus bennington and todd stewart and jim shirley, with others, were sitting upright with alert faces now. booms were making men rich all over kansas. why should prosperity not come to this valley as well? it was not impossible, surely. only the unpleasant memory of champers' holding back the supplies in the days when the grasshopper was a burden would intrude on the minds of the company tonight. champers was shrewd to remember also, and he played his game daringly as well as cautiously. "maybe some of you fellows haven't felt right toward me sometimes," he said. "i hate to tell it now, but justice is justice. the truth is, it was a friend of yours who advised me not to let any supplies come your way, time of the grasshopper raid. i listened to him then and didn't know no better'n to be run by him till i see his scheme to kill wykerton an' build a town for hisself. he'll deny it now, declare he never done it, and he'll not do a thing for your town down here. see if he does. but it's gawd's truth, he held me back so's he could run you his way. it's your turn to listen to me now and believe me, too." and well they listened, especially the men who still owed john jacobs for the loan of . "you can have a boom right here that'll make you all rich men inside of a year. why not turn capitalists yourselves for a while, you hard-working farmers. money is easy and credit long, now. take your chance at it and make five hundred per cent on your investments. i'm ready to take subscriptions for stock in this new town right now. why not stop this snail's pace of earnin' and go to livin' like gentlemen--like some careyville men i know who own hundreds of acres they never earned and they won't improve so's to help others?" "you're right there," a farmer sitting beside asher aydelot called out. "we all know how careyville got her start. it's kept some of us poor doing it. i'll invest in town company stock right now." asher aydelot turned toward the speaker in surprise. "jacobs helped you out as well as the rest of us in the drouth and grasshopper time of seventy-four," he said. "what's your grievance against him now?" "yes, and hung onto me like a leech of a jew ever since," the man muttered. "because you never paid either interest or principal. and jacobs has carried you along and waited your time," asher asserted frankly. but the farmer plunged into the discussion again, not realizing that his grudge against careyville was the outgrowth of his own shortcomings. "take this site right here in the middle of your neighborhood where you've already got your church and your schoolhouse, and your graveyard," champers declared. "aydelot here gave part of it and pryor gaines the rest. gaines don't farm it any more himself, it's most too big a job for a man of brains like him. and that quarter across the river that used to be all sand, you own that now, aydelot, don't you? what did you think of doin' with it now?" "i think i'll set it in alfalfa this fall," asher replied. "yes, yes, now these two make the very site we want. you are lucky, for you are ready right now to start things. how much stock do you want, aydelot, and how will you sell?" as asher listened he seemed to see the whole scheme of the town builder bare itself before him, and he wondered at the credulity of his neighbors. "gentlemen," he said, standing before them, "it is a hard thing to put yourself against neighborhood sentiment and not seem to be selfish. but as i was the first man in this valley and have known every man who settled here since, i ought to be well enough known to you to need no certificate of good moral character here. i offer no criticism on the proposition before you. you are as capable of judging as i am. the end may show you more capable, but i decline to buy stock, or to donate, or sell any land for a townsite at the deep bend of grass river. a man's freehold is his own." asher's influence had led in grass river affairs for years. but darley champers had the crowd in the hollow of his paw tonight. "how about gaines?" he demanded. "you join him on the south. you ought to know some of his notions." "gaines has no land to consider," asher said frankly. "he sold it more than a year ago." "you mean the jew foreclosed on the preacher, don't you?" someone said sarcastically. "you'll have to ask the preacher," asher replied good-naturedly. "i didn't understand it so at the time. but as for myself, i'm no boomer. i stand for the prosperity that builds from day to day, and stays built. the values here are in the soil, not in the shining bubbles that glitter and burst on top of it. you'll have to count me out of your scheme. i'm a farmer still. so i'll wish you all good luck and good night." "good night, i must go with papa," thaine aydelot said, springing up from his play outside. "no, you've got to stay here. hold him, leigh," jo bennington commanded, clutching at thaine's arm. leigh sat calmly disobedient. "he's his papa's boy, i guess, and he ought to go," she asserted. "you meany, meany," jo whispered, "i don't like you." but leigh paid little heed to her opinion. as asher passed out of the room there was an ugly look in darley champers' eyes. "no more ambition than a cat. one of them quiet, good-natured fellers that are as stubborn as the devil once they take a stand. just a danged clod-hopper farmer, but he don't leave no enemies behind him. that's enough to make any man hate him. he's balked twice when i tried to drive. i'll not be fooled by him always." so champers thought as he watched asher aydelot walk out of the room. and in the silence that followed his going the company heard him through the open window whistling some old patriotic air as he strode away in the june moonlight with little thaine trotting beside him. "shirley, where is pryor tonight?" cyrus bennington broke the silence with the query. "i couldn't get him to come; said he had no land for sale nor money to invest," jim replied. "then jacobs got him at last. fine friend to you fellers, that man jacobs. easy to see what he wants. he ain't boomin' no place but careyville," champers snarled. "but the deep bend ain't the only bend in grass river. or do you want to shove prosperity away when it comes right to your door?" nobody wants to do that. least of all did the kansas settlers of the boom days turn away from the promise of a fortune. so the boom came to the grass river valley as other disasters had come before it. where a decade and a half ago asher and virginia aydelot had lived alone with each other and god, in the heart of the wide solitary wilderness, the town of cloverdale was staked out now over the prairie. stock in the new venture sold rapidly, and nobody ever knew how much clear profit came to champers & co. from this venture. a big slice of the cloverdale ranch went into the staking of the new city, and prosperity seemed wedded to jim shirley. he ceased farming and became a speculator with dreams of millions in his brain. other settlers followed his example until the fever had infected every man in the community except asher aydelot, who would not give up to it, and pryor gaines, who had nothing to give up. everything fell out as advertised. the railroad grade swelled up like a great welt across the land, seemingly in a day. suburban additions radiated for miles in every direction. bonds were voted for light and water and public buildings and improvements. speculators rushed to invest and unload their investments at a profit. the grass river farmers' company built the grass river creamery. and because it looked big and good they built the grass river sugar factory and the grass river elevator. but while they were building their money into stone and machinery they forgot to herd cattle to supply the creamery and to grow cane for the sugar product and to sow and reap grain to be elevated. also, the cloverdale farmers' company, made up mostly of the members of the grass river farmers' company, built the cloverdale hotel, and the cloverdale state bank, and the cloverdale office block. and the sad part of it all was that mortgaged and doubly mortgaged farms and not the price of crops had furnished the capital for the boom building. it is an old story now, and none too interesting--the story of a boom town, founded on prairie breezes and built out of fortune seekers' dreams. meanwhile, asher aydelot, watching the sudden easy prosperity of his neighbors, fought down the temptation to join them and resolutely strove with the soil for its best yield. the drouth and hot winds had not forgotten all their old tricks, and even the interest on his mortgage could not be met promptly sometimes. yet with the same old aydelot tenacity with which his father had held cloverdale in ohio away from the old farm beside the national pike road, the son of this father held the boundary of the sunflower ranch intact, nor yielded up one acre to be platted into a suburban addition to the new cloverdale in the grass river valley in kansas. and all the while the aydelot windbreaks strengthened; the aydelot grove struck deeper root; the long corn furrows and the acres on acres of broken wheat stubble of the sunflower ranch wooed the heavier rainfall, narrowing the sand dunes and deepening the water courses. for two brief years cloverdale, in the grass river valley in kansas, had a name, even in the eastern money markets. speculation became madness; and riotous commercialism had its little hour of strut and rave. then the bubble burst, and all that the boom had promised fell to nothingness. many farms were mortgaged, poor crops worked tribulation, taxes began to eat up acres of weed-grown vacant town lots, eastern money was withdrawn to other markets, speculators departed, the strange enthusiasm burned itself out, and the wilderness came again to the grass river valley. not the old wilderness of loneliness, and drouth, and grasshoppers, and prairie fires that had dared the pioneer to conquest; but the prairie, waiting again the kingly hand on the plow handle, gave no quarter to him whom the gilded boom had lured to shipwreck. part two the son give me the land where miles of wheat ripple beneath the wind's light feet, where the green armies of the corn sway in the first sweet breath of morn; give me the large and liberal land of the open heart and the generous hand; under the wide-spaced kansas sky let me live and let me die. --harry a. kemp. chapter xiii the rollcall nothing is too late until the tired heart shall cease to palpitate. --longfellow. the twilight had fallen on the prairie. grass river, running bank full from the heavy may rains, lay like a band of molten silver glistening in the after-sunset light. the draw, once choked with wild plum bushes in the first days of the struggle in the wilderness, was the outlet now to the little lake that nestled in the heart of the aydelot grove. the odors of early summer came faintly on the soft twilight breeze. somewhere among the cottonwoods a bird called a tender good-night to its mate. upon the low swell the lights were beginning to twinkle from the windows of the aydelot home, and the sounds of voices and of hurrying footsteps told of something unusual going on within. asher aydelot, driving down the old grass river trail, saw from far away the windows of his home beginning to glow like beacons in the twilight. beyond it was the glimmer of the waters of the river and before it spread the mile-long grove, dim and shadowy in the mist-folds rising up from the prairie. "a man can win a kingdom in the west, i told my mother one spring evening long ago," he murmured as his eyes took in the view. "it's surely more like a kingdom now than it was when we came down this trail a quarter of a century ago. twenty-five good years of life, but it's worth the effort, and we are just now at the opening of our best years. a man's real usefulness begins at fifty. this is more like a kingdom, too, than it was ten years ago when those old hulks of wrecks that strew the prairie down the river were banks, and hotels, and opera houses, and factories of boomed-up cloverdale. we are doing something for the land. i hope our boy will make up his mind to want to keep it when his time comes." he lifted his head bravely, as if to throw off all doubt, and tightening the reins on his horses he swung away down the trail toward the home lights shining in the gathering gloom. as he neared the house thaine aydelot leaped from the side porch and hurried toward him. climbing into the moving wagon, he put one hand affectionately on his father's shoulder. "don't you know whose birthday this is?" he inquired with serious countenance, "and you've not spoken to me all day." "i know my boy is nineteen today and expects to have a birthday party here tonight, and that i left him asleep when i started to town this forenoon about nine o'clock." "nine cats! you left at six sharp to go with john jacobs over to wolf creek after what you never got, judging from this empty wagon. and i had half of the feeding done when you left the house here. i saw you when i was out by the old stone corral looking after the pigs, but they squealed so loud you could not hear me telling you good-by." "all pigs squeal alike to me," asher began, but thaine choked him to silence. "hurry up and get togged out for the party," he urged. "the benningtons will be over early. jo's been here all day. i'll take care of the horses. hike!" "be sure to rub them down. they had to pull hard today," asher called back as he went up the walk toward the house. "oh, fiddle! always take care of a horse like it was a prize poodle. farms like he was decorating chinaware. good enough dad, but too particular. me for the state university and the professional or military life. this ranch is all right for asher aydelot, but it's pretty blamed slow for t. a. and jo bennington doesn't like a farm either," he added with a smile. in the superiority of his youth thaine fumed at his father's commands, but failed not to obey them. he was just nineteen, as tall as his father, and brawny with the strength of the outdoors life of the prairie ranch. strength of character was not expressed in his face so much as the promise of strength with the right conditions for its development in future days. his features were his mother's set in masculine lines, with the same abundant dark hair, the same lustrous dark eyes, the same straight nose and well-formed chin. the same imperious will of all the thaines to do as he chose was his heritage, too, and he walked the prairies like a king. "the real story of the plains is the story of the second generation; the real romance here will be thaine aydelot's romance, for he was born here." so virginia aydelot had declared on the day she had gone to visit the bennington baby, josephine, and coming home had met asher with little thaine beside mercy pennington's grave. sorrow for the dead had become a tender memory that day, and joy in the living made life full of hope. in virginia's mind a pretty romance was begun in which thaine and josephine were central figures. for mothers will evermore weave romances for their children so long as the memory of their own romance lives. the time of the second generation came swiftly, even before the wilderness of the father's day had been driven entirely from the prairie. some compensation for the loss of eastern advantages belonged to the simple life of the plains children. if they lacked the culture of city society they were also without its frivolity and temptations. what the prairies denied them in luxuries they matched with a resourcefulness to meet their needs. something of the breadth of the landscape and of the free sweeping winds of heaven gave them breadth and power to look the world squarely in the face, and to measure it at its true value, when their hour for action came. the grass river children could ride like plains indians. they could cut a steer out of a herd and prevent or escape a stampede. they had no fear of distance, nor storm, nor prairie fire, nor blizzard. because their opportunities were few, they squandered them the less. matched against the city-bred young folks their talents differed in kind, not in number, nor in character-value. tonight the aydelots were to give a party in honor of thaine's birthday, and the farmhouse was dressed for the occasion. thaine had been busy all day carrying furniture in or out, mowing the front lawn where the old double fireguard once lay, and fixing a seat under the white honeysuckle trellis, "for the afflicted ones," he declared to pretty jo bennington. jo's blush was becoming. thaine felt sure that he must be in love with her. all the other boys were, too, he knew that well enough. "what's going on in the dining room?" asher asked, as he sat at supper with virginia in the kitchen. "the decorating committee is fixing it up for dancing. bo peep is coming with his fiddle and there'll be a sound of revelry by night." "who's the decorating committee?" asher inquired. "jo bennington is helping thaine, and our new hired girl, rosie gimpke, from over on little wolf. she came this morning just after you left," virginia replied. "she acts and looks like she'd never had a kind word spoken to her." "rosie gimpke must be hans wyker's granddaughter. there's a nest of them over on little wolf. they give john jacobs no end of trouble, but you must have help," asher said thoughtfully. virginia's mind was not on hired help, however, as the sound of laughter came from the dining room. "the bridal wreath and snowballs make it look like a wedding was expected in there," she declared. "will the arnolds and the archibalds be up? have you heard from the spoopendykes and the gilliwigs?" asher inquired with a smile. "oh, asher! what a change since the days when we invented parties for our lonely evenings here! what has become of the old prairie?" "it's out there still, under the wheat fields. we have driven the wilderness back; plowed a fireguard around the whole valley; tempered the hot winds by windbreaks and groves." "it seems impossible that there ever was a one-room sod cabin here, and only you and i and jim and faithful old pilot in all the valley." "since so many things have come true it may be that many more will also by the time thaine is as old as i was when i came out here and thought the lord had forgotten all about this prairie until i reminded him of it. we can almost forget the hard work and the waiting for results," asher said. "oh, we don't want to forget," virginia replied. "not a season's joy or sorrow but had its uses for us. do you remember that first supper here and the sunflowers in the old tin can?" "yes, and jim sitting outside so lonely. what a blessing leigh has been to his life. there they come now." the next moment jim's tall form filled the doorway. "good evening, folks. i can't resist the habit of the sod shack days to come right into the kitchen. i understand that we forty-niners are to have an old settlers' reunion while the young folks dance," he said. there were lines of care on his face now, suggesting a bodily weariness that might never grow less. the old hopefulness and purpose seemed fading away. but the kindly light of the eyes had not disappeared, nor the direct gaze of an honest man whose judgment might bring him to tragedy, while his sense of honor was still sublime. "come in, jim. where are pryor and leigh? did you take it you were all we expected?" asher asked. "leigh went in the front door like a christian. as to pryor," he hesitated a moment. "i'll tell you later about him." "take this chair. i must help the children," virginia said cordially as she rose and left the kitchen. leigh shirley was coming from the front hall as she entered the dining room, and virginia paused a moment to look at her. something about leigh made most people want more than a glance. tonight, as she stood in the doorway, virginia could think of nothing but the pink roses that grew in the rose garden of the old thaine mansion house of her girlhood. a vision swept across her memory of asher aydelot--just thaine's age then--of a moonlit night, sweet with the odor of many blossoms, and the tinkling waters of the fountain in the rose garden, and herself a happy young girl. leigh's fair face was set in the golden brown shadows of her hair. on either side of her square white forehead the sunny ripples kept the only memory of the golden curls of babyhood. the darker eyebrows and heavy lashes and the deep violet-blue eyes, the pink bloom of the cheeks, and the resolute mouth gave to leigh's face all the charm of the sweet young girl. but the deeper charm that claimed the steady gaze lay in the spirit back of the face, in the self-reliance and penetrating power, combined with something of the artist's dreams; and swayed altogether by genuine good nature and good will. tonight she wore a simple white gown revealing her white throat and the line of her neck and shoulder. white flowers nestled in the folds of her hair, and the whole effect enhanced the dainty coloring of cheeks and lips. leigh had an artist's eye in dress and knew by instinct what to wear. she had an artist's hand also, as her mother had had before her, and was far more skilled in the painting of prairie landscapes than any of the grass river folk dreamed of. thaine was busy on the top of the stepladder and did not see leigh as she came in. jo bennington, who was holding sprays of spirea for him to festoon above the window, stared at leigh until thaine, waiting for the flowers, turned to see the pink-cheeked living picture framed against the shadows of the hall behind her. "i thought you were coming early to help us. this gimpke girl doesn't know how to do a thing," jo exclaimed. if her voice was a trifle high-pitched it was not out of keeping with her brilliant coloring and dashing manners. even the thoughtless rebuke of the gimpke girl seemed excusable from her lips, and rosie gimpke looked at her with unblinking eyes. "you can put on my apron and finish, but don't change a thing, now mind. i'll go and dress. i brought my whole wardrobe over early in the week," jo rattled on, and thrusting her gingham apron into leigh's hands she dashed through the hall toward the stairway. rosie gimpke, the tow-headed image of her mother, gretchen wyker, stared at leigh, who smiled back at her. rosie was stupid and ignorant, but she knew the difference between jo bennington's frown and leigh shirley's smile. a saving thing, the smile of good will, and worth its cost in any market. "shall i help you too, or shall rosie and i look after the refreshments?" virginia asked as she greeted leigh. "no, run along and get dressed. rosie knows just how to fix things in the kitchen, and i never need anybody else if leigh can help me," thaine declared. "how is this, leigh?" leigh gave a quick glance and answered: "too heavy everywhere? can we fix it right?" "you bet we can. i'm not going to have a thing wrong tonight," thaine answered her. "but jo fixed it, and you know jo." leigh made no reply, but went about the rearrangement with swift artistic skill; while jo, who had changed her mind about being in a hurry, slipped down stairs to the dining room again. at the doorway she discovered the undoing of her work. for a minute or two she watched the pair, then passed unnoticed up stairs again. leigh shirley was the only girl who ever dared to oppose jo, and she did it so quietly and completely that jo could only ignore her. she could not retaliate. "jo bennington, you are the prettiest girl in kansas, and i claim the first dance and the last, and some in-betweens, right now," thaine declared when she appeared again. jo was tall and graceful and imperious in her manner. the oldest and handsomest child in a large family, she had had her own way at home and with her associates all her life. her world was made to give way to her from the beginning, until nothing seemed possible or popular without her sanction. tonight her heavy black hair was coiled in braids about her head, her black eyes were full of youthful glow and her cheeks were like june roses. she wore a pink lawn dress vastly becoming to her style, and a string of old-fashioned pearl beads was wound through her dark braids. "you'd better make amends for spoiling all my pretty work as you and leigh have done," she said in reply to thaine's frank compliment. "i'll make it a few more dances, for you do dance better than any of the other boys--" "except todd stewart, junior," the owner of the name, who had just come in, declared. "there is to be a birthday party and an old settlers' meeting, and maybe a french duel or two before midnight. i remember when i was the only kid in the grass river valley. there were others at first, but i always thought the grasshoppers or darley champers ate 'em. and jo is the first white girl baby born in captivity here. we'll lead the opening of this ball or shoot up the ranch. you can have jo for the last dance, thaine, my son, but me first." "oh, that's fine," jo declared as thaine was about to protest. "serves you right for spoiling my decorations. but, thaine, i claim you for the in-betweens and the last. let's take one more look at the refreshments--that gimpke girl may have them all in a mess by this time." there was a rush for the kitchen, where leigh shirley was already showing rosie how to keep the table of dishes in order. meanwhile, asher aydelot had gone out to the seat thaine had put up under the honeysuckle trellis. "it is early for the crowd, virgie. come here and watch boanerges peeperville tuning up," asher aydelot said as virginia stood on the veranda a little later. she came out to the seat under a bower of sweet white honeysuckle and sat down beside her husband. "the same bo peep of the old virginia days, only he was a half-grown boy then," she said, watching the negro bending above his violin. "how faithfully he has served dr. carey all these years. he's past forty now. asher, we are all getting along." "with a boy nineteen tonight, how can it be otherwise?" asher replied. "but when the careyville crowd gets here i'm going to ask you for a dance, anyhow, miss thaine." virginia stood in the moonlight and looked out over the prairie slumbering in a silver-broidered robe of evening mist. "how fast the years have gone. do you remember the night in the old thaine home in virginia when you were our guest--too sick to dance?" she asked. asher caught her arm and drew her to the seat beside him. "i remember the jessamine vines and the arbor at the end of the rose garden." "we are not old until we forget our own romance days," virginia said. "you were my hero that night. you are my hero still." "even with a son as old now as i was that night? the real romance of the prairie, you've said it often, virgie, is thaine aydelot's romance. there's little chance for the rest of us." the coming of the guests just then called the host and hostess to the parlor, and the evening's festivities began. in the building of the aydelot home there was a memory of the old farmhouse beside the national pike road in ohio and the old thaine mansion house of the south. the picture the mirage had revealed to virginia aydelot on the afternoon when she rode the long lonely miles from wykerton with john jacob's message of hope in her keeping--that wonderful mirage picture had grown toward a reality with the slowly winning years. tonight, with the lighted rooms and the music of the violin, and the sound of laughter and the rhythm of dancing feet, and outside the may moonlight on the veranda with its vine-draped columns, and the big elm trees throwing long shadows down the lawn, with the odor of plowed fields and blossoming grain and shrub mingled with the perfume floating from the creamy catalpa blooms in the shadowy grove, all made a picture not unworthy to hang beside the painting of an ohio landscape or an old virginia mansion. "here's where the forty-niners get the best of it," jim shirley declared, as the older men gathered about the veranda steps. "we're dead certain of ourselves now. we're not like those youngsters in there with their battles before 'em." "there hasn't been such a gathering as this in ten years. not since the night darley champers herded us into the schoolhouse and blew a boom down our throats through a goosequill," cyrus bennington declared. "see that black thing away across the prairie east of aydelot's grove. wait till the moon gets out from that cloud. now!" todd stewart directed the eyes of all to a tall black object distinct in the moonlight. "that's the cloverdale farmers' company's elevator. looks like a lighthouse stretching up in that sea of wheat." "there are plenty of derelicts in that sea as well as some human derelicts left afloat," jim said, with a laugh. "let's take the census." "begin with darley champers," asher suggested. "not present. who got his excuse?" jim inquired. "he sent it by me," horace carey spoke up. "business still keeping him busy. he's a humane man." "up to a point he is," john jacobs broke in. "let's be fair. he is a large-sized boomer and a small-sized rascal. a few deals won't bear the light of day, but mainly they are inside the law. i've let him handle all but my grazing land around wykerton. he's done well by me. but he's been at his line a quarter of a century and he'll end where he began--in a real estate office over in wykerton, trying to get something for nothing and calling it business." "horace carey?" jim shirley called next. "here," carey replied. "with a big h," todd stewart declared. "same doctor of the old school. why don't you get married or take a trip to india, doctor? not that we aren't satisfied all over with you as you are, though, and wouldn't hear to your doing either one. you belong to all of us now." "i may have a call to a bigger practice some day, a service that will make you proud of your former honorable townsman. at present i'm satisfied," carey said, with a smile. four years later the men remembered this reply and the attractive face of the speaker, the sound of his voice, and the whole magnetic presence of the man. "john jacobs?" shirley called next. "the merchant prince of careyville," asher aydelot declared. "the money-loaning shylock. didn't let the boom so much as turn one hair black or white. land owner and stock raiser of the wolf creek valley and hater of saloons seven days in the week. whatever it may mean in new york and cincinnati and chicago, being a jew means being a gentleman in this corner of kansas," asher was running on, till john jacobs threw a chair cushion at his head and jim called out: "cyrus bennington." "busted by the boom. lived at the public crib ever since. held every little county office possible to get, asking now for your votes this fall for county treasurer. will end his days seeking an election and go at last to be with the elected," cyrus bennington frankly described himself. "not so bad yet as todd stewart," todd declared. "he lost everything in the boom except his old scotch presbyterian faith. now head clerk in j. jacobs' dry goods and general merchandise store. had the good sense, though, this old todd did, to send his son back to the land and make a farmer out of him, and the second generation of stewarts in this valley promises to make it yet. why don't you revert to the soil, too, bennington?" "todd is doing well with his leases," asher aydelot declared. "he'll be a landowner yet." "my family, especially the girls, object to living on a farm," cyrus bennington said gravely. "they have notions of city life i can't overcome. jo especially dislikes the country and jo runs things round the bennington place." "james shirley, esquire," jim announced and added quickly: "the biggest sucker in the booming gang. lost his farm to the champers company. holds a garden patch and homestead only, where once the cloverdale ranch smiled. all under mortgage also to other capitalists. boys, i'd be ready to give up if it wasn't for my little girl. what's the use in a man as big as i am, with no lung power, keeping at it?" there was a sad hopelessness in shirley's tone. "no, no!" the men chorused in one voice. "go on, jim, go on!" "asher aydelot." jim pretended it was the rollcall they demanded. "gentlemen," john jacobs began seriously. but at that moment leigh shirley, followed by rosie gimpke, came from the side door with a tray of glasses and a pitcher of lemonade. "gentlemen, a toast to the man who stuck to the soil and couldn't be blasted to financial ruin by a boom, the wheat king of these prairies. our host, asher aydelot." "the clod-hopper, buckeye farmer," jim added affectionately, and they drank to asher's health. "lord bless you, aydelot. you said the money was in the soil, not on top of it. i remember you looked like a prophet when you said it," cyrus bennington declared. "but i was wild to get rich quick and let my soil go. i never look at aydelot's spreading acres of wheat increasing in area every year without wondering why the lord let me be such a fool." "well, you've spent a lot of days in an easy chair in the shade of a county office since then while i was driving a reaper in the hot sunshine," asher insisted. "you are the strongest man here now, for all your farm work, aydelot," john jacobs asserted. "it is the store that really breaks a man down." "not in his nerve, nor in pocketbook," todd stewart added. "here's a toast, now, to the second generation, and especially to thaine aydelot, son of the sunflower ranch. nineteen years old tonight." "what is thaine going to follow, asher?" someone inquired. "i suppose you'll be making a gentleman out of him, since he's your only child." "my father tried to make a gentleman out of me and failed, as you see," asher replied. "tragic failure," jim groaned. "seriously, aydelot, what's thaine to do?" the query came from dr. carey; the company awaited the answer. "he isn't wanting to follow anything right now. he has a notion that the earth is following him," asher said with a smile. "and having handled aydelots all my life, i'm letting him alone a little with the hope that at last he'll come back to the soil as i did. he goes to the kansas university this fall and he has all sorts of notions, even a craving for military glory. i can't blame him. i had the same disease once. i don't believe in any wild oats business. i hope thaine will be a gentleman, but i don't wonder that a green country boy who has looked out all his life on open prairies and lonely distances should have a longing for city pavements and the busy haunts of men. how well he will make his way and what he will let these things fit him to do depends somewhat on how well grounded the farm life and home life have made him. the old french aydelot blood had something of the wanderlust in it. i hope that trait may not reappear in thaine. but where's pryor gaines in this rollcall? we are getting away from the subject before the house." jim shirley's handsome face grew sorrowful. "he was not affected by the boom. he has been the same man in spirit and fortune for twenty-five years. but we are going to lose him. that's why he's not here tonight," jim hurried on as the others were about to interrupt him. "he won't say good-by to anybody. you can understand why. he's going to start for china tomorrow morning--missionary! it's the last of pryor gaines for us. i promised not to tell till he was gone. i've lied to him. that's all. but you'll not tell on me nor let him know. he says he's 'called.' and when a preacher gets that in his blood there's no stopping him." at that moment virginia aydelot and a group of matrons came thronging out. "come in for the virginia reel," they demanded. "the young folks are having refreshments on the side porch and bo peep wants us to dance for him." "may i have the honor?" horace carey said, bowing to virginia aydelot. "with pleasure, horace," virginia replied with a smile. as they led the way to the dining room, dr. carey said: "i congratulate you tonight, virginia, on your son, your kingly husband, and your busy, useful life. you've won the west, you two." "not yet," virginia replied. "not until our son proves himself. he's a farmer's boy now. wait five years till he is the age his father was when he came out here. the test of victory is the second generation." bo peep's fiddle began its song and the still young middle-aged guests with their host and hostess kept time to its rhythm. chapter xiv the second generation the younger generation does not want instruction. it is perfectly willing to instruct if anyone will listen to it. --_the education of otis yeere._ the second generation gave little thought to what was filling the minds of the first settlers tonight. the company was a large one and a dozen years later more than one young matron remembered thaine aydelot's birthday party as the beginning of a romance that ended happily for her. "jo, you are the queen of the ball tonight," todd stewart, junior, declared, as he led her to the cool veranda after their fourth dance together. jo looked the part in the moonlight, as in the lamplight. "oh, no, i'm not. leigh shirley is thaine's favorite, and his choice is queen tonight," jo said coquettishly. "darn him! we all know who his choice is, all right," todd said. "but, jo, can't a fellow have half a chance, anyhow? you know, you can't help knowing a lot of us would fight for you." he caught her hand in his and she did not resist at once. "oh, jo, i know one fellow, anyhow--" "look at thaine now," jo interrupted him, as thaine came near the open window. "todd, do you know why he thinks so much of leigh shirley?" "of leigh? does he? i hope he does. he shows good taste, anyhow. everybody from little plum creek clear to northfork likes leigh." jo's eyes flashed. "she must be very popular." "oh, not as they like you, jo. you must know the difference between you two, a real beauty and a sweet little girlie." "she's not so sweet. she tries to attract and doesn't know how," jo declared, for jealousy belongs to the dominant. todd stewart's sense of justice was strong, even in his infatuation. "why, jo, you mustn't be jealous of leigh. she's the girl the boys can't make like them. she's the funniest, settest little creature. and yet, she is a cute child. but you are our pride, you know, and to me--well, let me take you home tonight, and i'll tell you about my pride." "i don't care for your pride, if you all admire the cute child." jo withdrew her hand from his. "here comes thaine now. i think you'd better take leigh home. thaine will take me, i'm sure. but i'll go to refreshments with you," she added, for she knew how to play on more than one string. "why, josephine, my queen, my queen, where are you hiding? i've danced an extra, waiting for you. todd stewart, i'll have to kill you yet tonight. what do you mean by breaking up my party?" thaine caught jo's arm and with a mock thrust at todd he whirled her into the house. "did you really miss me?" jo's big dark eyes were fastened on thaine's face. "more than tongue can tell. who wouldn't miss you?" thaine's eyes were shining mischievously. "leigh shirley wouldn't," jo said softly and half sadly. something impenetrable dropped before thaine's face. "let's go out to the honeysuckle arbor and not dance now. i'm so tired," jo murmured, with a sweet pleading in her voice. "i fixed it just for you," thaine declared as he led the way to the moonlit lawn and shadowy seat. "you are so good to me, thaine. what makes you do so many things just for me? i know you don't really care for me. you are so different from most farmers' sons." jo's head drooped a little and she put one hand on his arm. "i can't help being good to folks. it's just the angel in me," thaine declared. then he added seriously, "i wish i could do something for you, jo. all the boys are wild about you tonight. you are a picture." she was beautiful at the moment, and as she lifted her eyes to his something in their shining depths spoke witchingly to the youth of nineteen, untrained in ways of feminine coquetry. he was only a country boy, unskilled in social tactics, but a combination of timidity and good breeding shaped his ideals and his action. "i don't care for all the boys," jo murmured. "then we are hopelessly bankrupt," thaine declared. "isn't this a wonderful night?" "yes, and father and mother are going home so early," jo said. "well, your whole wardrobe is over here; why not stay all night? you can help rosie and mother and me tomorrow. there are plenty of benningtons left at your home without you, and mother will want you," thaine urged. "do you want me to?" jo asked softly. "tremendously. we'll eat all the ice cream that's left when the crowd goes and have the empty mansion all to ourselves," thaine declared. "we are to dance the last dance together too," jo reminded him. "let's run in now. the crowd doesn't miss me, but i'm host, you know, and they're gasping for you. they'll be scouring the premises if we wait longer." as thaine lifted jo to her feet there was a glitter of tears in her bright eyes. and because the place was shadowy and sweet with honeysuckle perfume, and the moonlight entrancing, and jo was very willing, and tears are ever appealing, he put his arm around her and drew her close to him, and kissed her on each cheek. jo's face was triumphant as they met leigh shirley at the dining room door. "what's the next case on docket, leigh?" thaine asked, dropping jo's arm. jealousy has sharp eyes, but even jealousy could hardly have found fault with the friendly and indifferent look on thaine's face. "why, it's my first with you, leigh. who's your partner, jo?" thaine continued. two or three young men claimed the honor, and the music began. "mrs. aydelot, thaine has asked me to stay all night," jo said, as the figures were forming. "it will please us all," virginia said graciously, and jo tripped away. when the strains of music for the last dance began jo looked for thaine, but he was nowhere to be found. she waited impatiently and the angry glitter in her eyes was not unbecoming her imperious air. bo peep did not wait long, for he was getting tired. half a dozen young men rushed toward jo as she stood alone. but todd stewart let no opportunity escape him. and the dance began. a minute later thaine came in with leigh shirley. smiling a challenge at todd, he caught leigh's hand and swung into the crowd on the floor. the older guests were already gone. the music trailed off into a weird, rippling rhythm, with young hearts beating time to its melody and young feet keeping step to its measure. then the tired, happy company broke into groups. good-bys and good wishes were given again and again, and the party was over. the couples took their way up or down the old grass river trail or out across the prairie by-roads, with the moon sailing serenely down the west. everybody voted it the finest party ever given on grass river. and nobody at all, except his mother and jo bennington, noticed that thaine had not left leigh shirley's side from his first dance with her late in the evening until the time of the good-bys. as the guests were leaving thaine turned to jo, saying: "i'm sorry about that last dance, but i'll forgive todd this last time. rosie cut her hand on a glass tumbler she dropped and i was helping leigh to tie it up when old bo peep started the music. here's the girl i'm to take home. got your draperies on already. the carriage waits and the black steed paws for us by the chicken yard gate. good-night, gentle beings." and taking leigh's arm, he led her away. "gimpke is as awkward as a cow," jo bennington declared, "and too stupid to know what's said to her." but rosie gimpke, standing in the shadows of the darkened dining room, was not too stupid to understand what was said about her. and into her stolid brain came dreams that night of a fair face with soft golden brown hair and kindly eyes of deep, tender blue. stupid as she was, the woman's instinct in her told her in her dreams that the handsome young son of her employer might not always look his thoughts nor dance earliest and oftenest with the girl he liked best. but rosie was dull and slept heavily and these things came to her sluggish brain only in fleeting dreams. thaine and leigh did not hurry on their homeward way. and jo bennington, wide awake in the guest room of the aydelot house, noted that the moon was far toward the west when thaine let himself in at the side door and slipped up stairs unheard by all the household except herself. "let's go down by the lake," thaine suggested as he and leigh came to the edge of the grove. "it's full to the bridge, and the lilies are wide open now. are you too sleepy to look at them? you used to draw them with chalk all along the blackboard in the old schoolhouse up there." "i'm never too sleepy to look at water lilies in the moonlight," leigh replied, "nor too tired to paint them, either. lilies are a part of my creed. 'consider the lilies, how they grow.'" "with their long rubbery stems, up out of mud mostly," thaine said carelessly. "i pretty nearly grew fast along with them down there, till i learned how to gather them a better way." the woodland shadows were thrust through with shafts of white moonbeams, giving a weird setting to the silent midnight hour. the odor of woods' blossoms came with the moist, fresh breath of the may night. there was a little song of waters gurgling down the spillway that was once only a dry draw choked with wild plum bushes. the road wound picturesquely through the grove to a bridged driveway that separated the lakelet into two parts. a spread of silvery light lay on this driveway and thaine checked his horse in the midst of it while the two looked at the waters. "it's all just silver or sable. there's no middle tone," leigh said, looking at the sparkling moonbeams reflected on the face of the lake and the darkness of the shadowed surface beyond them. "isn't there pink, or creamy, or something softer in those lilies right by the bank? i'm no artist, but that's how it looks to a clod-hopper," thaine declared. "you are an artist, or you wouldn't catch that, where most anybody would see only steely white and dead black. it is the only color in this black and white woodsy place," leigh insisted, looking up at thaine's face in the shadow and down at her own white dress. "there's a bit of color in your cheeks," thaine said, as he studied the girl's fair countenance, all pink and white in the moonlight. "oh, not the pretty blooming roses like jo bennington has," leigh said, smiling frankly and folding her hands contentedly in her lap. thaine recalled the seat under the honeysuckle, and jo bennington's pleading eyes, and bewitching beauty, and the touch of her hand on his arm, and her willingness to be kissed. he was flattered by it all, for jo was the belle of the valley, and thaine thought himself in love with her. he knew that the other boys, especially todd stewart, jr., envied him. and yet in this quiet hour in the silent grove, with the waters shimmering below them, the gentle dignity of the sweet-faced girl beside him, with her purity and simplicity wrapping her about, as the morning mists wrapped the far purple notches on the southwest horizon, gave to her presence there an influence he could not understand. thaine had never kissed any girl except jo, had never cared enough for any other girl to think about it. but tonight there suddenly swept through his mind the thought of the joy that was waiting for some man to whom leigh would give that privilege, and without any self-analysis (boys at nineteen analyze little) he began to hate the man who should come sometime to claim the privilege. "leigh, don't you ever feel jealous of jo?" he didn't know why he asked the question. leigh gave a little laugh. "ought i?" she inquired, looking up. "she hasn't anything i want." the deep violet eyes under the long lashes were beautiful without the flashing and sparkle of jo bennington's coquettish gaze. "that was an idiotic thing to ask," thaine admitted. "why should you, sure enough?" "i wish i had some of those lilies." leigh changed the subject abruptly. "hold the horse, then, and i'll get them. i keep a hooked knife on a long stick hidden down here on purpose to cut them for me mummy, on occasion." thaine jumped out of the buggy and ran down to the end of the driveway where the creamy lilies lay on the dark waters near the bank. "be careful of your dress," he said, as he came back and handed a bunch of blossoms with their trailing wet stems up to leigh. "do you remember your prince quippi off in china, and your love letters, with old grass river for postal service? will you send me a letter down the old kaw river when i go to the kansas university this fall?" "a sunflower letter like i used to send to quippi?" leigh asked. "any kind of a letter. i'll miss you more than anything here, except my beloved chores about the farm," thaine responded. "jo will write all the letters you'll have time to answer," leigh asserted. "oh, she says she's going to lawrence too, if her pa-paw is elected county treasurer. we'll be in the university together. you'll just have to write to me, leighlie." "not unless you go to china. i'll send you a letter there like i used to send to prince quippi." there was a sudden pathos in her tone. "will you? oh, leigh, will you?" thaine asked, gaily, looking down into her face, white and dainty in the soft light. "quippi never answered one of them, but i would if i was over there, and i may go yet. there's no telling." leigh looked up with her eyes full of pain. "why, i didn't mean to tease you," thaine declared. "thaine, pryor gaines is to start to china tomorrow. he's been planning it for weeks and weeks. he's going to be a missionary and he'll never come back again--and--and there is so much for me to do when he is gone. he has been such a kind helper all these years. his refined taste has meant so much to me in the study of painting, and i need him now." thaine gave a low whistle of surprise. leigh's eyes were full of tears, but thaine would not have dared to take her in his arms, as he had taken jo bennington. "little neighbor, we've been playmates nearly all our lives. can't i help you in some way?" he asked gently. "yes, you can," leigh replied in a low voice. "there are some things i must do for uncle jim and when you are doing _for_ people you can't tell them nor depend on their advice. when pryor is gone, may i ask you sometimes what to do? i won't bother you often." asher aydelot had declared that alice leigh was the prettiest girl in ohio in her day. the pink-tinted creamy lilies looking up from the still surface of the lakelet were not so fair as the pink-tinted face of alice leigh's daughter, framed in the soft brown shadows of her hair with a hint of gold in the ripples at the white temples. and behind the face, looking out through long-lashed violet eyes, was loving sacrifice and utter self-forgetfulness. thaine was nineteen and wise to give advice. a sudden thrill caught his pulse, mid-beat. "is that all? can't i _do_ something?" he asked eagerly. "that's a great deal. and nobody can _do_ for anybody. we have to _do_ for ourselves." "you are not doing anything for uncle jim, then, i am to understand," thaine said. but leigh ignored his thrust, saying: "when pryor leaves, he doesn't want to say good-by to anybody, not even to uncle jim. he says china is only a little way off, just behind the purple notches over there. i'm going to take him to the train tomorrow and then i'm going on to wykerton on business. after that, i may need lots of advice." "wykerton's a joint-ridden place, but john jacobs has put a good class of farmers around it. he's such an old saloon hater, hans wyker'd like to kill him. but say, why not tell me now what you are about, so i can be looking up references and former judicial decisions handed down in similar cases?" thaine asked lightly. "because it's too long a story, and i must get pryor to the eight o'clock limited," leigh said. the crowing of chickens in a far away farmyard came faintly at that moment, and thaine with a strange new sense of the importance of living, sent the black horses cantering down the trail to the old cloverdale ranch house. jo bennington slept late. she had been up late. she had danced often and she had waited for thaine's homecoming. yet, when she came downstairs in a white morning dress all sprinkled with little pink sprays, there was hardly a hint of weariness in her young face or in her quick footsteps. "i'm glad you stayed, jo," mrs. aydelot greeted her. "this is 'the morning after the night before,' and, as usual, the desertions equal the wounded and imprisoned. asher and the men had to go across the river early to look after the fences and washouts on the lower quarter. and rosie gimpke decided to go home this morning as soon as breakfast was done. so it is left for us to get the house over the party. not so easy as getting ready for it, especially without help." "where's thaine?" jo asked carelessly, though her face was a tattler. "he took some colts over to john jacobs' ranch. he had rosie ride one and he rode another and led two. they were a sight. i hoped you might see them go by your window. thaine had his hat stuck on like a dutchman's and he puffed himself out and made up a regular wyker face as he jogged along. and rosie plumped herself down on that capering colt as though she shifted all responsibility for accidents upon it. the more it pranced about, the firmer she sat and the less concerned she was. i heard thaine calling out, 'breakers ahead!' as he watched her bring it back into the road in front of him with a sort of side kick of her foot." "what made gimpke leave?" jo asked, to cover her disappointment. "she cut her hand badly last night. she insisted at first that she would help me today and go home later to stay till it gets well. then she suddenly changed her mind. possibly it was the spare-room bed," virginia said laughing. "when i told her not to wake you when she made up the other beds, she suddenly got homesick, her hand grew worse and she flew the premises. i'll run up and attend to that bed while you finish your breakfast," and virginia left the room. at that moment young todd stewart appeared on the side porch before the dining room door. "thaine stopped long enough to ask me to come over and move furniture for his mother," todd sang out. "he doesn't think you were made to lift cupboards and carry chairs downstairs." "oh, it's his mother he's thinking about," jo said with pretty petulance. in truth, she was angry with thaine for taking leigh home last night and for leaving home today. "no, it's his mother he's ceased to love," todd said, coming inside. "he said he'd quit the old home and was moving his goods up to wolf creek for keeps. and with that fat tow-headed gimpke girl sitting on the frisky bay colt as unconcerned as a bump on a log, it was the funniest sight i ever saw." jo tossed her head contemptuously. "say, curly locks, curly locks, you ought to always sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam and wear a dress to breakfast with those little pink du-dads scattered over it." "not if i was a farmer's wife," jo responded quickly. "oh, jo, do you really want to be a city girl?" todd's face was frankly sorrowful. "could you never be satisfied on a farm?" "i don't believe i ever could," jo said prettily. "thaine's a farmer all right, jo." "he isn't going to be one always," jo broke in quickly. "he's going to the kansas university and there's no telling after that." "no, he's just going to wykerton, that's all. nay, he have went. him and him fraulein. and say, there's another pretty fraulein went up the trail just ahead of the aydelot horse party. a sweetheart of a girl whom thaine aydelot took home after all last night." "i don't care where thaine goes," jo cried. "and you don't care for a farmer anyhow," todd said suavely. "oh, that depends on how helpful he is," jo responded tactfully. todd sprang up and began to fling the chairs about with extravagant energy in his pretense of being useful. "let's help mrs. aydelot as swift as possible. it's hot as the dickens this morning, and the prognostics are for a cyclone before twelve hours. it's nearly eleven of 'em now. i'll take you home when we are through. thaine isn't the whole of grass river and the adjacent creeks and tributaries and all that in them is." chapter xv the coburn book and i see, from my higher level, it is not the path but the pace that wearies the back, and dims the eye, and writes the lines on the face. --margaret e. sangster. meanwhile the may sunshine beat hot upon the green prairie, and the promised storm gathered itself together behind the horizon where the three headlands were lost in an ash-colored blur. wykerton, shut in by the broken country about big wolf creek, was more uncomfortable than the open prairie. and especially was it uncomfortable in the "blind tiger" of the wyker eating-house. today the men of the old firm of champers & co. were again holding a meeting in this little room that could have told of much lawless plotting if walls could only tell. "it's danged hot in here, wyker. open that window," darley champers complained. "what kept you fellows so long, anyhow?" "business kep' me, and smith here, he stop to peek at a pretty girl for goot as ten minute," hans wyker said jocosely. champers stared at thomas smith, whose small eyes gleamed back at him. "oh, i just turned to look at miss shirley in the dining room. can't a man look at a pretty girl if he is past forty-five? she didn't see me, though." "naw, she see nopotty but young aydelot sitting mit her. why you take oop precious time peekin' trough der crack in der kitchen door? i be back in a minute vonce. smitt haf business mit you," wyker declared as he turned to the kitchen again. left together, the two men sat silent a moment. then champers said with a frown: "what do you want now? we've got no business with each other except as i am agent for your rents and mortgages." "you seem to fatten on them, or something," smith answered insinuatingly. "you lose no flesh with the years, i see." "i've little occasion to worry," darley champers replied meaningly. "not with a fat income like yours and small returns to your employer who's kept you all these years," smith began, but darley champers mentally blew up. it was in the bluffer's game that he always succeeded best. "now, see here, dang you. get to business. you and wyker and me dissolved partnership long ago. i've been your agent years and years. i've did my best. i never got so rich you could notice it on my breath. i'm not a thief nor a murderer. i keep inside the law. i broke with you fellows years ago, except straight contract that'll probate in any court. you are a bully in power and a coward out of it. what the devil do you want with me? i'm no bank. be clear and quick about it and quit your infernal dodgin' human beins like a cut-throat. i've signed your name to no end of papers for you when you wouldn't put your own left-handed writin' in sight. i have your written permit safe for doin' it. i reckon somebody must a' put that right hand of yours out of commission sometime. i'll find out about it one of these days myself." thomas smith sat looking at the speaker with steady gaze. many lines crossed his countenance now, but the crooked scar had not faded with time. in a coffin his would be the face of an old man. alive, it was so colorless and uninteresting in expression that not one person in a hundred would turn to take a second look at him nor dream of the orgies of dissipation his years could recount. withal, he had the shabby, run-down appearance as of a man in hard lines financially. "i want money and i want it quick, or i'd not come clear out here. and you are going to get it for me. that cloverdale quarter i've held grown to weeds so long you will sell to the first buyer now. jim shirley's at the last of his string. i did what i wanted to do with him. he'll never own a quarter again," smith spoke composedly. "yes, i guess you're right. you've done him to his ruin. jacobs has a mortgage on his home, too, and a jew's a jew. he'll close on jim with a snap yet. it won't be the first time he's done it," darley champers declared. "and that niece, tank's girl, he was to protect for alice leigh?" smith asked. "oh, eventually she'll either marry some hired man, i reckon, or go to sewin' or something like it for a livin'. she's a danged pretty girl now, but girls fade quick," champers said. for just one instant something like remorse swept smith's face. then he hardened again as the ruling passion asserted itself. "serves her right," he said in a tone so brutal that champers remembered it. "but i tell you i must have money. two hundred dollars tonight and fourteen hundred inside of two weeks. and you'll get it for me. you understand that. and listen, now." smith's voice slowly uncoiled itself to champers' senses as a snake moves leisurely toward a bird it means to draw to itself. "you say you have signed my name for me and transacted business, handling my money. if you care to air the thing in court, i'm ready for you anytime. but do you dare? well, bring me two hundred dollars before tomorrow and the other fourteen hundred inside of two weeks. and after this look out for yourself." the threat in the last words was indescribable, and champers would have shuddered could he have seen smith's countenance as he left the room. "so he taunts me with being a coward and a brute, a thief and a cut-throat; dares to strike me in the face when i've given him a living so long he's forgotten who did it. i'm done with him. but he don't dare to say a word." he shut his lips tightly and slowly clinched his hands. "for wy you stare so at dat door yet? where's champers?" hans wyker demanded as he came in. "the game's between us two now," thomas smith declared, turning to hans wyker. and a grim game was plotted then and there. hans, who had been a perpetual law-breaker since the loss of his brewery business, had let his hatred of john jacobs grow to a virulent poison in his system. while thomas smith, whose character darley champers had read truly, followed so many wrong paths down the years that conscience and manhood were strangers to him. from being a financier he had dropped to the employment of a brewers' association. his commission was to tempt young men and boys to drink; to create appetites that should build up the brewing business for the future. in the game now, smith was to deliver beer and whisky into wyker's hands. wyker would do the rest. whoever opposed him must suffer for his rashness. it was cooler in the large dining-room where thaine aydelot and leigh shirley had met by chance at noontime. leigh's face wore a deeper bloom and her eyes were shining with the exciting events of the day: the going of pryor gaines and the business that had brought her to wykerton. something like pain stabbed suddenly into thaine aydelot's mind as he caught sight of her, a surprise to find how daintily attractive she was in her cool summer gown of pale blue gingham and her becoming hat with its broad brim above her brown-gold hair. "i didn't expect to find you here," leigh said as thaine took the chair opposite her at the little table. "i came over to little wolf with rosie gimpke and some other colts. then i walked over here to catch a ride to careyville, if i could," thaine said carelessly. "you can ride with me if you want to. i'll be going soon after dinner," leigh suggested. "oh, i'll want to all right. it may be well to start early. it's so hot i expect there'll be a storm before night," thaine suggested, wondering the while what leigh's business in wykerton might be. darley champers was in a fever when he came from his conference with thomas smith. smith had played large sums into his hands in the first years of their partnership. of late the sums had all gone the other way. but champers was entangled enough to know that he must raise the money required, and the land was the only asset. few things are more difficult to accomplish than to find a buyer for what must be sold. at the office leigh was waiting for him. "mr. champers, i am leigh shirley from the cloverdale place on grass river," she said, looking earnestly up at him. darley champers was no ladies' man, but so far as in his coarse-grained nature lay, he was never knowingly rude to a woman, and leigh's manner and presence made the atmosphere of his office comfortingly different from the place he had just quitted. the white lilac bush in the yard behind the office whose blossoms sent a faint odor through the rear door, seemed to double its fragrance. "sit down, madam. i'm pleased to meet you. can i be of any service to you today?" he said with bluff cordiality. "yes, sir. i want to buy the quarter section lying southeast of us. it was the old cloverdale ranch once. it belongs to champers & co. now, the records show, and i want to get it. it was my uncle jim shirley's first claim." darley champers stared at the girl and said nothing. "what do you ask for it?" leigh inquired. still the real estate dealer was silent. "isn't it for sale? it is all weed-grown and hasn't been cultivated for years." the tremor in the girl's voice reached the best spot in darley champers' trade-hardened heart. "lord, yes, it's for sale!" he broke out. a sense of relief at this sudden opportunity, combined with the intense satisfaction of getting even with thomas smith, overwhelmed him. smith would rave at the sale to a shirley, yet this sale had been demanded. champers had written smith's name into too many documents to need the owner's handwriting in this transaction. smith would leave town in the evening. the whole thing was easy enough. while leigh waited, the real humaneness of which champers so often boasted found its voice within him. "i'll sell it for sixteen hundred dollars if i can get two hundred down today and the rest in cash inside of two weeks. but i must close the bargain today, you understand." he had fully meant to make it seventeen hundred fifty dollars. it was the unknown humane thing in him that cut off his own commission. "it's worth it," he said to himself. "won't thomas smith, who's got no name to sign to a piece of paper, won't he just cuss when it's all did! it's worth my little loss just to get something dead on him. the tricky thief!" "i'll take it," leigh said, a strange light glowing in her eyes and a firm line settling about her red lips. champers couldn't realize an hour later how it was all done, nor why with such a poor bargain for himself he should feel such satisfaction as he saw leigh shirley and thaine aydelot driving down the road toward little wolf together. neither could he understand why the perfume of white lilac blossoms from the bush in the back yard of his office should seem so sweet this morning. he was not a flower lover. but he felt the two hundred dollars of good money in his pocket and chuckled as he forecasted the hour of thomas smith's discovery. "this is a shadier road than the one i came over this morning," leigh said as she and thaine followed the old trail toward little wolf creek. "it's a little nearer, too, and you'll see by casting a glimpse westward that things are doing over grass river way," thaine replied. leigh saw that a sullen black cloud bank was heaving above the western horizon and felt the heated air of the may afternoon. "i don't like storms when i'm away from home," she said. "are you afraid, like jo bennington? she has the terrors over them. we were out once when she nearly bankrupted everything, she was so scared." thaine recalled a stormy night when jo had clung to his arm to the danger of both of them and the frightened horse he could hardly control. "no, i'm not afraid. i just don't like being blown about. i am glad i happened to find you, to be blown about, too, if it's necessary," leigh replied. "'happened' is a good word, leigh. you happened on what i managed you should, else that long circus performance with mademoiselle rosella gimpkello, famous bareback rider, had not been put on the sawdust this hot day." "what are you saying, thaine aydelot?" leigh asked. "you said last night you were coming over here today and that after you had come you might need my advice. me for the place where my advice is needed ever, on land or water. rosie's hand isn't fit to use yet. i knew that was a nasty glass cut, so i met her in the hall upstairs early this morning and persuaded her to come over today. it gave me the excuse i wanted--to get here by mere happening." "and leave mrs. aydelot all the cleaning up to do. humane son!" leigh exclaimed. "oh, jo stayed all night, and i stopped at todd stewart's place and persuaded him down to help mother and jo. it wasn't hard work to get him persuaded, either." "aren't you jealous of todd?" leigh asked, with a demure curve of her lip. "ought i be? he hasn't anything i want," thaine retorted. "no, he's a farmer. some folks don't like farmers." "i don't blame them," thaine said thoughtlessly. "i haven't much use for a farm myself. but leigh, am i an unnecessary evil? i really turned 'rory rumpus' and 'rode a raw-boned racer' clear over here just to be ready to help you. i wish now i'd stayed home and dried the knives and forks and spoons for my mammie." "oh, thaine, you are as good as--as alfalfa hay, and i need you more today than i ever did in my life before." "and i want to help you more than anything. don't be a still cat, leighlie. tell me what you are up to." they had reached the steep hill beyond the jacobs sheep range where the narrow road with what john jacobs called "the scary little twist" wound down between high banks to a shadowy hollow leading out to the open trail by the willows along big wolf. at the break in the bank, opening a rough way down to the deep waters of little wolf, a draught of cool air swept up refreshingly against their faces. thaine flattened the buggy top under the shade of overhanging trees and held the horse to the spot to enjoy the delightful coolness. they had no such eerie picture to prejudice them against the place as the picture that haunted john jacobs' mind here. "i've bought a ranch, thaine; the quarter section that uncle jim entered in ," leigh said calmly. "alice leigh shirley, are you crazy?" thaine exclaimed. "no, i'm safe and sane. but that's why i need your advice," leigh answered. something in the girl's appealing voice and perfect confidence of friendship, so unlike jo bennington's pouting demands and pretty coquetry, came as a revelation and a sense of loss to thaine. for he loved jo. he was sure of that, cock-sure. "it's this way," leigh went on, "you know how uncle jim lost everything in the boom except his honor. he's helped everybody who needed help, and everybody likes him, i guess." "i never knew anybody who didn't," thaine agreed. "so many things, i needn't name them all, bad crops, bad faith on the part of others, bad luck and bad judgment and bad health, for all his size, have helped till he is ready to go hopeless, and uncle jim's only fifty-one. it's no time to quit till you're eighty in such a good old state as kansas," leigh asserted. "only, big as he is, he's not a real strong man, and crumples down where small nervy men stand up." "well, lady landlord, how can i advise you? you are past advising. you have already bought," thaine said. "you can tell me how to pay for the ranch," leigh declared calmly. "i bought of darley champers for sixteen hundred dollars. i paid two hundred down just now. i've been saving it two years; since i left the high school at careyville. butter and eggs and chickens and some other things." she hesitated, and a dainty pink tint swept her cheek. why should a girl be so deliciously fair with the bloom of summer on her cheeks and with little ringlets curling in baby-gold hair about her temples and at her neck, and with such red lips sweet to kiss, and then put about herself a faint invisible something that should make the young man beside her blush that he would even think of being so rude as to try to kiss her. "and you paid how much?" thaine asked gravely. "two hundred dollars. i want to borrow fourteen hundred more and get it clear away from darley champers. i'm sure with a ranch again, uncle jim will be able to win out," leigh insisted. "what's on it now?" thaine asked. "just weeds and a million sunflowers. enough to send prince quippi such a message he'd have to write back a real love letter to me," leigh replied. "leighlie, you can't do it. you might pay interest maybe, year in and year out, the gnawing, wearing interest. that's all you'd do even with your hens and butter. don't undertake the burden." "i've already done it," leigh declared. "throw it up. you can't make it," thaine urged. "i know i can," leigh maintained stoutly. "you can't." "i can." "how?" thaine queried hopelessly. "if i can get the loan--" "which you can't," thaine broke in. "any man on grass river will tell you the same, if you don't want to believe the word of a nineteen-year-old boy." "thaine, i must do something. even our home is mortgaged. everything is slipping out from under us. you don't know what that means." "my father and mother knew it over and over." thaine's face was full of sympathy. "and they won out. i'm not so foolish after all. when they came out here, they took the prairies as nature had left them, grass-covered and waiting. i'm taking them as the boom left them, weed-covered and waiting. i'll earn the interest myself and make the land pay the principal and i know exactly how it will do it, too." "tell me how," thaine demanded. "it's no dream. i got the idea out of a coburn book last winter," leigh replied. "you mean the state agricultural report of secretary coburn? funny place to hunt for inspiration; queer gospel, i'd say," thaine declared. "why didn't you go to the census report of , or radway's ready relief almanac, or the unabridged dictionary?" "all right, you despiser of small things. it was just an agricultural report full of tables and statistics and comparative values and things that i happened on one day when things were looking blackest, and right in the middle i found a page that foster dwight coburn must have put in just for me, i guess. there was a little sketch of an alfalfa plant with its long good roots, and just one paragraph beside it with the title, 'the silent subsoiler.'" "that sounds well," thaine observed. he was listening eagerly in spite of his joking, and his mind was alert to the girl's project. "mr. coburn said," leigh went on, "that there are some silent subsoilers that do their work with ease and as effectually as any plow ever hitched, and the great one of these is alfalfa; that it is a reservoir of wealth that takes away the fear of protest and over-draft." "well, and what if coburn is right?" thaine queried. "listen, now. i planned how i'd get back that old claim of uncle jim's; how i'd pay some money down and borrow the rest, and begin seeding it to alfalfa. then i'll churn and feed chickens and make little sketches of water lilies, maybe, and pay the interest and let the alfalfa pay off the principal. i haven't any father or mother, thaine; uncle jim is all i have. he hasn't always been successful in business ventures, but he's always been honest. he has nothing to blush for, nothing to keep hidden. i know we'll win now, for that writing of foster dwight coburn's is true. don't try to discourage me, thaine," she looked up with shining eyes. "you are a silent little subsoiler yourself, leigh, doing your work effectually. of course you'll win, you brave girl. i wish it was a different kind of work, though." a low peal of thunder rolled up from the darkening horizon, and the sun disappeared behind the advancing clouds. "that's our notice to quit the premises. i shouldn't want to ford little wolf in a storm. it is ugly enough any time and was bank full when i took rosie posie over this morning. and say, her mother's got a face like a brass bedstead." thaine was lifting the buggy top as he spoke. suddenly he exclaimed: "oh, leigh, look down yonder." he pointed down the little rift toward the water. "where?" leigh asked, looking in the direction of his hand. "across the creek, around by the side of that hill. that's the gimpke home stuck in there where you'd never think of looking for a house from up here. they can see anybody that goes up this lonely hill and nobody can see them. if i was gunning for gimpkes, i'd lie in wait right here," thaine declared. "maybe, if the gimpkes were gunning for you, they could pick you off as you went innocently up this kyber pass and you'd never know what hit you nor live to tell the tale; and they so snugly out of sight nobody but you would ever have sighted them," leigh replied. "but let's hurry on. it will be cooler on the open prairie than down there along the creek trail. and if we are storm-stayed, we are storm-stayed, that's all." "you are the comfortablest girl a fellow could have, leighlie. you aren't a bit scared of storms like--" "yes, like jo. i can't help it. i never was much of a 'fraid cat, but i don't mind admitting i am fonder of water in lakes and rivers and water-color drawings than thumping down on my head from the little end of a cyclone funnel." the air grew cooler in their homeward ride, while they followed the same old sunflower trail that asher and virginia aydelot had followed one september day a quarter of a century before. and, for some reason, they did not stop to question, neither was eager to reach the end of the trail today. as they came to a crest of the prairie looking down a long verdant slope toward what was now a woodsy draw, thaine said, "leigh, my mother was lost here somewhere once and doctor carey found her. maybe doctor carey is the man to help you now." "oh, thaine, i believe i could ask doctor carey for anything. you are so good to think of him," leigh exclaimed. "i knew you'd help me out." "yes, i'm good. that's my trade," thaine replied. "and i'm pretty brave to offer advice, too. but if you want to talk any about courage, mine's a different brand from yours. i may be a soldier myself some day. brother aydelot of the sunflower ranch, trustee of the grass river m. e. church, fit, bled, and died in the civil war and was not quite my age now when he came out all battle-scoured and gory. i always said i'd be a soldier like my popper. but i'd fall in a dead faint before that alfalfa and mortgage business you face like a hero. it's getting cooler. see, the storm didn't get this side of the purple notches; it stayed over there with pryor gaines and prince quippi." they rode awhile in silence, then thaine said: "leigh, i will go up to careyville and send doctor carey down to cloverdale to see you. it will save you some time at least, and i'll tell him you want to see him particularly and alone. you can tell me the result sunday if you want to." leigh did not reply, but gratitude in the violet eyes made words unnecessary. on the sabbath after the party, thaine aydelot waited at the church door for jo bennington, who loitered out slowly, chatting the while with todd stewart. "let me take you home, jo. i see your carriage will be full with the company you will have today," thaine said. jo looked with a pretty pout at the invited guests gathered about her mother and father waiting for her at the family carriage. "thank you, yes. i am glad to get away from those tiresome goody-goodies. it looks like the benningtons are taking the whole official board and the 'amen corner' home for dinner." "then come to the sunflower inn and dine with me. rosie gimpke came back last night and she promised me shortcake and sauerkraut and pretzels and schooners of grass river water. do come." indeed, thaine had been most uncomfortable since the day at wykerton, and he wanted to be especially good to jo now. he didn't know exactly why, nor had he felt any jealousy at the bright looks and the leisure preference she had just given to todd stewart. "oh, you are too good. yes, i'll go, of course," jo exclaimed. "can't we go down to the grove and see the lilies this afternoon, too?" "yes, we can go to china if we want to," thaine declared. "wait here in the shade until i drive up." teams were being backed away from the hitching-rack, and much chatting of neighbors was everywhere. jim shirley was not at church today, and jo saw leigh shirley going alone toward the farther end of the rack where her buggy stood, while three or four young men were rushing to untie her horse. jo, turning to speak to some neighbors, did not notice who had outdistanced the others in this country church courtesy until she realized that the crowd was going, and down the deserted hitching line leigh shirley sat in her buggy talking with thaine, who was standing beside it with his foot on the step, looking up earnestly into her face. jo was no better pleased that leigh's face was like a fair picture under her white hat, and she felt her own cheeks flushing as she saw how cool and poised and unhurried her little neighbor appeared. "thank you, thaine. all right. don't forget, then," jo heard her say as she gathered up the reins, and noted that it was her motion and not the young man's that cut short the interview. "leigh is a leech when she has the chance," jo said jokingly, as the two sat in the aydelot buggy at last. when one has grown up from babyhood the ruling spirit in a neighborhood, her opinions are to be accepted. thaine gave jo a quick look but said nothing. "by the way, papa says jim isn't very well this summer. says he still grieves over the farm he lost. leigh hasn't much ahead of her, nailed down to a chicken lot and a cow pasture and a garden. i wonder they don't move to town. she'd get a clerkship, maybe." thaine only waited, and jo ran on. "i'd never stay in the country a minute if i could get to town. i'll be glad when papa's elected treasurer, so we can live in careyville again. poor leigh. doesn't she look like a drudge?" still thaine was silent. "why don't you say something?" jo demanded, looking coquettishly at him. "about what?" he asked gravely. "about leigh. i don't want to do all the gossiping. tell me what you think of her." "it would take a cyclopedia britannica set of volumes to do that," thaine replied. "oh, be serious and answer my questions," jo demanded. "'doesn't she look like a drudge?' what kind of an answer--information or just my opinion?" "oh, your opinion, of course," jo said. "if she looks like a drudge, it's what she is." the young man's eyes were on his team. "i thought you liked her," jo insisted. "i do," thaine replied. "how much, pray?" "i haven't measured yet." thaine aydelot was by inheritance a handsome young fellow, and as he turned now to his companion, something in his countenance gave it a manliness not usual to his happy-go-lucky expression. but the same unpenetrable something beyond which no one could see was always on his face when jo talked of leigh. "how much do you like me?" the query was daringly put, but the beauty of the girl's striking face seemed to warrant anything from her lips, however daring. "a tremendous lot, i know that," thaine replied quickly, and jo dropped her eyes and began to chatter of other things. in the afternoon the cool grove was inviting, and thaine and jo loitered about in careless enjoyment of woodland shadows and wind-dimpled waters and sabbath quiet and one another. "i want father to have a little boathouse over by the lily corner and make a picnic place here sometime," thaine said as they sat by the lake in the late afternoon. "such a nice place for you to come in the summer. aren't you glad you don't just have to stay in the country?" jo asked. "would you never be satisfied in the country, jo?" thaine queried. "not if you had a home there?" jo blushed and her face was exquisite in its rich coloring. "would you be?" she asked. "oh, i'd like to do something worth while," thaine replied. "father doesn't say much, but he wants me here, i know." "he will get over it, i'm sure," jo insisted. "why should the first generation here weight us all down here, too? i hope you'll not give up to your father. i wouldn't," jo said defiantly. "did you ever give up to him?" thaine asked. "no, he gives up to me." the words were too sweetly said to seem harsh. "i don't blame him," thaine added. "i don't believe any of our crowd will stay here like the old folks have done, except todd stewart and, of course, leigh," jo declared. "say, jo, my folks don't look old to me. mummie is younger and good-lookinger than anybody, except--" "leigh shirley," jo broke in. thaine looked at his watch without replying. "is it late? you must take me home, now," jo said. "you'll be over tonight, won't you? we will have some company from careyville who want to meet you." "i'm sorry, but i promised leigh up here at church that i'd go over to cloverdale for a little while tonight." thaine could not tell jo of leigh's affairs, and he felt that the shirleys' intimacy with his father's family and his own expressed admiration and attention to jo were sufficient to protect him from jealousy. jo stiffened visibly. "thaine aydelot, what's the reason for your actions--oh, i don't care. go to shirley's, by all means. everybody to his likes," she cried angrily. "well, that's my rathers for tonight, and i can't help it," thaine answered hotly. "of course you can't. let's go home quick so you can get off early," jo said in an angered tone. "i'll go as slowly as i can. you can't get rid of me so." thaine was getting control of himself again. "say, thaine, tell me why you go away from our company tonight," jo pleaded softly, putting her hand on her companion's arm. "don't you care to come to our house any more?" they were in the buggy now on the driveway across the lake. thaine recalled the moonlight hour when he sat with leigh, of how little leigh seemed to be thinking of herself, of how he had admired her because she demanded no admiration from him. was there an obligation demanded here today? and had he given grounds for such obligation? past question, he had. "jo, you must take me just as i am," he said. "all the boys are ready to crowd into any place i vacate around cyrus bennington's premises. you won't miss one from your company tonight. i may get desperate--and kill off a few of them sometime to make you really miss me." he knew he was talking foolishly. he had felt himself superior to the other young men who obeyed every wish of jo's. he had been flattered always by her evident preference for his company, and had not thought of himself as being controlled by her before. he had been too willing to do her bidding. today, for the first time, her rule was irksome. in spite of his efforts to be agreeable, the drive homeward was not a happy one. it was twilight when thaine reached the cloverdale ranch and found leigh waiting for him on the wide porch. all the way down the river he had been calling himself names and letting his conscience stab him unmercifully. and once when something spoke within him, saying, "you never told jo you were fond of her. you have not done her any wrong," he stifled back the pleasing voice and despised himself for trying to find such excuse. he was only nineteen and had not had the stern discipline of war that asher aydelot had known at the same age. jo had offered no further complaint at his refusing her invitation. she played the vastly more effective part of being grieved but not angry, and her quiet good-by was so unlike pretty imperious jo bennington that thaine was tempted to go back and spend the evening in her company. yet, strangely enough, he did not blame leigh for being the cause of his discomfort, as he should have done. as he neared her home, his conscience grew less and less noisy, and when he sat at last in jim shirley's easy porch chair with leigh in a low rocker facing him, while the long summer sabbath twilight was falling on the peaceful landscape about him, he had almost forgotten jo's claim on him. "doctor carey came down to see me," leigh was saying, "just as you were kind enough to ask him to do. he told me he had no money of his own to loan, but he knew of a fund he might control in a few days. he had to leave kansas yesterday on a business trip, but he will see me as soon as he comes back." "better than gold! your plans just fall together and fit in, don't they?" thaine exclaimed. "will he be back in time, though?" "yes. but really, thaine," leigh's eyes were beautiful in the twilight, "i never should have thought of doctor carey if it hadn't been for you." "i am of some use to the community after all," thaine said with serious face. "you are a great deal of use to me," leigh assured him. "oh, anybody else could do all i do for you," he retorted. "but i wouldn't ask anybody else," the girl replied. "not even my mother? she thinks there is no girl like you this side of heaven, or virginia, anyhow, and she'd have taken it up with father," thaine declared. "i thought of her," leigh answered, "but in things like this, it is impossible. you said yourself that no man on grass river would think it a wise plan. your father won his fight out here, even his fight against the boom. we have a different wilderness to overcome, i guess. mine is reclaiming that cloverdale ranch from the champers company and the weeds. i don't know where your battlefield lies, but you'll have it, and it's because you haven't won yet that i can come to you. you have helped me and you always will." "i'm glad you came to me, anyhow," thaine assured her. they sat awhile looking out at the prairies and the line of the river glistening in the gloaming. a faint pink tone edged some gray cloud flakes in the southwest sky and all the scene was restful in the soft evening light. at last thaine said thoughtfully: "i haven't heard the bugle trumpet for my call to battle yet. maybe i'll find out down at the university and make everybody proud of me some day as i am proud of you in your fight for a weed-covered quarter of prairie soil. jo bennington is always ridiculing country life, and yet she's pretty fond of todd stewart, who is more of a farmer every day." a little smile curved the corners of leigh's mouth, and thaine knew her thoughts. "you are not a bit alike, you two girls," he exclaimed. "does it make any difference? there's only one of a kind of anything in this world, flower or fruit or leaf or life," leigh added. "i found that out in painting. there's only one jo, and one pryor gaines, and one jane aydelot as i remember her back in ohio; one anything or anybody." "and only one leigh in all the world." it was not the usual bantering tone now, and there was something in the expression of thaine's handsome face; something looking out from his dark eyes that leigh did not see, because she was looking out at the lights and shadows of evening. the sunset's afterglow had thrown a splendor far up the sky. in its reflected light, softened by twilight shadows, leigh made a picture herself that an artist might love to paint. she turned away at his words, and a quiver of pain swept her face as thaine leaned toward her eagerly. "oh, leigh, i wasn't joking. you are so unlike anybody else." he broke off suddenly. but leigh was herself again and, smiling frankly, she added, "let's count our blessings, then, and be thankful it's no worse." thaine rose at once. "i must be going. it is after eight and i ought to be at bennington's now. i am so glad, i am so honored, to have your confidence. won't you keep telling me your plans, and if i can help you, will you let me do it?" he had taken leigh's hand in good-by and held it as he put the question. "i'll be so glad to have your help, for we will see things alike, not as the older people see for us. it is only at our age that we dare take risks. your father and uncle jim wouldn't come to kansas now if it were now like it was when they were twenty-one." thaine did not release her hand. "i'm glad there is only one leigh," he said softly. the light of his eyes and the sympathetic tone seemed all unlike the heir of the sunflower ranch, yet very much like the spirit of the father who had wrested it from the wilderness, and the mother who had courageously shared his every need. "i don't know tonight where my wilderness lies. but i hope, little girl, i hope i'll fight as good a battle on my frontier as my father has done--as you are doing. good-night." he hurried away and, falling into the gay company at bennington's, was welcomed by jo as a penitent, and abundantly forgiven. while down at cloverdale, leigh shirley sat long alone, looking with unseeing eyes at the twilight into which he had vanished. chapter xvi the humaneness of champers what is the use of trying to make things worse? let's find things to do, and forget things. --_the light that failed._ on the third day after darley champers had closed with leigh shirley, horace carey walked into his office. "hello, champers, how's business?" he asked, with the cheerful way that drew even his enemies to him. "danged bad!" champers replied. "rotten world is full of danged fools who want money and ain't satisfied when you get it for 'em." "have you made such a sale lately?" carey inquired. "yes; day before yesterday," champers replied. "was it the old jim shirley quarter, the cloverdale ranch?" the doctor asked. "the very place, and i'm in a devil of a fix, too," darley champers declared. "the trouble is i'm dead sure i'll not get the other fourteen hundred." thomas smith had been paid the two hundred dollars and had fully released the land to champers to finish the sale. unfortunately for champers, smith still hung about wykerton, annoying his agent so much that in a fit of anger, champers revealed the fact that leigh shirley was the buyer of the cloverdale ranch. smith's rage was the greater because he did not believe the price money could be paid by a girl without resources, and against this girl he was not now ready to move. the burden of the whole matter now was that darley champers had taken his life in his own hands by the deal. the bulldog in champers was roused now, and, while he was a good many things evil, he was not a coward. but for his anger this morning, he would hardly have been so free in answering doctor carey's query. carey was a living rebuke to him, and no man loves that force anywhere. "i tell you, i'm in a devil of a fix," he repeated. "well, be wise and go to a doctor in time," doctor carey said, only half in jest. "champers, we haven't always worked together out here, but i guess we know each other pretty well. i'm willing to trust you. are you afraid to trust me?" darley champers leaned back in his office chair and stared at the questioner. horace carey's heavy hair was very white now, although he was hardly fifty-five years old. the decades of consecrated service to his profession had told only in this one feature. his face was the face of a vigorous man, and something in his life, maybe the meaning of giving up and the meaning of the service, he once told jim shirley, he had known, had left upon his countenance their mark of strength. as darley champers looked at this face, he realized, as he had never done before, the freedom and joy of an unsullied reputation and honest dealing. "lord, no, i'd trust you in hell, doc," he exclaimed bluntly. "i won't put it to the proof," the doctor assured him. "nor will i trouble you nor myself with any matter not concerning us two. tell me frankly all the trouble about this sale." briefly, champers explained smith's hatred of jim shirley, and his anger at the present sale. "all i ask is that you will not break your word to miss shirley," horace carey said. "i happen to know that the money will be ready for you. this smith is the same man who came to old carey's crossing years ago, of course?" "why, do you remember him?" darley champers asked in surprise. "i've crossed his trail a hundred times since then, and it's always an ill-smelling trail. some day i may follow it a bit myself. you'll do well to break with him," the doctor assured him. "if doc carey ever starts on that hyena's trail, i'd like to be in at the end of the chase," champers declared with a grin. "why not help a bit yourself? i'm going east for a week. when i come back, i'll see you. maybe i can help you a little to get his claws unhooked from your throat," carey suggested, and the two men shook hands and separated. champers stood up and breathed deeply. the influence of an upright man's presence is inspiring. horace carey did not dream that his confidence and good will that day were turning the balances for darley champers for the remainder of his life. champers was by nature a ferret, and carey's parting words took root and grew in his mind. the may rains that had flooded grass river and its tributaries did worse for clover creek in ohio a few days later. the lower part of the town of cloverdale was uncomfortably submerged until the high railroad grade across the creek on the aydelot farm broke and let the back water have broader outlet. doctor carey had not startled the same old loafers who kept watch over the railway station when he suddenly dropped into the town again. they were too busy watching the capers of clover creek to attend to their regular post of duty. and since he had been a guest of miss jane aydelot as much as a half dozen times in two decades, they knew about what to expect of him now. they were more interested in a big bluff stranger who dropped into town off the early morning train, ate a plentiful meal at the depot restaurant, and then strolled down to the creek. he loitered all day about the spot where the grade broke, nor did he leave the place when the crowd was called away late in the afternoon to a little stream on the other side of town that had suddenly risen to be a river for the first time in the memory of man. to doctor carey, jane aydelot looked scarce a day older for the dozen years gone by. her days were serene and full of good works. such women do not lose the charm of youth until late in life. "i have come for help, as you told me to do when i took leigh away," doctor carey said as they sat on the south veranda in the pleasant light of the may evening. jane aydelot's face was expectant. nobody except doctor carey knew how a little hungry longing in her eyes disappeared when he made his brief visits and crept back again when he said good-by. "i am waiting always to help you," she replied. "i need fourteen hundred dollars to loan to leigh, and i must have that sum at once." miss jane looked thoughtfully at the deep woodland, hiding the marshes as of old. "i can arrange it," she said presently. "tell me about it." and horace carey told her all of leigh's plans. "it is a wonderful undertaking for a girl, but she has faith in herself, and if she fails, the land is abundantly worth the mortgage with nothing but weeds on it," the doctor explained. "she is a charming girl. she seems to have inherited all of her mother's sweetness and artistic gifts, without her mother's submissiveness to others; and from her father, she has keen business qualities, but fails to inherit his love of gain and traits of trickery. her executive mind with her uncle's good heart make a winning team. by the way, my affection for jim shirley is leading me to make some quiet investigation of an agent of tank's who is hounding jim and will, i suppose, turn against leigh. can you help me at all?" doctor carey had always felt that miss jane knew much more than she cared to tell of the shirley family's affairs. she rose without replying and went into the house. in a few minutes she returned and gave a large sealed envelope into doctor carey's hands. "do not use that until it is needed to protect someone from tank shirley's violence. it is legally drawn and witnessed. you will find it effective if it is needed at all." "i have one more duty, miss aydelot," doctor carey said. "my time is brief. i have an intuition, too, that i may never come east again." jane aydelot's face whitened, and her hands closed involuntarily on one another as she waited. "i must have you and asher aydelot reconciled. what can i tell him of you?" the pink flush returned to the pale cheeks. "let him read my will. i copied it when i had your telegram two days ago. i cannot give him my property; uncle francis' will forbids it. but--take the copy with you. i hope my wishes will be realized." doctor carey held her hand long when he bade her good-by. in her clear gray eyes he read a story that gave him infinite sorrow. stooping down, he put his arm gently about her shoulders and, drawing her to him, kissed her once on her forehead, and once--just once--on her lips, and was gone. they never met again. but those who knew her best in cloverdale remember yet that from the maytime of that year, miss jane's face was glorified with a light never there before. down at the creek, doctor carey saw a large man intently studying the bank beyond the break in the railroad grade. something made the doctor pass slowly, for the figure appealed to his interest. presently, the man turned away and, climbing up to the national pike road before him, made his way into town. as the last light of evening fell full upon him, it revealed to doctor carey a very white face, and eyes that stared, as if seeing nothing--even the bluff face and huge form of darley champers. two weeks later when darley champers gave leigh shirley the deed in her own name to the cloverdale ranch, he said, in his bluff way: "i'm sayin' nothin' against jim shirley, madam, when i say i hope you'll keep this in your own name. some day you'll know why. and i hope to gawd you'll prosper with it. it's cost more'n the money paid out for it to get that quarter section of prairie out of the wilderness. sorrow and disappointment, bad management, and blasted hopes, and hard work, and hate. but i reckon it's clean hands and a pure heart, as the good book says, that you are usin' now. this money don't represent all it'll cost me yet by a danged sight." he bade her a hearty good-by and strode away. the mortgage for the loan was given to horace carey, as agreed upon between himself and miss jane aydelot. "if leigh knows it's aydelot money she might feel like she's taking what should be thaine's. would the aydelots feel the same if they knew it?" miss jane had asked. "the thing the aydelots have never grieved for is this ohio inheritance," carey answered her. "asher gave it up to live his life in his own way. if you knew what a prince of a fellow he is, although he's only a kansas farmer, you would understand how that prairie ranch and the lure of the sunflower have gripped him to the west," the day after the completion of the sale dr. carey went to the big wolf neighborhood. in the dusk of the evening he drove up to darley champers' office in wykerton. as he was hitching his team rosie gimpke rushed out of the side street and lunged across to the hitching post. "oh, doctor carey, coom queek mit me," she exclaimed in a whisper. "coom, i just got here from mis' aydelot's. they mak' me coom home to work at the wyker house, ant a man get hurt bad in there. coom, do coom," she urged in a frenzy of eagerness. "what's the trouble?" dr. carey asked. "coom. i show you. i 'fraid the man coom back and finish heem. don't make no noise, but coom." rosie was clutching hard at dr. carey's arm as she whispered. "that sounds surprising, but life is full of surprises," the doctor thought as he took up his medicine case and followed rosie's lead. the way took them to the alley behind the wyker house, through a rear gate to the back door of the kitchen, from which it was a short step to the little "blind tiger" beyond the dining room. sounds of boisterous talking and laughter and a general shuffling of dishes told that the evening meal was beginning. for her size and clumsiness rosie whisked the doctor deftly out of sight and joined the ranks of the waiters in the dining room. the only light inside the little room came from the upper half of the one window looking toward the alley. as it was already twilight the doctor did not get his bearings until a huge form on the floor near the table made an effort to rise. "what's the trouble here?" carey asked in the sympathetic-professional voice by which he controlled sick rooms. "lord, doc, is that you?" darley champers followed the words with a groan. "you are in a fix," carey replied as he lifted champers to his feet. blood was on his face and clothes and the floor, and champers himself was almost too weak to stand. "get me out of here as quick as you can, doc," he said in a thick voice. at the same moment rosie gimpke appeared from the kitchen. "slip him out queek now. i hold the dining room door tight," she urged, rushing back to the kitchen. carey moved quickly and had darley champers safely out and into his own office before rosie had need to relax her grip on the dining room door-knob. "i guess you've saved me," champers said faintly as the doctor examined his wounds. "not as bad as that," dr. carey replied cheerfully. "an ugly scalp wound and loss of blood, but you'll come back all right." "and a kick in the abdomen," champers groaned. "but it was from what was comin' you saved me. i've never been sick a day in my life and i've had little sympathy for you and your line, and then to be knocked down so quick by a little whiffet like smith and roll over like a log at the first blow!" "you're in luck. most men in your line ought to have been knocked down a good many times before now," the doctor declared. "how did this happen?" "i settled with smith and made him sign everything up to a hog-tight contract. then he started in to abuse me till i got tired and told him i'd just got back from ohio and a thing or two i saw there. then he suddenly belted me and, against all rules of the game, kicked me when i was down, and left me, threatening to come back and finish me. that's what you saved me from." "champers, my old buggy is like a rocking chair. let me take you home with me for a few days while you are wearing patches on your head," horace carey suggested. darley champers stared at his helper in surprise. then he said slowly: "say, doc, i've hated you a good many years for doin' just such tricks for folks. it was my cussedness made me do it, i reckon. i'd like to get out of town a little while. that joint of wyker's has seen more'n one fellow laid out, and some of 'em went down big wolf later, and some of 'em fell into little wolf and never come out. it's a hole, i tell you. and smith is a devil tonight." on the homeward way dr. carey said quietly: "by the way, champers, i saw you at cloverdale, ohio, last week." champers did not start nor seem surprised as he replied: "yes, i seen you, but i didn't want to speak to nobody right then." "no?" dr. carey questioned. "no. i've got hold enough of smith now to make him afraid of me if i'd turn loose. i'd a made money by doin' it, too. good clean money. that's why he's gettin' good and drunk to beat me up again tonight, maybe." "well, why don't you tighten up on him? why let a scoundrel like that run free?" carey inquired. "because it might drag leigh shirley's name into the muss. and i'm no devourer of widders and orphans; i'm a humane man, and i'll let smith run till his tether snaps and he falls over the precipice and breaks his neck for hisself. besides i'm not sure now whether he's a agent, representin' some principal, or the principal representin' hisself. and in that case i'd have to deal the cards different for him, and them he'd do harm to." "you are a humane man, champers," carey declared. "i think i've hated you, too, a good many years. these gray hairs of ours ought to make us better behaved now. but, even if you do let smith run, that 'blind tiger' of wyker's must go out of business. i'll start john jacobs after that hole one of these days. he holds the balance of power on public sentiment out here. he'll clear it out. his hatred of saloons is like smith's hatred of shirley, only it's a righteous indignation. i've heard john's father was a drunkard and his mother followed her husband into a saloon in cincinnati to persuade him out and was killed by a drunken tough. anyhow, john will break up that game of wyker's one of these times. see if he doesn't." darley champers slowly shifted his huge frame into an easier posture as he replied: "yes, he can do it all right. but mark me, now, the day he runs hans wyker out of that doggery business it will be good-by to john jacobs. you see if it isn't. i wouldn't start him after it too quick." darley champers spent two weeks with his physician, and the many friends of dr. carey smiled and agreed with todd stewart, who declared: "carey would win satan to be his fast friend if the old scratch would only let carey doctor him once." but nobody understood how the awakening of the latent manhood in darley champers and his determination to protect an orphan girl were winning the doctor to him as well. chapter xvii the purple notches two things greater than all things are. one is love, and the other war. and since we know not how war may prove, heart of my heart, let us talk of love. --the ballad of the king's jest. the summer ran its hot length of days, but it was a gay season for the second generation in the grass river valley. nor drouth nor heat can much annoy when the heart beats young. september would see the first scattering of the happy company for the winter. the last grand rally for the crowd came late in august. two hayrack loads of young folks, with some few in carriages, were to spend the day at "the cottonwoods," a far-away picnic ground toward the three headlands of the southwest. few of the company had ever visited the place. distances are deceiving on the prairies and better picnic grounds lay nearer to grass river. on the afternoon before the picnic leigh shirley took her work to the lawn behind the house. what most ranches gave over to weed patches, or hog lots, or dumping grounds along the stream, at cloverdale had become a shady clover-sodded lawn sloping down to the river's edge. the biggest cottonwoods and elms in the whole valley grew on this lawn. a hedge of lilac and other shrubbery bordered by sunflowers and hollyhocks bounded it from the fields and trellises of white honeysuckle screened it from the road. [illustration: leigh turned to see thaine aydelot looking down at her as he leaned over the high back of the rustic seat] in a rustic seat overlooking the river and the prairies beyond, leigh shirley bent lovingly above a square of heavy white paper on which she was sketching a group of sunflowers glowing in the afternoon sunlight. leigh's talent was only an undeveloped inheritance, but if it lacked training it's fresh originality was unspoiled. "the top of the afternoon to you." leigh turned to see thaine aydelot looking down at her as he leaned over the high back of the rustic seat. he was in his working clothes with his straw hat set back, showing his brown face. his luminous dark eyes were shining and a half-teasing, half-sympathetic smile was on his lips. but whatever the clothes, there was always something of the southern gentleman about every man of the thaine blood. something of the soldierly bearing of his father had been his heritage likewise. "may i see your stuff, or is it not for the profane eyes of a thresher of alfalfa to look upon?" leigh drew back and held up her drawing-board. "it's just like you, leigh. you always were an artist, but when did you learn all the technique? is that what you call it? how do you do it?" "i don't know," leigh answered frankly. "it seems to do itself." "and why do you do it? or why don't you do more of it?" thaine asked. the girl answered, smiling: "just between us two, i hope to do a piece good enough to sell and help to lift the price of alfalfa seed a bit." "by the way, i brought the first load of seed over just now. where's uncle jim?" thaine asked, trying not to let the pity in his heart show itself in his eyes. "uncle jim is breaking sod--weeds, i mean--for fall sowing. wait a minute and i'll get you the money he left for you." thaine threw himself down in the shade beside leigh's seat while she went into the house. "i wish i didn't have to take that money, but i know better than to say a word," he said to himself. "thank the lord, the worried look is beginning to leave uncle jim's face, though. how could any of us get along without uncle jim?" "what little seed to be worth so much, but it's the beginning of conquest," leigh said as thaine took the bills from her hand. "and it's a much more hopeful business to reclaim from booms and weeds than from this lonely old prairie as it was when uncle jim and your father first came here." "it's just the same old pioneer spirit, though, and you are fighting a mortgage just like they fought loneliness, and besides, asher aydelot had virginia thaine to help him to keep his courage up." a sudden flush deepened on his ruddy cheeks and he continued: "of course you are going to the picnic? you'll have to start early. it's a goodish way to 'the cottonwoods.' the sunflower ranch needs my talents, so i can't go with the crowd, but i may draggle in about high noon. i'll drive over in the buggy, and i'll try to snake some pretty girl off the wagons to ride home with me when it's all over." "maybe the pretty girls will all be preempted before you get there," leigh replied. "i know one that i hope won't be," thaine said. leigh was bending over her drawing board and did not look up for a long minute. it was her gift to make comfort about her while she followed her own will unflinchingly. the breeze had blown the golden edges of her hair into fluffy ripples about her forehead and the deep blue of august skies was reflected in her blue eyes shaded by their long brown lashes. thaine sat watching her every motion, as he always did when he was with her. "well?" leigh looked up with the query. "and what's to hinder your getting the pretty girl you want if she understands and you are swift enough to cut off the enemy from a flank movement?" "the girl herself," thaine replied. "serious! tragical! won't you give me that chrome-yellow tube by your elbow there?" leigh reached for the paint and their hands met. "say, little sketcher of things, will you be missing me when i go to school next month? or will your art and your ranch take all your thoughts?" "i wish they would, but they won't," leigh said. "they will help to fill up the time, though." "leigh, may i bring you home tomorrow night? i'm going away the next day, and i won't see you any more for a long time." "no, you may not," leigh replied, looking up, and her sunny face framed by her golden brown hair was winsomely pleasing. "why not, leigh? am i too late?" "too early. you haven't asked jo and been refused yet. but you are kind to put me on the 'waiting list.'" thaine was standing beside her now. "i mean it. has anybody asked you specially--to be your very particular escort?" "oh, yes. the very nicest of the crowd." leigh's eyes were shining now. "but i've refused him," she added. "who was it?" "thaine aydelot, and i refused because it was good taste for me to do it. if it's his last day at home--and--oh, i forget what i was going to say." "i wish you wouldn't make a joke of it, anyhow. tell me why you are so unkind to an old neighbor and lifelong pal," thaine insisted. but leigh made no reply. "leigh!" "tell me why you insist when by all the rules you are due to snake the prettiest girl in the crowd off the wagon and into your buggy. why aren't you satisfied to make the other boys all envy you?" leigh had risen and stood beside the rustic seat, her arm across its high back. "because it is the last time. because we've known each other since childhood and have been playmates, chums, companions; because i am going one way and you another, and our paths may widen more and more, and because--oh, leigh, because i want you." he leaned against the back of the seat and gently put one hand on her arm. the yellow august sunshine lay on the level prairies beyond the river. the shining thread of waters wound away across the landscape under a play of light and shadow. the clover sod at their feet was soft and green. the big golden sunflowers hung on their stalks along the border of the lawn, and overhead the ripple of the summer breezes in the cottonwoods made a music like pattering raindrops. under their swaying boughs leigh shirley stood, a fair, sweet girl. and nothing in the languorous beauty of the midsummer afternoon could have been quite so pleasing without her presence there. she looked down at thaine's big brown hand resting against her white arm, and then up to his handsome face. "it would only make trouble for, for everybody. no, i'm coming home with the crowd on the hayrack." she lifted her arm and began to pull the petals from a tiny sunflower that lay on the seat beside her. "very well." there was no anger in thaine's tone. "do you remember the big sunflower we found to send to prince quippi, once?" "the one that should bring him straight from china to me, if he really cared for me?" leigh asked. "you said that one was to tell him that you loved him and you knew it would bring him to you. but he never came." "it's a way my princes have of doing," leigh said with a little laugh. "if i were in china and you should send me a sunflower, i'd know you wanted me to come back." "if i ever send you one you will know that i do," leigh said. "meantime, my prince will wear a sprig of alfalfa on his coat." "and a cockle burr in his whiskers, and cerulean blue overalls like mine, and he'll drudge along in a slow scrap with the soil till the soil gets him," thaine added. "like it got your father," leigh commented. "oh, he's just one sort of a man by himself," thaine declared. "a pretty good sort, of course, else i'd never have recommended him to be my father. good-by. i'll see you across the crowd tomorrow." he turned at once and left her. "the cottonwoods" was a picturesque little grove grown in the last decade about a rocky run down which in the springtime a full stream swept. there was only a little ripple over a stony bed now, with shallow pools lost in the deeper basins here and there. the grasses lay flat and brown on the level prairie about it. down the shaded valley a light cool breeze poured steadily. beyond the stream a gentle slope reached far away to the foot of the three headlands--the purple notches of thaine aydelot's childhood fancies. the day was ideal. such days come sometimes in a kansas august. the young people of the grass river neighborhood had made merry half of the morning in the grove, and as they gathered for the picnic lunch someone called out: "jo bennington, where's thaine aydelot? great note for him to disappear when this charity ball was executed mainly for him." "better ask todd stewart. he's probably had thaine kidnaped for this occasion," somebody else suggested. "i tried to do it and failed," todd stewart assented. "i don't need him in my business. he can start to school today if he wants to." "well, you don't want him to go, do you, jo?" "oh, i don't care especially. i'm going away myself, but not to the university, but i'm not going till papa's elected," jo replied. "and if papa's defeated we stay home all winter, eh?" todd questioned. "that all depends," jo replied. "of course it does. what is it, and who depends on it? jo, i'll help you if you must defend yourself." thaine aydelot bounced down from the rocky bank above into the midst of the company and became at once jo's escort by common consent. "now life's worth living, thaine's here. let's have dinner," the boys urged. it was not leigh shirley's fault that thaine should be placed between her and jo at the spread of good things to eat; nor jo's planning that she should be between thaine and todd stewart. but nobody could be unhappy today. in the late afternoon the crowd strolled in couples and quartettes and groups up and down the picturesque place. thaine had been with jo from the moment of his coming and leigh was glad that she had not yielded to his request of the afternoon before. she had become a little separated from the company as she followed a trail of golden sunflowers down the edge of the wide space between the stream and the foot of the headlands towering far beyond it. the sun had disappeared suddenly and the gleam of the blossoms dulled a trifle. leigh sat down on a slab of shale to study the effect of the shadow. "are you still looking for a letter that will bring prince quippi back?" thaine aydelot asked as he climbed up from the rough stream bed to a seat beside her. "i'm watching the effect of sunshine and shadow on the sunflowers," leigh replied. "it will be all shadow if you wait much longer. the clouds are gathering now and we must start home." "then i must be going, too. it's a lovely, lazy place here, though. some time i'm going to the top of those bluffs, away off there." "let's go up now," thaine suggested. "but it's too late. i mustn't keep the crowd waiting," leigh insisted. "it's a stiff climb, too." "i can drive up. i know a trail through the brush. let me drive you up, leigh. it won't take long. there's something worth seeing up there," thaine insisted. "well, be quick, thaine. we'll get into trouble if we are late," leigh declared. the trail up the steep slope twisted its way back and forth through the low timber that covered the sides of the bluffs, and the two in the buggy found themselves shut away in its solitary windings. "what a shadowy road," leigh said. "and see that cliff dropping down beyond that turn. how could there be such a romantic place out on these level plains?" "it was my fairy land when i was a little tot," thaine replied. "i came here long ago and explored it myself." "i'd like to come here sketching sometime. see how the branches meet overhead. the odors from the bluffside are like the odors of the woodland back in the clover valley in ohio. i remember them yet, although i was so little when i left there," leigh said, turning to thaine. he shifted the reins, and throwing his hat in the buggy before him he pushed back the hair from his forehead. "leigh, will you let me take you home? i didn't ask jo after all. todd wouldn't wait long enough for me to do that, as i knew well enough he wouldn't. don't be mad at me. please don't," he pleaded. "why, i'm glad if you really want me to go with you, but you shouldn't have staid away this morning." "i did it on purpose. i knew todd wouldn't let the chance slip--nor jo neither, if i let him have it." "you let him have it merely because you didn't want the chance today. your kindness will be your undoing some day," leigh said with a smile that took off the edge of sarcasm. thaine said nothing in response, and they climbed slowly to the top of the bluff and stood at last on the crest of the middle headland. below them lay "the cottonwoods" and the winding stream whose course, marked by the dark green line of shrubbery, stretched away toward grass river far to the southeast. to the westward a wonderful vista of level prairie spread endlessly, wherein no line of shrubbery marked a watercourse nor tree rose up to break the circle of the horizon. over all this vast plain the three headlands stood as sentinels. in the west the sunlight had pierced a heavy cloudbank and was pouring through the rift in one broad sheet of gold mist from sky to earth. purple and silver and burnt umber, with green and gray and richest orange, blended all in the tones of the landscape, overhung now by a storm-girdled sky. "this prairie belongs mostly to john jacobs now and it is just as it was when the indians called it the grand prairie and the old pawnees came down here every summer to hunt buffalo. some day, soon, there will be a sea of wheat flowing over all that level plain," thaine said. "and up here a home with nothing to cut off a fragment of the whole horizon. think of seeing every sunrise and every sunset from a place like this," leigh said, her face aglow with an artist's love of beauty. "it's farther to china than i used to think when i dreamed of a purple velvet house decorated with gold knobs beyond these three headlands." "i always did want to live on the purple notches," thaine said reminiscently. "i'm glad we came up here today." the sound of singing came faintly up from the valley far away. "the crowd is mobilized. see the wagons crawling out of the grove and the civilians in citizens' clothes following in carriages," thaine said as he watched the picnic party pushing out toward the eastward. "i'm so glad we aren't with them." leigh sat leaning forward, looking at the majestic distances lost in purple haze, overshadowed by purple clouds with gold-broidered edges of sunlight. "the world is all ours for once. we see all there is of it and yet we are alone in it up here on the purple notches i used to dream about," she said softly. thaine leaned back in his buggy and looked at leigh with the same impenetrable expression on his countenance that was always there when she was present. "leigh," he said at last, "if you didn't have uncle jim what would you do?" "i don't know," the girl answered. "i never knew one of the fellows who didn't like you, but you, you don't seem to care for any of them. don't they suit you?" thaine asked. "yes, but i can't think much about them." "why not?" leigh drew a long breath. "thaine, you have always been a good friend to me. some day i'll tell you why." "tell me now," thaine insisted gently. leigh looked up, a mist of tears in her violet eyes. "oh, little girl, forgive me. it's because--because," thaine hesitated. "because deep down where nobody ever knew i've loved you always, leigh. i didn't know how much until the night of my party and the day we were at wykerton." "thaine! thaine! you mustn't say such things," leigh cried, gripping her hands together. "you mustn't! you mustn't!" "but i must, and i will," thaine declared. "then i won't listen to you. you are a flirt. not satisfied with making one girl love you, you want to make all of us care for you." "i know what you mean. i thought i loved jo. then i knew i didn't, and i felt in honor bound to keep her from finding it out. but that's a dead failure of a business. you can't play that game and win. i've learned a good many things this summer, and one of them is that todd stewart is the only one who really and truly loves jo, and she cares as much for him as she does for anybody." "how do you know?" leigh asked as she leaned back now and faced thaine. "because she doesn't know herself yet. she's too spoiled by the indulgence of everybody and too pretty. she wants attention. but i found finally, maybe mother helped me a little, that if she has todd's attention she's satisfied. more, she's comfortable. she was always on thorns with me. isn't that enough about jo?" "well?" leigh queried. "no, nothing is well yet. leigh, let me go away to the university. let me make a name for myself, a world-wide name, maybe, let me fight on my frontier line and then come back and lift the burden you carry now. i want to do big things somewhere away from the kansas prairies, away from the grind of the farm and country life. oh, leigh, you are the only girl i ever can really love." he leaned forward and took her hands in his own, his dark eyes, beautiful with the light of love, looking down into hers, his face aglow with the ambition of undisciplined youth. "let me help you," he pleaded. "it is only sympathy you offer, thaine, and i don't want sympathy. you said that game wouldn't win with jo. neither would it with me. i am happy in my work. i'm not afraid of it. the harder part is to get enough money to buy seed and pay interest, and uncle jim and i will earn that. i tell you the mortgage must be lifted by alfalfa roots just as coburn's book says it will be." there was a defiant little curve on her red lips and the brave hopefulness of her face was inspiring. "go and do your work, thaine. fight your battles, push back your frontier line, win your wilderness, and make a world-wide name for yourself. but when all is done don't forget that the fight your father and mother made here, and are making today, is honorable, wonderful; and that the winning of a kansas farm, the kingdom of golden wheat, bordered round by golden sunflowers, is a real kingdom. its sinews of strength uphold the nation." "why, you eloquent little jayhawker!" thaine exclaimed. "you should have been an orator on the side, not an artist. but all this only makes me care the more. i'm proud of you. i'd want you for my chum if you were a boy. i want you for my friend, but down under all this i want you for my girl now, and afterwhile, leigh, i want you for my own, all mine. don't you care for me? couldn't you learn to care, leigh? couldn't you go with me to a broader life somewhere out in the real big world? couldn't we come some time to the purple notches and build a home for just our summer days, because we have seen these headlands all our lives?" leigh's head was bowed, and the pink blooms left her cheeks. "thaine," she said in a low voice that thrilled him with its sweetness, "i do care. i have always cared so much that i have hoped this moment might never come." thaine caught her arm eagerly. "no! no! we can never, never be anything but friends, and if you care more than that for me now, if you really love me--"the voice was very soft--"don't ask me why. i cannot tell you, but i know we can never be anything more than friends, never, never." the sorrow on her white face, the pathos of the great violet eyes, the firm outline of the red lips told thaine aydelot that words were hopeless. he had known her every mood from childhood. she never dallied nor hesitated. the grief of her answer went too deep for words to argue against. and withal thaine aydelot was very proud and unaccustomed to being denied what he chose to want very much. "leigh, will you do two things for me?" he asked at length. the sad, quiet tone was unlike thaine aydelot. "if i can," leigh answered. "first, will you promise me that if you want me you will send for me. if you ever find--oh, leigh, ever is such a long word. if you ever think you can care enough for me to let me come back to you, you will let me know." "when i send you the little sunflower letter prince quippi never answered you may come back," leigh said lightly, but the tears were too near for the promise to seem trivial. "what is the other thing?" "i want you just once to let me kiss you, leigh. it's our good-by kiss forever. hereafter we are only friends, old chums, you know. will you let me be your lover for one minute up here on the purple notches, where the whole world lies around us and nobody knows our secret? please, leigh. then i'll go away and be a man somewhere in the big world that's always needing men." leigh leaned toward him, and he held her close as he kissed her red lips. in all the stormy days that followed the memory of that moment was with him. a moment when love, in all its purity and joy, knew its first realization. the next day leigh shirley made butter all the morning, and in the afternoon she tried to retouch her sketch of sunflowers as she had seen the shadows dull the brightness of their petals in the valley below the purple notches. the same day thaine aydelot left home for the winter, taking the memory of the most sacred moment of his life with him out into the big world that is always needing men. chapter xviii remembering the maine the twentieth kansas was fortunate in opportunity, and heroic in action, and has won a permanent place in the hearts of a grateful people. --william mckinley. the sunny plains of kansas were fair and full of growing in the spring of . the alfalfa creeping out against the weeds of the old cloverdale ranch was green under the april sunshine. the breezes sweeping down the grass river valley carried a vigor in their caress. the aydelot grove, just budding into leaf, was full of wild birds' song. all the sights and sounds and odors of springtime made the april day entrancing on the kansas prairies. leigh shirley had risen at dawn and come up to the grove in the early morning. she tethered her pony to graze by the roadside, and with her drawing board on a slender easel she stood on the driveway across the lakelet, busy for awhile with her paints and pencil. then the sweetness of the morning air, the gurgling waters at the lake's outlet, once the little draw choked with wild plum bushes, and the trills of music from the shimmering boughs above her head, all combined to make dreaming pleasant. she dropped her brushes and stood looking at the lake and the bit of open woodland, and through it to the wide level fields beyond, with the river gleaming here and there under the touch of the morning light. she recalled in contrast the silver and sable tones of the may night when she and thaine sat on the driveway and saw the creamy water lilies open their hearts to the wooing moonlight and the caressing shadows. it was a fairyland here that night. it was plain daylight now, beautiful, but real. life seemed a dream that night. it was very real this april morning. the young artist involuntarily drew a deep breath that was half a sigh and stooped to pick up her fallen brushes. but she dropped them again with a glad cry. far across the lake, in the leaf-checkered sunshine, thaine aydelot stood smiling at her. "shall i stay here and spoil your landscape or come around and shake hands?" he called across to her. "oh, come over here and tell me how you happened," leigh cried eagerly. grass river people blamed the two years of the university life for breaking thaine aydelot's interest in jo bennington. not that jo lacked for admirers without him. life had been made so pleasant for her that she had not gone away to any school, even after her father's election to office. and down at the university the pretty girls considered thaine perfectly heartless, for now in his second year they were still baffled by his general admiration and undivided indifference toward all of them. his eager face as he came striding up the driveway to meet leigh shirley would have been a revelation to them. "i 'happened' last night, too late to-wake up the dog," thaine exclaimed. "i happened to run against dr. carey, who had a hurry-up call down this way, and he happened to drop me at the sunflower inn. he's coming by for breakfast at my urgent demand. this country night practice is enough to kill a doctor. his hair is whiter than ever, young as he is. he said he is going to take a trip out west and have a vacation right soon. i told him all my plans. you can tell him anything, you know. and, besides, i'm hoping he will beat me to the house this morning and will tell the folks i'm here." "doesn't your mother know you are here?" leigh asked. "not yet. i wanted to come down early and tell the lake good-by. i have to leave again in a few hours." the old impenetrable expression had dropped over his face with the words. and nobody knows why the sunshine grew dull and the birds' songs dropped to busy twittering about unimportant things. "do you always tell it good-by?" leigh asked, because she could think of nothing else to say. "not always, but this time it's different. i'm so glad i found you. i should have gone down to cloverdale, of course, if you hadn't been here, but this saves time." a pink wave swept leigh's cheek, but she smiled a pleasant recognition of his thoughtfulness. "i've come home to say good-by because i'm going to enlist in the first kansas regiment that goes to cuba to fight the spaniards. and i must hurry back to lawrence." "oh, thaine! what do you mean?" leigh's face was very white. "be careful!" thaine caught her arm in time to save the light easel from being thrown over. "don't look at me that way, leigh. don't you know that president mckinley has declared war and has called for one hundred and twenty-five thousand volunteers? four or five thousand from old kansas. do you reckon we jayhawkers will wait till one hundred and twenty thousand have enlisted and trail in on the last five thousand? it would be against all traditions of the rude forefathers of the sunflower state." "has war really been declared? we haven't had the papers for nearly a week. everybody is so busy with farm work right now." leigh stood looking anxiously at thaine. "declared! the first gun has been fired. the call for volunteers has come from washington, and the governor has said he will make fred funston colonel of the first regiment of kansas volunteers, and he sent out his appeal for loyal kansas men to offer themselves. i tell you again, leigh shirley, i'll not be the one hundred and twenty-five thousandth man in the line. i'm going to be right close up to little fred funston, our kansas boy, who is to be our colonel. i have a notion that university students will make the right kind of soldiers. there will be plenty of ignorance and disloyalty and drafting into line on the spanish side. america must send an intelligent private if the war is to be fought out quickly. i'm that intelligent gentleman." "but why must we fight at all, thaine? spain has her islands in every sea. we are almost an inland country. spain is a naval power. who ever heard of the united states being a naval power? i don't understand what is back of all this fuss." leigh asked the questions eagerly. "we fight because we remember the maine," thaine said a little boastfully. "we are keeping in mind the two hundred and sixty-six american sailors who perished when our good ship was sunk in the harbor at havana last february. if we aren't a naval power now we may develop some sinews of strength before we are through. your uncle sam is a nervy citizen, and it was a sorry day for proud old spain when she lighted the fuse to blow up our good warship. it was a fool's trick that we'll make spain pay dearly for yet." "so it's just for revenge, then, for the maine horror. thaine, think how many times worse than that this war might be. isn't there any way to punish spain except by sending more americans to be killed by her fuses and her guns?" leigh insisted. "there is more than the _maine_ affair," thaine assured her. "you know, just off our coast, almost in sight of our guns, spain has held cuba for all these centuries in a bondage of degradation and ignorance and cruel oppression. you know there has been an awful warfare going on there for three years between the spanish government and the rebels against it. and that for a year and a half the atrocities of weyler, the captain general of the spanish forces, make an unprintable record. the united states has declared war, not to retaliate for the loss of the _maine_ alone, awful as it was, but to right wrongs too long neglected, to put a twentieth century civilization instead of a sixteenth century barbarity in cuba." thaine was reciting his lesson glibly, but leigh broke in. "but why must you go? you, an only child?" she had never seen a soldier. her knowledge of warfare had been given her by the stories jim shirley and dr. carey had told to her in her childhood. "it's really not my fault that i'm an only child. it's an inheritance. my father was an only child, too. he went to war at the mature age of fifteen. i'll be twenty-one betimes." thaine stood up with military stiffness. "your father fought to save his country. you just want gold lace and a lark. war is no frolic, thaine aydelot," leigh insisted. "i'm not counting on a frolic, miss shirley, and i don't want any gold lace till i have earned it," thaine declared proudly. "then why do you go?" leigh queried. "i go in the name of patriotism. wars don't just happen. at least, that is what the professor at the university tells us. back of this spanish fuss is a bigger turn waiting than has been foretold. watch and see if i am not a prophet. this is a war to right human wrongs. that's why we are going into it." "but your father wants you here. the sunflower ranch is waiting for you," leigh urged. "his father wanted him to stay in ohio, so our family history runs. but mr. asher heard the calling of the prairies. his wilderness lay on the kansas plains, and he came out and drove back the frontier line and pretty near won it. at least, he's got a wheat crop in this year that looks some like success." thaine smiled, but leigh's face was grave. "leighlie, my frontier is where the spanish yoke hangs heavy on the necks of slaves. i must go and win it. i must drive back my frontier line where i find it, not where my grandfather found it. i must do a man's part in the world's work." his voice was full of earnestness and his dark eyes were glowing with the fire of inspiration. by the patriotism and enthusiasm of the youth of twenty-one has victory come to many a battlefield. "but i don't want you to go away to war," leigh pleaded. "you don't want me here." thaine let his hand rest gently on hers for a moment as it lay on top of the easel; then hastily withdrew it. "has your alfalfa struck root deep enough to begin to pull up that mortgage yet?" he inquired, as if to drop the unpleasant subject. "not yet," leigh answered. "we make every acre help to seed more acres. it's an uphill pull. it's my war with spain, you know. but i'm doing something with these little daubs of mine. i have sold a few pieces. the price wasn't large, but it was something to put against a hungry interest account. some day i want to paint--"she hesitated. "what?" thaine asked. leigh was bending over her brushes and paints, and did not look up as she said with an effort at indifference: "oh, the purple notches. it is so beautiful over there." thaine bit his lips to hold back the words, and leigh went on: "dr. carey says uncle jim couldn't have held out long at general farming. but the coburn book was right. the alfalfa is the silent subsoiler, and when the whole quarter is seeded we'll pull that mortgage up by the roots, all right." she looked up with shining eyes, and thaine took both of her hands in his, saying: "i must tell you good-by now. mother will know i am here and will be dragging the lake for me. this isn't like other good-bys. of course, i may come back a brigadier general and make you very proud of me, or i might not come at all, but i won't say that. oh, leigh, leigh, may i tell you once more how dear you are to me? will you promise again to send me the same message you sent to prince quippi when you want me to come back?" "i will," leigh replied in a low voice, and for that moment the grove became for them a holy sanctuary, wherein their words were sacred vows. when thaine reached home again, dr. carey was just leaving, and the way was prepared for the purpose of his own coming, as he had hoped it would be. "i've a call to make across the river. i'll be back in time to take you up to catch the train. there's a feast of a breakfast waiting in there for you. i know, for i had my share of it. good-by for an hour or two." the doctor waved his hand to thaine and drove away. "so the wanderlust and spirit of adventure in the aydelot blood got you after all," asher aydelot said as he looked across the breakfast table at his son. "it seems such a little while ago that i was a boy in ohio, a foolish fifteen-year-old, crazy to see and be into what i've wished so often since that i could forget." "but you don't object, father?" thaine asked eagerly. asher did not reply at once. a rush of boyhood memories flooded his mind, and as he looked at virginia he recalled how his mother had looked at him on the day he left home to join the third ohio regiment nearly forty years ago. and then he remembered the moonlit night and his mother's blessing when he told of his longing for the open west, where opportunity hunts the man. "no, thaine," he answered gently at last. "all i ask is that you try to foresee what is coming in hardship and responsibility. young men go to war for adventure mostly. the army life may make a hero of you, not by brevet nor always by official record, but a hero nevertheless in bravery where courage is needed, and in a sense of duty done. or it can make a low-grade scoundrel of you almost before you know it, if you do not put yourself on guard duty over yourself twenty-four hours out of every twenty-four. war means real hardship. it is in everything the opposite of peace. and this war foreshadows big events. it may lead you to cuba or to the orient. our asiatic squadron is ordered from hong kong. dr. carey tells me it is going to meet the spanish navy in the philippines. i thought i fixed the west when i came here as a scout and later a settler, and drove the frontier back with my rifle and my hoe. is it possible your frontier is further westward still? even across the pacific ocean, where another kind of wilderness lies?" into asher's clear gray eyes, that for all the years had held the vision of the wide, pathless prairies redeemed to fruitfulness, there was a vision now of the big things with which the twentieth century must cope. the work of a generation younger than his own. "don't forget two things, thaine, when you are fairly started in this campaign. first, that wars do not last forever. they jar the frontier line back by leaps, but after war is over the good old prairie soil is waiting still for you--acres and acres yet unredeemed. and secondly, while you are a soldier don't waste energy with memories. fight when you wear a uniform, and dream and remember when the guns are cold. you have my blessing, thaine, only remember the blessing of moses to asher of old, 'as your day so will your strength be.' but you must have your mother's approval too." thaine looked lovingly at his mother, and the picture of her fine face lighted by eyes full of mother love staid with him through all the months that followed. and all the old family pride of the thaines of virginia, all the old sense of control and daring was in her tone as she answered: "you have come to a man's estate. you must choose for yourself. but big as the world is, it is too little for mothers to be lost in. you cannot find a frontier so far that a mother's love has not outrun you to it. go out and win." "you are a trojan, mother. i hope i'll always be worthy of your love, wherever i am," her son murmured. two hours later, when dr. carey stopped for thaine, virginia aydelot came down to his buggy. her face was very white and her eyes were shining with heroic resolve to be brave to the last. "horace, you may be glad you have no children," she said, as they waited for thaine and his father to come out. "my life has had many opportunities for service that must make up for the lack of other blessings. it may have further opportunity soon. may i ask a favor of you?" virginia was not to blame that her heart was too full to catch the undertone of sorrow in horace carey's words as she replied graciously: "anything that i can grant." "life is rather uncertain--even with a good doctor in the community--"dr. carey's smile was always winning. "i have hoarded less than i should have done if there had been a carey to follow me. there will be nobody but bo peep to miss me, especially after awhile. i want you to give him a home if he ever needs one. he has some earnings to keep him from want. but you and i are the only virginians in the valley. promise me!" "of course i will, always, horace. be sure of that." "thank you, virginia. i am planning to start to california in a few days. i may be gone for several months. i'll tell you good-by now, for i may not be down this way again before i go." virginia remembered afterward the doctor's strong handclasp and the steady gaze of his dark eyes and the pathos of his voice as he bade her good-by. but she did not note these then, for at that moment thaine came down the walk with his father, and in the sorrow of parting with her son she had no mind for other things. dreary rains filled up the first days of may. at camp leedy, where the kansas volunteers mobilized on the old fair ground on the outskirts of topeka, thaine aydelot sat under the shelter of his tent watching the water pouring down the canvas walls of other tents and overflowing the deep ruts that cut the grassy sod with long muddy gashes. camp leedy was made up mostly of muddy gashes crossed by streams of semi-liquid mud supposed to be roads. thaine sat on a pile of sodden straw. his clothing was muddy, his feet were wet, and the chill of the cold rain made him shiver. "noble warfare, this!" he said to himself. "asher aydelot knew his bearing when he told me that war was no ways like peace. i wonder what's going on right now down at the sunflower ranch. the rain ought to fill that old spillway draw from the lake down in the woods. it's nearly time for the water lilies to bloom, too." the memory of the may night two years before with leigh shirley, all pink and white and sweet and modest, came surging across his mind as a heavy dash of rain deluged the tent walls about him. "look here, private thaine aydelot, twentieth kansas volunteers, if you are going to be a soldier stop that memory business right here, except to remember what private asher aydelot, of the third ohio infantry, told you about guard duty twenty-six hours out of twenty-four. heigh ho!" thaine ended with a sigh, then he shut his teeth grimly and stared at the unceasing downpour with unseeing eyes. a noisy demonstration in the camp roused him, and in a minute more young todd stewart lay stretched at full length in the mud before his tent. "welcome to our city, whose beauties have overcome others also," thaine said, as he helped todd to rise from the mud. "well, you look good to me, whether i do to you or not," todd declared, as he scraped at the muddy plaster on his clothing. "enter!" thaine exclaimed dramatically, holding back the tent flaps. "i hope you are not wounded." todd limped inside and sat down on the wet straw. "no, my company just got to camp. i was so crazy to see anybody from the short grass country that i made a slide your way too swiftly. i don't mind these clothes, for i'll be getting my soldier's togs in a minute anyhow, but i did twist that ankle in my zeal. where's your uniform?" todd asked, staring at thaine's clothes. "with yours, still. make a minute of it when you get it, won't you?" thaine replied. "our common uncle wants soldiers. he has no time to give to their clothes. a ragged shirt or naked breast will stop a spanish bullet as well as a khaki suit." "do you mean to say you haven't your soldier uniform yet?" todd broke in. "a few of us have, but most of us haven't. they cost something," thaine said with a shiver, for the may afternoon was chilly. "then i'll not stay here and risk my precious life for a government so darned little and stingy." todd sprang up with the words, but fell down again, clasping his ankle. "oh, yes, you will. you've enlisted already, and you have a bad ankle already. let me see it." thaine examined the sprained limb carefully. he had something of his father's ability for such things combined with his mother's gentle touch. "let me bind it up a little while you tell me about grass river. then hie thee to a hospital," he said. "there's nothing new, except that dr. carey has gone west for a vacation and john jacobs is raising cain over at wykerton because a hired hand, just a waif of an orphan boy, got drunk in hans wyker's joint and fell into big wolf and was drowned. funny thing about it was that darley champers came out against wyker for the first time. it may go hard with the old dutchman yet. jim shirley isn't very well, but he never complains, you know. jo bennington was wild to have me enlist. i suppose some pretty university girl was backing you all the time," todd said enthusiastically. "the only pretty girl i care for didn't want me to go to the war at all," thaine replied, staring gloomily out at the rain. "well, why do you go, then?" todd inquired. "oh, she doesn't specially care for me here, either," thaine replied. "girls don't control this game for me. but we have some princes of men here all right." "as for instance?" todd queried. "my captain, adna clarke, and his lieutenants, krause and alford. they were first to enlist in our company down in the old rink at lawrence. captain clarke is the kind of a man who makes you feel like straightening right up to duty when you see him coming, and he is so genial in his discipline it is not like discipline. lieutenant krause fits in with him--hand and glove. but, todd," thaine went on enthusiastically, "if you meet a man on this campground with the face of a gentleman, the manners of a soldier, a smile like sunshine after a dull day in february, and a, well a sort of air about him that makes you feel he's your friend and that doing a kind act is the only thing a fellow should ever think of doing--that's lieutenant alford. there are some fine university boys here and we have all packed up our old kansas university yell, 'rock chalk! jay hawk! k u!' to use on the spanish. we'll make them learn to run whenever they hear that yell. the whole regiment is a credit to kansas, if we haven't the clothes right now. you are rather a disreputable looking old mudball yourself. let's try to get to the hospital tent." thaine lifted todd stewart to his feet, and as they started up the slushy way to the hospital tent, he said: "yonder is lieutenant alford now." a young man with a face as genial as his manner was dignified responded pleasantly to the private's salute, and the rainfall seemed less dreary and all the camp more cheerful for this lieutenant's presence. no wonder he seemed a prince to the enthusiastic young soldier whose admiration deepened into an abiding love he was never to lose out of his life in all the years to come. in the months that followed thaine came to know captain clarke and his two lieutenants, krause and alford, as soldier knows soldier. nor did ever trojan nor roman military hero have truer homage from the common private than the boy from the grass river valley paid to these young men commanding his company. the hardships of soldier life began for thaine aydelot and his regiment with the day of enlistment. the privations at camp leedy were many. the volunteers had come in meagerly clothed because they expected to be fully supplied by the government they were to serve. the camp equipments were insufficient. the food was poor, and day after day the rain poured mercilessly down on the muddy campground, where the volunteers slept on wet straw piled on the wet earth. sore throats, colds, and pneumonia resulted, and many a homesick boy who learned to wade the rice swamps and to face the mauser's bullets fearlessly had his first hard lesson of endurance taught to him before he left camp leedy on the old topeka fair ground. wonderful history-making filled up the may days. while the fleets and land forces were moving against cuba, the deep sea cable brought the brief story from commodore dewey in the harbor of manila, "eleven spanish warships destroyed and no americans killed." and suddenly the center of interest shifted from the cuban island near at hand to the philippines on the other side of the world. the front door of america that for four centuries had opened on the atlantic ocean opened once and forever on pacific waters. a new frontier receding ever before the footprint of the anglo-american flung itself about the far-off island of the orient with its old alluring call: something lost behind the ranges! over yonder! go you there! and the twentieth kansas, under colonel fred funston, broke camp and hurried to san francisco to be ready to answer that call. thaine aydelot had never been outside of kansas before. small wonder that the mountains, the desert, the vinelands, and orchard-lands, and rose-lands of california, the half-orientalism of san francisco and the pacific ocean with its world-old mystery of untamed immensity should fill each day with a newer interest; or that the conditions of soldier life at camp merritt beside the golden gate, to which the eager-hearted, untrained young student from the kansas prairie brought all his youthful enthusiasm and patriotism and love of adventure, should wound his spirit and test his power of self-control. small wonder, too, that the twentieth kansas regiment, poorly equipped, undrilled, and non-uniformed still, should make only a sorry showing among the splendid regiments mobilized there; or that to the big, rich city of san francisco the ragged fellows from the prairies, who were dubbed the "kansas scarecrows," should become the byword and laughing stock among things military. one neglect followed another for the kansas twentieth. the poorest camping spot was their portion. the chill of the nights, the heat of the days oppressed them. the filth of their unsanitary grounds bred discomfort and disease. but no military favors were shown them, and the same old stupid jests and jibes of the ignorant citizen of the other states were repeated on the pacific seaboard. when the thirtieth of may called forth the military forces in one grand parade the twentieth kansas was not invited to take part. for thaine aydelot, to whom decoration day was a sacred sabbath always, this greatest of all indignities cut deep where a man's soul feels keenest. and when transport after transport sailed out of the san francisco harbor, loaded with regiments for the philippines, and still the twentieth kansas was left in idle waiting on the dreary sand lots of camp merritt and the presidio reservation, the silent campaign that really makes a soldier was waged daily in thaine and his comrades. "don't complain, boys," captain clarke admonished his company. "we'll be ready when we are called, and that's what really counts." other commanders of the regiment gave the same encouragement. so the daily drilling went on. the sons of the indomitable men and women who had conquered the border ruffian, the hostile plains indian, and the unfriendly prairie sod, these sons kept their faith in themselves, their pride in the old kansas state that bore them, and their everlasting good humor and energy and ability to learn. such men are the salt of the earth. todd stewart made a brave struggle, but his slide on the muddy ground at camp leedy was his military undoing, and his discharge followed. "i'm going to start back to old grass river tomorrow," he said to thaine aydelot, who had called to see him with face aglow. "i've made the best fight i could, but the doctor says the infantry needs two legs, and neither one wooden. but best of all, thaine, jo has written that she wants me to come home. it's not so bad if there's a welcome like that waiting. she is slowly overcoming her dislike for country life. but i can't help envying you." "oh, you'll stand on both feet all right when you get them both on the short grass of the prairie again, and, as you say, the welcome makes up for a good many losses." something impenetrable came into his eyes for the moment only and then the fire of enthusiasm burned again in them, for thaine's nerves were a-tingle with the ambition and anticipation of the young soldier waiting immediate orders, and he changed the subject eagerly. "i came to tell you something, todd. we are to sail the seas on the next transport to manila, sure. and we'll see service yet, all right." thaine threw his cap in air and danced about the bed in his enthusiasm. "glory be! won't fred funston do things when he hits the orient? best colonel that ever had the u. s. military engines to buck against." todd rejoiced, even in his own disappointment. "but see here, thaine, me child, i also have a bit of news that may interest you plumb through. my surgeon isn't equal to the philippines either, nor the ephesians, nor colossians, and he's going back to some fort in the mountains. who do you s'pose will take his place? now, who?" "how should i know? seeing i've got to get this regiment off, i have to leave the hospital corps to you. who is it?" thaine asked. "dr. horace carey, m.d.!" todd replied. "you don't mean it!" thaine gasped. "yes, he does, thaine." it was horace carey who spoke, as he entered the hospital quarter, and, as everywhere else, the same engaging smile and magnetic charm of personality filled the place. thaine turned and gathered him in close embrace. "oh, dr. carey, are you really going?" he whistled, and shouted, and executed jigs in his joy. "why do you go? can you leave kansas? you and me both? oh, hurry home, todd, and show governor leedy how to run things without us." and much more to like effect. "i've a notion i'm the right man to go," horace carey answered. "i had experience in the late civil war, which seems trifling to you fellows at the presidio. i rode the plains for some years more when rattlesnakes and indian arrows--poisoned at that--and cholera and mountain fever called for a surgeon's aid. i have diplomas and things from the best schools in the east. i have also some good military friends in authority to back me in getting a surgeon's place in the army--and, lastly, i haven't a soul to miss me, nor home to leave dreary, if i get between you and the enemy; nobody but boanerges peeperville to care personally, and mrs. aydelot, as the only other aristocrat in the grass river valley, has promised to give him a home. he has always adored virginia, thaine, since he could remember anything." thaine aydelot was only twenty-one, with little need hitherto for experience in reading human nature. moreover, he was alert in every tingling nerve with the anticipation of an ocean voyage and of strange new sights and daring deeds half a world away. yet something in dr. carey's strong face seemed to imply a deeper purpose than his words suggested. a faint sense of the nobility of the man gripped him and grew upon him, and never in the years that followed was separate from the memory of the doctor he had loved from babyhood. * * * * * when the ohio woodlands were gorgeous with the frost-fired splendor of october word came to miss jane aydelot, of the old aydelot farmhouse beside the national pike road, that one thaine aydelot had sailed from san francisco with the twentieth kansas regiment to see service in the philippine islands. on board the same transport was dr. horace carey, of the military medical staff. that winter jane aydelot's hair turned white, but the pink bloom of her cheeks and the light of her clear gray eyes made her a sweet-faced woman still, whose loveliness grew with the years. the kiss of the same october breezes was on the kansas prairie with the hazy horizon and the infinite beauty of wide, level landscapes, overhung by the infinite beauty of blue, tender skies. boanerges peeperville, established as cook in the sunflower inn, was at home in his cosy little quarter beside the grape arbor of the rear dooryard. "tell me, bo peep, why dr. carey should enter the army again and go to the philippines?" virginia aydelot asked on the day the news reached the sunflower ranch. bo peep did not answer at once. virginia was busy arranging some big yellow chrysanthemums in a tall cut-glass vase that dr. carey had left to be sent down to her when bo peep should come to the aydelots to make his home. "see, bo peep, aren't they pretty? set them in the middle of the table there, carefully. the first bouquet we ever had on our table was a few little sunflowers in an old peach can wrapped round with a newspaper. you didn't answer my question. why did horace go so far away?" the servant took the vase carefully and placed it as commanded. then he turned to virginia with a face full of intense feeling. "miss virgie, i done carry messages for him all my days." the pathos of the soft voice was touching. "i wasn't to give this las' one to you less'n he neveh come back. an mis' virgie, doctoh carey won't neveh come back no mo'. but i kaint tell you yet jus' why he done taken hisself to the fillippians, not yet." "why do you think he will never come back? you think thaine will come home again, don't you?" virginia queried. "oh, yas'm! yas'm! misteh thaine, he'll come back all right. but hit's done fo'casted in my bones that doctoh horace won't neveh come. an' when he don't, i'll tell you why he leff'n grass riveh, kansas, for the fillippians." chapter xix the "fighting twentieth" malolos and bocaue's trenches know the kansas yell; san fernando and san tomas the kansas story swell; at guiguinto's fiercest battle yon flag in honor flew; what roaring rifles kept it, all luna's army knew; and high it swung o'er caloocan, bagbag and marilao-- "those raggedy pops from kansas" 'fore god they're heroes now. --lieutenant-colonel e. c. little. night had fallen on the city of manila. before it lay the bay whose waters lapped softly against pier and shipping. behind it in the great arc of a circle stretched the american line of military outposts, guarded by sentinels. beyond that line, north, east, and south, there radiated a tangle of roads and trails through little villages of nipa huts, past rice fields and jungles, marshes and rivers, into the very heart of luzon. manila was under american military government, but luzon was in insurrection against all government, and a network of rebellious lines of enemies fretted every jungle, hid in every village, intrenched itself in every rice field, and banked its earthworks beyond every river. while emilio aguinaldo, the shrewd leader of an ignorant, half-savage peasantry, plotted craftily with his associates for the seizure of the rich capital of luzon and dreamed of the autocratic power and heaps of looted treasure that he should soon control. for weeks in sight of the american outposts, the filipinos had strengthened their trenches, and established their fortifications, the while they bided the hour of outbreak and slaughter of the despised americanos, and the seizing of the rich booty afterward. upon the tondo road, running north from manila to caloocan, thaine aydelot, with a kansas university comrade, was doing silent sentinel duty. the outpost was nearly a mile away from a bridge on the outskirts of manila. in the attack imminent, this bridge would be one of the keys to the city, and the command had been given to hold it against all invaders at any cost. between thaine and the bridge was a stretch of dusty road, flanked on one side by nipa huts. on the other side were scattered dwellings, tall shrubbery, and low-lying rice fields, beyond which lay the jungle. before the young sentinel the road made a sharp bend, cutting off the view and giving no hint to the enemy around this bend of how strong a force might be filling the road toward the bridge. thaine knew that around that bend and behind the rice dykes and in the nearby trenches were filipino insurgents with finger on the trigger ready to begin an assault. but until the first gun of the first battle is fired, battle seems impossible to the young soldier. as thaine turned from the dim road, he caught the glint of starlight on the edge of a rice swamp. he wanted to fight filipinos tonight, not memories. but the memory of the aydelot grove and the water lilies opening their creamy hearts to the moonlight, and leigh shirley in her white dress with her cheeks faintly pink in the clear shadows, all swept his mind and challenged him to forget everything else. the same grip on a principle, coupled with a daring spirit and love of adventure that had brought old jean aydelot to the virginia colony long ago, and had pushed francis aydelot across the alleghanies into the forests of the ohio frontier, and had called asher aydelot to the unconquered prairies of the big west--the same love of adventure and daring spirit and belief in a cause bigger than his own interests had lured thaine aydelot on to the islands of oriental seas. with the military schooling and unschooling where discipline tends to make a soldier, and absence of home influence tends to make the careless rowdy, the sterling uprightness of the aydelots and the inborn gentility of the thaines kept the boy from the kansas prairies a fearless gentleman. withal, he was exuberantly pleased with life, as a young man of twenty-one should be. he lived mostly in the company of kansas university men, and with the old university yell of "rock chalk! jay hawk! k u!" for their slogan, they stood shoulder to shoulder in every conflict. lastly, he was a hero-worshiper at the shrine of his colonel, fred funston, and his captain, adna clarke; while in all the regiment, the fair face of young lieutenant alford seemed to him most gracious. alford was his soldier ideal, type of the best the battlefield may know. and, even if all this admiration did have in it much of youthful sentimentalism, it took nothing from his efficiency when he came to his place on the firing line. "i wonder where doctor carey is tonight," thaine's comrade said in a low voice, as the two came together in the road. "what's made you think of him?" thaine asked. "i haven't seen him since christmas day. a young filipino and i got into a scrap with a drunken chinaman who was beating a boy, and the chink slashed us both. carey stitched us up, but the other fellow keeps a scar across his face, all right." "i know that filipino," thaine said. "he seems like a fine young man. the scar was a marker for him. i'd know him by it anywhere." "so should i, and by his peculiar gait. i saw a man slipping along beyond the lines just now who made me think of that fellow, and that made me think of doctor carey," the sentinel said, and turned away. it was after nine o'clock, and the hours were already beginning to stretch wearily for sentinels, when a faint sound of guns away to the eastward broke on the air. again and again it came, intermittently at first, but increasing to a steady roar. down in manila there was dead quiet, but along the american line of outposts the ripping of mauser bullets and long streaks of light flashed the filipino challenge to war in steady volleys. as thaine listened, the firing seemed to be creeping gradually toward the north, and he knew the insurgents were swinging toward the tondo road, down which they would rush to storm the bridge. in that moment civil life dropped off like a garment, and he stood up a soldier. he crept cautiously toward the bend to see what lay beyond, and dropped on his face in the dusty way as a whirl of bullets split the air above his head. as he sprang back to his place beside his comrade, other sentinels joined them, and behind them loomed the tall form of captain clarke. "what's around there, aydelot?" clarke asked. "didn't you hear?" thaine's reply was lost in a roar of rifles, followed by increased firing along the entire line, massing to the north before the twentieth's front. "there are ten more men on the way up here. we'll hold this place until reinforcements come," captain clarke declared. it was such a strategic point as sometimes turns the history of war. but the odds are heavy for sixteen men to stand against swarms of insurgents armed with mausers and remingtons. in the thrill of that moment, thaine aydelot would have died by inches had this tall, cool-headed captain of his demanded it. clarke arranged his men on either side of the way, and the return fire began. suddenly up the road a lantern gleamed. an instant later a cannon shot plowed the dust between the two lines of men. "they've turned a cannon loose. watch out," clarke called through the darkness. a second time and a third the lantern glowed, and each time a cannon ball crashed through a nipa hut beside the little company, or threw a shower of dust about the place. "they have to load that gun by the light of a lantern. let's fix the lantern," thaine cried, as the dust cloud settled down. "good! watch your aim, boys," captain clarke replied. the bullets were falling thick about them. they whizzed through the bushes, they cut into the thatched huts, they flung swirls of dust on the little line of brave soldiers, they poured like stinging sweeps of hail, volley after volley, along the tondo road. when the lantern flashed again, sixteen bullets riddled it, and without its help the big gun was useless. "poor lantern! it fell on the firing line, brave to the last," thaine declared as the smoke lifted. but the loss of the cannon only doubled the insurgents' efforts, and they threshed at the invincible little band with smoking lead. on the one side was a host of filipino rebels, believing by the incessant firing of the kansans that it was facing an equal host. on the other side were sixteen men who, knowing the odds against them, dared the game of war to the limit. "how many rounds have you left?" captain clarke asked. "only one," came the answer. "give it to them when i give the word. we won't run till our guns are empty," the captain declared grimly. the last shot was ready to fly, when a wild yell burst from the darkness behind them, the shouts to "remember the _maine_," mingled with the old university yell of "rock chalk, jay hawk, k. u. oo!" and reinforcements charged to the relief of the invincible sixteen. what disaster might have followed the capture of the tondo road and the attack upon the bridge is only conjecture. what did happen is history--type henceforth of that line of history every company of the twentieth kansas was to help to build. when daylight came, thaine aydelot saw the frontier line that he had proudly felt himself called hither to push back, and the reality of it was awful. he had pictured captured trenches, but he had not put in their decoration--the prone forms of dead filipinos with staring eyes, seeing nothing earthly any more forever. beyond that line, however, lay the new wilderness that the anglo-american must conquer, and he flung himself upon the firing line, as if the safety and honor of the american nation rested on his shoulders alone; while all his dreams of glorious warfare, where greek meets greek in splendid gallantry, faded out before the actual warfare of the days and nights that followed. thaine's regiment, not the "kansas scarecrows," but the "fighting twentieth" now, was one of the regiments on which rested the brunt of driving back and subduing the rebellious filipinos. swiftly the kansas boys pushed into the unknown country north of manila. they rushed across the rice fields, whose low dykes gave little protection from the enemy. they plunged through marshes, waist deep in water. they lay for hours behind their earthworks, half buried in muddy slime. they slept in holes, drenched to the skin. with the university yell for their battle cry of freedom, they tore through tropical jungles with the bullets of the enemy cutting the branches overhead or spattering the dirt about their feet. the american regiments were six days in reaching caloocan, a prosperous town only six miles north of manila; a mile a day, every foot stubbornly contested. on sabbath morning in the first day's struggle, thaine was running in a line of soldiery toward the filipino fortification, when he was halted beside a thatched hut that stood between the guns of both armies and was riddled with bullets. "help the corporal here, aydelot, then double quick it ahead," lieutenant krause commanded. thaine followed the corporal inside the hut where, shot to pieces, lay the mangled forms of women and children who had caught the storm of bullets from both firing lines. through a gaping hole in the wall beyond, he saw a shallow pit where wounded and dead men and women were huddled together. "help me get out the live ones and send them back to manila, and we'll cover the others right here," the corporal declared. it was the neighborhood custom of the grass river valley for young men to assist at every funeral. thaine had jokingly dubbed himself "official neighborhood pall-bearer," and had served at so many funerals that the service had become merely one of silent dignity which he forgot the next hour. he knew just how to place the flowers effectively, when to step aside and wait, and when to come forward and take hold. and these were the only kinds of services he had known for the dead. as he bent over the blood-smeared bodies to take up the wounded and dying now, the horror of war burst upon him, and no dead face could be more ashy gray than the young soldier's face as he lifted it above a dying filipino woman whom he stretched tenderly beside the hut. the next victim was a boy, a deserter from manila, whom thaine recognized by a scar across his cheek as the young filipino whose wound doctor carey had dressed. "you poor fellow!" thaine said softly. the boy's eyes opened in recognition. "for liberty," he murmured in spanish, with a scowling face. then the scowl faded to a smile, and in a moment more he had entered eternal liberty. a detachment of the red cross with a white-haired surgeon just then relieved the corporal of the wounded, and thaine saw dr. horace carey coming toward him. "i know what you are thinking. maybe your gun did a good deal of it. this is war, thaine." the young man's dark eyes burned with agony at the thought. "forget it," carey added hurriedly. "it is the lost cause here. i worked that line myself for four years long ago. i know the feeling. but this is the only medicine to give the islands here. they can't manage liberty for themselves. you are giving them more freedom with your rifle today than they could get for themselves in a century. don't wet your powder with your tears. you may need it for the devil that's after you now. wait till you see a kansas boy brought in and count the cost again. good-by." the doctor hastened away with the wounded, and thaine helped to straighten out the forms about him and to fill the pit where they were placed in one common grave. "wait till you see a kansas boy brought in and then count the cost." somehow, the words, ringing again and again down his mind, could not take away the picture of the thing he had just witnessed. and the dying gasp, "for liberty!" seemed to stab his soul, as he ran forward. two days later his company had orders to hold the trenches before a jungle filled with sharpshooters. all day the sun had blazed down upon them and the humid atmosphere had scalded them. all day the murderous "ping! ping!" of the hidden mauser in the jungle had stung the air about them. late in the afternoon thaine lay crouched behind his low defense with a college comrade on either side. colonel funston had just given the command to rid the woods of the sharpshooters, and the force ordered to the attack came racing by. captain clarke stood near thaine's post, and as the soldiers rushed forward, lieutenant alford halted beside him. even in the thrill of the hour, the private down in the trenches felt a sense of bigger manhood as he looked at the young officer, for alford was every inch a king; his soldier uniform became him like a robe of royalty. his fine face was aglow now with the enthusiasm of the battle and the assurance of victory. thaine did not hear the words of the two officers, for the jungle was beginning to roar with battle cries and bursting fire from many guns. but he knew the two had been boyhood friends, university chums, and military comrades, and the love of man for man shone in their faces. alford tarried but a moment with clarke. as he spied thaine and his comrades, he gave an instant's glance of kindly recognition to the admiring young privates, and was gone. the three involuntarily rose to their feet, as if to follow him, and from three lusty throats they sent after him the beloved battle yell of the regiment, "rock chalk! jay hawk! k. u.!" then dropped to their places again and hugged the earth as the rifle balls whizzed about them. "i'm glad i'm alive and i'm glad i know that man," thaine said to his neighbors. "alford's a prince. i'll bet he'll clean that woods before he's through. his work is always well done. would you listen to that?" his comrade replied. a tremendous crash of rifle shots seemed to split the jungle as the kansas troops charged into it. the men in the trenches lay flat to the earth while the balls fell about them or sang a long whining note through the air over them. fiercer grew the fray, and louder roared the guns, and wilder the bullets flew, as the fighting lines swept over the enemy's earthworks and struck with deadly force into the heart of its wooded cover. then came a lull for shifting the fighting grip. a relief force was hurried to the front and the first companies retired for a brief rest. they fell back in order, while the aids came trooping out of the brush in groups, bearing the wounded to places of shelter. thaine aydelot and his comrades lifted their heads above the earthworks for an instant. captain clarke sat near on a little knoll staring hard at a stretcher borne toward him by the aids. the manner of covering indicated a dead body on it. "how different the captain's face is from what it was before the attack," thaine thought, as he recalled the moment when clarke had talked with lieutenant alford. and then the image of the young lieutenant's face, so full of life and hope and power and gentleness, swept vividly across his mind. "who is it, boys?" clarke called to the soldiers with the stretcher. "lieutenant alford," they answered. something black dropped before thaine aydelot's eyes and doctor carey's words stung like powder burns in his memory. "wait till you see a kansas boy brought in, and count the cost again." in civil life character builds slowly up to higher levels. in war, it leaps upward in an instant. thaine sprang to his feet and stood up to his full height in the blaze of the tropical sunshine. he did not see his captain, who had dropped to the ground like a wounded thing, stabbed to the soul with an agony of sorrow. he did not see the still form of the young lieutenant outlined under the cover of the stretcher. he did not see the trenches nor the lines of khaki-clad, sun-browned soldiery plunging forward to rid the jungle of its deadly peril. in that one moment he looked down the years with clear vision, as his father, asher aydelot, had learned to look before him, and he saw manhood and a new worth in human deeds. he had been a sentimental dreamer, ambitious for honors fairly earned, and eager for adventure. the first shots in the night attack on the tondo road made him a soldier. the martyrdom of lieutenant alford made him a patriot. humanity must be worth much, it seemed to him, if, in the providence of god, such blood must be spilled to redeem it to nobler civilization. six weeks after the death of alford before caloocan, dr. horace carey came up from the hospital in manila to the american line to see thaine aydelot. the kansas boys had been on duty in the trenches north of caloocan for forty days, living beside the breastworks under the rude shelter of bamboo poles, watching a sleepless enemy--a life as full of wearing monotony and hardship as it was full of constant peril. "well, thaine, how goes the game?" carey asked, as he sat beside the young soldier from the grass river valley. "i helped you into this world. i'm glad i haven't had to help you out yet." carey had never before seen any resemblance to asher aydelot in his son's face. it was purely a type of the old thaine family of virginia. but today, the pose of the head, the expression of the mouth, the far-seeing gaze of the dark eyes, bespoke the heritage of the house of aydelot. "i hope not to have any more help from you, either. you got me into the scrape; i'll see to the rest," thaine replied. "don't i look all right? i haven't had a bath, except in swamp mud, since the first of february. today is the twenty-third of march. neither have i seen a razor. notice my silky beard. nor a dress suit, nor a--anything else civilized. six weeks in one hole, killing filipinos for our amusement and dodging their old remingtons for theirs, living on army rations and respect for the flag of my country, may not improve my appearance, but it hasn't started me to the sick-shack yet. any news from home?" thaine ended with the question put so carelessly, with a face so impenetrable that doctor carey took notice at once. "homesick!" was his mental diagnosis, but he answered with equal carelessness. "yes, i had a letter from leigh shirley." thaine's eyes were too full of unspeakable things now for him to hold out. "she says the alfalfa is doing well. she and jim have kept up all the interest, and are beginning to reduce the principal. that's why she wrote." "brave little soldier," thaine muttered. "yes, civil life has its heroes, too," the doctor responded. "she also says," he continued, "that john jacobs has had hans wyker convicted of running a joint and hans had to pay a fine and stick in the careyville jail thirty days. hans won't love john for that when he gets out." "what a hater of whisky john jacobs is. he's always on the firing line and never misses his aim, bless him!" thaine declared. "yes, jacobs' battle is a steady one. he told me just before i left kansas how his mother was killed in a saloon in cincinnati when she was trying to get his father out of it. john wouldn't live in a state that had no prohibitory law," the doctor commented. "did leigh write anything else?" thaine asked. "yes. jo bennington and todd stewart are married. pryor gaines is in pekin, and he writes that there are rumblings of trouble over there. shall we go over and settle it when we finish the filipino fuss?" "might as well. i'd like to see old pryor. i'm glad todd and jo had sense enough to take each other. i suppose jo overcame her notions of living only in the city. what else?" thaine replied. "nothing else. that's your message." carey's black eyes held a shrewd twinkle. "why mine?" the impenetrable face was on thaine again. "see here, boy, don't think i haven't read her story, page by page. if leigh had sent you a single line, i'd have begun to doubt." thaine threw one arm about the doctor's shoulder and said not a word. then carey read his story also. "i nearly forgot to tell you that leigh is doing well with her drawings. she sent me this, for which she had a good price paid her." doctor carey unfolded the paper back of a magazine having a bit of prairie landscape for a cover design. in the distance, three headlands swam in the golden haze of a kansas october sunset, and their long purple shadows fell wide across the brown prairie and fields of garnered harvests. thaine studied it carefully, but offered no comment. "doctor carey, what brought you to the philippines?" he asked suddenly. "to look after you," carey replied frankly. "me! do i need it?" "you may. in that case i'll be first aid to the injured," carey answered. "i'm to go with the 'fighting twentieth' when it starts out of these hog wallows toward the insurgents' capital. i must get back to manila and pack for it. i have my orders to be ready in twenty-four hours." in twenty-four hours the "fighting twentieth" left its six-weeks' habitation in the trenches and began its campaign northward, and the young-hearted, white-haired physician with magnetic smile and skillful judgment found a work in army service so broad and useful that he loved it for its opportunity. fortunately, thaine had no need for "first aid" from doctor carey, and he saw the doctor only rarely in the sixty days that followed. when the two had time for each other again, colonel fred funston's name had been written round the world in the annals of military achievement, the resourceful, courageous, beloved leader of a band of fighters from the kansas prairies who were never defeated, never driven back, never daunted by circumstances. great were the pen of that historian that could fittingly set forth all the deeds of daring and acts of humanity of every company under every brave captain, for they "all made history, and left records of unfading glory." the regiment had reached the rio grande, leaving no unconquered post behind it. under fire, it had forded the tulijan, shoulder-deep to the shorter men. under fire, it had forged a way through guiguinto and malolos. under fire, it had swam the marilao and the bagbag. and now, beyond calumpit, the flower of aguinaldo's army was massed under general luna, north of the rio grande. a network of strong fortifications lay between it and the river, and it commanded all the wide water-front. as the soldiers waited orders on the south side of the river, doctor horace carey left his work and sought out thaine's company, impelled by the same instinct that once turned him from the old sunflower trail to find virginia aydelot lost on the solitary snow-covered prairie beyond little wolf creek. "what's before you now?" the doctor asked, as he and thaine sat on the ground together. "the rio grande now. we must be nearly to the end if we rout general luna here," thaine replied. "you've stood it well. i guess you don't need me after all," carey remarked. "i always need you, doctor carey," thaine said earnestly. "never more than now. when i saw captain clarke wounded and carried away on the other side of the tulijan, and could only say 'captain, my captain,' i needed you. when captain elliot was killed, i needed you; and when captain william watson was shot and wouldn't stay dead because we need him so, and when metcalf, bishop, agnew, glasgow, ramsey, and martin, and all the other big-brained fellows do big things, i need you again. life is a great game; i'm glad i'm in it." horace carey had never before seen thaine's bright face so alert with manly power and beauty and thoughtfulness. war had hardened him. danger had tried him. human needs, larger than battle lines alone can know, had strengthened him. vision of large purposes had uplifted him. as he stood before the white-haired physician whom he had loved from earliest memory, carey murmured to himself: "can the world find grander soldiers to fight its battles than these sun-browned boys from our old kansas prairies?" "we are going across to luna's stronghold in a few minutes. watch him go into eclipse before fred funston. if you stand right here, you'll see me helping at the job. good-by," thaine declared, and, at the bugle call, fell into his place. beyond the river a steady fire was opened on the american forces, and no bridge nor boat was there by which to cross. doctor carey stood watching the situation with a strange sense of unrest in his mind. "there must be rafts," declared colonel funston. and there were rafts, hastily made of bamboo poles. "somebody must swim across and fasten a cable over there by which to tow the rafts across. who will volunteer? you see what's before you," funston asserted. horace carey saw two soldiers, corporal trembly and private edward white, seize the cable, plunge into the river, and strike out directly toward the farther side filled with filipino forces. rifle balls split the water about them. bullet after bullet cut the air above them. shot after shot from the ambushed enemy hurtled toward them. the two young men surged steadily ahead, bent only on reaching the bank and fastening the cable. they knew only one word, duty, and they did the thing they had agreed to do. once across the river, they ran nimbly up the bank and made fast the rope's end, while cheer after cheer rose from their comrades watching them, and the battle cry of the fighting twentieth, "rock chalk, jay hawk, k. u.," went pulsing out across the waters of the rio grande as full and strong as in the days when it rolled out on the university campus on far-away mount oread, beside the kaw. the rafts sped along the cable, and squad after squad went pell mell into general luna's stronghold, under stubborn fire from the frantic rebels. thaine aydelot was on the last raft to cross the river. doctor carey watched with eager gaze as the last men reached the farther bank. he saw them scrambling up from the water's edge. he saw thaine turn back to lift up a comrade blinded, but not injured, by the smoke of a gun. he saw the two start forward. then the faint "ping" of a mauser came to his ears, and thaine threw up his hands and fell backward into the water and sank from sight, while the other soldiers, unknowing, rushed forward into battle. for a moment, horace carey stood like a statue, then he sprang into the river and swam against the fire of the hidden foe to where thaine aydelot had disappeared. ten minutes later, while luna's forces were trying vainly to resist the daring americans, thaine aydelot lay on a raft which carey, with a red cross aid, was pulling toward the south bank. * * * * * when the fighting twentieth soldiers were relieved from service, and turned their faces gladly toward the kansas prairies, whither hundreds of proud fathers and mothers and wives and sweethearts were waiting to give eager, happy welcome, thaine aydelot lay hovering between life and death in the hospital at manila. the white-haired doctor who had saved him from the waters of the rio grande watched hourly beside him, relying not so much on the ministrations of his calling as in his trust in an infinite father, through whom at last the sick may be made whole. chapter xx the crooked trail life may be given in many ways, and loyalty to truth be sealed as bravely in the closet as the field. --lowell. "here's yo' letter from the fillippians, mis' virginia; mr. champers done bring hit for you all." boanerges peeperville fairly danced into the living room of the sunflower inn. "they ain't no black mournin' aidge bindin' it round nuthah, thank the good lawd foh that." virginia aydelot opened the letter with trembling fingers. it was only a brief page, but the message on it was big with comfort for her. "it is from horace," she said, as her eyes followed the lines. "he was with thaine when he wrote it. thaine is perfectly well again and busy as ever. he and horace seem to be needed over there yet awhile. isn't it wonderful how thaine ever lived through that dreadful bullet wound and fever?" "i jus' wondeh how you all stand up undeh such 'flictions. seems to me a motheh done wilt down, but they don't. mothehs is the bravest things they is," bo peep declared with a broad grin of admiration. "oh, we get schooled to it. asher's mother waited through six years while he was in army service; and remember how long i waited in virginia for him to come back to me! i wondered at the test of my endurance then. i know now it was to prepare me for thaine's time of service for his country." "i done remember, all right, 'bout that time in ol' virginia, an' the day i taken you the letteh up in the little glen behind the ol' mansion house whah hit wah so cool and the watah's so cleah. misteh horace wah home that day, too. say, mis' virginia, did--did he done mention my name anywhar in that letteh?" the pathos of the dark face was pitiful. "'my best love to bo peep.'" virginia pointed to the line as she read. "kin i please have this huh envelope?" bo peep pleaded, and, clutching it as a sacred treasure, he said: "mis' virginia, didn't i done tellen you misteh thaine would come back?" "how did you know?" virginia asked with shining eyes. "becuz of what doctoh horace lef for me to tell you. it cain't do no hahm to tell hit thus fah." bo peep hesitated, and virginia looked curiously at him. "doctor horace won't never come back. i tol' you that sufficiency times. when he lef, he say, 'tel mis' virginia, if i don't come back, i'se done goin' to be with misteh thaine an' take care of him, 'cause i love the boy,--hit cain't do no hahm to tell you that while misteh horace still writen to us. an' didn't he tak' care of misteh thaine? didn't he lef his place an' go down to that rigrand riveh, an' didn't he see misteh thaine fall back with a bullet pushin' him right into the watah? yes, an' be drownded if doctoh horace hadn't done swum right then and fish him out. an' didn't he stay night time an' day time right by the blessed boy, till he's pullin' him out of dangeh of death's wing? oh, yo' son done comin' back 'cause misteh horace say he sho' goin' jus' tak' care of him." "but, bo peep, why do you not believe we'll have horace here again?" virginia asked. the black man only shook his head mournfully as he answered determinedly, "ef yo' saves a life, you has to give one for hit, mos' eveh time, an' mo' specially in the fillippians whah they's so murderful and slaughterous." "oh, you ought not think that way," virginia urged. "run quick, now, and take the news to asher. i don't know where he is this morning." "he's talkin' to mr. dabley champehs out to the barn," bo peep said as he hurried away. asher aydelot was standing before the big barn doors when darley champers turned from the main road and drove into the barnyard. it was a delicious april morning, with all the level prairie lands smiling back at the skies above them, and every breath of the morning breeze bearing new vigor and inspiration in its caressing touch. "good morning, champers; fine morning to live," asher called out cheerily. "mornin', aydelot; fine day, fine! miss shirley told me last fall she got her first inspiration for buyin' a quarter of land with nothin' and faith, and makin' it pay for itself, out of one of coburn's agricultural reports. i reckon if a book like that could inspire a woman, they's plenty in a mornin' like this to inspire old satan to a more uprighteous line of goods than he generally carries. i never see the country look better. your wheat is tremendous. how's the country look to you?" champers responded. "i can remember when it looked a good deal worse," asher replied. "the coburn reports must have helped to turn bare prairie and weedy boom lots into harvest fields." the two men had seated themselves on the sloping driveway before the barn doors. asher was chewing the tender joint of a spear of foxtail grass, and champers had lighted a heavy cigar. "you don't smoke, i believe," he said cordially, "or i'd insist on offering the mate." "no, i just chew," asher replied, as he bent the foxtail thoughtfully in his fingers and looked out toward the wheat fields already rippling like waves under the morning breeze. "say, aydelot, do you remember the day i come down this valley and tried my danged best to get you to sell out for a song? i've done some pretty scaly things, all inside the letter of the law, since then, but never anything that's stuck in my craw like that. i guess you ain't forgot it, neither?" "i remember more of those first years than of these later ones, and i haven't forgotten when you came to the grass river schoolhouse one hot sunday about grasshopper time, but i don't believe anybody holds it against you. you were out for business just as we were," asher replied with a genial smile. "say! d'recollect what you said to me when i invited you to cast your glims over this very country, a burnt-up old prairie that day, so scorched it was too dry and hot to cut up into town lots for an addition to hades?" asher laughed now. "no, i don't remember anything about that. it was just the general line of events that stayed with me," he said. "well, i do; and i'll never forget the look in your eyes when you said it, neither. i'd told you, as i say, just to look at this god-forsaken old plain and tell me what you see. and you looked, like you was glimpsin' heaven a'most, and just said sorter solemn like an' prophetic: 'i see a land fair as the garden of eden, with grazing herds on broad meadows, and fields on fields of wheat, and groves and little lakes and rivers--a land of comfortable homes and schoolhouses and churches, and no saloons nor breweries.' and then i broke in and told you i see a danged fool, and you says, 'come down here in twenty-five year and make a hunt for me then.' and, by golly, aydelot, here i am. you've everlastingly conquered the prairies for sure, and you are a young man, not fifty-five yet." "well, you can see most of those things that i saw that day out yonder, can't you?" asher's eyes followed the waving young wheat and the blossoming orchards, the grove, full of birds' songs, and the line of grass river running deeper year by year. then he looked at his hard, brown hands and thought of the toil and faith and hope that had gone into the conquest. "yes, i'm still among the middle-aged," he said, straightening with his habitual military dignity of bearing. "but i don't know about this everlasting conquest of the prairies. there's still some of it waiting over beyond those headlands in the open range where john jacobs has a big holding. i'll never feel that i have conquered until my boy proves himself in civil life as well as on the battlefield. if i can bring him back when he is through with the orient, then, darley champers, i will have done something beside subdue the soil. through him, i'll keep the wilderness from ever getting hold again. if we live so narrowly that our children hate the lines we follow and will not go on and do still bigger things than we have done, do we really make a success of life?" at that moment bo peep appeared with doctor carey's letter, and the subject shifted to the problems of the far east. "we aren't the only people who are having trouble," asher said. "i read in the papers that the boxer uprising that began in southern china last year is spreading northward and making no end of disturbance." "what's them boxers wantin'? are they a band of prize ring fellers?" darley champers asked. "pryor gaines writes jim shirley that they are a secret order of fanatics bent on stamping out all christianity and all western ideas of advancement in the orient. things begin to look ugly in china, even from this distance. when a band of religious fanatics like the boxers go on the warpath, their atrocities make a cheyenne raid or a kiowa massacre look like a football game. i hope pryor will not be in their line of march." "pryor gaines'd better stayed right here. it's what's likely to happen to a man who goes missionarying too far, and we could 'a used him here." it was an unusual concession for darley champers to make regarding the church, and asher looked keenly at him. "say, aydelot," champers said suddenly, "you have more influence with john jacobs 'n anybody else, i know. if you see the jew, pass it on to him that wyker's at his old cut-ups again over in wykerton, and he's danged bitter against jacobs. i can help him on the side like i did before, but the jew's got hold of enough over there now to run things, with ownin' land all round and holdin' mortgages on town property just to keep joints out of 'em. i do no end of business for jacobs now. never had dealin's with a straighter man. but he'd better look out for wyker. the dutchman's insides is all green with poison, he's hated jacobs so many years." "i guess john will make it hard on him if they come to blows again. the jail sentence and fine jacobs fastened on him let wyker down easy. john jacobs is one of the state's big men," asher responded. "we lost another big man when we let doc carey go," champers went on. "i used to set up nights and rest myself hatin' him. he done the biggest missionary work in me the two weeks i stayed at his house ever was done for a benighted heathen. i hated to see him go." the sadness of the tone was genuine. "but i mustn't be hangin' round here all the mornin'; i've got other things to do. hope your boy'll keep a-goin' till his term's out. goodday!" and champers was gone. "till his term's out!" asher repeated with a smile. "wouldn't that six-footer of a soldier boy, whose patriotism burns like a furnace, see the joke to that! till he gets his stripes off and forgets the lock-step! my thaine, who is giving a young man's strength of body and inspiration of soul to his country's service! but carey did do a missionary work in champers. the fellow was crooked enough 'inside the law always,' as he said, but no more out of line than scores of reputable business men are today. and the fact that he's jacobs' agent now measures the degree of trustworthiness carey has helped to waken in him." darley champers' business took him down the river to the cloverdale ranch, where he found leigh shirley training the young vines up the trellis by the west porch. "you got a mighty pretty place here; just looks like jim shirley," champers declared as he greeted the young gardener. "yes, uncle jim is never so happy as when he is puttering about the lawn and garden," leigh answered. "how's your alfalfa doin'?" champers asked as he turned toward the level stretch of rich green alfalfa fields. "danged money-maker for you," he added jovially. "we'll clear the place with the first cutting this year. it's just the thing for uncle jim," leigh asserted. "yep, jim's in clover--alfalfa, ruther. you had a good business head when you run your bluff some years ago, an' you wan't only nineteen then. you walked into my place an' jest bought that land on sheer bluff." champers laughed uproariously, but he grew sober in the next minute. "miss shirley," he said gravely, "i ain't got much style nor sentiment in my makin's, but i've honestly tried to be humane by widders an' orphans. i've done men to keep 'em from doin' me, or jest 'cause they was danged easy, but i never wronged no woman, not even my wife, who divorced me years ago back east 'cause i wouldn't turn my old mother out o' doors, but kep' her and provided for her long as she lived." nobody in kansas had ever heard darley champers mention his home relations before. leigh looked at him gravely, and the sympathy in her deep blue eyes was grateful to the uncultured man before her. "miss shirley, i ain't wantin' to meddle none, but i come down here to ask you if you know anything about your father?" leigh gave a start and stared at her questioner, but her woman's instinct told her that only kindly purpose lay back of his question. he had sat down on the edge of the porch and leigh stood leaning against the trellis, clutching the narrow slats, as she looked at him. "i think he is dead," she answered slowly. "uncle jim says he must be. he was a bad man, made bad not by blood but by selfishness. the shirleys are a fine family." "excuse me for sayin' it, miss, but you took every good trait of that family, an' nature jest shied every bad trait as far from you as it took the sins of our old savage anglo-saxon ancestors off of our heads; them that used to kill an' eat their neighborin' tribes, like the filipinos, they was. don't never forget that you're a shirley an' not a tank. your grandma's name was tank, i've been told." leigh made no response, but something in her face and in the poise of her figure bespoke the truth of darley champers' words. "i jest come down to tell you," he continued, "that the man i represented when i sold you this quarter, he represented your father, tank shirley, and tank got it through this man away from jim out of pure hate. i sold it back to you out of pure spite to tank's agent, who was naggin' me. if your father is dead, there'd ought to be somethin' comin' back, as the money you paid for the land would help you some if we could get it back. i come as a friend. i'm kinder in doc carey's shoes while he's gone, you see. you've got the land as good as paid for. it will be clear, you say, by june. buyin' it of your own father, if there's any estate left of him, you'd ought to have it. money's always a handy commodity, an' i'd like to see you git what's your'n after your plucky bluff and winnin'. you could use it, i reckon?" "we need it very much," leigh assured him. "say, would you mind tellin' me if you find out anything about your father's whereabouts or anything?" champers queried. "yes, i will," leigh replied, "but will you tell me what you know about him; you must know something?" it was champers' turn to start now. "n-not much; not as much as i'm goin' to know, and it's not for my profit, neither. i don't make money out of women's needs. i never made a cent on this sale to you, but it was worth it to get to do that agent once," champers declared. leigh waited quietly. "i'll be in better shape inside of two days to tell you something definite. i wish carey was here. do you know where he got the money he loaned you?" "i never asked him," leigh answered. "he borrowed it of miss jane aydelot of cloverdale, ohio." champers did not mean to be brutal, but the sharp cry of pain and the look of anguish on leigh shirley's face told how grievous was the wound his words had made. "why, you paid it all back; she ain't lost nothin'. besides, i heard with my own ears folks sayin' she'd always loved you and it was a pity jim ever took you away from her. she might 'a done well by you, they said. you got no wrong due. lord knows you've paid it conscientiously enough," darley champers insisted. "mr. champers, will you be sure to tell me all you know as soon as possible? meantime, i'll try to find out something to tell you." "i sure will. goodday to you." when champers rose to leave, leigh put out her hand to him, and the winning smile that made all grass river folk love her as they loved her uncle jim now touched the best spot in the heart of the man before her. "god knows it's a lot better to do for folks than to do 'em, and in the end i believe you prosper more at it. my business, except the infernal boom days, never was so good as it's been since i had that time with carey, and it's all clean business, too, not a smirch on it. wish i could forget a few things i've did, though." so darley champers thought, as he drove up the old grass river trail in the glory of the april morning. that morning, leigh shirley wrote a long letter to jane aydelot of cloverdale, ohio. leigh had written many letters to her before, but never one with a plea like this. miss jane had mentally grown up with leigh and had built many a romance about her, which was only hinted at in the letters she received. in the letter of this morning, leigh begged for all the information miss jane could give concerning her father, and further, she pleaded boldly for the reconciliation of the aydelot family, a thing she had never written of before. five days later her letter came back "unclaimed" with a brief statement from the cloverdale postmaster that miss jane aydelot had passed away on the day the letter was written, much beloved, etc. john jacobs had no need to be warned by asher aydelot of hans wyker's doings. he knew all of wyker's movements through rosie gimpke. jacobs had been kind to rosie, whose bare, loveless life knew few kindnesses, and she harbored the memory of a good deed as her grandfather harbored his hatred. moreover, the wyker joint had played havoc with the gimpke family. her father had died from a fall received in a drunken brawl there. two brothers, too drunk to know better, had driven into little wolf in a spring flood and been drowned. a sister had married a drinking man who regularly beat her in his regular sprees. for a heavy-footed, heavy-brained, fat german girl, rosie gimpke could get into action with surprising alacrity for the safety of one who had shown her a kindness. and it was rosie gimpke, whom john jacobs called the wykerton w. c. t. u., who swiftly put the word to him that her grandfather was again defying the law and menacing the public welfare. unfortunately, the messenger who served rosie in this emergency was overtaken by hans and forced to divulge his mission, threatened with dire evils if he said a word to rosie about hans having halted him, and urged to go with all haste on his errand, and to be sure of the reward, a ticket to the coming circus and two dishes of ice cream from the wyker eating house, as per rosie's promise. the boy hastened from the grinning hans and did his errand, and afterward held his peace, so far as rosie was concerned. but he stupidly unloaded his message and hans' interference and threats to john jacobs as an outsider whom the wyker family rows could not touch, and had another dish of ice cream at jacobs' expense. this messenger was able, for he brought the word to rosie that john jacobs would come to his little wolf ranch the next day, and late in the evening drop into wykerton unexpectedly, where he knew rosie would give him easy access to the "blind tiger" of the wyker house. the boy carried a message also to darley champers to meet jacobs at the top of the hill above little wolf where the trail with the scary little twist wound down by the opening to the creek, beyond which the gimpke home was hidden. then hans wyker, with threats of withholding the circus ticket and the ice cream, was told both messages just as they had been given to him for rosie and champers. hans, for reasons of his own, hurried out of wykerton and took the first train to kansas city. all this happened on the day that darley champers had made his trip to the cloverdale ranch. the fine spring weather of the morning leaped to summer heat in the afternoon, as often happens in the plains country. on the next day the heat continued, till late in the afternoon a vicious black storm cloud swirled suddenly up over the edge of the horizon, defying the restraining call of the three headlands to sheer off to the south, as storms usually sheered, and burst in fury on the grass river valley, extending east and north until the whole basin drained by big wolf was threshed with a cyclone's anger. darley champers sat half asleep in his office on the afternoon of this day. his coat and vest were flung on a chair, his collar was on the floor under the desk, his sleeves were rolled above his elbows. the heat affected his big bulky frame grievously. the front door was closed to keep out the afternoon glare, but the rear door, showing the roomy back yard, was wide open, letting in whatever cool air might wander that way. darley was half conscious of somebody's presence as he dozed. he dreamed a minute or two, then suddenly his eyes snapped open just in time to see thomas smith entering through the rear doorway. "how do you do?" the voice was between a whine and a snarl. champers stared and said nothing. "it's too hot to be comfortable," smith said, seating himself opposite champers, "but you're looking well." "you're not," champers thought. thomas smith was not looking well. every mark of the down-hill road was on him, to the last and surest mark of poverty. the hang-dog expression of the face with its close-set eyes and crooked scar above them showed how far the evil life had robbed the man of power. "i got in here yesterday morning, and you went out of town right away," smith began. "yes, i seen you, and left immediately," champers replied. "why do you dodge me? is it because you know i can throw you? or is it because i got full here once and beat you up a bit over in wyker's place?" smith asked smoothly, but with something cruel leaping up in his eyes. "i didn't dodge you. i had business to see to and i hurried to it, so i wouldn't miss you this afternoon," champers declared. "what do you want now?" "money, and i'm going to have it," smith declared. "go get it, then!" champers said coolly. "you go get it for me, and go quick," smith responded. "i'm in a bad fix, i needn't tell you. i've got to have money; it's what i live for." "i believe you. it's all you ever did live for, and it's brought you where it'll bring any man danged soon enough who lives for it that way," champers asserted. "since when did you join the young men's christian association?" smith asked blandly. "since day before yesterday." in spite of himself, darley champers felt his face flush deeply. he had just responded to a solicitation from that organization, assuring the solicitors that he "done it as a business man and not that he was any prayer meetin' exhorter, but the dollars was all cleaner'n a millionaire's, anyhow." "i thought so," smith went on. "well, briefly, you have a good many things to keep covered, you know, and, likewise, so have your friends, the shirleys. the girl paid about all the mortgage on that ranch, i find." darley champers threw up his big hand. "don't bring her name in here," he demanded savagely. "oh, are you soft that way?" the sneer in the allusion was contemptible. "all the better; you will get me some money right away. why, i haven't let you favor me in a long time. you'll be glad to do it now. let me show you exactly how." he paused a moment and the two looked steadily at each other, each seeming sure of his ground. "you will go to these shirleys," smith continued, all the hate of years making the name bitter to him, "and you'll arrange that they mortgage up again right away, and you bring me the money. they can easy get three thousand on that ranch now, it's so well set to alfalfa. nothing else will do but just that." "and if i don't go?" darley champers asked. "oh, you'll go. you don't want this y. m. c. a. crowd to know all i can tell. no, you don't. and jim shirley and that girl leigh don't want me to publish all i know about the father and brother, tank. it might be hard on both of 'em. oh, i've got you all there. you can't get away from me and think because i'm hard up i have lost my grip on you. _i'll never do that._ i can disgrace you all so grass river wouldn't wash your names clean again. so run along. you and the shirleys will do as i say. you don't _dare_ not to. and this pretty leigh, such a gross old creature as you are fond of, she can work herself to skin and bone to pay off another mortgage to help jim. poor fellow can't work like most men, big as he is. i remember when he got started wrong in his lungs back in ohio when he was a boy. he blamed tank for shutting him out in the cold one night, or something like it. that give him his start. he always blamed tank for everything. why, he and tank had a fight the last time they were together, and he nearly broke his brother's arm off--" "oh, shut up," champers snapped out. "well, be active. i'll give you till tomorrow night; that's ample," smith snapped back. "hans and you are all the people in town who know i'm here now except the fat woman who waits on the table at wyker's. i'm lying low right now, but i won't stay hid long; wyker'll keep me over one more day, i reckon. even he's turned against me when i've got no money to loan him, but i'll be on my feet again." "say, smith, come in tomorrow night, but don't hurry away now." the big man's tone was too level to show which way his meaning ran. "i'd like to go into matters a little with you." smith settled back in his chair and waited with the air of one not to be coaxed. "you are right in sayin' i'd like to hide some transactions. not many real estate men went through the boom days here who don't need to feel that way. we was all property mad, and you and me and wyker run our bluff same as any of 'em, an' we busted the spirit of the law to flinders. and our givin' and gettin' deeds and our buyin' tax titles an' forty things we done, was so irregular it might or mightn't stand in court now, dependin' altogether on how good a lawyer for technicalities we was able to employ. we know'd the game we was playin', too, and excused ourselves, thinkin' the lord wouldn't find us special among so many qualified for the same game. smith, i know danged well i'm not so 'shamed of that as i should be. the thing that hurts me wouldn't be cards for you at all. it's the brutal, inhumane things no law can touch me for; it's trying to do honest men out'n their freeholds; it's holdin' back them grasshopper sufferer supplies, an' havin' the very men i robbed treatin' me like a gentleman now, that's cutting my rhinoceros hide into strips and hangin' it on the fence. but you can't capitalize a thing like that in your business." "well, i know what i can do." "as to what you can do to me, you've run that bluff till it's slick on the track. and i've know'd it just as long as you have, anyhow. here's my particular stunt with you. i had business east in ' , time of the big may flood, and i run down to cloverdale, ohio, for a day. the waters was up higher'n they'd been know'd for some years." thomas smith had stiffened in his chair and sat rigidly gripping the arms. but champers seemed not to notice this as he continued: "the fill where the railroad cuts acrost the old aydelot farm was washed out and kep' down the back water from floodin' the low ground. but naturally it washed out considerable right there." smith's face was deadly pale now, with the crooked scar a livid streak across his forehead. champers deliberated before he went on. all his blustering method disappeared and he kept to the even tone and unruffled demeanor. "the danged little crick t'other side of town got rampageous late in the afternoon, and the whole crowd that had watched clover crick all day went pellmellin' off to see new sights, leavin' me entirely alone by the washout. i remember what you said about pretendin' to commit yourself to your maker there in an agreement between you as cashier an' tank shirley, an' the place interested me a lot." a finer-fibred man could hardly have resisted the agonized face of thomas smith. a cowardly nature would have feared the anger back of it. "it was gettin' late and pretty cloudy still, and nobody by, an' i staid round, an' staid round, when just at the right place the bank broke away and i see the body of a man--just the skeleton mainly, right where you didn't commit your pretended suicide. somebody committed it there for you evidently. there was only a few marks of identification, a big set ring with a jagged break in the set that swiped too swift acrost a man's face might leave a ugly scar for life, and if the fellow tried too hard to drown hisself he might wrench a man's right arm so out o' plum he couldn't never do much signin' his name again. i disposed of the remains decent as i could, for doc carey was leisurely coming down national pike from jane aydelot's, an' it was gettin' late, an' no cheerful plate nor job in a crowd in sunshiny weather, let alone there in the dusk of the evening. wow! i dreamt of that there gruesome thing two weeks. i throwed the shovel in the crick. would you like me to show you where to go to dig, so's you can be sure your plan with tank shirley worked and you didn't drown, after all? and are you sure you ain't been misrepresenting things to me a little as agent for tank shirley? are you right sure you ain't tank shirley himself? i've kep' still for four years, not to save you nor myself, but to keep leigh shirley's name from bein' dragged into court 'longside a name like yours or mine. i never misuse the women, no matter how tricky i am with men." then, as an afterthought, champers added: "it's so danged hot this afternoon i can't get over to grass river; and i got word to meet jacobs over at the little wolf ranch later, so i think i'll take the crooked trail up to that place; it's a lot the coolest road, and i'll wait till the sun's most down. i guess that three thousand dollar mortgage can wait over a day now, less you feel too cramped." thomas smith rose from his chair. his face was ashy and his small black eyes burned with a wicked fire. he gave one long, steady look into champers' face and slipped from the rear door like a shadow. darley champers knew he had won the day, and no sense of personal danger had ever troubled him. he settled back in his chair, drew a long sigh of relief, and soon snored comfortably through his afternoon's nap. when he awoke it was quite dark, for the storm cloud covered the sky and the hot breath from the west was like the air from a furnace mouth. "it's not late, but it's danged hot. i wonder why that jew wanted me to meet him over there. couldn't he have come here? i'm wet with sweat now. how'll i be by the time i get out to that ranch?" champers stretched his limbs and mopped his hot neck with his handkerchief. "i reckon i'd better go, though. jacobs always knows why he wants a thing. and he's the finest man ever came out of jewey. with him in town and asher aydelot on a farm, no city nor rural communities could be more blessed." then he remembered thomas smith and a cold shiver seized his big, perspiring body. "i wonder why i dread to go," he said, half aloud. "the creek trail will be cool, but, golly, i'm danged cold right now." again his mind ran to smith's face as he had seen it last. he put on his hat and started to take his long raincoat off the hook behind the rear door. "reckon i'd better take it. it looks like storming," he muttered. "hello! what the devil!" for rosie gimpke, with blazing cheeks and hair dripping with perspiration, was hidden behind the coat. "oh, mr. champers, go queek and find yon yacob, but don't go the creek roat. i coom slippin' to tell you to go sure, and i hit when that strange man coom slippin' in. i hear all you say, an' i see him troo der crack here, an' he stant out there a long time looking back in here. so i half to wait an' you go nappin' an' i still wait. i wait to say, hurry, but don't go oop nor down der creek trail. i do anything for miss shirley, an' i like you for takin' care off her goot name; goot names iss hardt to get back if dey gets avay. hurry." "heaven bless your good soul!" champers said heartily. "but why not take the cool road? i've overslept and i've got to hurry and the storm's hustling in." "don't, please don't take it," rosie begged. the next minute she was gone and as champers closed and locked his doors he said to himself, "she does her work like a hero and never will have any credit for it, 'cause she's not a pioneer nor a soldier. but she has saved more than one poor fellow snared into that joint i winked at for years." then, obedient to her urging, he followed the longer, hotter road toward the jacobs' stock ranch bordering on little wolf creek. meantime, john jacobs inspected his property, forgetful of the intense heat and the coming storm, his mind full of a strange foreboding. at the top of the hill above where the road wound down through deep shadows he sat a long while on his horse. "i wonder what makes me so lonely this evening," he mused. "i'm not of a lonely nature, nor morose, thank the lord! there's no telling why we do or don't want to do things. i wonder where champers is. he ought to be coming up pretty soon. i wonder if i hadn't had that dream two nights ago about that picture i saw in a book, when i was a little chap, if i'd had this fool's cowardice about being out here alone today. and what was it that made me look over all those papers in my vault box last night? i have helped careyville some, and the library i built will have a good endowment when i'm gone, and so will the children's park, and the temperance societies. maybe i've not lived in vain, if i have been an exacting jew. i never asked for the blood in my pound of flesh, anyhow. i wonder where champers can be." he listened intently and thought he heard someone coming around the bend down the darkening way. "that's he, i guess, now," he said. then he turned his face toward the wide prairie unrolling to the westward. overhanging it were writhing clouds, hurled hither and thither, twisted, frayed, and burst asunder by the titanic forces of the upper air, and all converging with centripetal violence toward one vast maelstrom. its long, funnel-shaped form dipped and lifted, trailing back and forth like some sensate thing. with it came an increasing roar from the clashing of timber up the valley. the vivid shafts of lightning and the blackness that followed them made the scene terrific with nature's majestic madness. "i must get shelter somewhere," jacobs said. "i am sorry champers failed me. i wanted his counsel before i slipped up on wyker tonight. i thought i heard him coming just now. maybe he's waiting for me under cover. i'll go down and see." the roar of the cyclone grew louder and the long swinging funnel lifted and dipped and lifted again, as the awful forces of the air hurled it onward. down at the sharp bend in the road thomas smith was crouching, just where the rift in the bank opened to the creek, and the face of the man was not good to look upon nor to remember. "i'll show darley champers how well my left hand works. there'll be no telltale scar left on his face when i'm through, and he can tumble right straight down to the water from here and on to hell, and wyker's joint may bear the blame. damned old dutchman, to turn me out now. i set him up in business when i had money. here comes champers now." the storm-cloud burst upon the hill at that moment. john jacobs' horse leaped forward on the steep slope, slid, and fell to its knees. as it sprang up again the two men could not see each other, for a flash of lightning blinded them and in the crash of thunder that burst at the same instant, filling the valley with deafening roar, the sharp report of a double pistol-shot was swallowed up. * * * * * an hour later darley champers, drenched with rain, stumbled down the crooked trail in the semi-darkness. the cool air came fanning out of the west and a faint rift along the horizon line gave promise of a glorious april sunset. as darley reached the twist in the trail which john jacobs always dreaded, the place thaine aydelot and leigh shirley had invested with sweet memories, he suddenly drew his rein and stared in horror. lying in the rift with his head toward the deep waters of little wolf creek lay thomas smith, scowling with unseeing eyes at the fast clearing sky. while on the farther side of the road lay the still form of john jacobs, rain-beaten and smeared with mud, as if he had struggled backward in his death-throes. as champers bent tenderly over him, the smile on his lips took away the awfulness of the sight, and the serenity of the rain-drenched face rested as visible token of an abundant entrance into eternal peace. grass river and big wolf settlements had never before known a tragedy so appalling as the assassination of john jacobs at the hands of an "unknown" man. hans wyker had gone to kansas city on the day before the event and wykerton never saw his face again. rosie gimpke, who did not know the stranger's name, and darley champers, who thought he did, believed nothing could be gained by talking, so they held their peace. and thomas smith went "unknown" back to the dust of the prairie in the grass river graveyard. the coroner tried faithfully to locate the blame. but as jacobs was unarmed and was shot from the front, and the stranger had only one bullet in his revolver and was shot from behind, and as nobody lost nor gained by not untangling the mystery, the affair after a nine days' complete threshing, went into local history, the place of sepulchre. chapter xxi jane aydelot's will impulsive, earnest, prompt to act, and make her generous thought a fact, keeping with many a light disguise the secret of self-sacrifice, o heart sore-tried! thou hast the best that heaven itself could give thee--rest. --snow bound. darley champers sat in his little office absorbed in business. the may morning was ideal. through the front door the sounds of the street drifted in. through the rear door the roomy backyard, which was champers' one domestic pleasure, sent in an odor of white lilac. by all the rules champers should have preferred hollyhocks and red peonies, if he had cared for flowers at all. it was for the memory of the old mother, whom he would not turn adrift to please a frivolous wife, that he grew the white blossoms she had loved. but as he never spoke of her, nor seemed to see any other flowers, nobody noticed the peculiarity. "i wonder how i missed that mail?" he mused, as he turned a foreign envelope in his hands. "i reckon the sight of that poor devil, smith, dropping into town so suddenly five days ago upset me so i forgot my mail and went to see the shirleys. and the hot afternoon and smith's coming in here, and--"darley leaned back in his chair and sighed. "poor jacobs! why should he be taken? smith was gunning for me and mistook his man. lord knows i wasn't fit to go." he leaned his elbow heavily on the table, resting his head on his hand. "if jacobs went on in my place, sacrificed for my sins, so help me god, i'll carry on his work here. i'll fight the liquor business to the end of my days. there shan't no joint nor doggery never open a door on big wolf no more. i'll do a man's part for the world i've been doin' for my own profit most of my life." his brow cleared, and a new expression came to the bluff countenance. the humaneness within him was doing its perfect work. "but about this mail, now." he took up the letter again. "carey says he ain't coming back. him and young aydelot's dead sure to go to china soon. an' i'm to handle his business as per previous directions. this is the first of it. somebody puttin' on mournin' style, i reckon." champers took up a black-edged envelope, whose contents told him as dr. horace carey's representative that miss jane aydelot of cloverdale was no longer living and much more as unnecessary to the business of the moment as a black-bordered envelope is unnecessary to the business of life. then he opened a drawer in his small office safe and took out a bundle of letters. "here's a copy of her will. that's to go to miss shirley to read. an' a copy of old francis aydelot's will. what's the value of that, d' you reckon? also to be showed to miss leigh shirley. an' here's--what?" darley champers opened the last envelope and began to read. he stopped suddenly and gave a long surprised whistle. beautiful as the morning was, the man laid down the papers, carefully locked both doors and drew down the front blinds. he took up the envelope and read its contents. he read them a second time. then he put down the neatly written pages and sat staring at nothing for a long time. he took them up at length for a third reading. "everything comes out at last," he murmured. "oh, lord, i'm glad doc carey got hold of me when he did." slowly he ran his eyes down the lines as he read in a half whisper: i was walking down the national pike road toward cloverdale with little leigh in the twilight. where the railroad crosses clover creek on the high fill we saw tank shirley and the young cashier, terrence smalley, who had disappeared after the bank failure. it seems tank had promised to pay smalley to stay away and to find jim and get his property away from him. evidently tank had not kept his word, for they were quarreling and came to blows until the cashier's face was cut and bleeding above the eye. there was a struggle, and one pushed the other over the bank into the deep water there. little as leigh was, she knew one of the men was her father, and we thought he had pushed smalley into the creek. he had a sort of paralyzed arm and could not swim. i tried to make her forget all about it. i promised her my home and farm some day if she would never tell what she had seen. she shut her lips, but if she forgot, i cannot tell. that night i went alone to the fill and found terrence smalley with a cut face and a twisted shoulder lying above the place where tank went down. i helped him to my home and dressed his wounds. i may have done wrong not to deliver him to the authorities, but he had a bad story to tell of tank's bank record that would have disgraced the shirley family in ohio, so we made an agreement. he would never make himself known to leigh, nor in any way disturb her life nor reveal anything of her father's life to disgrace her name, if i let him go. and i agreed not to report what i had seen, nor to tell what i knew to his hurt. he promised me also never to show his face in cloverdale again. he was a selfish, dishonest man, who used tank shirley's hatred of his brother and his other sins to hide his own wrongdoing. but i tried to do my duty by the innocent ones who must suffer, when i turned him loose with his conscience. i do not know what has become of him, but, so far as i do know, he has kept the secret of tank shirley's crooked dealing with the cloverdale bank, and he has never annoyed leigh, nor brought any disgrace to her name. this statement duly witnessed, etc. slowly darley champers read. then, laying down the pages, he said as slowly: "'unknown' in the grass river graveyard. 'unknown' to jim shirley and asher aydelot, whose eyes he'd never let see him. i understand now, why. known to me as thomas smith, an escaped defaultin' bank cashier who didn't commit suicide. known to the late miss aydelot as tank shirley's murderer. if the devil knows where to git on the track of that scoundrel an' locate him properly in hell, he'll do it without my help. by the lord almighty, i'll never tell what i know. an' this paper goes to ashes here. oh, caesar! if i could only burn up the recollection that i was ever low-down an' money-grubbin' enough to collute with such as him for business. i'm danged glad i had that quarter kep' in leigh's name 'stead of jim's. that's why thomas smith threatened and didn't act. he didn't dare to go against leigh as long as jane aydelot was livin'." he stuck a blazing match to the letter and watched it crumple to ashes on the rusty stove-hearth. then he carefully swept the ashes on a newspaper, and, opening his doors again, he scattered them in the dusty main street of wykerton. that afternoon champers went again to the cloverdale ranch. leigh was alone, busy with her brushes and paint-board in the seat on the lawn where thaine aydelot had found her on the summer day painting sunflowers. the first little sunflower was blooming now by the meadow fence. "don't git up, miss shirley. keep your seat, mom. i dropped in on a little business. i'm glad to set out here." champers took off his hat and fanned his red face as he sat on the ground and looked out at the winding river bordered by alfalfa fields. "nice stand you got out there." he pointed with his hat toward the fields. "where's jim?" "he and asher aydelot have gone to careyville to settle some of john jacobs' affairs. they and todd stewart are named as trustees in the will," leigh replied. she had laid aside her brushes and sat with her hands folded in her lap. champers pulled up a spear of blue-grass and chewed it thoughtfully. at length he said: "yes, i knew that. jacobs left no end of things in the way of property for me to look after. i'll report to them now. i seem to be general handy man. doc carey left matters with me, too." "yes?" leigh said courteously. "well, referrin' to that matter regardin' your father we spoke of the other day, i find, through doc carey's helpin' an' some other ways, that your father, mr. tank shirley, was accidentally drowned in clover creek, ohio, some years ago. so far as i can find out, he died insolvent. if i discover anything further, i'll let you know." leigh sat very still, her eyes on the far-away headlands that seemed like blue cloud banks at the moment. "had you heard of miss jane aydelot's demise? i reckon you had, of course. but do you know what her intentions were?" leigh looked steadily at her questioner. all her life she had had a way of keeping her own counsel, nor was it ever easy to know what her thoughts might be. "miss shirley, the late miss jane aydelot trusted doc carey to look after her affairs. doc carey, he trusted me to take his place. can you trust me to be the last link of the chain in doin' her business? my grammar's poor, but my hands is clean now, thank the lord!" "yes, mr. champers, i am sure of your uprightness." leigh did not dream how grateful these words were to the man before her, honestly trying to beat back to better ideals of life. "when i was a very little girl," leigh went on, "miss jane told me i was to be her heir." darley gave a start, but as leigh's face was calm, he could only wonder how much she had remembered. "all the years since i've lived in kansas i've been kept in mind in many ways of her favor toward me. i came to know long ago that she was determined to leave me all the old aydelot estate. and i knew also that it should have been asher's, not mine." darley thought of thaine, and, dull as he was, he read in a flash a romance that many a finer mind might have missed. "well, sufferin' catfish!" he said to himself. "danged plucky girl; forges along an' bucks me into sellin' her this ranch an' sets it into alfalfy an' sets up jim shirley for life, 'cause putterin' in the garden an' bein' kind to the neighbors is the limit to that big man's endurance. an' this pretty girl, knowin' that aydelot property ought to be thaine aydelot's, just turns it down, an', by golly, i'll bet she turns him down, too, fearin' he wouldn't feel like takin' it. an' he's clear hiked to the edges of chiny. well, it's a danged queer world. i'm glad i've only got darley champers to look out for. the day i see them two drivin' out of wykerton towards little wolf, the time she'd closed the cloverdale ranch deal, i knowed the white lilac mother used to love was sweeter in my back lot." "i could not take miss jane's property and be happy," leigh went on. "besides, i can earn a living. see what my brushes can do, and see the secret i learned in the coburn book." leigh held up the sketch she was finishing, then pointed to the broad alfalfa acres, refreshingly green in the may sunlight. "well, i brought down a copy of the late miss aydelot's will that she left with doc carey, who is goin' to chiny in a few days, him an' thaine aydelot, doc writes me. an' you can look over it. i've got to go to cloverdale next week an' settle things there, an' see that the probatin's are straight. lemme hear from you before i go. i must be gettin' on. danged fine country, this grass river valley. who'd a' thought it back in the seventies when jim shirley an' asher aydelot squatted here? goodday." left alone, leigh shirley opened the big envelope holding the will of francis aydelot and read in it the stern decree that no child of virginia thaine should inherit the aydelot estate in ohio. "that's why miss jane couldn't leave it to asher's son," she murmured. then she read the will of the late jane aydelot. when she lifted her face from its pages, her fair cheeks were pink with excitement, her deep violet eyes were shining, her lips were parted in a glad smile. she went down to the meadow fence and plucked the first little golden sunflower from its stem, and stood holding it as she looked away to where the three headlands stood up clear and shimmering in the light of the may afternoon. that night two letters were hurried to the postoffice. one went no farther than wykerton to tell darley champers that leigh would heartily approve of any action he might take in the business that was taking him to ohio. chapter xxii the farther wilderness and beyond the baths of sunset found new worlds. --london. dr. carey and thaine aydelot sat watching the play of a fountain in a moonlit garden of tropical loveliness. in the manila hospital thaine had gone far down the valley of the shadow of death before he reached a turning point. but youth, good blood, a constitution seasoned by camp and field, the watchful care of his physician, and the blessing of the great physician, from whom is all health, at last prevailed, and he came back sturdily to life and strength. as the two men sat enjoying the hour dr. carey suddenly asked: "after this hospital service, what next?" "how soon does this involuntary servitude end?" thaine inquired. "a fortnight will do all that is possible for us," carey answered. "then i'll enlist with the regulars," thaine declared. "do you mean to follow a military life?" carey inquired, bending forward to watch the play of light on the silvery waters, unconscious of the play of moonbeams on his silvery hair. "no, not always," thaine responded. "then why don't you go home now?" carey went on. thaine sat silent for some minutes. then he rose to his full height, the strong, muscular, agile embodiment of military requirement. on his face the firing line had graven a nobility the old brown kansas prairies had never seen. he did not know how to tell dr. carey, because he did not yet fully understand himself, that war to him must be a means, not an end, to his career; nor that in the long quiet hours in the hospital the call of the kansas prairies, half a world away, was beginning to reach his ears, the belief that the man behind the plow may be no less a patriot than the man behind the gun; that the lifelong influence of his farmer father and mother was unconsciously winning him back to the peaceful struggle with the soil. at length he said slowly: "dr. carey, when i saw lieutenant alford brought in i counted the cost again. only american ideals of government and civilization can win this wilderness. for this alford's blood was shed. he wrote to his mother on christmas day that he was studying here to get his master's degree from the kansas university. i saw him just after he had received his diploma for that degree. i was a fairly law-abiding civilian. the first shot of the campaign last february began in me what alford's sacrifice completed. i am waiting to see what next. but i have one thing firmly fixed now. warfare only opens the way for the wilderness winners to come in and make a kingdom. the remington rifle runs back the frontier line; the plowshare holds the land at last. i want, when my service here is done, to go back to the wheatfields and the cornfields. i want to smell the alfalfa and see the prairie windbreaks and be king of a kansas farm. i've lost my ambition for gold lace. i want a bigger mental ring of growth every year, and i believe the biggest place for me to get this will be with my feet on the prairie sod. meantime, i shall reenlist, as i said." "sit down, thaine, and let me ask you one question," dr. carey said. the young man dropped to his seat again. "when your service is done is there anything to hold you from going straight to the grass river valley again?" thaine leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head while he looked steadily at the splashing waters before him as he said frankly: "yes, there is. when i go back i want leigh shirley--and it's no use wanting." "thaine, you were a law-abiding civilian at home. the university made you a student. you came out here a fearless soldier to fight your country's enemies. alford's death made you a patriot who would plant american ideals in these islands. may i tell you that there is still one more lesson to learn?" thaine looked up inquiringly. "you must learn to be a christian. you must know what service for humanity means. then the call to duty will be a bugle note of victory wherever that duty may be. you needn't hunt for opportunity to prove this. the opportunity is hurrying toward you now from out of the unknown." the fine head with the heavy masses of white hair seemed halo-crowned at that moment. it was as he appeared that night that thaine aydelot always remembers him. two weeks later thaine enlisted in the fourteenth united states infantry, stationed in luzon. dr. carey was also enrolled in its hospital staff. in july the regiment was ordered from the philippines to join the allied armies of the world powers at tien-tsin in a northern chinese province, where the boxer forces were massing about peking. and thaine's opportunity for learning his greatest lesson came hurrying toward him from out of the unknown. this notorious boxer uprising, gone now into military annals, had reached the high tide of its power. beginning in the southern province of china, it spread northward, menacing the entire empire. a secret sect at first, it was augmented by the riffraff that feeds on any new, and especially lawless, body; by deserters disloyal to the imperial government; by the ignorant and the unthinking; by the intimidated and the intimidating. it enrolled an armed force of one hundred and seventy-five thousand soldiers. its purposes were fanatical. it aimed by the crudest means to root out every idea of modern life and thought in china; every occidental invention, every progressive method of society, every scientific discovery for the betterment of humanity. and especially did it aim to put to death every native chinese christian, to massacre every missionary of the christ, and to drive out or destroy every foreign citizen in china. its resources were abundant, its equipment was ample, its methods unspeakably atrocious. month after month the published record of this rebellion was sickening--its unwritten history beyond human imagining. impenetrable were its walled cities, countless in numbers, unknown the scenes of its vast plains and rivers and barren fields and mountain fastnesses. fifteen thousand native christians and hundreds of foreigners were brutally massacred. at last it centered its strength about the great city of peking. and a faint, smothered wail for deliverance came from the foreign legation shut in behind beleaguered walls inside that city to starve or perish at the hands of the bloody boxers. very patiently the world powers waited and warned the chinese leaders of a day of retribution. fanatics are fanatics because they cannot learn. the conditions only whetted the boxers to greater barbarity. they believed themselves invincible and they laughed to scorn all thought of foreign interference. then came the sword of the lord and of gideon to the battle lines at tien-tsin on the peiho river, as it came once long ago to the valley of jezreel. in the mid-afternoon of an august day thaine aydelot heard the bugle note calling the troops to marching order. thaine was fond of the bugler, a little fifteen-year-old kansas boy named kemper, because he remembered that asher aydelot had been a drummer boy once when he was no older than "little kemper," as the regiment called him. "i wish you were where my father is now, kemper," thaine said as the boy skipped by him. "where's that? it can't be hell or he'd be with us," little kemper replied. "no, he's in kansas," thaine said. "oh, that's right next door to heaven, but i can't go just yet. there's too much doing here," the little bugler declared as he hurried away. young as he was, little kemper was the busiest member of the regiment. life with him was a continual "doing" and he did it joyously and well. "there's something doing here." thaine hardly had time to think it as the armies came into their places. it was the third day after the regiment had reached tien-tsin. along the peiho river lay a sandy plain with scant tillage and great stretches of barren lands. here and there were squalid villages with now and then a few more pretentious structures with adobe brick walls and tiled roofs. everywhere was the desolation of ignorance and fear, saddening enough, without the boxer rebellion to intensify it with months of dreadful warfare. as thaine fell into his place he thought of the aydelot wheatfields and of the alfalfa that leigh shirley's patient judgment had helped to spread over the cloverdale ranch. and even in the face of such big things as he was on his way to meet the conquest of the prairie soil seemed wonderful. big things were waiting him now, and his heart throbbed with their bigness as his regiment took its place. it was a wonderful company that fell into line and swung up the peiho river that august afternoon. the world never saw its like before, and may never see it again. not wonderful in numbers, for there were only sixteen thousand of the allied armies, all told, to pit themselves against an armed force able to line up one hundred and sixteen thousand against them. not numbers, but varying nationalities, varying races, strange confusion of tongues, with one common purpose binding all into one body, made the company forming on the banks of the peiho a wonderful one. thaine's regiment was drawn up at an angle with the line, ready to fall into its place among the reserves, and the young kansan watched the flower of the world's soldiery file along the way. in the front were the little brown japanese cavalry, artillery, and infantry--men who in battle make dying as much their business as living. beside these were the english forces, the scotch highlanders, the welsh fusiliers, the royal artillery, all in best array. behind them the indian empire troops, the sikh infantry with a sprinkling of sepoys and the mounted bengalese lancers. then followed, each in its place, the italian marines and foot soldiery, the well-groomed french troops from all branches of the military; the stalwart, fair-haired germans, soldiers to a finish in weight and training; the siberian cossacks and the russian infantry and cavalry, big, brutal looking men whom women of any nation might fear. in reserve at the last of the line were the american forces, the ninth and fourteenth regiments of infantry, the sixth cavalry, and f battery of the fifth artillery. so marched the host from tien-tsin along the sandy plains, led on by one purpose, to reach the old city of peking and save the lives of the foreign citizens shut up inside their compound--whether massacred, or living, starved, and tortured, this allied army then could not know. the august day was intensely hot, with its hours made grievous by a heavy, humid air, and the sand and thick dust ground and flung up in clouds by sixteen thousand troops, with all the cavalry hoofs and artillery wheels. it was only a type of the ten days that followed, wherein heat and dust and humid air, and thirst--burning, maddening thirst--joined together against the brave soldiery fighting not for fortune, nor glory, nor patriotism, but for humanity. as they tramped away in military order, thaine aydelot said to his nearest comrade: "goodrich, i saw a familiar german face up in the line." "friend of yours the emperor sent out to keep you company?" goodrich inquired with a smile. "no, a kansas joint-keeper named hans wyker. what do you suppose put him against the boxers?" "oh, the army is the last resort for some men. it's society's clearing house," goodrich replied. the speaker was a harvard man, a cultured gentleman, in civil life a university professor. the same high purpose was in his service that controlled thaine aydelot now. "i don't like being at the tail-end of this procession," a big german from the pennsylvania foundries declared, as he trudged sturdily along under the blazing sun. the courage in his determined face and his huge strength would warrant him a place in the front line anywhere. "nor i, schwoebel," thaine declared. "i came out with funston's 'fighting twentieth.' i'm used to being called back, not tolled along after the rear." "rock chalk! jay hawk! k u!" roared schwoebel in a tremendous bellow. "rock chalk! jay hawk! k u!" a pennsylvania university man named mclearn followed schwoebel. "rock chalk! jay hawk! k u!" went down the whole line of infantry. the old kansas university yell, taken to the philippines by college men, became the battle cry of the twentieth kansas volunteers, who when they returned to civil life, left it there for the american, army--and "rock chalk! jay hawk! k u!" became the american watchword and cry of all that "far flung battle line" marching on through dust and heat to rescue the imperiled christians in a beleagured fortress inside the impregnable city of peking. "you needn't worry about the rear, aydelot. one engagement may whip this line about, end to end, or it may scale off all that's in front of us and leave nothing but the rear. all this before we have time to change collars again. we'll let you or tasker here lead into peking," an indiana university man declared. "that's good of you, binford. some kansas man will be first to carry the flag into peking. it might as well be aydelot." this from tasker, a slender young fellow from a kansas railroad office. so they joked as they tramped along. it was nearly midnight when they pitched camp before the little village of peit-tsang beside the peiho. in the dim dawning of the august morning little kemper's bugle sounded the morning reveille. thaine was just dreaming of home and he thought the first bugle note was the call for him up the stairway of the sunflower inn. his windows looked out on the aydelot wheatfields and the grove beyond, and every morning the sunrise across the level eastern prairie made a picture only the hand of the infinite could paint. this morning he opened his eyes on a far different scene. the reveille became a call to arms and the troops fell into line ready for battle. before the sun had reached the zenith the line was whipped end to end, as binford of indiana had said it might be. in this engagement on the sandy plain about the little village of peit-tsang, thaine with his comrades saw what it meant to lead that battle line. he saw the brave little japanese mowed down like standing grain before the reaper's sickle. he saw the ranks move swiftly up to take the places of the fallen, never wavering nor retreating, rushing to certain death as to places of vantage in a coronal pageantry. the filipino's mauser was as deadly as the older style gun of the boxer. a bullet aimed true does a bullet's work. but in this battle that raged about peit-tsang thaine quickly discovered that this was no fight in a filipino jungle. here was real war, as big and terrible above the campaigns he had known in luzon as the purpose in it was big above loyalty to the flag and extension of american dominion and ideals. when the thing was ended with the routing of the boxer forces, of the sixteen thousand that went into battle a tithe of one-tenth of their number lay dead on the plains--sixteen hundred men, the cost of conquest in a far wilderness. the heaviest toll fell on the brave japanese who had led in the attack. thaine aydelot did not dream of home that night. he slept on his arms the heavy sleep of utter weariness, which little kemper's bugle call broke at three o'clock the next morning. before the august sun had crawled over the eastern horizon the armies were swinging up the peiho river toward peking. the american troops were leading the column now, as thaine aydelot had wished they might, and in all that followed after the day at peit-tsang the stars and stripes, brave token of a brave people, floated above the front lines of soldiery, even to the end of the struggle. it was high noon above the orient, where the peiho flows beside the populous town of yang-tsun. the boxer army routed by the battle of peit-tsang had massed its front before the town, a formidable array in numbers, equipment, and frenzied eagerness to halt here and forever the poor little line of foreign soldiers creeping in upon it from the sea. the boxers knew that they could match the fighting strength of this line with quadruple force. the troops coming toward them had marched twelve miles under the august heat of a hundred degrees, through sand and alkali dust, in the heavy humid air saturated with evil odors. they had had no food since the night before, nor a drink of water since daydawn. joyful would it be to slaughter here the entire band and then rush back to the hoary old city of peking with the triumphant message that the allied armies of the world had fallen before china. then the death of every foreigner in the empire would be certain. at noon the battle lines were formed. in the swinging into place as thaine aydelot stood beside tasker, surrounded by his comrades, little kemper dashed by him. "here's where the corn-fed kansans do their work," he said gaily to the kansas men. "with a few bean-eaters from boston to help," goodrich responded. "and a hoosier to give them culture," binford added. "yes, yes, with the william penn quakers and the pennsylvania dutch," schwoebel roared, striking mclearn on the shoulder. men think of many things as the battle breaks, but never do they fight less bravely because they have laughed the moment before. thaine was in the very front of the battle lines. in the pause before the first onslaught he thought of many things confusedly and a few most vividly. he thought of leigh shirley and her childish dream of prince quippi in china--the china just beyond the purple notches. he thought of his mother as she had looked that spring morning when he talked of enlisting for the spanish war. he thought of his father, who had never known fear in his life. of his last words: "as thy days so shall thy strength be." and keenly he remembered dr. carey, somewhere among the troops behind him. the fine head crowned with white hair, caressed by the moonbeams, as he had seen it in the manila garden, and his earnest words: "you must learn to be a christian. you must know what service for humanity means. you need not hunt for the opportunity to prove this. the opportunity is hurrying toward you now out of the unknown." "it is here, the opportunity," he murmured. "oh, god, make me a fit soldier for thy service." he did not pray for safety from danger and death; he asked for fitness to serve and in that moment his great lesson was learned. there came an instant's longing for dr. carey; then the battle storm burst and he did not think any more, he fought. it were useless to picture that struggle. nothing counts in warfare till the results are shown. for six hours the fighting did not cease, and not at valley forge, nor brandywine, lake erie, nor buena vista, gettysburg, nor shiloh, san juan hill, nor in any jungle in luzon did the american flag stream out over greater heroes than it led today on the plains beside the peiho river before yang-tsun. at last the firing ceased, the smoke lifted above the field; the boxers, gathering their shattered forces together, retreated again before the little line of allied troops invading this big strange land. and the last hours of that long hot day waned to eventide. there were only a few of its events that thaine could comprehend. he knew little kemper had received his death wound, blowing his bugle calls again and again after he had been stricken, till the last reveille sounded for him. the plucky little body with the big soul, who had found his brief fifteen years of life so full of "doing." thaine knew that in the thick of the fight the native indian infantry, the sikhs and sepoys, had fallen in cowardly fear before the boxer fire. he remembered how big schwoebel, and tasker, and binford, goodrich, and mclearn, with himself and another man whom he recalled afterward as boehringer, a kansas man, had clubbed self-respect into a few of them and kicked the other whining cowards from their way. he knew that schwoebel had been grievously wounded and was being taken back to tien-tsin with many other brave fellows who had been stricken that day. he knew that near the last of the fray a man whom he had admired and loved second to lieutenant alford, big clint graham, of a royally fine old family of state builders in far-away kansas, had fallen by the mistaken shot of russian cannon, and the weight of that loss hung heavy about the edge of his consciousness wherever he turned. but what followed the battle thaine aydelot will never forget. twelve hundred men rose no more from that bloody field before yang-tsun. the fighting force, sixteen thousand strong, was wearing off at the rate of almost a regiment and a half a day, and it was yet a hundred miles to peking. all about thaine were men with faces grimy as his own; their lips, like his, split and purple from the alkali dust. they had had no water to drink in all that long day's twelve miles of marching and six hours of fighting. fearful is the price paid out when the wilderness goes forth to war! and heroic, sublimely heroic, may be the christianity of the battlefield. "we must help these fellows," thaine said to his comrades as the wail for water went up from wounded men. "the river is this way," mclearn declared. "hurry! the boys are dying." so over countless forms they hurried to the river's brink for water. thaine and tasker and boehringer were accustomed to muddy streams, for the prairie waters are never clear. but goodrich from boston had a memory of mountain brooks. the pennsylvania man, mclearn, the cold springs of the alleghanies, and for binford there was old broad ripple out beyond indianapolis. all these men came down with dry canteens to the peiho by yang-tsun. the river was choked with dead chinamen and dead dogs and horses. they must push aside the bodies to find room to dip in their canteens. * * * * * "you have one more lesson. you must learn to be a christian." somehow the words seemed to ring round and round just out of thaine's mental sight. "vasser! vasser!" cried a big german soldier before him. thaine stooped to give him a drink, and as he lifted up the man's head he saw the stained face of hans wyker. "it's very goot," hans murmured, licking his lips for more. "wisky not so goot as vasser," and then he trailed off into a delirium. "don't tell. don't tell," he pleaded. "i neffer mean to get schmitt. i not know he would be der yet. i hide for yacob, an' i get schmitt in der back and i only want yacob. he send me to der pen for sure yet next time. i hate yon yacob." a little silence, then hans murmured: "i didn't go to kansas city. i coom back to gretchen's home by little wolf. i hide where i watch for yacob. i shoot twice to be sure of yacob, an' schmitt, hidin' in der crack by der roat, get one shot. so i coom to yermany and enlist. gretchen, she coom too an' she stay der. vell! i help fight boxer some. mine gott, forgif me. i do once some goot for der world dis day." and that was the last of wyker. the twilight hour was near. the wounded had been borne away by busy red cross angels of mercy. wide away across the chinese plain the big red sun slipped down the amber summer sky into a bath of molten flame. then out of sight behind the edge of the world it turned all the west into one magnificent surge of scarlet glory, touching to beauty the tiny gray cloud flecks far away to the eastward; while long rivers of golden light by rivers of roseate glow mingled at last along the zenith in one vast sweep of mother-of-pearl. a cool breeze came singing in from the sea--fanning the fevered faces of the weary soldiers. the desolate places were hidden by the deepening shadows, and the serenity of the twilight hour fell on the battlefield. then the men of each nationality went out to bury their dead. swiftly the little brown japanese digged and filled up the graves into which their comrades were deftly heaped. the russian and siberian cossack lunged their fallen ones in heavily and unfeelingly. the bengalese and sikhs thrust their own out of sight as they were planting for an uncertain harvest. each soldier from france who lost his life on that battlefield fell on his own grave and there his countrymen covered him over, an unmarked spot in a foreign land. thaine straightened a minute above his spade. the cool breezes were grateful to his heated brow. the after-sunset glow seemed like the benediction of the infinite on the closing act of the day. he saw the hurried and unfeeling dumping of bodies into the holes awaiting them. then his heart grew big with something unspeakable as he noted how in all that irreverent and unsympathetic action the american and english soldiery alone were serving as brother for brother. in the long trenches prepared for them their dead were laid with reverent dignity and gentleness. each one's place was carefully marked with a numbered slab that in a future day the sacred dust might be carried back to the soil of the homeland. as the sunset deepened to richer coloring and the battlefield grew still and still, far along the lines the bands of the english royal artillery and the welsh fusiliers, with the bagpipes of the scottish highlanders, mingled their music with the music of the splendid band of the fourteenth american infantry in the sweet and sacred strains of the beloved old hymn: nearer, my god, to thee, nearer to thee. e'en though it be a cross that raiseth me. still all my song shall be nearer, my god, to thee, nearer to thee. and thaine aydelot knew that his last and biggest lesson was learned. chapter xxiii the end of the wilderness have i named one single river? have i claimed one single acre? have i kept one single nugget (barring samples)? no, not i. because my price was paid me ten times over by my maker. but you wouldn't understand it. you go up and occupy. --the explorer. the victory at yang-tsun had come with a tremendous loss of life. to go on now promised the cutting to pieces of the entire army. to stay here and await reinforcements would mean the slaughter of all the foreigners in peking. in a council of war the next day english and indian, russian, german, japanese, italian, and french, general after general declared for the wisdom of waiting at yang-tsun for reinforcements. up spoke then general chaffee of the american command: "i will not wait while the boxers massacre the helpless christians. stay here or go back to your own countries, as you please. my army will go on to peking, if it must go alone." and his will prevailed. followed then a memorable march, with the stars and stripes ever leading the line. the strength of the force was thirteen thousand now and one thousand of these fell by the way before the end of the journey. after yang-tsun, for the only time in this ten days' campaign, the soldiers undressed and bathed themselves like christians in the unchristian peiho, and on the next day, which was the sabbath, they listened to the military chapel service. six days they forged onward with the same cruel heat, and scalding air, and alkali dust, and poison water, over dreary plains, through deserted villages, twenty, twenty-five, and even thirty miles a day, they pushed on toward the chinese capital. and ever before them the boxers slowly receded, stinging grievously as they moved. sure were they that at last only dire calamity could await that slender column moving across the plains, led under a flag of red, white, and blue, with bands ever playing _the star-spangled banner_, while from line on line rolled out that weird battle cry of "rock chalk! jay hawk! k u!" sure were they that this stubborn little bands of soldiers foolishly following the receding boxer must at last crush itself like dead-ripe fruit against the ancient and invincible walls of peking. on the evening of the sixth day from yang-tsun the twelve thousand men of the allied armies, flower of the world's soldiery, stumbled into camp with their outposts in sight of the great walls of the city of peking. this had been the longest and hottest of all the days, with the weariest length of march. a great storm cloud was rising in the west and the air hung hot and still before it. thaine aydelot and his comrades threw themselves down, too exhausted to care for what might happen next. "this is the hottest day i ever knew," declared mclearn wearily, as he lay prone on the ground looking up at the hot sky with unblinking eyes. "i reckon you never hit the national pike on an august day, out between green castle and terre haute down in indianny," binford suggested. "nor st. marys-by-the-kaw," boehringer, a kansas man, added. "there's where you get real summery weather." "oh, kill him, aydelot, he's worse than a boxer. don't you know i'm from boston originally, which is only a state of mind?" goodrich urged. "no matter what state you are from originally, you are in china now, which is in a state of insurrection that we must get ready for a state of resurrection tomorrow. what are you thinking about, t. aydelot? you look like moses and the prophets." mclearn half turned over with the question. thaine, who was lying on his side, supporting his head on his hand, quoted softly: "'oh, the prairies' air so quiet, an' there's allers lots of room in the golden fields of kansas, when the sun flowers bloom.'" a low boom of thunder rolled across the western sky; a twilight darkness fell on the earth, and a long night of storm and stress began for the army of deliverance encamped before peking. outside the city the boxers massed in numbers. inside more than a hundred thousand waited the coming of hardly more than one-tenth of their number. no wonder they felt secure behind their centuries-old walls. thaine aydelot was accustomed to sleeping tentless on the ground and to being beaten by rains. he was a sound sleeper and he was very weary. but tonight he could not sleep. the morrow would see world movements that should change all future history; in which movements he was a tiny unit, as every furrow that his father, asher aydelot, had run across the face of the prairie had by so much won it from wilderness to fruitfulness. all night long the rain poured in torrents upon the camp. a terrific cannonade of thunder shook the earth. the lightning tore through the clouds in jagged tongues of flame. where thaine lay he could see with every flash the great frowning black walls of peking looming up only a few miles away. in the lull of the thunder a more dreadful cannonading could be heard, hour after hour. thaine knew that inside the walls the boxers were besieging the compound. and inside that compound, if he were yet alive, was his old teacher, pryor gaines. he wondered if the god of battles that had led the armies all this long hard way would fail them now when one more blow might bring deliverance to his children. he remembered again the blessing with which his father had sent him forth: "as thy day so shall thy strength be. the eternal god is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms." the memory brought peace, and at length, wrapped round in the blessing of an absolute trust, he fell asleep. inside of the city of peking on that dreadful night the madness of the boxer forces was comparable to nothing human. nor jungle beasts starving for food and drink, frenzied with the smell of blood and the sight of water, could have raged in more maniac fury than the fury possessing the demon minds of these fanatics in their supreme struggle to flood the streets of peking with rivers of christian blood. for such as these the christ died on the cross of calvary. for such as these the missionary is offered up. a human jungle, untamed and waiting, to whose wilderness the soldier became a light-bearer, albeit he brought the gospel of gunpowder to aid him. the great walls about peking enclose an area some fourteen miles in length and twelve miles in width. within these walls lie several cities, separated from each other by walls of lesser strength, intended, with one exception, in the opening of the twentieth century, not so much for defense as for boundary lines. the exception is the imperial city, inside whose sacred precincts it was firmly believed a foreigner might not set foot and not be stricken dead by the gods. this city within a city had defenses the allied armies were yet to come against. it lies on the north, inside the great wall. just east of it, along the north wall, was the foreign legation, whose south and east bounds were lesser structures of brick and earth. here all the foreigners and many native christians had been shut in for six long weeks, with the infuriated boxers hammering daily at their gates, mad for massacre. here they had barricaded themselves with all the meager means available. they had fortified every gate with whatever might stop a bullet or check a cannon ball. they filled up the broken places in the walls with piles of earth; they dug deep trenches inside these walls, and inside these trenches they had built up heaps of earthworks. daily they strengthened the weaker places and watched and prayed. no word from the big world outside seemingly could come to them--a little handful of the lord's children, forgotten of him, and locked dungeon deep from human aid. they had sent out a cry for help and had sent up prayers for deliverance. how far that cry had gone they could not know. frowning walls besieged by enemies lay all around them. they could only look up and lift up helpless hands in prayer to the hot, unpitying august skies above them. sickness stalked in over the walls. hunger tore its way through the gates. death swooped down, and sorrow seeped up, and despair lay in wait. but hope, and trust, and faith, and love failed not. they ate dogs and horses. they went half naked that they might make sand bags of their clothes for greater defense. they exhausted every means for protection and life, but they forgot not to pray. on this august night, while unknown to the besieged the allied armies encamped only six miles away, the reign of terror reached its height for the little christian stronghold. the storm beat pitilessly on the starved and ragged captives. the rain softened the earthworks and the rivers of water in the trenches threatened to undermine the walls. across these walls the incessant attack of cannon and roar of rifles was beyond anything the six weeks' siege had known, and only the power of omnipotence could stay the bloody hands. so the long hours of the dreadful night dragged on. at length came daydawn. the storm had rolled away. a lull in the besieging guns gave the legation a little rest of mind. hungry and helpless, it waited the passing of another day. a silence seemed to fill the city and the wiser ones wondered anxiously what it might portend. suddenly, in the midst of it, a great gun boomed out to the northeast. another gun, and another. then came a pause and the besieged listened eagerly, for their own walls felt no shock. again came the bellow of cannon, nearer and heavier, repeated and repeated, and the roll of smoke and the rattling fusillade of bullet shots told that a battle was on. outside the gates! an army come against peking! the army of deliverance! they were here fighting for the christians! oh, the music of birds' song, of rippling waters, of gently pulsing zephyrs, the music of old cathedral chimes, of grandest orchestras--nothing of them all could sound so like to the music that the morning stars sang together as this deafening peal of cannon, this rippling rhythm of krag rifles. with bursting hearts they waited and watched the great wall to the north. it is sixty feet high and fully as wide at its base, tapering to twenty-five feet across the top. could the gates be stormed? could this wall be shaken? from the highest points inside the compound eager eyes scanned the northeast as the battle raged on with crash of shells and whir of bullets. then down to the waiting ones came a message that seemed to fly to every ear in the besieged city, making men and women drop to the ground in a very ecstasy of joy. "they've run up the stars and stripes on the northeast wall!" the sword of the lord and of gideon was come again to peking, as it came once long ago to the valley of jezreel. the allied armies broke camp early on the morning of august fourteen in the year of nineteen hundred. six miles away stood the most impassable defense an army of the west might ever storm. yet the twelve thousand men did not hesitate. with general chaffee's troops in the front of the line they fought through fiercely skirmishing forces up to the hoary old city's gates, the fourteenth united states infantry leading the way. the american guns cleared the chinese soldiery from the top of the walls, and the american cannon were in line ready to blow open the huge gates. "i want to know what's on the other side before i open up the gates," general chaffee declared. so the command was given for a volunteer to scale the wall, to stand up a target for the chinese rifles! to be blown to pieces by chinese cannon! yet the armies must know what awaited them. there must be no debouching into a death-trap for a wholesale massacre. thaine aydelot had cherished one hope since the twilight hour on the battlefield at yang-tsun--that when this day should come the american might lead the way through the peking gates and be first to enter the strange old city. not merely because he was an american patriot, but because to him the american soldiers with all their sins and follies of youth and military life were yet world missionaries. thaine knew his comrades shared his hope, whether for the same high purpose he could not have asked. he had no longer dreams of military glory for himself. his joy was in achievement, no matter by whose hand. "there's an order for somebody to go up on the wall." the word was passed along the line. before it reached thaine and his comrades a young soldier had leaped forward to obey the order. "glory be, america first!" goodrich said fervently. "and a kansan. a jayhawker!" thaine did not know who said it. he saw the soldier, young calvin titus, a kansas boy, leap after the japanese coolies who ran forward toward the wall with the long bamboo scaling ladders. and for one instant's flash of time the old level prairies came sweeping into view, the winding line of grass river with the sand dunes beyond; the wheat fields, the windbreaks, the sunflowers beside the trail, and far away the three headlands veiled in the golden haze of an august morning. a kansas boy the hero of the day--first of all that army to stand on top of that hoary old wall! the prairies had grown another name for the annals of history. before him were the little brown coolies holding the ladder, and up its slender swaying height, round by round, went young titus nimbly as a squirrel up a cottonwood limb. the kansas men went wild. "rock chalk! jay hawk! k u! oo!" they shouted again and again, ending in the long quavering wail as the university yell must always end. up and up went titus, sixty feet, to the top of the wall. then as he stood above the strange old oriental city, rilled now with frenzied fighters; above the poor starving christians in their compound--saved as by a miracle; above the twelve thousand soldiers sent hither from the far homelands beyond the seas to rescue human beings from deadly peril. as he stood over all these, a target for a hundred guns, the khaki-clad young kansan lifted his right hand high above his head and swung out the stars and stripes to all the breezes of that august morning. then came the belching of cannon, the bursting of huge timbers, the groaning of twisting iron, and through the splintered gates the allied armies had entered the city. inside the walls the hundred thousand boxers renewed the strife. the walls and gates of the foreign legation were as stubbornly defended by the chinese fanatics on the outside now as the besieged christians had defended them against the chinese on the inside. entrance was made at last through the sluiceway, or open sewer, draining out under the city walls. it was a strange looking line of creatures who came crawling, waist-deep in filth, through the sewer's channel. the old aydelot sense of humor had saved thaine many a time. and he wondered afterward if he had not seen by chance the ludicrous picture of himself in a huge mirror, if his heart would not have burst with grief when pryor gaines came toward him, mute and pallid, with outstretched hands. the little group of soldiers who had fought and marched together had not had off their clothes for seven days. a stubby two weeks' beard was on each face. their feet were raw from hard marching. rain and dust and mud and powder smoke had trimmed their uniforms, and now the baptism by immersion in the compound sewer had given them the finishing touches. but the gaunt-faced men and women, the pitiful, big-eyed children, whose emaciated forms told the tale of the six weeks' imprisonment, made them forget themselves as these poor rescued christians hugged and kissed their brave rescuers. thaine hadn't kissed any woman except his mother since the evening when he and leigh shirley had lingered on the purple notches in a sad-sweet moment of separation. it lifted the pressure crushing round his heart when he saw goodrich, with shining eyes, bending to let a poor little missionary stroke his grimy cheek. the boxers retired by degrees before the superior force, entrenching themselves inside the imperial city. never in its history, centuries on centuries old, had this imperial city's sacred precincts been defiled by foreign feet. here the boxer felt himself secure. here the gods of his fathers would permit no foreigner to enter. on these hoary old walls no christian would dare to stand. on three sides of the imperial city these walls were invincible. the fourth was equipped with six heavy gates. in a council of the powers the impossibility of storming these gates was fully made clear. the number of soldiers was carefully estimated--american, japanese, russian, german, french, and italian, sikh and sepoy, bengalese, scotchman, welsh, and royal englishmen. all had suffered heavily in this campaign. none more grievously than the american. the decision of the council was overwhelming that the imperial city could not be taken by this little force outside its battlements. only general chaffee protested against giving up the attempt. "can your men take those walls?" the query came from the leaders. "my men can take hell," general chaffee replied, with less of profanity than of truth in his terms. and the attempt was given over to the americans. one of the six gates stood wide open, a death-trap laid by the wily boxer, believing that the foreign forces would rush through it to be shot down like rats in a hole. beyond it was a paved court some five hundred yards wide, reaching up to a second wall, equipped likewise with six great gates. thaine's company was singled out to go inside the open gate and draw the boxer fire toward themselves while the american army stormed the closed gates. the little group of men lay flat on the pavement, defending themselves and harassing the enemy. they knew why they had been sent in, but they were seasoned soldiers. thaine looked down the line of less than a hundred men, mclearn, and boehringer, tasker, goodrich, and binford, all were in that line. he felt a thrill of soldier pride as he said to himself: "we are fit. they have chosen us for the sacrifice. we'll prove ourselves." then he thought of nothing else but duty all that day. the capture of the first wall opened the way to a second with a paved court beyond it, and beyond that lay a third, and a fourth, and a fifth; wall and court, wall and court, through which, and across which the american army forced its way by heaviest bombarding under heaviest fire, leaving a clean rear for the other armies to follow in. only the sixth and last wall remained. general chaffee's men had not failed. the flag of red, white, and blue had led steadily on 'mid a storm of shells and a deluge of bullets. one more onslaught and the last gates would burst wide open. eagerly the american soldiers waited the command to finish the task. but it was not given. the leaders of the other armies had counseled together and prevailed against further advance, whether moved by military prudence or governed by jealousy of the ability of general chaffee and the magnificent record of the american soldiers in the orient, the privates could not know. just as the command to retire was sounded japanese coolies had run with scaling ladders to the last wall. it was the supreme moment for thaine aydelot. he was only a private, but in that instant all the old dominant cavalier blood of the thaines, all the old fearless independence of the huguenot aydelots, all the calm poise and courage of the quaker penningtons throbbed again in his every pulse-beat. he threw aside his soldier obligation and stood up a man, guided alone by the light within him. "it is a far cry from the green kansas prairies to the heart of old china," he declared to himself. "yet i'll go to the heart of that heart now, and i'll show it the stars and stripes of a free people, so help me god!" he turned and sped to the last wall, snatching the flag from a color-bearer as he ran. at the foot of the ladder the men holding it wavered a little. thaine threw the flag up to a coolie who was already climbing. "take it up. if i don't get up, wave it there if you die for it," he cried as he sprang up the ladder behind the color-bearer. the shots were thick about them as up and up they went until at last thaine stood beside the indomitable little japanese who had carried the american flag up the ladder. below the kansas boy lay the holy city of an ancient civilization in all its breadth of ingenuity and narrowness of spirit. standing there, a target for every gun, waving the star-spangled banner out over that old stronghold, he cried: "this is the end of the wilderness! look up and see the token of light and hope and love. other hands than mine will bear them to you, but i have shown you their symbol. i, thaine aydelot, of kansas, first of all the world, have dared to stand on your most sacred walls with old glory in my hand. wherever its shadow falls there is life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. in god's good time they will all come to you in peace as they have come to you now in warfare. mine today has been the soldier service, and mine today the great reward." chapter xxiv the call of the sunflower sons and daughters of the prairie, dreaming, dreaming, of the starry nights that vary, gleaming, gleaming! you may wander o'er your country where the vales and mountains be, you may dwell in lands far distant, out beyond the surging sea. but ah! just a yellow sunflower, though across the world you roam, will take you back to kansas and the sun-kissed fields of home. --nancy parker. thaine aydelot sat with doctor carey and pryor gaines in the latter's home in the foreign compound in peking. "i have done my work here," pryor was saying. "i have only one wish--to go back to old grass river in kansas and spend my days with jim shirley. we two will both live to be old because we are useless; and leigh will be marrying one of these times, if the lord ever made a man good enough for her. so jim and i can chum along down the years together." "it is the place for you, pryor," doctor carey asserted. "and now that the ranch is making money while jim sleeps, you two will be happy and busy as bees. every neighborhood needs a man or two without family ties. you'll be the most useful citizens in that corner of the prairies. and think of eating jim shirley's cooking after this." "and you, thaine? what now?" pryor asked as he looked fondly at the young battle-tried soldier. "i have done my work here," thaine quoted his words. "i've only one wish--to go back to old grass river in kansas to take my place on the prairie and win the soil to its best uses; to do as good a work as my father has done." thaine's dark eyes were luminous with hopefulness, and if a line of pathos for a loss in his life that nothing could fill had settled about his firm mouth, it took nothing from the manliness of the strong young face. "and you, carey?" pryor asked. doctor carey did not reply at once. a strange weariness had crept over his countenance, and a far-away look was in his eyes. the man who had forgotten himself in his service for others was coming swiftly toward his reward. but neither of his friends noted the change now. at last he said: "years ago i loved a girl as i never could care for any other girl. she would have loved me sooner or later if something hadn't happened. a message from the man she cared for most fell into my hands one day long ago: a withered flower and a little card. i could have kept them back and won her for my wife, but i didn't. i sent the message to her by a servant boy--and she has been happy always in her love." doctor carey turned his face away for the moment. thaine aydelot's eyes were so much like virginia thaine's to him just then. presently he went on: "sometimes the thing we fail to get helps us to know better how to live and to live happily. you will not be a coward, thaine, when you come, year by year, to know the greater wilderness inside yourself. you will go back to the prairies where you belong, as you say, and you will do a man's part in the big world that's always needing men." thaine recalled the evening hour when he and leigh were on the purple notches and he had declared in the pride of his nineteen years that he wanted to go out into the big world that is always needing men and do a man's part there. "if the big world needs men anywhere, it is on the old prairies," he declared, and the doctor continued: "i have found my future already. i shall not leave china again. grass river may miss me as a friend but not as a doctor of medicine. doctors are too plentiful there. my place is here henceforth, and i'm still young. i came to the philippines to be with thaine"--horace carey's voice was low, and the same old winning smile was on his face--"because i love the boy and because i wanted to protect him if it should be my fortune to do it. i saved him from the waters of the rio grande and helped to pull him out of the hospital at manila. he doesn't need me now, for he goes to do a big work, and i stay here to do a big work." "out of love for me alone?" thaine asked affectionately, throwing one arm about horace carey's shoulder. "no, not you alone," carey answered frankly, "but because something in your face always reminds me of a face i loved long ago. of one for whose sake i have cared for you here. you are going home a brave man. i believe your life will be full of service and of happiness." the silence that followed was broken by pryor gaines saying: "all this time--such a tragical time--i have forgotten, thaine, that i have a message for you, a little package that reached here late last may. it was sent to me because the sender thought you were coming to china soon, and i was asked to keep it for you. you didn't come, and mails ceased to leave peking--and then came the siege, the struggle to keep up the defenses, the sickness, the starvation, the deaths, the constant attacks, the final sight of old glory on the outer walls, and your triumphal entry through the sewer. you see why i forgot." he took a little package from his writing desk and gave it into thaine aydelot's hand. the young soldier tried to open it with steady fingers, for the address was in a handwriting he knew well. inside a flat little box was a card bearing the words: to prince quippi, beyond the purple notches. and underneath that lay a withered little yellow sunflower. * * * * * two evenings later as the three men sat together, horace carey suddenly gripped thaine's hand in his, then sank back in his chair with eyes that seemed looking straight into eternal peace; and the same smile that had won men to him seemed winning the angels to welcome him heavenward. in the midst of his busy, useful years his big work was done. * * * * * the sunflowers were just beginning to blossom along the old grass river trail. the line of timber following every stream was in the full leafage of may. the wheat lay like a yellow-green sea over all the wide prairies. the breeze came singing down the valley, a morning song of gladness. leigh shirley had come up early to the sunflower ranch to spend the day and night with virginia aydelot, while asher and her uncle jim took a two days' business trip to big wolf with darley champers. jim had brought virginia a big bunch of exquisite roses which nobody but jim shirley could ever have grown to such perfection. virginia went into the house to find the tall cut-glass vase doctor carey had sent to her when he started west, while leigh went to the gate of the side lot to pet a pretty black colt that whinnied to her. "you beautiful juno!" she cried, patting the creature's nose. "mrs. aydelot says you are as graceful and well-bred as all your grandmothers have been since the time a juno long ago followed a prairie schooner down the old grass river trail to a little sod shack on a treeless claim in the wilderness. this is too fine a morning to go indoors," she added as she came back to the front lawn to the seat under the fragrant white honeysuckle. she was as sweet as a blossom herself this morning, with her soft brown-gold hair waving back from her face, and her blue eyes full of light. somebody had turned from the road and was coming up the walk with springing step. leigh turned her head to see who it might be, as she reached for a spray of the fragrant honeysuckle, and found thaine aydelot standing before her. with a glad cry, she dropped the blossoms and sprang to her feet. "prince quippi couldn't come nor write, so he sent me. will i do for an answer, leighlie? i was coming back to the blessed old prairies, anyhow; to my father and mother and the life of a farmer. i have come to see at last through asher aydelot's eyes that wars in any cause are short-lived, and, even with a christian soldiery, very brutal; that after the wars come the empire-makers, who really conquer, and that the man who patiently wins from the soil its hundredfold of increase may be a king among men. i can see such big things to be done here, but, oh, leigh, are you sure you want me here?" thaine was holding her hands in a gentle grip, looking with love-hungry eyes down into her face. "i've always been sure i wanted you," leigh said softly, "and i've always hoped you would come back here to the prairies again. but, thaine, i'm so proud of you, too, for all the heroic things you have helped to do in the philippines and in china. i am glad now you did go for a while. you have been a part of a history-making that shall change all the future years." thaine put his arm about her and drew her close to him as he said: "then we'll go and build a house on the purple notches, a purple velvet house with gold knobs, and all that yellow prairie away to the west that was only grass land four years ago we'll turn to wheat fields like asher aydelot's here. john jacobs was holding that ground for somebody like you and me. we'll buy it of his estate. we'll show the fathers what the sons can do." a thrill of happiness lighted leigh's face for a moment, then a shadow fell over it as she said: "thaine, darley champers and i have kept a secret for a year." "you kept it 'danged' well. what was it?" thaine asked gaily. "jane aydelot, who died last year, left me all her property," leigh began. "good for jennie," thaine broke in, but leigh hurried on. "i always knew she meant to do it, and that was one reason why i sent you away. i wouldn't have your money and i felt if you knew you wouldn't ask me for fear i'd think--oh, money you don't earn or inherit squarely is such a grief," leigh paused. "so you wouldn't let me have any hope because of this junk in ohio that you were afraid you'd get and i'd seem to be wanting if i married you, and you thought i ought to have and you'd seem to be marrying me to get. if i ever have an estate, i'll leave it to foreign missions. i'd like to make trouble for the cuss that got me at the rio grande. money might do it," thaine declared. leigh did not laugh. "you are right, thaine. i was so unhappy about it all. for since i first came to uncle jim's, i knew i ought not have miss jane's love and the farm that you would have had if she knew you." "you've known this all these years and never told even me. you silent little subsoiler!" thaine exclaimed. "it grew in my mind from an almost babyhood impression to a woman's principle," leigh declared. "i never thought of telling anybody. but there was another thing that kept me firm that day on the purple notches. years ago, when i was a baby girl, i remember dimly seeing two men in an awful fight one night just at dusk down on the railroad track by clover creek in ohio. i thought one of them was my father. miss jane would never tell me anything about it, and made me promise never to speak of it. so i grew up sure that my father had committed some dreadful crime, and, thaine, until i knew better, i couldn't take the risk of disgracing your name, the proud name of aydelot." "oh, leigh, it is no matter what our forefathers do--they were all a bad lot if we go back far enough. it's what we do that counts. it's what i do as thaine aydelot, not as asher aydelot's son, that i must stand or fall by. it's how far we win our wilderness, little girl, not the wilderness our fathers won or lost." thaine was sitting beside leigh now, under the perfumy white honeysuckle blossoms. "but, thaine, the bans are all lifted now." leigh sat with face aglow. "your grandfather wouldn't let his property go to a child of virginia aydelot, so miss jane couldn't give it to you. she left it to me--all her property, provided, or hoping, i would--you should--"she hesitated. "yes, we should, and we will," thaine finished the sentence. "bless her good soul! i've always been rather fond of her, anyhow!" "and darley champers found out that my father was accidentally drowned long ago in clover creek. uncle jim says he never could swim, and so that burden is lifted. but, thaine, will you want to go back to ohio to the aydelot homestead? i could sell it for a club house to the cloverdale country club, but i waited till you should come, to know what to do." there was just a little quaver in leigh's voice. "do you want to go back to ohio?" thaine inquired. "unless you do, the country clubbers may have the place. there is no homestead there for me. this is my homestead. i want that open ranch-land beyond the purple notches. but, leigh, if my father as administrator and trustee for john jacobs' estate can sell me the ground and your inheritance from jane aydelot pays for it, what is there left for me to do after all? i can't take favors and give none. i'll run away and enlist with the regulars first." a rueful look came over his face now, and behind the words leigh read a determined will. "the real thing is left to you," she replied, "the biggest work of all. you must go out and tame the soil. your father bought his first quarter with money his father had left him by will, but he had no inheritance to buy all the other quarters that make the big aydelot wheat fields of the sunflower ranch. if every acre of the prairie was covered with a layer of eastern capital, borrowed or inherited, it would not make one stalk of wheat grow nor ripen one ear of corn. but you may turn up the soil with your plow and find silver dollars in the furrow. you may herd cattle on the plains, and their dun hides will bring you cloth-of-gold. you may seed the brown fields with alfalfa, and it will take away the fear of protest or over-draft, as the coburn book says it will. i know, because i've tried and proved it. oh, thaine, with all your grand battles in the east which is always our west, luzon is still a jungle and china isn't yet in the light. you have only prepared the way for the big things that are to follow. i never hear the old civil war veterans telling of their achievements in a grand army meeting without wishing that, after their great story is told, the grand army of the prairies would tell their tale of how the men and women fought out the battles here with no music of drums nor roar of cannon, nor bugle calls, nor shoulder straps, nor comradeship, nor inspiring heroic climaxes, and straight, fierce campaigns to victory. but just loneliness, and discouragements, and long waiting, and big, foolish-seeming dreams of what might be, with only the reality of the unfriendly land to work upon. i'm so glad you want to stay here and to take that open prairie beyond the purple notches for our kingdom." the happiness in leigh shirley's eyes took from thaine's mind the memory of all the hardship and tragedy of his two years on the battlefield. her pride in his achievements, her joy in his return and her dream of their future together in a work so full of service, filled his soul with rejoicing, as the may morning opened for these two its paradise of youth and love. * * * * * asher and virginia aydelot had come out on the veranda to look for leigh. a moment they waited, then asher said softly: "he has forgotten us, but he has come back to the life we love." "and he will come back to us tenfold more ours, because his heart is here," virginia answered, and the two stole softly indoors. "see the roses jim brought; they seem to belong to that beautiful vase," virginia said as they stood at the door of the dining room. "i think jim must have meant them for leigh and thaine." "yes, he brought us sunflowers in an old tin peach-can wrapped with a newspaper, and we had no mahogany dining room set and not so much cut-glass and china and silver in our cupboard, nor quite such a good rug on our hardwood floor," asher replied. "but we had each other and the vision to see all these things coming to us," virginia said as she looked up into her husband's face with love-lighted eyes. "i wonder where jim is." "jim is present." jim shirley came in quietly from the side porch. "he prepared your wedding supper for you. he buried your first-born, and now he comes to give you a daughter, he's been first aid to the aydelots all along the line, as he will hope to continue to be, world without end, and a little more." * * * * * the homestead on the purple notches looks out on a level land stretching away in an unbroken line to the far westward horizon. broad fields of wheat grow golden in the summer sunshine, and acres of dark alfalfa perfume the air above them. with a clearer vision of what reward farm life may bring for him who goes forth and earns that reward, the man whom the tondo road made a soldier, caloocan a patriot, and yang-tsun a christian, has found in the conquest of the soil a life of usefulness and power. and the father and mother, asher and virginia aydelot, who, through labor and loneliness and hopes long deferred, won a desert to fruitfulness, a wilderness to beauty--these two, in the zenith of their days, have proved their service not in vain, for that they have also won the second generation back to the kingdom whose scepter is the hoe. not in vain did the scout of half a century ago drive back the savage indian from the plains; not in vain did funston and his "fighting twentieth" wade the tulijan and swim the marilao; not in vain did chaffee's army burst the gates of peking, nor calvin titus fling out old glory above its frowning walls. behind the scout came a patient, brave-hearted band of settlers who, against loneliness and distances and drouth and prairie fire and plague and boom, slowly but gloriously won the wilderness. into the jungles of luzon will go the saw and spade and spelling book. upon the chinese republic has a new light shined. not more to him who drives back the frontier than to him who follows after and wins that wilderness with sword re-shaped to a plowshare does the promise to asher of old stand evermore secure! "_thy shoes shall be iron and brass; and as thy days, so shall thy strength be. the eternal god is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms._" the end [illustration: sunflower] books by margaret hill mccarter winning the wilderness illustrated by j. n. marchand the latest book from mrs. mccarter's pen is pronounced by critics the best work she has ever done. it is a tale of the soil, of winning the land from wilderness to fruitfulness. the author has written into it a great human story, an epic of the prairies. it is aptly called "the sunflower book," for this flower figures in the glowing romance running through its pages--the golden flower that kansas chose as its emblem because its face is ever turned toward the light. a master's degree illustrated in color by w. d. goldbeck vivid in its portrayal of fascinating college life, the fine young men and women do more than win victories in athletics and in the class-room--they win out in the battle for character. vigorous in its practical idealism, this is a story to influence and inspire. a wall of men illustrated in color by j. n. marchand "with god almighty backing us, we've got to stand up like a wall of men," said one of the free-soilers, and so they stood, the defenders of liberty and home, on the newly-settled prairie lands--where the tragedy of the civil war was keenly known. the heroic figure of john brown appears in the story, and, with all the warring and suffering, young life with its wonderful love moves through the pages of this powerful book. the peace of the solomon valley frontispiece by clara p. wilson in a breezy manner the story is told of a new york city man sending his rheumatic son to kansas for a six months' stay on the ranch of an old yale chum living in the solomon valley. the indignation and expectations of the young man collapse in the face of the facts, and he falls in love with the life of the kansas farm--and with the farmer's daughter. the price of the prairie illustrated in color by j. n. marchand in this book mrs. mccarter made her fame secure. it is a great picture of a thrilling time, and a series of events of historic significance. its pages are redolent of the sweet air and wide landscapes; the pictures come and go of idyllic childhood, of growing love, of indian danger, of jealousy, of massacre, and of the movement toward the settled life of the plains. it is a poignant and winning record of the price paid for the prairie home. a. c. mcclurg & co., publishers chicago a new pocket mouse (genus perognathus) from kansas by e. lendell cockrum university of kansas publications museum of natural history volume , no. , pp. - december , university of kansas lawrence university of kansas publications, museum of natural history editors: e. raymond hall, chairman, a. byron leonard, edward h. taylor, robert w. wilson volume , no. , pp. - december , university of kansas lawrence, kansas printed by ferd voiland, jr., state printer topeka, kansas - a new pocket mouse (genus perognathus) from kansas by e. lendell cockrum in studying the kinds of mammals known from kansas, i had occasion to examine a series of _perognathus flavus_ from the western part of the state. comparisons of these specimens with topotypes of named subspecies revealed that the specimens from kansas belong to a heretofore undescribed subspecies which ranges through western nebraska, eastern colorado, western kansas, and western oklahoma. this subspecies is named and described as follows. =perognathus flavus bunkeri=, new subspecies _type._--female, adult, skin and skull; no. , univ. kansas mus. nat. hist.; conard farm, mi. e coolidge, hamilton county, kansas; july ; obtained by f. parks and c. w. hibbard, original no. of hibbard. _diagnosis._--size large (see measurements). color light, upper parts between pinkish buff and cinnamon-buff (capitalized color terms after ridgway, color standards and color nomenclature, washington, d. c., ), sparsely mixed with black hairs; the effect at a distance of eight feet, is between clay color and tawny-olive; lateral line between pinkish buff and cinnamon-buff; postauricular spots near pinkish buff; small subauricular spots white; underparts white. skull of medium size (see measurements); frontonasal and mastoidal regions much enlarged; interparietal transversely narrow. _comparisons._--from topotypes of _p. f. flavus_ from el paso, el paso county, texas, _p. f. bunkeri_ differs as follows: averaging larger in all cranial measurements taken except in occipitonasal length, which is approximately the same, and in interparietal width, which is less; color more buffy, with fewer black hairs dorsally. from topotypes of _p. f. piperi_ from miles southwest of newcastle, weston county, wyoming, _p. f. bunkeri_ differs as follows: smaller in frontonasal length, mastoidal breadth, and length of auditory bulla; color more buffy, with fewer black hairs dorsally. from topotypes of _p. f. sanluisi_ from nine miles east of center, alamosa county, colorado, _p. f. bunkeri_ differs as follows: averaging larger in all cranial measurements taken except interparietal width, which is smaller; color lighter and more buffy. _remarks._--this is a brightly colored subspecies of _perognathus flavus_, with less black dorsally than any adjacent one. the lateral line is well marked. three young adult specimens taken from wakeeney, trego county, kansas, are much brighter than other specimens from kansas. the five specimens from greeley, weld county, colorado, are much darker dorsally, like _p. f. piperi_, but are referable to _p. f. bunkeri_ on the basis of cranial characters. the name _p. f. bunkeri_ is proposed in recognization of the continued attention which the late charles dean bunker, curator of birds and mammals of the university of kansas museum of natural history, gave to building up the collection of mammals from kansas. acknowledgment is made of the assistance afforded me by a research assistantship with the kansas biological survey. _measurements._--measurements of holotype and average of four adults (two males and two females) from the type locality are as follows: total length, , . ; length of tail, , . ; length of hind foot, , . ; length of ear, , . ; occipitonasal length, . , . ; frontonasal length, . , . ; mastoidal breadth, . , . ; length of bulla, . , . ; interorbital breadth, . , . ; alveolar length of upper molariform tooth-row, . , . ; interparietal width, . , . . all of the measurements listed above are available for each of the five specimens except that the occipitonasal length and frontonasal length are not available for the two males. _specimens examined._--total, , distributed by localities of capture as shown below. those from nebraska and colorado are in the us nat'l mus., biol. surv. coll., and those from kansas are in the univ. kansas mus. nat. hist. nebraska:--_box butte co._: alliance, . colorado:--_weld co._: greeley, . _kit carson co._: burlington, . _fremont co._: canon city, . kansas:--_cheyenne county_: mi. [by road] nw st. francis, . _rawlins county_: mi. ne mcdonald, ; mi. ne ludell, . _decatur county_: mi. s, mi. w oberlin, . _logan county_: vincent ranch, n. fork smoky r., [= mi. w and mi. n mcallaster], ; unspecified, . _gove county_: castle rock, . _trego county_: wakeeney, . _hamilton county_: mi. e coolidge, . _stanton county_: mi. w, - / mi. s manter, ; - / mi. w, - / mi. s manter, . _kiowa county_: rezeau ranch, mi. n belvidere, . _morton county_: mi. n, mi. e elkhart, . _meade county_: mi. sw meade, ; mi. sw meade, . _clark county_: stephenson ranch, mi. s kingsdown, . oklahoma:--_texas county_: mi. e eva, . _university of kansas, museum of natural history, lawrence, kansas._ _transmitted may , ._ - * * * * * transcriber's notes page : changed underscribed to undescribed (belong to a heretofore underscribed subspecies). bold text is shown within =equal signs=. italic text is shown within _underscores_. university of kansas publications museum of natural history volume , no. , pp. - , fig. february , fishes of the wakarusa river in kansas by james e. deacon and artie l. metcalf (contribution from the state biological survey, and from the department of zoology of the university of kansas) university of kansas lawrence university of kansas publications, museum of natural history editors: e. raymond hall, chairman, henry s. fitch, robert w. wilson vol. , no. , pp. - , fig. published february , university of kansas lawrence, kansas printed in the state printing plant topeka, kansas - fishes of the wakarusa river in kansas by james e. deacon and artie l. metcalf (contribution from the state biological survey, and the department of zoology of the university of kansas) _introduction_ the wakarusa river rises in the eastern edge of the flint hills and flows approximately miles in an easterly direction and empties into the kansas river near eudora; with its tributaries, the wakarusa drains square miles in parts of wabaunsee, shawnee, osage, and douglas counties of northeastern kansas (fig. ). the average gradient is . feet per mile. turbidity is consistently more than ppm in the lower portions of the mainstream and major tributaries, but is usually lower in the upper portions of tributaries. the channel of the mainstream is intrenched in its own alluvium (dufford, : ) and has high, muddy banks and mud- or sand-bottom; the upper parts of tributaries have lower banks and bottoms of gravel, rubble, or bedrock, although a few (such as cole creek) have areas of sandy bottom. a fringe forest of deciduous trees occurs along most streams. the topography and geology of the area have been discussed by todd ( ), franzen and leonard ( ), and dufford ( ). the five-year period prior to was the driest in the -year history of weather-records in kansas (metzler _et al._, ). streams throughout the wakarusa basin suffered intermittency and, according to mr. melvon h. wertzberger, the local work unit conservationist with the soil conservation service, many of them dried completely or contained only a few widely-scattered, stagnant pools. the effect of the drought on stream-flow at the mainstream gaging station . miles south of lawrence is presented in table . according to the division of sanitation, kansas state board of health, no untreated domestic sewage or industrial waste is discharged into the wakarusa river system at this time. the wakarusa watershed association is in the preliminary stages of establishing a watershed control project in the basin. objectives of the project are the improvement of land-use practices and the construction of several headwater retention structures. such a program should have a long-range effect on the physical and biological characteristics of the streams of the basin. with this in mind we think it important to document the nature of the present fish-fauna and to attempt a historical résumé of the fauna, based on collections made in the past sixty years. [illustration: fig. . map of the wakarusa river and its principal tributaries.] _methods_ sodium cyanide, a -volt ( -watt) a.c. electric shocker, and seines ( , , and feet long, to feet deep having / -in. mesh) were used to collect fish in . all fishes were preserved and examined in the laboratory with the exception of large, common species that were identified in the field and returned to the stream. table . record of stream-flow, wakarusa river . mi. s lawrence, kansas. ============+=========+===========+=========+====== water year | days | days with | maximum | mean (oct. | with no | flow less | for | for to oct. ) | flow | than cfs | year | year ------------+---------+-----------+---------+------ | | | , | . | | | , | . | | | | . | | | , | . | | | , | . | | | , | . | | | , | . | | | , | . | | | , | . ------------+---------+-----------+---------+------ _collection sites_ the following collections were made by personnel of the state biological survey of kansas in the 's, from to , and from to . these collections, all from douglas county, are deposited in the museum of natural history, the university of kansas. in the annotated list they are designated "ku": . rock creek, . . washington creek, . . " - / miles east of twin mounds," rock creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, . . rock creek, . . rock creek, . . washington creek, - / mi. w and mi. s lawrence, . . tributary of yankee tank creek, secs. and , t. s, r. e, july , . . rock creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, aug. , . . drainage ditch, tributary to wakarusa river, sec. , t. s, r. e, aug. , . . wakarusa river, sec. , t. s, r. e, aug. , . . rock creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, sept. , . . wakarusa river, secs. and , t. s, r. e, june , . . little wakarusa river, sec. , t. s, r. e, june , . . rock creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, oct. , . . wakarusa river, sec. , t. s, r. e, march , . several collections made between and are deposited in the university of michigan museum of zoology. in the annotated list these collections, all from douglas county, are designated "ummz": . rock creek, june , . . oxbow lake, mi. e lawrence, (several dates). . wakarusa river, mi. se lawrence, april , . . rock creek, mi. sw lawrence, april , . . rock creek, - / mi. s and - / mi. e topeka, july , . our collections, all of which were made in , are identified by the letters dm followed by a station-number. stations are numbered consecutively beginning at the mouth of the wakarusa river and proceeding up each tributary as it is encountered. _description of stations_ . wakarusa river, sec. , t. s, r. e, march and oct. . mouth of wakarusa to one-half mile upstream; width _ca._ feet; depth to feet; bottom mud; banks mud, feet high; current slight; water turbid. . wakarusa river, sec. , t. s, r. e, march . width _ca._ feet; bottom mud; banks mud, - feet high. . little wakarusa creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, may . long sandy riffles, - inches deep; pools to feet deep; bottom sand and mud; water slightly turbid. . little wakarusa creek, secs. and , t. s, r. e, may . riffles - inches deep having rubble bottom; pools to feet deep having mud bottom; width - feet. . little wakarusa creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, may . riffles - inches deep having gravel bottom; pools to feet deep; bottom gravel and mud; width to feet; water slightly turbid. . cole creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, may . riffles - feet wide, inches deep, bottom of flat, fragmented shale; pools having shale and mud bottom; water slightly turbid. . cole creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, may . small, shallow creek having sand bottom; water slightly turbid. . cole creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, may . banks steep, feet high; bottom sand and hard clay; water clear. . tributary to yankee tank creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, may . width - feet; bottom mud; water turbid. . washington creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, feb. . width _ca._ feet; bottom rubble and gravel; water clear. . washington creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, feb. , march , march , and oct. . one-half mile below dam at lone star lake; width - feet; bottom gravel; water clear. . tributary of east arm of lone star lake, sec. , t. s, r. e, march . width - feet; bottom limestone rubble; water clear. . tributary of southeast arm of lone star lake, sec. , t. s, r. e, march . . tributary of southwest arm of lone star lake, sec. , t. s, r. e, march . . tributary to rock creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, feb. . width feet; water clear. . rock creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, july and oct. . bottom gravel and mud; water clear. . rock creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, july . rubble riffles; pools having mud and sand bottom; water clear. . wakarusa river, sec. , t. s, r. e, july . rubble riffles; pools having sand and mud bottom; water turbid. . coon creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, march . bottom rubble and mud; water clear. . dry creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, may . bottom rubble; water clear. . deer creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, july. pools having mud bottom; rubble riffles; water turbid. . deer creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, march . bottom mud and shale; water clear. . elk creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, july . stream intermittent; bottom rubble; water turbid. . wakarusa river, / mi. ne mouth of elk creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, oct. . bottom mud and rubble; water turbid. . camp creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, oct. . upland creek having clear, flowing water; rubble riffles alternating with shallow pools. . strowbridge creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, july . pools having bottom of mud and detritus, emitting malodorous gases; rubble riffles; water turbid. . tributary of strowbridge creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, july . bottom rubble and mud; water clear, almost intermittent. . lynn creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, april . bottom rubble, mud and gravel; depth more than feet; water turbid. . lynn creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, may . bottom mud and rubble; water turbid. . lynn creek, secs. and , t. s, r. e, july . pools having sand bottom; rubble riffles; water clear. . lynn creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, july . bottom sand, rubble and mud; water clear. . tributary to lynn creek, secs. and , t. s, r. e, may . bottom rubble; water clear. . burys creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, july . bottom mud, rubble and detritus; rubble riffles; water turbid. . wakarusa river, sec. , t. s, r. e, july . bottom mud and rubble; rubble riffles; water turbid. . unnamed tributary of wakarusa river, sec. , t. s, r. e, april . bottom mud; water turbid. . six mile creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, may . bottom gravel and rubble; rubble riffles; water clear. . wakarusa river, sec. , t. s, r. e, may . bottom mud and coarse sand; water turbid. . south branch of wakarusa river, sec. , t. s, r. e, july . bottom rubble and gravel; water clear. . south branch of wakarusa river, sec. , t. s, r. e, july . bottom bedrock; flow slight; rubble riffles; water turbid. . south branch of wakarusa river, sec. , t. s, r. e, july . bottom mud; rubble riffles; water turbid. . middle branch of wakarusa river, sec. , t. s, r. e, april . bottom mud; gravel riffles; water turbid. . tributary of middle branch of wakarusa river, sec. , t. s, r. e, april . bottom mud and bedrock; rubble riffles; water turbid. _annotated list of species_ _lepisosteus osseus oxyurus_ rafinesque. dm . the longnose gar is abundant in most large rivers of kansas. the scarcity in the wakarusa is probably attributable to the small size of the stream. _lepisosteus platostomus_ rafinesque. ummz . the shortnose gar is common in the kansas river but seems less inclined than the longnose gar to ascend small streams. _dorosoma cepedianum_ (lesueur). ummz ; dm . gizzard shad. _carpiodes velifer_ (rafinesque). ummz . this record for the highfin carpsucker is based on a single specimen (ummz ). it was re-examined by bernard nelson who stated (personal communication) "the dorsal fin is broken and the 'pea-lip' smashed. a trace of the 'pea' is still discernible. the body is deeply compressed and other measurements agree with [those of] _c. velifer_. it was identified as _c. cyprinus_ at first, but later changed by hubbs." _c. velifer_ probably was more abundant in kansas during and before the early 's than at present. several early records of the species are available, but the only specimen obtained in kansas in recent years was captured in the neosho river by deacon in . moore ( : ) states that _c. velifer_ occurs in the clearer rivers and lakes of the mississippi valley, westward to nebraska and oklahoma. the almost complete disappearance of this species from kansas probably resulted from an increase in turbidity, of the rivers, accompanying settlement and cultivation of the land. _carpiodes carpio carpio_ (rafinesque). ku , , ; dm , , , . the river carpsucker occurred at stations scattered throughout the drainage, except in the smallest creeks. the largest numbers were found in the lower mainstream. _ictiobus cyprinella_ (valenciennes). ku ; ummz ; dm . the big-mouth buffalo was taken only near the mouth of the river; black buffalo, _ictiobus niger_ (rafinesque) and smallmouth buffalo, _ictiobus bubalus_ (rafinesque), possibly also occur there but were not taken in our survey. _catostomus commersonnii commersonnii_ (lacépède). ku , , ; ummz , ; dm , , , , , , , , , , , . the white sucker occurs primarily in upstream-habitats in the wakarusa basin. _moxostoma aureolum_ (lesueur). ku ; dm . the northern redhorse was taken only in downstream portions of the basin. minckley and cross ( ) regard specimens from the wakarusa river as intergrades between _m. a. aureolum_ and _m. a. pisolabrum_. _cyprinus carpio_ linnaeus. ku , , ; dm , . the carp, though most abundant in downstream situations, probably occurs throughout the drainage and is a potential pest in all impoundments likely to be constructed in the basin. _notemigonus crysoleucas_ (mitchill). ku ; dm , , , . the golden shiner was found only in tributaries. _semotilus atromaculatus_ (mitchill). ku , , , , , , , , , ; ummz , ; dm , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . the creek chub was usually abundant in small upland tributaries. _hybopsis biguttata_ (kirtland). ku , ; ummz . the hornyhead chub seemingly was common in early collections but has not been found since . the fish characteristically inhabits clear streams having gravel-bottom. disappearance of the species from the wakarusa may have resulted from increased siltation and intermittency of flow. _hybopsis storeriana_ (kirtland). ku ; ummz . _hybopsis aestivalis_ (girard). ku ; ummz ; dm . this species and the preceding one are common in the kansas river but do not ascend far up the wakarusa. _hybopsis gelida_ (girard) and _hybopsis gracilis_ (richardson) occur in the kansas river and may be expected in the lowermost portion of the mainstream of the wakarusa. _notropis percobromus_ (cope). ku ; dm , . the plains shiner shows little tendency to move far upstream from the kansas river, where it is abundant. _notropis umbratilis_ (girard). ku , , ; ummz , , ; dm , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . in our survey the redfin shiner was the most abundant species at several stations, especially at those in the lower and middle portions of tributaries to the mainstream. _notropis cornutus frontalis_ (agassiz). ku , , , , , ; dm . judging from the numbers preserved in early collections, the common shiner was more abundant and widespread in the 's than in . a watershed improvement program effecting more stable flow and decreased turbidity might benefit this shiner. _notropis lutrensis_ (baird and girard). ku , , , , , , , , , , ; ummz , , , , ; dm all stations _except_ , , , , , , . the red shiner was ubiquitous, and was the dominant species at a majority of stations. _notropis stramineus_ (cope). ku , , , , , , , ; dm , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . the sand shiner was most common in two environments: ( ) near the mouth of the wakarusa where abundance of the species may be attributed to the close proximity of a large population of _n. stramineus_ in the kansas river, and ( ) in upland tributaries that drain areas in which sand is found (especially in cole creek). _notropis topeka_ (gilbert). ku , ; ummz , , ; dm , , , . minckley and cross ( ) describe the habitat of the topeka shiner as pools of clear upland tributaries with slight flow. we found the topeka shiner in such habitat in deer creek, strowbridge creek and burys creek. the largest population occurred in a tributary of strowbridge creek. this stream probably was intermittent in , and deer and burys creeks may have been intermittent at some time in - . although minckley and cross ( : ) have stated that rock creek is "unsuitable for this species," we suspect that rock creek served as a refugium for _n. topeka_ in time of drought. it was found there (ku ) in , and again (dm ) on april , . _notropis buchanani_ meek. ummz . inclusion of the ghost shiner is based on two specimens (ummz ) collected by c. w. creaser in . _phenacobius mirabilis_ (girard). ku , , , , , , , ; ummz ; dm , , , , , , . the suckermouth minnow occurred in several collections but was nowhere dominant. the largest populations were at dm , , and . _hybognathus nuchalis_ agassiz. ku , ; ummz ; dm , . the silvery minnow was taken only in the downstream portion of the wakarusa and its lower tributaries. _pimephales promelas_ rafinesque. ku , , , , , , , , ; ummz , , ; dm all stations _except_ , , , , , , . the fathead minnow was ubiquitous, and was dominant at several stations on the smallest creeks. _pimephales notatus_ (rafinesque). ku , , , , , ; ummz , , ; dm , , , , , , , , , , , . the bluntnose minnow occurred at several stations on tributaries but was not common. _campostoma anomalum_ (rafinesque). ku , , , , , , ; ummz , ; dm , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . the stoneroller was usually abundant at upstream stations and was found in the mainstream of the wakarusa river. _ictalurus punctatus_ (rafinesque). ku , , , , , , ; dm , , , . channel catfish were taken by us only in the mainstream; anglers sometimes catch channel catfish in several of the tributaries. _ictalurus melas_ (rafinesque). black bullhead. ku , , , , , ; ummz , ; dm , , , , , , , , , , , , , . _ictalurus natalis_ (lesueur). yellow bullhead. ku , . _pylodictis olivaris_ (rafinesque). ku , ; dm . the flathead catfish comprises a small but consistent part of the sport fishery of the wakarusa, especially in the mainstream. _noturus flavus_ rafinesque. stonecat. ku , , . _noturus exilis_ (nelson). dm . the slender madtom is recorded only from riffles in washington creek below lone star lake. these riffles, because of the influence of the reservoir, are probably the most permanent in the drainage at present. the slender madtom may become more widespread if other reservoirs are built that stabilize stream flow in the basin. _perca flavescens_ (mitchill). the yellow perch is present in lone star lake, and probably will become established in future reservoirs that are constructed. _percina caprodes_ (rafinesque). log perch. ku , , ; dm , , , , . _etheostoma nigrum_ rafinesque. ku , ; ummz , , , ; dm , . the johnny darter, like the common shiner, has been taken recently only in rock creek, where darters flourish. often, ten to fifteen johnny darters were taken with one sweep of a - or -foot seine in shallow pools having mud bottoms. watershed improvement may benefit this species. _etheostoma spectabile pulchellum_ (girard). ku , , , ; ummz , ; dm , , , , , , , , , , , . the orangethroat darter was most abundant in deer creek, rock creek and washington creek. _micropterus salmoides salmoides_ (lacépède). dm , , , , , , . the largemouth bass occurs throughout the drainage at present, and should become established without supplemental stocking in future reservoirs. the absence of this species in early collections suggests that widespread stocking of bass in various impoundments in the area in recent years has increased populations in the streams. an anomalous individual, lacking a right pelvic fin, was found in lone star lake. _chaenobryttus gulosus_ (cuvier). the warmouth is present in lone star lake. this species typically inhabits lakes and probably will establish itself in other reservoirs. _lepomis cyanellus_ rafinesque. green sunfish. ku , , , , , , , ; ummz , , ; dm all stations _except_ , , , , , , , , . _lepomis macrochirus_ rafinesque. ku ; dm , , , , , , , , . both bluegill and green sunfish are common throughout the drainage and will contribute to the sport fishery of any reservoir constructed. the absence of the bluegill in early collections suggests that its population has increased recently owing to introductions in many impoundments. _lepomis humilis_ (girard). orangespotted sunfish. ku , , , , ; ummz , , , ; dm , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . _lepomis megalotis breviceps_ (rafinesque). longear sunfish. ku (one individual taken in rock creek, ). _pomoxis annularis_ (rafinesque). ku , ; ummz . white crappie occur in lone star lake and in farm ponds in the basin. _pomoxis nigromaculatus_ (lesueur). specimens of black crappie were obtained from lone star lake and in farm ponds in the basin. _aplodinotus grunniens_ rafinesque. drum. ku . _discussion_ our data show that the present fish-fauna of the wakarusa river has three major components: ( ) a group of species that are mainly restricted to the lower mainstream; all of them are common in the kansas river (_lepisosteus osseus_, _carpiodes carpio carpio_, _ictiobus cyprinella_, _moxostoma aureolum_, _cyprinus carpio_, _hybopsis storeriana_, _hybopsis aestivalis_, _notropis percobromus_, _hybognathus nuchalis_ and _pylodictis olivaris)_. ( ) a group of species that are ubiquitous; they comprised the entire fauna in some tributaries, despite the existence of habitats that seemed suitable for other species (_notropis lutrensis_, _pimephales promelas_, _ictalurus melas_, and _lepomis cyanellus_). ( ) a group of species having distributions centered in rock creek, washington creek, deer creek, and some nearby tributaries (_catostomus commersonnii_, _semotilus atromaculatus_, _hybopsis biguttata_, _notropis cornutus_, _notropis topeka_, _notropis umbratilis_, _phenacobius mirabilis_, _pimephales notatus_, _campostoma anomalum_, _noturus exilis_, _percina caprodes_, _etheostoma nigrum_ and _etheostoma spectabile_). the distributions of groups ( ) and ( ) provide clues to the effect of drought on the fish-population, and on the relative ability of various species to repopulate areas where they have been extirpated. larimore _et al._ ( ) studied the re-establishment of stream-fish following drought in smiths branch, a small warmwater stream in illinois. they found that of the species regularly occurring there reinvaded most of the stream-course within two weeks after the resumption of normal flow, and that all but three species were present by the end of the first summer. our study indicates a much slower rate of dispersal by many of the same species. this is presumably attributable to the ecological barrier presented by the wakarusa mainstream. during the drought ( - ) the mainstream with its turbid water and mud bottom could hardly have served as a refugium for species requiring the clear water and gravel bottom of upland tributaries. probably the main refugia for these species [group ( )] were in the upper portions of rock creek, washington creek and possibly deer creek. while collecting we observed that these creeks had larger proportions of gravel-rubble bottom, clearer water, deeper pools, and appeared to be more stable than other creeks in the drainage. in washington creek, lone star lake enhanced stability of flow. at the end of the drought, fishes in group ( ) probably were extirpated or decimated in other tributaries of the wakarusa. after normal flow recommenced in , fishes re-entered the previously uninhabitable streams or stream-segments. the rate of redispersal by various species probably depended upon their innate mobility, and upon their tolerance of the muddy mainstream of the wakarusa. our observations suggest that certain species in group ( ) dispersed rapidly from refugia in rock creek, washington creek, and possibly deer creek. these species may, of course, have survived in a few remaining pools in tributaries throughout the basin, thereby necessitating only minor redispersal within these tributaries following drought. species of group ( ) that were most tolerant of drought or that dispersed most rapidly are _catostomus commersonnii_, _notropis umbratilis_, _pimephales notatus_, and _percina caprodes_; these were present in the uppermost portions of the basin in . fishes having lesser capacity for survival or dispersal are _semotilus atromaculatus_, _notropis topeka_, _phenacobius mirabilis_ and _campostoma anomalum_; in , they were not found farther upstream than burys creek. _etheostoma spectabile_, the orangethroat darter, was taken in rock creek, washington creek, deer creek, strowbridge creek, elk creek, and at station on the wakarusa. this is a riffle-dwelling, comparatively sedentary fish, not a strong swimmer. these traits, coupled with the long, muddy pools and infrequent riffles of the wakarusa mainstream, provide a reasonable explanation of the comparatively slow rate of dispersal by the orangethroat darter. several species showed no tendency for redispersal following drought, in that they were confined to washington creek or rock creek in . _noturus exilis_ was taken only in washington creek immediately below lone star lake. rock creek is the last stream in the wakarusa basin in which _notropis cornutus_, _hybopsis biguttata_ and _etheostoma nigrum_ have survived. these species require comparatively permanent streams having pool-and-riffle habitats and gravelly bottoms for spawning. _hybopsis biguttata_ has been recorded only from rock creek, where it was last taken in . it is interesting to note that this species had not reinvaded smiths branch, in illinois, three years after the resumption of stream-flow (larimore _et al._, ). _notropis cornutus_ and _etheostoma nigrum_, although formerly more widespread in the wakarusa basin, have been taken recently only in rock creek. faunal changes that have occurred in the basin in the past years indicate a decrease in extent of clear, continuously flowing stream-habitat. _comparisons with faunas of nearby streams_ minckley ( ) reported species from the big blue river basin that were not taken in our survey of the wakarusa. most of the are fishes that probably occur throughout the lower mainstream of the kansas river and might enter the lower wakarusa occasionally. _chrosomus erythrogaster_ and _notropis rubellus_ were reported by minckley but have not been found in the kansas river basin east of the flint hills, either in recent or in early collections. on the other hand, five species have been reported from the wakarusa but not from the big blue river. two of these, _notemigonus crysoleucas_ and _chaenobryttus gulosus_, may have been introduced by man. the remaining three, _hybopsis biguttata_, _noturus exilis_ and _percina caprodes_, have not been taken farther west than mill creek, wabaunsee county. in general the faunas of the two systems are similar; forty species are common to both. comparison of the faunal list reported from the cottonwood river drainage (arkansas river system) by cross ( ) with that here reported reveals species in common, found only in the wakarusa and species found only in the cottonwood. _acknowledgments_ we thank dr. frank cross, mr. bernard nelson and mr. wendell minckley for their suggestions and data, and mrs. james e. deacon for assistance in preparation of the manuscript. we are grateful also to landowners in the wakarusa basin for permitting us to collect on their properties, to mr. melvon h. wertzberger for varied assistance, and to the kansas forestry, fish and game commission for financial assistance to one of us. the kansas state board of health and the water resources board supplied pertinent information. _literature cited_ cross, f. b. . fishes of cedar creek and the south fork of the cottonwood river, chase county, kansas. trans. kansas acad. sci. : - . dufford, a. e. . quaternary geology and ground water resources of kansas river valley between bonner springs and lawrence, kansas. kansas geol. surv. bull. , part , pp. - . franzen, d. s., and leonard, a. b. . the mollusca of the wakarusa river valley. univ. kansas sci. bull. ( ): - . lartmore, r. w., childers, w. f., and heckrotte, c. . destruction and re-establishment of stream fish and invertebrates affected by drought. trans. amer. fish. soc, ( ): - . metzler, d. f., culp, r. l., stoltenberg, h. a., woodward, r. l., walton, g., chang, s. l., clarke, n. a., palmer, c. m., and middleton, f. m. . emergency use of reclaimed water for potable supply at chanute, kansas. jour. amer. water works assoc. ( ): - . minckley, w. l. . fishes of the big blue river basin, kansas. univ. kansas mus. nat. hist, publ. ( ): - . minckley, w. l., and cross, f. b. . distribution, habitat, and abundance of the topeka shiner, _notropis topeka_ (gilbert) in kansas. amer. midi. nat. ( ): - . . taxonomic status of the shorthead redhorse, _moxostoma aureolum_ (lesueur) from the kansas river basin, kansas. trans. kansas acad. sci. ( ): - . moore, g. a. . fishes. _transmitted november , ._ vertebrates of the united states, by blair, w. f., blair, a. p., brodkorb, p., cagle, f. r., and moore, g. a. mcgraw-hill book co., new york, new york, pp. - . todd, j. e. . history of wakarusa creek. trans. kansas acad. sci. : - . _transmitted november , ._ - team (http://www.fadedpage.com) note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) the price of the prairie "at evening time it shall be light" [illustration: "come, phil," she cried, "come, crown me queen of may here in april!"] the price of the prairie a story of kansas by margaret hill mccarter author of "the cottonwood's story," "cuddy's baby," etc. with five illustrations in color by j. n. marchand fifteenth edition [illustration] chicago a. c. mcclurg & co. copyright a. c. mcclurg & co. published october , second edition, october , third edition, november , fourth edition, december , fifth edition, december , sixth edition, december , seventh edition, january , eighth edition, february , ninth edition, april , tenth edition, may , eleventh edition, september , twelfth edition, december , thirteenth edition, february , fourteenth edition, august , fifteenth edition, december , copyrighted in great britain press of the vail company coshocton, u. s. a. this little love story of the prairies is dedicated to all who believe that the defence of the helpless is heroism; that the protection of the home is splendid achievement; and, that the storm, and stress, and patient endurance of the day will bring us at last to the peace of the purple twilight. contents chapter page proem ix i springvale by the neosho ii jean pahusca iii the hermit's cave iv in the prairie twilight v a good indian vi when the heart beats young vii the foreshadowing of peril viii the cost of safety ix the search for the missing x o'mie's choice xi golden days xii a man's estate xiii the topeka rally xiv deepening gloom xv rockport and "rockport" xvi beginning again xvii in the valley of the arickaree xviii the sunlight on old glory xix a man's business xx the cleft in the rock xxi the call to service xxii the nineteenth kansas cavalry xxiii in jean's land xxiv the cry of womanhood xxv judson summoned xxvi o'mie's inheritance xxvii sunset by the sweetwater xxviii the heritage illustrations page "come, phil," she cried, "come, crown me queen of may here in april!" _frontispiece_ "baronet, i think we are marching straight into hell's jaws" every movement of ours had been watched by indian scouts like the passing of a hurricane, horses, mules, men, all dashed toward the place they came slowly toward us, the two captive women for whom we waited proem "nature never did betray the heart that loved her" i can hear it always--the call of the prairie. the passing of sixty winters has left me a vigorous man, although my hair is as white as the january snowdrift in the draws, and the strenuous events of some of the years have put a tax on my strength. i shall always limp a little in my right foot--that was left out on the plains one freezing night with nothing under it but the earth, and nothing over it but the sky. still, considering that although the sixty years were spent mainly in that pioneer time when every day in kansas was its busy day, i am not even beginning to feel old. neither am i sentimental and inclined to poetry. life has given me mostly her prose selections for my study. but this love of the prairie is a part of my being. all the comedy and tragedy of these sixty years have had them for a setting, and i can no more put them out of my life than the scotchman can forget the heather, or the swiss emigrant in the flat green lowland can forget the icy passes of the glacier-polished alps. geography is an element of every man's life. the prairies are in the red corpuscles of my blood. up and down their rippling billows my memory runs. for always i see them,--green and blossom-starred in the springtime; or drenched with the driving summer deluge that made each draw a brimming torrent; or golden, purple, and silver-rimmed in the glorious autumn. i have seen them gray in the twilight, still and tenderly verdant at noonday, and cold and frost-wreathed under the white star-beams. i have seen them yield up their rich yellow sheaves of grain, and i have looked upon their dreary wastes marked with the dull black of cold human blood. plain practical man of affairs that i am, i come back to the blessed prairies for my inspiration as the tartan warmed up the heart of argyle. the price of the prairie chapter i springvale by the neosho sweeter to me than the salt sea spray, the fragrance of summer rains; nearer my heart than the mighty hills are the wind-swept kansas plains. dearer the sight of a shy wild rose by the road-side's dusty way, than all the splendor of poppy-fields ablaze in the sun of may. gay as the bold poinsettia is, and the burden of pepper trees, the sunflower, tawny and gold and brown, is richer to me than these; and rising ever above the song of the hoarse, insistent sea, the voice of the prairie calling, calling me. --esther m. clarke. whenever i think of these broad kansas plains i think also of marjie. i cannot now remember the time when i did not care for her, but the day when o'mie first found it out is as clear to me as yesterday, although that was more than forty years ago. o'mie was the reddest-haired, best-hearted boy that ever laughed in the face of fortune and made friends with fate against the hardest odds. his real name was o'meara, thomas o'meara, but we forgot that years ago. "if o'mie were set down in the middle of the sahara desert," my aunt candace used to say, "there'd be an oasis a mile across by the next day noon, with never failing water and green trees right in the middle of it, and o'mie sitting under them drinking the water like it was irish rum." o'mie would always grin at this saying and reply that, "by the nixt day noon follerin' that, the rascally gover'mint at washin'ton would come along an' kick him out into the rid san', claimin' that that particular oasis was an injun riservation, specially craayted by providence fur the dirthy osages,--the bastes!" o'mie hated the indians, but he was a friend to all the rest of mankind. indeed if it had not been for him i should not have had that limp in my right foot, for both of my feet would have been mouldering these many years under the curly mesquite of the southwest plains. but that comes later. we were all out on the prairie hunting for our cows that evening--the one when o'mie guessed my secret. marjie's pony was heading straight to the west, flying over the ground. the big red sun was slipping down a flame-wreathed sky, touching with fire the ragged pennons of a blue-black storm cloud hanging sullenly to the northward, and making an indescribable splendor in the far southwest. riding hard after marjie, coming at an angle from the bluff above the draw, was an osage indian, huge as a giant, and frenzied with whiskey. i must have turned a white despairing face toward my comrades, and i was glad afterward that i was against the background of that flaming sunset so that my features were in the shadow. it was then that o'mie, who was nearest me, looking steadily in my eyes said in a low voice: "bedad, phil! so that's how it is wid ye, is it? then we've got to kill that injun jist fur grandeur." i knew o'mie for many years, and i never saw him show a quiver of fear, not even in those long weary days when, white and hollow-cheeked, he waited for his last enemy, death,--whom he vanquished, looking up into my face with eyes of inexpressible peace, and murmuring softly, "safe in the arms of jasus." old men are prone to ramble in their stories, and i am not old. to prove that, i must not jiggle with these heads and tails of time, but i must begin earlier and follow down these eventful years as if i were a real novel-writer with consecutive chapters to set down. springvale by the neosho was a favorite point for early settlers. it nestled under the sheltered bluff on the west. there were never-failing springs in the rocky outcrop. a magnificent grove of huge oak trees, most rare in the plains country, lined the river's banks and covered the fertile lowlands. it made a landmark of the spot, this beautiful natural forest, and gave it a place on the map as a meeting-ground for the wild tribes long before the days of civilized occupation. the height above the valley commands all that wide prairie that ripples in treeless fertility from as far as even an indian can see until it breaks off with that cliff that walls the neosho bottom lands up and down for many a mile. to the southwest the open black lowlands along fingal's creek beckoned as temptingly to the settler as did the neosho valley itself. the divide between the two, the river and its tributary, coming down from the northwest makes a high promontory. its eastern side is the rocky ledge of the bluff. on the west it slopes off to the fertile draws of fingal's creek, and the sunset prairies that swell up and away beyond them. just where the little stream joins the bigger one springvale took root and flourished amazingly. it was an indian village site and trading-point since tradition can remember. the old tepee rings show still up in the prairie cornfield where even the plough, that great weapon of civilization and obliteration, has not quite made a dead level of the landmarks of the past. i've bumped across those rings many a time in the days when we went from springvale up to the red range schoolhouse in the broken country where fingal's creek has its source. it was the hollow beyond the tepee ring that caused his pony to stumble that night when jean pahusca, the big osage, was riding like fury between me and that blood-red sky. the early indians always built on the uplands although the valleys ran close beneath them. they had only arrows and speed to protect them from their foes. it was not until they had the white man's firearms that they dared to make their homes in the lowlands. black kettle in the sheltered washita valley might never have fallen before general custer had the cheyennes kept to the high places after the custom of their fathers. but the early white settlers had firearms and skill in building block-houses, so they took to the valleys near wood and water. on the day that kansas became a territory, my father, john baronet, with all his household effects started from rockport, massachusetts, to begin life anew in the wild unknown west. he was not a poor man, heaven bless his memory! he never knew want except the pinch of pioneer life when money is of no avail because the necessities are out of reach. in the east he had been a successful lawyer and his success followed him. they will tell you in springvale to-day that "if judge baronet were alive and on the bench things would go vastly better," and much more to like effect. my mother was young and beautiful, and to her the world was full of beauty. especially did she love the sea. all her life was spent beside it, and it was ever her delight. it must have been from her that my own love of nature came as a heritage to me, giving me capacity to take and keep those prairie scenes of idyllic beauty that fill my memory now. in the summer of my father's maiden sister candace had come to live with us. candace baronet was the living refutation of all the unkind criticism ever heaped upon old maids. she was a strong, comely, unselfish woman who lived where the best thoughts grow. one day in late october, a sudden squall drove landward, capsizing the dory in which my mother was returning from a visit to old friends on an island off the rockport coast. she was in sight of home when that furious gust of wind and rain swept across her path. the next morning the little waves rippled musically against the beach whither they had borne my dead mother and left her without one mark of cruel usage. neither was there any sign of terror on her face, white and peaceful under her damp dark hair. i know now that my father and his sister tried hard to suppress their sorrow for my sake, but the curtains on the seaward side of the house were always lowered now and my father's face looked more and more to the westward. the sea became an unbearable thing to him. yet he was a brave, unselfish man and in all the years following that one winter he lived cheerfully and nobly--a sunshiny life. in the early spring he gave up his law practice in rockport. "the place for me is on the frontier," he said to my aunt candace one day. "i'm sick of the sight of that water. i want to try the prairies and i want to be in the struggle that is beginning beyond the missouri. i want to do one man's part in the making of the west." aunt candace looked steadily into her brother's face. "i am sick of the sea, too, john," she said. "will the prairies be kinder to us, i wonder." i did not know till long afterward, when the kansas blue-grass had covered both their graves, that the blue atlantic had in its keeping the form of the one love of my aunt's life. rich am i, philip baronet, to have had such a father and such a mother-hearted aunt. they made life full and happy for me with never from that day any doleful grieving over the portion providence had given them. and the blessed prairie did bring them peace. its spell was like a benediction on their lives who lived to bless many lives. it was late june when our covered wagon and tired ox-team stopped on the east bluff above the neosho just outside of springvale. the sun was dropping behind the prairie far across the river valley when another wagon and ox-team with pioneers like ourselves joined us. they were irving whately and his wife and little daughter, marjory. i was only seven and i have forgotten many things of these later years, but i'll never forget marjie as i first saw her. she was stiff from long sitting in the big covered wagon, and she stretched her pudgy little legs to get the cramp out of them, as she took in the scene. her pink sun-bonnet had fallen back and she was holding it by both strings in one hand. her rough brown hair was all in little blowsy ringlets round her face and the two braids hanging in front of her shoulders ended each in a big blowsy curl. her eyes were as brown as her hair. but what i noted then and many a time afterward was the exceeding whiteness of her face. from st. louis i had seen nothing but dark-skinned mexicans, tanned missourians, and indian, creole, and french canadian, all coppery or bronze brown, in this land of glaring sunshine. marjie made me think of rockport and the pink-cheeked children of the country lanes about the town. but most of all she called my mother back, white and beautiful as she looked in her last peaceful sleep, the day the sea gave her to us again. "star face," jean pahusca used to call marjie, for even in the kansas heat and browning winds she never lost the pink tint no miniature painting on ivory could exaggerate. we stood looking at one another in the purple twilight. "what's your name?" "marjory whately. what's yours?" "phil baronet, and i'm seven years old." this, a shade boastingly. "i'm six," marjory said. "are you afraid of indians?" "no," i declared. "i won't let the indians hurt you. let's run a race," pointing toward where the neosho lay glistening in the last light of day, a gap in the bluff letting the reflection from great golden clouds illumine its wave-crumpled surface. we took hold of hands and started down the long slope together, but our parents called us back. "playmates already," i heard them saying. in the gathering evening shadows we all lumbered down the slope to the rock-bottomed ford and up into the little hamlet of springvale. that night when i said my prayers to aunt candace i cried softly on her shoulder. "marjie makes me homesick," i sobbed, and aunt candace understood then and always afterward. the very air about springvale was full of tradition. the town had been from the earliest times a landmark of the old santa fé trail. when the freighters and plainsmen left the village and climbed to the top of the slope and set their faces to the west there lay before them only the wilderness wastes. here nature, grown miserly, offered not even a stick of timber to mend a broken cart-pole in all the thousand miles between the neosho and the spanish settlement of new mexico. here the indians came with their furs and beaded garments to exchange for firearms and fire-water. people fastened their doors at night for a purpose. no curfew bell was needed to call in the children. the wooded neosho valley grew dark before the evening lights had left the prairies beyond the west bluff, and the waters that sang all day a song of cheer as they rippled over the rocky river bed seemed always after nightfall to gurgle murderously as they went their way down the black-shadowed valley. the main street was as broad as an eastern boulevard. space counted for nothing in planning towns in a land made up of distances. at the end of this street stood the "last chance" general store, the outpost of civilization. what the freighter failed to get here he would do without until he stood inside the brown adobe walls of the old city of santa fé. tell mapleson, the proprietor of the "last chance," was a tall, slight, restless man, quick-witted, with somewhat polished manners and a gift of persuasion in his speech. near this store was conlow's blacksmith shop, where the low-browed, black-eyed conlow family have shod horses and mended wagons since anybody can remember. they were the kind of people one instinctively does not trust, and yet nobody could find a true bill against them. the shop had thick stone walls. high up under the eaves on the north side a long narrow slit, where a stone was missing, let out a bar of sullen red light. old conlow did not know about that chink for years, for it was only from the bluff above the town that the light could be seen. our advent in springvale was just at the time of its transition from a plains trading-post to a territorial town with ambition for settlement and civilization. i can see now that john baronet deserved the place he came to hold in that frontier community, for he was a state-builder. "i should feel more dacent fur all etarnity jist to be buried in the same cimet'ry wid judge bar'net," o'mie once declared. "i should walk into kingdom-come, dignified and head up, saying to the kaper av the pearly gates, kind o' careless-like, 'i'm from that little kansas town av springvale an' ye'll check up my mortial remains over in the cimet'ry, be my neighbor, judge bar'net, if ye plaze.'" it was o'mie's way of saying what most persons of the community felt toward my father from the time he drove into springvale in the purple twilight of that june evening in . irving whately's stock of merchandise was installed in the big stone building on the main corner of the village, where the straggling indian trails from the south and the trail from the new settlement out on fingal's creek converged on the broad santa fé trail. amos judson, a young settler, became his clerk and general helper. in the front room over this store was john baronet's law office, and his sign swinging above whately's seemed always to link those two names together. opposite this building was the village tavern. it was a wide two-story structure, also of stone, set well back from the street, with a double veranda along the front and the north side. a huge oak tree grew before it, and a flagstone walk led up to the veranda steps. in big black lettering its inscription over the door told the wayfarer on the old trail that this was the cambridge house. c. c. gentry, prop. cam gentry (his real name was cambridge, christened from the little indiana town of cambridge city) was a good-souled, easy-going man, handicapped for life by a shortness of vision no spectacle lens could overcome. it might have been disfiguring to any other man, but cam's clear eye at close range, and his comical squint and tilt of the head to study out what lay farther away, were good-natured and unique. he was in kansas for the fun of it, while his wife, dollie, kept tavern from pure love of cooking more good things to eat than opportunity afforded in a home. she was a martha whose kitchen was "dukedom large enough." whatever motive, fine or coarse, whatever love of spoils or love of liberty, brought other men hither, cam had come to see the joke--and he saw it. while as to dollie, "lord knows," she used to say, "there's plenty of good cooks in old wayne county, indiany; but if they can get anything to eat out here they need somebody to cook it for 'em, and cook it right." doing chores about the tavern for his board and keep was the little orphan boy, thomas o'meara, whose story i did not know for many years. we called him o'mie. that was all. marjie and o'mie and mary gentry, cam and dollie's only child, were my first kansas playmates. together we waded barefoot in the shallow ripples of the neosho, and little by little we began to explore that wide, sweet prairie land to the west. there was just one tree standing up against the horizon; far away to us it seemed, a huge cottonwood, that kept sentinel guard over the plains from the highest level of the divide. whately built a home a block or more beyond that of his young clerk, amos judson. it was farther up the slope than any other house in springvale except my father's. that was on the very crest of the west bluff, overlooking the neosho valley. it fronted the east, and across the wide street before it the bluff broke precipitously four hundred feet to the level floor of the valley below. sometimes the shelving rocks furnished a footing where one could clamber down half way and walk along the narrow ledge. here were cunning hiding-places, deep crevices, and vine-covered heaps of jagged stone outcrop invisible from the height above or the valley below. it was a bit of rugged, untamable cliff rarely found in the plains country; and it broke so suddenly from the level promontory sloping down to the south and away to the west, that a stranger sitting by our east windows would never have guessed that the seeming bushes peering up across the street were really the tops of tall trees with their roots in the side of the bluff not half way to the bottom. from our west window the green glory of the plains spread out to the baths of sunset. no wonder this kansas land is life of my life. the sea is to me a wavering treachery, but these firm prairies are the joy of my memory. our house was of stone with every corner rounded like a turret wall. it was securely built against the winter winds that swept that bluff when the kansas blizzard unchained its fury, for it stood where it caught the full wrath of the elements. it caught, too, the splendor of all the sunrise beyond the mist-filled valley, and the full moon in the level east above the oak treetops made a dream of chastened glory like the silver twilight gleams in paradise. "i want to watch the world coming and going," my father said when his house was finished; "and it is coming down that santa fé trail. it is state-making that is begun here. the east doesn't understand it yet, outside of new england. and these missourians, lord pity them! they think they can kill human freedom with a bullet, like thrusting daggers into the body of julius cæsar to destroy the roman empire. what do they know of the old puritan blood, and the strength of the grip of a massachusetts man? heaven knows where they came from, these missouri ruffians; but," he added, "the devil has it arranged where they will go to." "oh, john, be careful," exclaimed aunt candace. "are you afraid of them, candace?" "well, no, i don't believe i am," replied my aunt. she was not one of those blustering north-northwest women. she squared her life by the admonition of isaiah, "in quietness and in confidence shall be your strength." but she was a baronet, and although they have their short-comings, fear seems to have been left out of their make-up. chapter ii jean pahusca in even savage bosoms there are longings, yearnings, strivings for the good they comprehend not. --longfellow. the frontier broke all lines of caste. there was no aristocrat, autocrat, nor plutocrat in springvale; but the purest democracy was among the children. life was before us; we loved companionship, and the same dangers threatened us all. the first time i saw marjie she asked, "are you afraid of indians?" they were the terror of her life. even to-day the mere press despatch of an indian uprising in oklahoma or arizona will set the blood bounding through my veins and my first thought is of her. i shall never forget the day my self-appointed guardianship of her began. before we had a schoolhouse, aunt candace taught the children of the community in our big living-room. one rainy afternoon, late in the fall, the darkness seemed to drop down suddenly. we could not see to study, and we were playing boisterously about the benches of our improvised schoolroom, marjie, mary gentry, lettie and jim conlow, tell mapleson,--old tell's boy,--o'mie, both the mead boys, and the four anderson children. suddenly marjie, who was watching the rain beating against the west window, called, "phil, come here! what is that long, narrow, red light down by the creek?" marjie had the softest voice. amid the harsh jangle of the andersons and bill mead's big whooping shouts it always seemed like music to me. i stared hard at the sullen block of flame in the evening shadows. "i don't know what it is," i said. she slipped her fingers into the pocket of my coat as i turned away, and her eyes looked anxiously into mine. "could it be an indian camp-fire?" she queried. i looked again, flattening my nose against the window pane. "i don't know, marjie, but i'll find out. maybe it's somebody's kitchen fire down west. i'll ask o'mie." in truth, that light had often troubled me. it did not look like the twinkling candle-flare i could see in so many windows of the village. i turned to o'mie, who, with his face to the wall, waited in a game of hide-and-seek. before i could call him marjie gave a low cry of terror. we all turned to her in an instant, and i saw outside a dark face close against the window. it was gone so quickly that only o'mie and i caught sight of it. "what was it, marjie?" the children cried. "an indian boy," gasped marjie. "he was right against the window." "i'll bet it was a spook," shouted bill mead. "i'll bet it wasn't nothin' at all," grinned jim conlow. "possum conlow" we called him for that secretive grin on his shallow face. "i'll bet it wath a whole gang of thiennes," lisped tow-headed bud anderson. "they ain't no injuns nearer than the reserve down the river, and ain't been no injuns in springvale for a long time, 'cept annuity days," declared tell mapleson. "well, let's foind out," shouted o'mie, "i ain't afraid av no injun." "neither am i," i cried, starting after o'mie, who was out of the door at the word. but marjie caught my arm, and held it. "let o'mie go. don't go, phil, please don't." i can see her yet, her brown eyes full of pleading, her soft brown hair in rippling waves about her white temples. did my love for her spring into being at that instant? i cannot tell. but i do know that it was a crucial moment for me. sixty years have i seen, and my life has grown practical and barren of sentiment. but i know that the boy, phil baronet, who stood that evening with marjie and the firelight and safety on one side, and darkness and uncertainty on the other, had come to one of those turning-points in a life, unrecognized for the time, whose decision controls all the years that follow. for suddenly came the query "how can i best take care of her? shall i stay with her in the light, or go into the dark and strike the danger out of it?" i didn't frame all this into words. it was all only an intense feeling, but the mental judgment was very real. i turned from her and cleared the doorstep at a leap, and in a moment was by o'mie's side, chasing down the hill-slope toward town. we never thought to run to the bluff's edge and clamber down the shelving, precipitous sides. here was the only natural hiding-place, but like children we all ran the other way. when we had come in again with the report of "no enemy in sight," and had shut the door against the rain, i happened to glance out of the east window. climbing up to the street from the cliff i saw the lithe form of a young indian. he came straight to the house and stood by the east window where he could see inside. then with quick, springing step he walked down the slope. i crossed to the west window and watched him shutting out that red bar of light now and then, till he melted into the shadows. meanwhile the children were chattering like sparrows and had not noticed me. "would you know it, marjie, if you thaw it again?" lisped bud anderson. "oh, yes! his hair was straight across like this." marjie drew one hand across her curl-shaded forehead, to show how square the black hair grew about the face she had seen. "that's nothin'," said bill mead. "they change scalps every time they catch a white man,--just take their own off an' put his on, an' it grows. there's lots of men in kansas look like white men's just injuns growed a white scalp on 'em." "really, is there?" asked mary gentry credulously. "sure, i've seen 'em," went on bill with a boy's love of that kind of lying. "wouldn't a injun look funny with my thcalp?" bud anderson put in. "i'll bet i'm jutht a injun mythelf." "then you've got some little baby girl's scalp," grinned jim conlow. "'tain't no 'pothum'th, anyhow," rejoined bud; and we laughed our fears away. that evening aunt candace sent me home with marjie to take some fresh doughnuts to mrs. whately. i can see the little girl now as we splashed sturdily down cliff street through the wet gloom, her face like a white blossom in the shadowy twilight, her crimson jacket open at the throat, and the soft little worsted scarf about her damp fluffy curls making a glow of rich coloring in the dim light. "you'll never let the indians get you, will you, phil?" she asked, when we stood a moment by the bushes just at the steepest bend of the street. i stood up proudly. i was growing very fast in this gracious climate. "the finest-built boy in springvale," the men called me. "no, marjie. the indians won't get me, nor anybody else i don't want them to have." she drew close to me, and i caught her hand in mine a moment. then, boylike, i flipped her heavy braid of hair over her shoulder and shook the wettest bushes till their drops scattered in a shower about her. something, a dog we thought, suddenly slid out from the bush and down the cliff-side. when i started home after delivering the cakes, marjie held the candle at the door to light my way. as i turned at the edge of the candle's rays to wave my hand, i saw her framed in the doorway. would that some artist could paint that picture for me now! "i'll whistle up by the bushes," i cried, and strode into the dark. on the bend of the crest, where the street drops down almost too steep for a team of horses to climb, i turned and saw marjie's light in the window, and the shadow of her head on the pane. i gave a long, low whistle, the signal call we had for our own. it was not an echo, it was too near and clear, the very same low call in the bushes just over the cliff beside me as though some imitator were trying to catch the notes. a few feet farther on my path i came face to face with the same indian whom i had seen an hour before. he strode by me in silence. without once looking back i said to myself, "if you aren't afraid of me, i'm not afraid of you. but who gave that whistle, i wonder. that's my call to marjie." "marjie's awful 'fraid of injuns," i said to aunt candace that night. "didn't want me to find who it was peeked, but i went after him, clear down to amos judson's house, because i thought that was the best way, if it was an injun. she isn't afraid of anything else. she's the only girl that can ride tell mapleson's pony, and only o'mie and tell and i among the boys can ride him. and she killed the big rattlesnake that nearly had jim conlow, killed it with a hoe. and she can climb where no other girl dares to, on the bluff below town toward the hermit's cave. but she's just as 'fraid of an injun! i went to hunt him, though." "and you did just right, phil. the only way to be safe is to go after what makes you afraid. i guess, though, there really was nobody. it was just marjie's imagination, wasn't it?" "yes, there was, auntie; i saw him climb up from the cliff over there and go off down the hill after we came in." "why didn't you say so?" asked my aunt. "we couldn't get him, and it would have scared marjie," i answered. "that's right, phil. you are a regular kansas boy, you are. the best of them may claim to come from massachusetts,"--with a touch of pride,--"but no matter where they come from, they must learn how to be quick-witted and brave and manly here in kansas. it's what all boys need to be here." a few days later the door of our schoolroom opened and an indian boy strode in and seated himself on the bench beside tell mapleson. he was a lad of fifteen, possibly older. his dress was of the osage fashion and round his neck he wore a string of elk teeth. his face was thoroughly indian, yet upon his features something else was written. his long black hair was a shade too jetty and soft for an indian's, and it grew squarely across his forehead, suggesting the face of a french priest. we children sat open-mouthed. even aunt candace forgot herself a moment. bud anderson first found his voice. "well, i'll thwan!" he exclaimed in sheer amazement. bill mead giggled and that broke the spell. "how do you do?" said my aunt kindly. "how," replied the young brave. "what is your name, and what do you want?" asked our teacher. "jean pahusca. want school. want book--" he broke off and finished in a jargon of french and indian. "where is your home, your tepee?" queried aunt candace. the indian only shook his head. then taking from his beads a heavy silver cross, crudely shaped and wrought, he rose and placed it on the table. taking up a book at the same time he seated himself to study like the rest of us. "he has paid his tuition," said my aunt, smiling. "we'll let him stay." so jean pahusca was established in our school. chapter iii the hermit's cave the secret which the mountains kept the river never told. the bluff was our continual delight. it was so difficult, so full of surprises, so enchanting in its dangers. all manner of creeping things in general, and centipedes and rattlesnakes in particular, made their homes in its crevices. its footing was perilous to the climber, and its hiding-places had held outlaws and worse. then it had its haunted spots, where tradition told of cruel tragedies in days long gone by; and of the unknown who had found here secret retreat, who came and went, leaving never a name to tell whom they were nor what their story might be. all these the old cliff had in its keeping for the sturdy boys and girls of parents who had come here to conquer the west. just below the town where the neosho swings away to the right, the bottom lands narrow down until the stream sweeps deep and swift against a stone wall almost two hundred feet in height. from the top of the cliff here the wall drops down nearly another hundred feet, leaving an inaccessible heap of rough cavernous rocks in the middle stratum. had the river been less deep and dangerous we could not have gotten up from below; while to come down from above might mean a fall of three hundred feet or more to the foam-torn waters and the jagged rocks beneath them. here a stranger hermit had hidden himself years before. nobody knew his story, nor how he had found his way hither, for he spoke in a strange tongue that nobody could interpret. that this inaccessible place was his home was certain. boys bathing in the shallows up-stream sometimes caught a glimpse of him moving about among the bushes. and sometimes at night from far to the east a light could be seen twinkling half way up the dark cliff-side. every boy in springvale had an ambition to climb to the hermit's cave and explore its mysteries; for the old man died as he had lived, unknown. one winter day his body was found on the sand bar below the rapids where the waters had carried him after his fall from the point of rock above the deep pool. there was no mark on his coarse clothing to tell a word of his story, and the neosho kept his secret always. what boy after that would not have braved any danger to explore the depths of this hiding-place? but we could not do it. try as we might, the hidden path leading up, or down, baffled us. after jean pahusca came into our school we had a new interest and for a time we forgot that tantalizing river wall below town. jean was irregular in his attendance and his temper. he learned quickly, for an indian. sometimes he was morose and silent; sometimes he was affable and kind, chatting among us like one of our own; and sometimes he found the white man's fire-water. then he murdered as he went. he was possessed of a demon to kill, kill the moment he became drunk. every living thing in his way had to flee or perish then. he would stop in his mad chase to crush the life out of a sleeping cat, or to strike at a bird or a chicken. whiskey to him meant death, as we learned to our sorrow. nobody knew where he lived. he dressed like an osage but he was supposed to make his home with the kaws, whose reservation was much nearer to us. sometimes in the cool weather he slept in our sheds. in warm weather he lay down on the ground wherever he chose to sleep. there was a fascination about him unlike all the other indians who came up to the village, many of whom we knew. he could be so gentle and winning in his manner at times, one forgot he was an indian. but the spirit of the red man was ever present to overcome the strange european mood in a moment. "he's no osage, that critter ain't," cam gentry said to a group on his tavern veranda one annuity day when the tribes had come to town for their quarterly allowances. "he's second cousin on his father's side to some french missionary, you bet your life. he's got a gait like a jessut priest. an' he's not osage on't other side, neither. i'll bet his mother was a kiowa, an' that means his maternal grandad was a rattlesnake, even if his paternal grandpop was a french markis turned religious an' gone a-missionaryin' among the red heathen. you dig fur enough into that buck's hide an' you'll find cussedness big as a sheep, i'm tellin' you." "where does he live?" inquired my father. "lord knows!" responded cam. "down to the kaws' nests, i reckon." "he was cuttin' east along the fingal creek bluff after he'd made off to the southwest, the other night, when i was after the cows," broke in o'mie, who was sitting on the lowest step listening with all his ears. "was cuttin' straight to the river. only that's right by the hermit's cave an' he couldn't cross to the osages there." "reckon he zigzagged back to town to get somethin' he forgot at conlow's shop," put in cam. "didn't find any dead dogs nor children next mornin', did ye, o'mie?" conlow kept the vilest whiskey ever sold to a poor drink-thirsty redskin. everybody knew it except those whom the grand jury called into counsel. i saw my father's brow darken. "conlow will meet his match one of these days," he muttered. "that's why we are runnin' you for judge," said cam. "this cussed country needs you in every office it's got to clean out that gang that robs an' cheats the injuns, an' then makes 'em ravin' crazy with drinkin'. they's more 'n conlow to blame, though, judge. keep one eye on the government agents and indian traders." "i wonder where jean did go anyhow," o'mie whispered to me. "let's foind out an' give him a surprise party an' a church donation some night." "what does he come here so much for, anyhow?" i questioned. "i don't know," replied o'mie. "why can't he stay injun? what'll he do wid the greatest common divisor an' the indicative mood an' the sea of azov, an' the zambezi river, when he's learned 'em, anyhow? phil, begorra, i b'lave that cussed redskin is in this town fur trouble, an' you jist remember he'll git it one av these toimes. he ain't natural injun. uncle cam is right. he's not like them osages that comes here annuity days. all that's osage about him is his clothes." while we were talking, jean pahusca came silently into the company and sat down under the oak tree shading the walk. he never looked less like an indian than he did that summer morning lounging lazily in the shade. the impenetrable savage face had now an expression of ease and superior self-possession, making it handsome. unlike the others of his race who came and went about springvale, jean's trappings were always bright and fresh, and his every muscle had the poetry of motion. in all our games he was an easy victor. he never clambered about the cliff as we did, he simply slid up and down like a lizard. jim conlow was built to race, but jean skimmed the ground like a bird. he could outwrestle every boy except o'mie (nobody had ever held that irishman if he wanted to get away), and his grip was like steel. we all fought him by turns and he defeated everyone until my turn came. from me he would take no chance of defeat, however much the boys taunted him with being afraid of phil baronet. for while he had a quickness that i lacked, i knew i had a muscular strength he could not break. i disliked him at first on marjie's account; and when she grew accustomed to his presence and almost forgot her fear, i detested him. and never did i dislike him so much before as on this summer morning when we sat about the shady veranda of the cambridge house. nobody else, however, gave any heed to the indian boy picturesquely idling there on the blue-grass. down the street came lettie conlow and mary gentry with marjory whately, all chatting together. they turned at the tavern oak and came up the flag-stone walk toward the veranda. i could not tell you to-day what my lady wears in the social functions where i sometimes have the honor to be a guest. i am a man, and silks and laces confuse me. yet i remember three young girls in a frontier town more than forty years ago. mary gentry was slender--"skinny," we called her to tease her. her dark-blue calico dress was clean and prim. lettie conlow was fat. her skin was thick and muddy, and there was a brown mole below her ear. her black, slick braids of hair were my especial dislike. she had no neck to speak of, and when she turned her head the creases above her fat shoulders deepened. i might have liked lettie but for her open preference for me. everybody knew this preference, and she annoyed me exceedingly. this morning she wore a thin old red lawn cut down from her mother's gown. a ruffle of the same lawn flopped about her neck. as they came near, her black eyes sought mine as usual, but i saw only the floppy red ruffle--and marjie. marjie looked sweet and cool in a fresh starched gingham, with her round white arms bare to the elbows, and her white shapely neck, with its dainty curves and dimples. the effect was heightened by the square-cut bodice, with its green and white gingham bands edged with a hamburg something, narrow and spotless. how unlike she was to lettie in her flimsy trimmings! marjie's hair was coiled in a knot on the top of her head, and the little ringlets curved about her forehead and at the back of her neck. somehow, with her clear pink cheeks and that pale green gown, i could think only of the wild roses that grew about the rocks on the bluff this side of the hermit's cave. marjie smiled kindly down at jean as she passed him. there was always a tremor of fear in that smile; and he knew it and gloried in it. "good-morning, jean," she said in that soft voice i loved to hear. "good-morning, star-face," jean smiled back at her; and his own face was transfigured for the instant, as his still black eyes followed her. the blood in my veins turned to fire at that look. our eyes met and for one long moment we gazed steadily at each other. as i turned away i saw lettie conlow watching us both, and i knew instinctively that she and jean pahusca would sometime join forces against me. "well, if you lassies ain't a sight good for sore eyes, i'll never tell it," cam shouted heartily, squinting up at the girls with his good-natured glance. "you're cool as october an' twicet as sweet an' fine. go in and let dollie give you some hot berry pie." "to cool 'em off," o'mie whispered in my ear. "nothin' so coolin' as a hot berry pie in july. let's you and me go to the creek an' thaw out." that evening jean pahusca found the jug supposed to be locked in conlow's chest of tools inside his shop. i had found where that red forge light came from, and had watched it from my window many a night. when it winked and blinked, i knew somebody inside the shop was passing between it and the line of the chink. i did not speak of it. i was never accused of telling all i knew. my father often said i would make a good witness for my attorney in a suit at law. among the indians who had come for their stipend on this annuity day was a strong young osage called hard rope, who always had a roll of money when he went out of town. i remember that night my father did not come home until very late; and when aunt candace asked him if there was anything the matter, i heard him answer carelessly: "oh, no. i've been looking after a young osage they call hard rope, who needed me." i was sleepy, and forgot all about his words then. long afterwards i had good reason for knowing through this same hard rope, how well an indian can remember a kindness. he never came to springvale again. and when i next saw him i had forgotten that i had ever known him before. however, i had seen the blinking red glare down the slope that evening and i knew something was going on. anyhow, jean pahusca, crazed with drink, had stolen tell mapleson's pony and created a reign of terror in the street until he disappeared down the trail to the southwest. "it's a wonder old tell doesn't shoot that injun," irving whately remarked to a group in his store. "he's quick enough with firearms." "well," said cam gentry, squinting across the counter with his shortsighted eyes, "there's somethin' about that 'last chance' store and about this town i don't understand. there's a nigger in the wood-pile, or an injun in the blankets, somewhere. i hope it won't be long till this thing is cleared up and we can know whether we do know anything, or don't know it. i'm gettin' mystifieder daily." and cam sat down chuckling. "anyhow, we won't see that redskin here for a spell, i reckon," broke in amos judson, whately's clerk. and with this grain of comfort, we forgot him for a time. one lazy saturday afternoon in early august, o'mie and i went for a swim on the sand-bar side of the deep hole under the hermit's cave. i had something to tell o'mie. all the boys trusted him with their confidences. we had slid quietly down the river; somehow, it was too hot to be noisy, and we were lying on a broad, flat stone letting the warm water ripple over us. a huge bowlder on the sand just beyond us threw a sort of shadow over our brown faces as we rested our heads on the sand. "o'mie," i began, "i saw something last night." "well, an' phwat did somethin' do to you?" he was blowing at the water, which was sliding gently over his chest. "that's what i want to tell you if you will shut up that red flannel mouth a minute." "the crimson fabric is now closed be order av the coort," grinned o'mie. "o'mie, i waked up suddenly last night. it was clear moonlight, and i looked out of the window. there right under it, on a black pony just like tell mapleson's, was jean pahusca. he was staring up at the window. he must have seen me move for he only stayed a minute and then away he went. i watched him till he had passed judson's place and was in the shadows beyond the church. he had on a new red blanket with a circle of white right in the middle, a good target for an arrow, only i'd never sneak up behind him. if i fight him i'll do it like a white man, from the front." "then ye'll be dead like a white man, from the front clear back," declared o'mie. "but hadn't ye heard? this mornin' ould tell was showin' tell's own pony he said he brought back from down at westport. he got home late las' night. an' tell, he pipes up an' says, 'there was a arrow fastened in its mane when i see it this mornin', but his dad took no notice whatsoever av the boy's sayin'; just went on that it was the one jean pahusca had stole when he was drunk last. what does it mean, phil? is jean hidin' out round here again? i wish the cuss would go to santy fee with the next train down the trail an' go to spanish bull fightin'. he's just cut out for that, begorra; fur he rides like a comanche. it ud be a sort av disgrace to the bull though. i've got nothin' agin bulls." "o'mie, i don't understand; but let's keep still. some day when he gets so drunk he'll kill one of the grand jury, maybe the rest of them and the coroner can indict him for something." we lay still in the warm water. sometimes now in the lazy hot august afternoons i can hear the rippling song of the neosho as it prattled and gurgled on its way. suddenly o'mie gave a start and in a voice low and even but intense he exclaimed: "for the lord's sake, wud ye look at that? and kape still as a snake while you're doin' it." lying perfectly still, i looked keenly about me, seeing nothing unusual. "look up across yonder an' don't bat an eye," said o'mie, low as a whisper. i looked up toward the hermit's cave. sitting on a point of rock overhanging the river was an indian. his back was toward us and his brilliant red blanket had a white circle in the centre. "he's not seen us, or he'd niver set out there like that," and o'mie breathed easier. "he could put an arrow through us here as aisy as to snap a string, an' nobody'd live to tell the tale. phil bar'net, he's kapin' den in that cave, an' the devil must have showed him how to git up there." a shout up-stream told of other boys coming down to our swimming place. you have seen a humming bird dart out of sight. so the indian on the rock far above us vanished at that sound. "that's bill mead comin'; i know his whoop. i wish i knew which side av that injun's head his eyes is fastened on," said o'mie, still motionless in the water. "if he's watchin' us up there, i'm a turtle till the sun goes down." a low peal of thunder rolled out of the west and a heavy black cloud swept suddenly over the sun. the blue shadow of the bluff fell upon the neosho and under its friendly cover we scrambled into our clothes and scudded out of sight among the trees that covered the east bottom land. "now, how did he ever get to that place, o'mie?" i questioned. "i don't know. but if he can get there, i can too." poor o'mie! he did not know how true a prophecy he was uttering. "let's kape this to oursilves, phil," counselled my companion. "if too many knows it tell may lose another pony, or somebody's dead dog may float down the stream like the ould hermit did. let's burn him out av there oursilves. then we can adorn our own tepee wid that soft black la salle-marquette-hennepin french scalp." i agreed, and we went our way burdened by a secret dangerous but fascinating to boys like ourselves. chapter iv in the prairie twilight the spacious prairie is helper to a spacious life. big thoughts are nurtured here, with little friction. --quayle. by the time i was fifteen i was almost as tall and broad-shouldered as my father. boy-like, i was prodigal of my bounding vigor, which had not tempered down to the strength of my mature manhood. it was well for me that a sobering responsibility fell on me early, else i might have squandered my resources of endurance, and in place of this sturdy story-teller whose sixty years sit lightly on him, there would have been only a ripple in the sod of the curly mesquite on the plains and a little heap of dead dust, turned to the inert earth again. the west grows large men, as it grows strong, beautiful women; and i know that the boys and girls then differed only in surroundings and opportunity from the boys and girls of springvale to-day. life is finer in its appointments now; but i doubt if it is any more free or happy than it was in those days when we went to oyster suppers and school exhibitions up in the red range neighborhood. among us there was the closest companionship, as there needs must be in a lonely and spacious land. what can these lads and lasses of to-day know of a youth nurtured in the atmosphere of peril and uncertainty such as every one of us knew in those years of border strife and civil war? sometimes up here, when i see the gay automobile parties spinning out upon the paved street and over that broad highway miles and miles to the west, i remember the time when we rode our indian ponies thither, and the whole prairie was our boulevard. marjie could ride without bridle or saddle, and she sat a horse like a cattle queen. the four anderson children were wholesome and good-natured, as they were good scholars, and they were good riders. they were all tow-headed and they all lisped, and bud was the most hopeless case among them. flaxen-haired, baby-faced youngster that he was, he was the very first in all our crowd to learn to drop on the side of his pony and ride like a comanche. o'mie and i also succeeded in learning that trick; tell mapleson broke a collar-bone, attempting it; and jim conlow, as o'mie said, "knocked the 'possum' aff his mug thryin' to achave the art." he fractured the bones of his nose, making his face a degree more homely than it was before. then there were the mead boys to be counted on everywhere. dave went west years ago, made his fortune, and then began to traffic with the orient. his name is better known in hong-kong now than it is in springvale. he never married, and it used to be said that a young girl's grave up in the red range graveyard held all his hope and love. i do not know; for he left home the year i came up to topeka to enlist, and springvale was like the bitter waters of marah to my spirit. but that comes later. bill mead married bessie anderson, and the seven little tow-headed meads, stair-stepping down the years, played with the third generation here as we used to play in the years gone by. bill is president of the bank on the corner where the old whately store stood and is a share-holder in several big kansas city concerns. bessie lost her rosy cheeks years ago, but she has her seven children; the youngest of them, phil, named for me, will graduate from the kansas university this year. lettie conlow was always on the uncertain list with us. no conlow could do much with a horse except to put shoes under it. it was a trick of hers to lag behind and call to me to tighten a girth, while marjie raced on with dave mead or tell mapleson. tell liked lettie, and it rasped my spirit to be made the object of her preference and his jealousy. once when we were alone his anger boiled hot, and he shook his fist at me and cried: "you mean pup! you want to take my girl from me. i can lick you, and i'm going to do it." i was bigger than tell, and he knew my strength. "i wish to goodness you would," i said. "i'd rather be licked than to have a girl i don't care for always smiling at me." tell's face fell, and he grinned sheepishly. "don't you really care for lettie, phil? she says you like bess anderson." was that a trick of lettie's to put marjie out of my thought, i wondered, or did she really know my heart? i distrusted lettie. she was so like her black-eyed father. but i had guarded my own feelings, and the boys and girls had not guessed what marjie was to me. it was about this time that father le claire, a french priest who had been a missionary in the southwest, began to come and go about springvale. his work lay mostly with the osages farther down the neosho, but he labored much among the kaws. he was a kindly-spirited man, reserved, but gentle and courteous ever, and he was very fond of children. he was always in town on annuity days, when the tribes came up for their quarterly stipend from the government. mapleson was the indian agent. the "last chance," unable to compete with its commercial rival, the whately house, had now a drug store in the front, a harness shop in the rear and a saloon in the cellar. it was to this "last chance" that the indians came for their money; and it was father le claire who piloted many of them out to the trails leading southward and started them on the way to their villages, sober and possessed of their government allowance or its equivalent in honest merchandise. from the first visit the good priest took to jean pahusca, and he helped to save the young brave from many a murdering spell. to o'mie and myself, however, remained the resolve to drive him from springvale; for, boylike, we watched him more closely than the men did, and we knew him better. he was not the only one of our town who drank too freely. four decades ago the law was not the righteous force it is to-day, and we looked upon many sights which our children, thank heaven, never see in kansas. "keep out of that redskin's way when he's drunk," was cam gentry's advice to us. "you know he'd scalp his grandmother if he could get hold of her then." we kept out of his way, but we bided our time. father le claire had another favorite in springvale, and that was o'mie. he said little to the irish orphan lad, but there sprang up a sort of understanding between the two. whenever he was in town, o'mie was not far away from him; and the boy, frank and confidential in everything else, grew strangely silent when we talked of the priest. i spoke of this to my father one day. he looked keenly at me and said quietly: "you would make a good lawyer, phil, you seem to know what a lawyer must know; that is, what people think as well as what they say." "i don't quite understand, father," i replied. "then you won't make a good lawyer. it's the understanding that makes the lawyer," and he changed the subject. my mind was not greatly disturbed over o'mie, however. i was young and neither i nor my companions were troubled by anything but the realities of the day. limited as we were by circumstances in this new west, we made the most of our surroundings and of one another. how much the prairies meant to us, as they unrolled their springtime glory! from the noonday blue of the sky overhead to the deep verdure of the land below, there ranged every dainty tint of changeful coloring. nature lavished her wealth of loveliness here, that the dream of the new jerusalem might not seem a mere phantasy of the poet disciple who walked with the christ and was called of him "the beloved." the prairies were beautiful to me at any hour, but most of all i loved them in the long summer evenings when the burst of sunset splendor had deepened into twilight. then the afterglow softened to that purple loveliness indescribably rare and sweet, wreathed round by gray cloudfolds melting into exquisite pink, the last far echo of the daylight's glory. it is said that any land is beautiful to us only by association. was it the light heart of my boyhood, and my merry comrades, and most of all, the little girl who was ever in my thoughts, that gave grandeur to these prairies and filled my memory with pictures no artist could ever color on canvas? i cannot say, for all these have large places in my mind's treasury. from early spring to late october it was a part of each day's duty for the youngsters of springvale to go in the evening after the cows that ranged on the open west. we went together, of course, and, of course, we rode our ponies. sometimes we went far and hunted long before we found the cattle. the tenderest grasses grew along the draws, and these often formed a deep wrinkle on the surface where our whole herd was hidden until we came to the very edge of the depression. sometimes the herd was scattered, and every one must be rounded up and headed toward town before we left the prairie. and then we loitered on the homeward way and sang as only brave, free-spirited boys and girls can sing. and the prairie caught our songs and sent them rippling far and far over its clear, wide spaces. as the twilight deepened, we drew nearer together, for comradeship meant protection. some years before, a boy had been stolen out on these prairies one day by a band of kiowas, and that night the mother drowned herself in the neosho above town. her home had been in a little stone cabin round the north bend of the river. it was in the sheltered draw just below where the one lone cottonwood tree made a landmark on the plains--a deserted habitation now, and said to be haunted by the spirit of the unhappy mother. the child's father, a handsome french canadian, had turned plainsman and gone to the southwest and had not been heard of afterwards. while we had small grounds for fear, we kept our ponies in a little group coming in side by side on the home stretch. all the purple shadows of those sweet summer twilights are blended with the memories of those happy care-free hours. in the long summer days the cows ranged wider to the west, and we wandered farther in our evening jaunts and lingered later in the fragrant draws where the sweet grasses were starred with many brilliant blossoms. that is how we happened to be away out on the northwest prairie that evening when jean pahusca found us, the evening when o'mie read my secret in my tell-tale face. even to-day a storm cloud in the northwest with the sunset flaming against its jagged edges recalls that scene. the cattle had all been headed homeward, and we were racing our ponies down the long slope to the south. on the right the draw, watched over by the big cottonwood, breaks through the height and finds its way to the neosho. the watershed between the river and fingal's creek is here only a high swell, and straight toward the west it is level as a floor. the air of a hot afternoon had begun to ripple in cool little waves against our faces. all the glory of the midsummer day was ending in the grandeur of a crimson sunset shaded northward by that threatening thundercloud. with our ponies lined up for one more race we were just on the point of starting, when a whoop, a savage yell, and jean pahusca rose above the edge of the draw behind us and dashed toward us headlong. we knew he was drunk, for since father le claire's coming among us he had come to be a sort of gentleman indian when he was sober; and we caught the naked gleam of the short sharp knife he always wore in a leather sheath at his belt. we were thrown into confusion, and some ponies became unmanageable at once. it is the way of their breed to turn traitor with the least sign of the rider's fear. at jean's second whoop there was a stampede. marjie's pony gave a leap and started off at full gallop toward the level west. hers was the swiftest horse of all, but the indian coming at an angle had the advantage of space, and he singled her out in a moment. her hair hung down in two heavy braids, and as she gave one frightened glance backward i saw her catch them both in one hand and draw them over her shoulder as if to save them from the scalping knife. my pony leaped to follow her but my quick eye caught the short angle of the indian's advantage. i turned, white and anguish-stricken, toward my companions. then it was that i heard o'mie's low words: "bedad, phil, an' that's how it is wid ye, is it? then we've got to kill that injun, just for grandeur." his voice set a mighty force tingling in every nerve. the thrill of that moment is mine after all these years, for in that instant i was born again. i believe no terror nor any torture could have stayed me then, and death would have seemed sublime if only i could have flung myself between the girl and this drink-crazed creature seeking in his irresponsible madness to take her life. it was not alone that this was marjie, and there swept over me the full realization of what she meant to me. something greater than my own love and life leaped into being within me. it was the swift, unworded comprehension of a woman's worth, of the sacredness of her life, and her divine right to the protection of her virtue; a comprehension of the beauty and blessing of the american home, of the obedient daughter, the loving wife, the madonna mother, of all that these mean as the very foundation rock of our nation's strength and honor. it swept my soul like a cleansing fire. the words for this came later, but the force of it swayed my understanding in that instant's crisis. some boys grow into manhood as the years roll along, and some leap into it at a single bound. it was a boy, phil baronet, who went out after the cows that careless summer day so like all the other summer days before it. it was a man, philip baronet, who followed them home that dark night, fearing neither the roar of the angry storm cloud that threshed in fury above us, nor any human being, though he were filled with the rage of madness. at o'mie's word i dashed after marjie. behind me came bud anderson and dave mead, followed by every other boy and girl. o'mie rode beside me, and not one of us thought of himself. it was all done in a flash, and i marvel that i tell its mental processes as if they were a song sung in long-metre time. but it is all so clear to me. i can see the fiery radiance of that sky blotted by the two riders before me. i can hear the crash of the ponies' feet, and i can even feel the sweep of wind out of that storm-cloud turning the white under-side of the big cottonwood's leaves uppermost and cutting cold now against the hot air. and then there rises up that ripple of ground made by the ring of the osage's tepee in the years gone by. marjie deftly swerved her pony to the south and skirted that little ridge of ground with a graceful curve, as though this were a mere racing game and not a life-and-death ride. jean's horse plunged at the tepee ring, leaped to the little hollow beyond it, stumbled and fell, and, pellmell, like a stampede of cattle, we were upon him. i never could understand how dave mead headed the crowd back and kept the whole mass from piling up on the fallen indian and those nearest to him. nor do i understand why some of us were not crushed or kicked out of life in that _mêlée_ of ponies and riders struggling madly together. what i do know is that bud anderson, who was not thrown from his horse, caught jean's pony by the bridle and dragged it clear of the mass. it was o'mie's quick hand that wrested that murderous knife from the indian's grasp, and it was my strong arm that held him with a grip of iron. the shock sobered him instantly. he struggled a moment, and then the cunning that always deceived us gained control. the indian spirit vanished, and with something masterful in his manner he relaxed all effort. lifting his eyes to mine with no trace of resentment in their impenetrable depths, he said evenly: "let me go. i was drunk. i was fool." "let him go, phil. he did act kinder drunk," bill mead urged, and i loosed my hold. i knew instinctively that we were safe now, as i knew also that this submission of jean pahusca's must be paid for later with heavy interest by somebody. "here'th your horth; s'pothe you thkite," lisped bud anderson. jean sprang upon his pony and dashed off. we watched him ride away down the long slope. in a few moments another horseman joined him, and they took the trail toward the kaw reservation. it was father le claire riding with the indian into the gathering shadows of the south. i turned to marjie standing beside me. her big brown eyes were luminous with tears, and her face was as white as my mother's face was on the day the sea left its burden on the rockport sands. it was hate that made jean pahusca veil his countenance for me a moment before. something of which hate can never know made me look down at her calmly. o'mie's hand was on my shoulder and his eyes were on us both. there was a quaint approval in his glance toward me. he knew the self-control i needed then. "phil saved you, marjie," mary gentry exclaimed. "no, he saved jean," put in lettie. "and o'mie saved phil," bess anderson urged. "just grabbed that knife in time." "well, i thaved mythelf," bud piped in. he never could find any heroism in himself who, more than any other boy among us, had a record for pulling drowning boys out of the deep hole by the hermit's cave, and killing rattlesnakes in the cliff's crevices, and daring the dark when the border ruffians were hiding about springvale. an angry growl of thunder gave us warning of the coming storm. in our long race home before its wrath, in the dense darkness wrapping the landscape, we could only trust to the ponies to keep the way. marjie rode close by my side that night, and more than once my hand found hers in the darkness to assure her of protection. o'mie, bless his red head! crowded lettie to the far side of the group, keeping tell on the other side of her. when i climbed the hill on cliff street that night i turned by the bushes and caught the gleam of marjie's light. i gave the whistling call we had kept for our signal these years, and i saw the light waver as a good-night signal. that night i could not sleep. the storm lasted for hours, and the rain swept in sheets across the landscape. the darkness was intense, and the midsummer heat of the day was lost in the chill of that drouth-breaking torrent. after midnight i went to my father's room. he had not retired, but was sitting by the window against which the rain beat heavily. the light burned low, and his fine face was dimly outlined in the shadows. i sat down beside his knee as i was wont to do in childhood. "father," i began hesitatingly, "father, do you still love my mother? could you care for anybody else? does a man ever--" i could not say more. something so like tears was coming into my voice that my cheeks grew hot. my father's hand rested gently on my head, his fingers stroking the ripples of my hair. white as it is now, it was dark and wavy then, as my mother's had been. it was the admiration of the women and girls, which admiration always annoyed and embarrassed me. in and out of those set waves above my forehead his fingers passed caressingly. he knew the heart of a boy, and he sat silent there, letting me feel that i could tell him anything. "have you come to the cross-roads, phil?" he asked gently. "i was thinking of you as i sat here. maybe that brought you in. your boyhood must give way to manhood soon. these times of civil war change conditions for our children," he mused to himself, rather than spoke to me. "we expect a call to the front soon, phil. when i am gone, i want you to do a man's part in springvale. you are only a boy, i know, but you have a man's strength, my son." "and a man's spirit, too," i cried, springing up and standing erect before him. "let me go with you, father." "no, phil, you must stay here and help to protect these homes, just as we men must go out to fight for them. to the american people war doesn't mean glory nor conquest. it means safety and freedom, and these begin and end in the homes of our land." the impulse wakened on the prairie that evening at the sight of marjie's peril leaped up again within me. "i'll do my best. but tell me, father," i had dropped down beside him again, "do you still love my mother? does a man love the same woman always?" few boys of my age would have asked such a question of a man. my father took both of my hands into his own strong hands and in the dim light he searched my face with his keen eyes. "men differ in their natures, my boy. even fathers and sons do not always think alike. i can speak only for myself. do i love the woman who gave you birth? oh, phil!" no need for him to say more. over his face there swept an expression of tenderness such as i have never seen save as at long intervals i have caught it on the face of a sweet-browed mother bending above a sleeping babe. i rose up before him, and stooping, i kissed his forehead. it was a sacred hour, and i went out from his presence with a new bond binding us together who had been companions all my days. my dreams when i fell asleep at last were all of marjie, and through them all her need for a protector was mingled with a still greater need for my guardianship. it came from two women who were strangers to me, whose faces i had never seen before. chapter v a good indian underneath that face like summer's ocean, its lips as moveless, and its brow as clear, slumbers a whirlwind of the heart's emotion, love, hatred, pride, hope, sorrow,--all save fear. cast in the setting of to-day, after such an attempt on human life as we broke up on the prairie, jean pahusca would have been hiding in the coverts of oklahoma, or doing time at the lansing penitentiary for attempted assault with intent to kill. the man who sold him the whiskey would be in the clutches of the law, carrying his case up to the supreme court, backed by the slush fund of the brewers' union. the associated press would give the incident a two-inch heading and a one-inch story; and the snail would stay on the thorn, and the lark keep on the wing. even in that time springvale would not have tolerated the indian among us had it not been that the minds of the people were fermenting with other things. we were on the notorious old border between free and slave lands, whose tragedies rival the tales of the scottish border. kansas had been a storm centre since the day it became a territory, and the overwhelming theme was negro slavery. every man was marked as "pro" or "anti." there was no neutral ground. springvale was by majority a free-state town. a certain element with us, however, backed up by the fingal's creek settlement, declared openly and vindictively for slavery. it was from this class that we had most to fear. while the best of our people were giving their life-blood to save a nation, these men connived with border raiders who would not hesitate to take the life and property of every free-state citizen. when our soldiers marched away to fields of battle, they knew they were leaving an enemy behind them, and no man's home was safe. small public heed was paid then to the outbreak of a drunken indian boy who had been overcome in a scrap out on the prairie when the youngsters were hunting their cows. where the bushes grow over the edge of the bluff at the steep bend in cliff street, a point of rock projects beyond the rough side. by a rude sort of stone steps beside this point we could clamber down many feet to the bush-grown ledge below. this point had been a meeting-place and playground for marjie and myself all those years. we named it "rockport" after the old massachusetts town. marjie could hear my call from the bushes and come up to the half-way place between our two homes. the stratum of rock below this point was full of cunning little crevices and deep hiding-places. one of these, known only to marjie and myself, we called our post-office, and many a little note, scrawled in childish hand, but always directed to "rockport" like a real address on the outside fold, we left for each other to find. sometimes it was a message, sometimes it was only a joke, and sometimes it was just a line of childish love-making. we always put our valentines in this private house of uncle sam's postal service. maybe that was why the other boys and girls did not couple our names together oftener. everybody knew who got valentines at the real post-office and where they came from. on the evening after the storm there was no loitering on the prairie. while we knew there was no danger, a half-dozen boys brought the cows home long before the daylight failed. at sunset i went down to "rockport," intending to whistle to marjie. how many a summer evening together here we had watched the sunset on the prairie! to-night, for no reason that i could give, i parted the bushes and climbed down to the ledge below, intending in a moment to come up again. i paused to listen to the lowing of some cows down the river. all the sweet sounds and odors of evening were in the air, and the rain-washed woodland of the neosho valley was in its richest green. i did not notice that the bushes hid me until, as i turned, i caught a glimpse of a red blanket, with a circular white centre, sliding up that stairway. an instant later, a call, my signal whistle, sounded from the rock above. i stood on the ledge under the point, my heart the noisiest thing in all that summer landscape full of soft twilight utterances. i was too far below the cliff's edge to catch any answering call, but i determined to fling that blanket and its wearer off the height if any harm should even threaten. presently i heard a light footstep, and marjie parted the bushes above me. before she could cry out, jean spoke to her. his voice was clear and sweet as i had never heard it before, and i do not wonder it reassured her. "no afraid, star-face, no afraid. jean wants one word." marjie did not move, and i longed to let her know how near i was to her, and yet i dared not till i knew his purpose. "star-face," he began, "jean drink no more. jean promise padre le claire, never, never, star-face, not be afraid anymore, never, never. jean good indian now. always keep evil from star-face." how full of affection were his tones. i wondered at his broken indian tongue, for he had learned good english, and sometimes he surpassed us all in the terse excellence and readiness of his language. why should he hesitate so now? "star-face,"--there was a note of self-control in his pleading voice,--"i will never drink again. i would not do harm to you. don't be afraid." i heard her words then, soft and sweet, with that tremor of fear she could never overcome. "i hope you won't, jean." then the bushes crackled, as she turned and sped away. i was just out of sight again when that red blanket slipped down the rocks and disappeared over the side of the ledge in the jungle of bushes below me. a little later, when mary gentry and o'mie and i sat with marjie on the whately doorstep, she told us what jean had said. "do you really think he will be good now?" asked mary. she was always credulous. "yes, of course," marjie answered carelessly. her reply angered me. she seemed so ready to trust the word of this savage who twenty-four hours before had tried to scalp her. did his manner please marjie? was the foolish girl attracted by this picturesque creature? i clenched my fists in the dark. "girls are such silly things," i said to myself. "i thought better of marjie, but she is like all the rest." and then i blushed in the dark for having such mean thoughts. "don't you think he will be good now, phil?" i did not know how eagerly she waited for my answer. poor marjie! to her the indian name was always a terror. before i could reply o'mie broke in: "marjory whately, ye'll excuse me fur referrin' to it, but i ain't no bigger than you are." o'mie had not grown as the most of us had, and while he had a lightning quickness of movement, and a courage that never faltered, he was no match for the bigger boys in strength and endurance. marjie was rounding into graceful womanhood now, but she was not of the slight type. she never lost her dimples, and the vigorous air of the prairies gave her that splendid physique that made her a stranger to sickness and kept the wild-rose bloom on her fair cheeks. o'mie did not outweigh her. "ye'll 'scuse me," o'mie went on, "fur the embarrassin' statement; but i ain't big, i run mostly to brains, while phil here, an' bill, an' dave, an' bud, an' possum conlow runs mostly to beef; an' yet, bein' small, i ain't afraid none of your good injun. but take this warnin' from me, an old friend that knew your grandmother in long clothes, that you kape wide of jean pahusca's trail. don't you trust him." marjie gave a little shiver. had i been something less a fool then i should have known that it was a shiver of fear, but i was of the age to know everything, and o'mie sitting there had learned my heart in a moment on the prairie the evening before. and then i wanted marjie to trust to me. her eyes were like stars in the soft twilight, and her white face lost its color, but she did not look at me. "don't you trust that mock-turtle osage, marjorie, don't." o'mie was more deeply in earnest than we thought. "but o'mie," marjie urged, "jean was just as earnest as you are now; and you'd say so, too, phil, if you had heard him." she was right. the words i had heard from above the rock rang true. "and if he really wants to do better, what have we all been told in the sunday-school? 'thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.'" i could have caught that minor chord of fear had i been more master of myself at that moment. "have ye talked wid father le claire?" asked o'mie. "let's lave the baste to him. phil, whin does your padre and his company start to subdue the rebillious south?" "pretty soon, father says." "my father is going too," marjie said gently, "and henry anderson and cris mead, and all the men." "oh, well, we'll take care of the widders an' orphans." o'mie spoke carelessly, but he added, "it's grand whin such min go out to foight fur a country. uncle cam wants to go if he's aqual to the tests; you know he's too near-sighted to see a soldier. why don't you go too, phil? you're big as your dad, an' not half so essential to springvale. just lave it to sich social ornimints as me an' marjie's 'good injun.'" again marjie shivered. "i want to go, but father won't let me leave--aunt candace." "an' he's right, as is customary wid him. you nade your aunt to take care of you. he couldn't be stoppin' the battle to lace up your shoes an' see that you'd washed your neck. come, mary, little girls must be gettin' home." and he and mary trotted down the slope toward the twinkling lights of the cambridge house. before i reached home, o'mie had overtaken me, saying: "come, phil, let's rest here a minute." we were just by the bushes that shut off my "rockport," so we parted them and sat down on the point of rock. the moon was rising, red in the east, and the neosho valley below us was just catching its gleams on the treetops, while each point of the jagged bluff stood out silvery white above the dark shadows. a thousand crickets and katydids were chirping in the grass. it was only on the town side that the bushes screened this point. all the west prairie was in that tender gloom that would roll back in shadowy waves before the rising moon. "phil," o'mie began, "don't be no bigger fool than nature cut you out fur to be. don't you trust that 'good injun' of marjie's, but kape one eye on him comin' an t' other 'n on him goin'." "i don't trust him, o'mie, but he has a voice that deceives. i don't wonder, being a girl, marjie is caught by it." "an' you, bein' a boy," o'mie mimicked,--"phil, you're enough to turn my hair rid. but never mind, ye can't trust him. fur why? he's not to be trusted. if he was aven injun clean through you could a little, maybe. some osages has honor to shame a white man,--aven an irishman,--but he's not osage. he's a kiowa, the kind that stole that little chap years ago up toward rid range. an' he ain't kiowa altogether nather. the injun blood gives him cuteness, but half his cussedness is in that soft black scalp an' that soft voice sayin', 'good injun.' there's some old louis xiv somewhere in his family tree. the roots av it may be in the plains out here, but some branch is a graft from a orleans rose-bush. he's got the blossoms an' the thorns av a frenchman. an' besides," o'mie added, "as if us two wise men av the west didn't know, comes father le claire to me to-day. he's jean's guide an' counsellor. an' phil, begorra, them two looks alike. same square-cut kind o' foreheads they've got. annyhow, i was waterin' the horses down to the ford, an' father le claire comes on me sudden, ridin' up on the kaw trail from the south. he blessed me wid his holy hand and then says quick: "'o'mie, ye are a lad i can trust!'" "i nodded, not knowin' why annybody can't be trusted who goes swimmin' once a week, an' never tastes whiskey, an' don't practise lyin', nor shirkin' his stunt at the cambridge house." "'o'mie,' says he, 'i want to tell you who you must not trust. it is jean pahusca,' says he; 'i wish i didn't nade to say it, but it is me duty to warn ye. don't mistreat him, but o'mie, for heaven's sake, kape your eyes open, especially when he promises to be good.' it's our stunt, phil, to watch him close now he's took to reformin' to the girls." "o'mie, we know, and father le claire knows, but how can we make those foolish girls understand? mary believes everything that's said to her anyhow, and you heard marjie to-night. she thinks she should take jean at his word." "phil, you are all right, seemin'ly. you can lick any av us. you've got the build av a giant, an' you've beautiful hair an' teeth. an' you are son an' heir to john bar'net, which is an asset some av us would love to possess, bein' orphans, an' the lovely ladies av springvale is all bewitched by you; but you are a blind, blitherin' ijit now an' again." "well, you heard what marjie said, and how careless she was." "yes, an' i seen her shiver an' turn white the instant too. phil, she's doin' that to kape us from bein' unaisy, an' it's costin' her some to do it. bless her pretty face! phil, don't be no bigger fool than ye can kape from." in less than a week after the incident on the prairie my father's company was called to the firing line of the civil war and the responsibilities of life fell suddenly upon me. there was a great gathering in town on the day the men marched away. where the opera house stands now was the corner of a big vacant patch of ground reaching out toward the creek. to-day it was filled with the crowd come to see the soldiers and bid them good-bye. a speaker's stand was set up in the yard of the cambridge house and the boys in blue were in the broad street before it. it was the last civilian ceremony for many of them, for that kansas company went up missionary ridge at chattanooga, led the line as kansans will ever do, and in the face of a murderous fire they drove the foeman back. but many of them never came home to wear their laurels of victory. they lie in distant cemeteries under the shadow of tall monuments. they lie in old neglected fields, in sunken trenches, by lonely waysides, and in deep southern marshes, waiting all the last great reunion. if i should live a thousand years, the memory of that bright summer morning would not fade from my mind. dr. hemingway, pastor of the presbyterian church, presided over the meeting, and the crowd about the soldiers was reinforced by all the countryside beyond the neosho and the whole red range neighborhood. skulking about the edge of the company, or gathered in little groups around the corners just out of sight, were the pro-slavery sympathizers, augmented by the fingal's creek crowd, who were of the secession element clear through. in the doorway of the "last chance" sat the rev. dodd, pastor of the springvale methodist church south, taking no part in this patriotic occasion. father le claire was beside dr. hemingway. he said not a word, but springvale knew he was a power for peace. he did not sanction bloodshed even in a righteous cause. neither would he allow those who followed his faith to lift a hand against those who did go out to battle. we trusted him and he never betrayed that trust. this morning i recalled what o'mie had said about his looking like jean pahusca. his broad hat was pushed back from his square dark forehead; and the hair, soft and jetty, had the same line about the face. but not one feature there bespoke an ignoble spirit. i did not understand him, but i was drawn toward him, as i was repelled by the indian from the moment i first saw his head above the bluff on the rainy october evening long ago. how little the kansas boys and girls to-day can understand what that morning meant to us, when we saw our fathers riding down the santa fé trail to the east, and waving good-bye to us at the far side of the ford! how the fire of patriotism burned in our hearts, and how the sudden loss of all our strongest and best men left us helpless among secret cruel enemies! and then that spirit of manhood leaped up within us, the sudden sense of responsibility come to "all the able-bodied boys" to stand up as a wall of defence about the homes of springvale. too well we knew the dangers. had we not lived on this kansas border in all those plastic years when the mind takes deepest impressions? the ruffianism of leavenworth and lawrence and osawatomie had been repeated in the unprotected surroundings of springvale. the red range schoolhouse had been burned, and the teacher, a massachusetts man, had been drowned in a shallow pool near the source of fingal's creek, his body fastened face downward so that a few inches of water were enough for the fiendish purpose. eastward the settlers had fled to our town, time and again, to escape the border raiders, whose coming meant death to the free-spirited father, and a widow and orphans left destitute beside the smoking embers of what had been a home. those were busy days in kansas, and the memory of them can yet stir the heart of a man of sixty years. that morning dr. hemingway offered prayer, the prayer of a godly man, for the souls of men about to be baptized with a baptism of blood that other men might be free, and a peaceful generation might walk with ease where their feet trod red-hot ploughshares; a prayer for the strong arm of god almighty, to uphold every soldier's hands until the cause of right should triumph; a prayer for the heavenly father's protection about the homes left fatherless for the sake of his children. and then he prayed for us, "for philip baronet, the strong and manly son of his noble father, john baronet; for david and william mead, for john and clayton and august anderson." he prayed for tell mapleson, too (tell was always square in spite of his copperhead father), and for "thomas o'meara." we hardly knew whom he meant. bud anderson whispered later, "thay, o'mie, you'll never get into kingdom come under an athumed name. better thtick to 'o'mie.'" and last of all the good doctor prayed for the wives and daughters, that they "be strong and very courageous," doing their part of working and waiting as bravely as they do who go out to stirring action. then ringing speeches followed. i remember them all; but most of all the words of my father and of irving whately are fixed in my mind. my father lived many years and died one sunset hour when the prairies were in their autumn glory, died with his face to the western sky, his last earthly scene that peaceful prairie with the grandeur of a thousand ever-changing hues building up a wall like to the walls of the new jerusalem which saint john saw in a vision on the isle of patmos. there was no moaning of the bar when he put out to sea for he died beautifully, as he had lived. i never saw irving whately again, for he went down before the rebel fire at chattanooga; but the sound of his voice i still can hear. the words of these men seemed to lift me above the clouds, and what followed is like a dream. i know that when the speeches were done, marjie went forward with the beautiful banner the women of springvale had made with their own hands for this company. i could not hear her words. they were few and simple, no doubt, for she was never given to display. but i remember her white dress and her hair parted in front and coiled low on her neck. i remember the sweet madonna face of the little girl, and how modestly graceful she was. i remember how every man held his breath as she came up to the group seated on the stage, how pink her cheeks were and how white the china aster bloom nestling against the ripples of her hair, and how the soldiers cheered that flag and its bearer. i remember jean pahusca, indian-like, standing motionless, never taking his eyes from marjie's face. it was that flag that this company followed in its awful charge up missionary ridge. and it was irving whately who kept it aloft, the memory of his daughter making it doubly sacred to him. and then came the good-byes. marjie's father gripped my hand, and his voice was full of tears. "take care of them, phil. i have no son to guard my home, and if we never come back you will not let harm come to them. you will let me feel when i am far away that you are shielding my little girl from evil, won't you, phil?" i clenched his hand in mine. "you know i'll do that, mr. whately." i stood up to my full height, young, broad-shouldered, and muscular. "it will be easier for me, phil, to know you are here." i understood him. mrs. whately was, of all the women i knew, least able to do for herself. marjie was like her father, and, save for her fear of indians, no kansas girl was ever more capable and independent. it has been my joy that this father trusted me. the flag his daughter put into his hands that day was his shroud at chattanooga, and his last moments were happier for the thought of his little girl in my care. aunt candace and i walked home together after we had waved the last good-byes to the soldiers. from our doorway up on cliff street we watched that line of men grow dim and blend at last into the eastern horizon's purple bound. when i turned then and looked down at the town beyond the slope, it seemed to me that upon me alone rested the burden of its protection. driven deep in my boyish soul was the sense of the sacredness of these homes, and of a man's high duty to keep harm from them. my father had gone out to battle, not alone to set free an enslaved race, but to make whole and strong a nation whose roots are in the homes it defends. so i, left to fill his place, must be the valiant defender of the defenceless. such moments of exaltation come to the young soul, and by such ideals a life is squared. that evening our little crowd of boys strolled out on the west prairie. the sunset deepened to the rich afterglow, and all the soft shadows of evening began to unfold about us. in that quiet, sacred time, standing out on the wide prairie, with the great crystal dome above us, and the landscape, swept across by the free winds of heaven, unrolled in all its dreamy beauty about us, our little company gripped hands and swore our fealty to the stars and stripes. and then and there we gave sacred pledge and promise to stand by one another and to give our lives if need be for the protection and welfare of the homes of springvale. busy days followed the going of the soldiers. somehow the gang of us who had idled away the summer afternoons in the sand-bar shallows beyond the deep hole seemed suddenly to grow into young men who must not neglect school nor business duties. awkwardly enough but earnestly we strove to keep springvale a pushing, prosperous community, and while our efforts were often ludicrous, the manliness of purpose had its effect. it gave us breadth, this purpose, and broke up our narrow prejudices. i believe in those first months i would have suffered for the least in springvale as readily as for the greatest. even lettie conlow, whose father kept on shoeing horses as though there were no civil strife in the nation, found such favor with me as she had never found before. i know now it was only a boy's patriotic foolishness, but who shall say it was ignoble in its influence? marjie was my especial charge. that fall i did not retire at night until i had run down to the bushes and given my whistle, and had seen her window light waver a good-night answer, and i knew she was safe. i was not her only guardian, however. one crisp autumn night there was no response to my call, and i sat down on the rocky outcrop of the steep hill to await the coming of her light in the window. it was a clear starlight night, and i had no thought of being unseen as i was quietly watching. presently, up through the bushes a dark form slid. it did not stand erect when the street was reached, but crawled with head up and alert in the deeper shadow of the bluff side of the road. i knew instinctively that it was jean pahusca, and that he had not been expecting me to be there after my call and had failed to notice me in his eagerness to creep unseen down the slope. sometimes in these later years in a great football game i have watched the haskell indians crawling swiftly up and down the side-lines following the surge of the players on the gridiron, and i always think of jean as he crept down the hill that night. it was late october and the frost was glistening, but i pulled off my boots in a moment and silently followed the fellow. inside the fence near marjie's window was a big circle of lilac bushes, transplanted years ago from the old ohio home of the whatelys. inside this clump jean crept, and i knew by the quiet crackle of twigs and dead leaves he was making his bed there. my first thought was to drag him out and choke him. and then my better judgment prevailed. i slipped away to find o'mie for a council. "phil, i'd like to kill him wid a hoe, same as marjie did that other rattlesnake that had jim conlow charmed an' flutterin' toward his pisen fangs, only we'd better wait a bit. by saint patrick, philip, we can't hang up his hide yet awhoile. i know what the baste's up to annyhow." "well, what is it?" i queried eagerly. "he's bein' a good injun he is, an' he's got a crude sort o' notion he's protectin' that dear little bird. she may be scared o' him, an' he knows it; but bedad, i'd not want to be the border ruffian that went prowlin' in there uninvited; would you?" "well, he's a dear trusty old fido of a watchdog, o'mie. we will take father le claire's word, and keep an eye on him though. he will sleep where he will sleep, but we'll see if the sight of water affects him any. a dog of his breed may be subject to rabies. you can't always trust even a 'good injun.'" after that i watched for jean's coming and followed him to his lilac bed, a half-savage, half-educated indian brave, foolishly hoping to win a white girl for his own. all that fall jean never missed a night from the lilac bush. as long as he persisted in passing the dark hours so near to the whately home my burden of anxiety and responsibility was doubled. in silent faithfulness he kept sentinel watch. i dared not tell marjie, for i knew it would fill her nights with terror, and yet i feared her accidental discovery of his presence. jean was doing more than this, however. his promise to be good seemed to belie father le claire's warning. in and out of the village all that winter he went, orderly, at times even affable, quietly refusing every temptation to drunkenness. "a good indian" he was, even to the point where o'mie and i wondered if we might not have been wrong in our judgment of him. he was growing handsomer too. he stood six feet in his moccasins, stalwart as a giant, with grace in every motion. somehow he seemed more like a picturesque gipsy, a sort of semi-civilized grandee, than an indian of the plains. there was a dominant courtliness in his manner and his bearing was kingly. people spoke kindly of him. regularly he took communion in the little catholic chapel at the south edge of town on the kaw trail. quietly but persistently he was winning his way to universal favor. only the irish lad and i kept our counsel and, waited. after the bitterly cold new year's day of ' the indian forsook the lilac bush for a time. but i knew he never lost track of marjie's coming and going. every hour of the day or night he could have told just where she was. we followed him down the river sometimes at night, and lost him in the brush this side the hermit's cave. we did not know that this was a mere trick to deceive us. to make sure of him we should have watched the west prairie and gone up the river for his real landing place. how he lived i do not know. an indian can live on air and faith in a promise, or hatred of a foe. at last he lulled even our suspicion to sleep. "ask the priest what to do," i suggested to o'mie when we grew ashamed of our spying. "they are together so much the rascal looks and walks like him. see him on annuity day and tell him we feel like chicken thieves and kidnappers." o'mie obeyed me to the letter, and ended with the query to the good father: "now phwat should a couple of young sleuth-hounds do wid such a dacent good injun?" father le claire's reply stunned the irish boy. "he just drew himself up a mile high an' more," o'mie related to me, "just stood up like the angel av the flamin' sword, an' his eyes blazed a black, consumin' fire. 'watch him,' says the praist, 'for god's sake, watch him. don't ask me again phwat to do. i've told you twice. thirty years have i lived and labored with his kind. i know them.' an' then," o'mie went on, "he put both arms around me an' held me close as me own father might have done, somewhere back, an' turned an' left me. so there's our orders. will ye take 'em?" i took them, but my mind was full of queries. i did not trust the indian, and yet i had no visible reason to doubt his sincerity. chapter vi when the heart beats young a patch of green sod 'neath the trees brown and bare, a smell of fresh mould on the mild southern air, a twitter of bird song, a flutter, a call, and though the clouds lower, and threaten and fall-- there's spring in my heart! --berta alexander garvey. when the prairies blossomed again, and the kansas springtime was in its daintiest green, when a blur of pink was on the few young orchards in the neosho valley, and the cottonwoods in the draws were putting forth their glittering tender leaves--in that sweetest time of all the year, a new joy came to me. most girls married at sixteen in those days, and were grandmothers at thirty-five. marjie was no longer a child. no sweeter blossom of young womanhood ever graced the west. all springvale loved her, except lettie conlow. and cam gentry summed it all up in his own quaint way, brave old cam fighting all the battles of the war over again on the veranda of the cambridge house, since his defective range of vision kept him from the volunteer service. watching marjie coming down the street one spring morning cam declared solemnly: "the war's done decided, an' the union has won. a land that can grow girls like marjory whately's got the favorin' smile of the almighty upon it." for us that season all the world was gay and all the skies were opal-hued, and we almost forgot sometimes that there could be sorrow and darkness and danger. most of all we forgot about an alien down in the hermit's cave, "a good indian" turned bad in one brief hour. dear are the memories of that springtide. many a glorious april have i seen in this land of sunshine, but none has ever seemed quite like that one to me. nor waving yellow wheat, nor purple alfalfa bloom, nor ramparts of dark green corn on well-tilled land can hold for me one-half the beauty of the windswept springtime prairie. no sweet odor of new-ploughed ground can rival the fragrance of the wild grasses in their waving seas of verdure. we were coming home from red range late one april day, where we had gone to a last-day-of-school affair. the boys and girls did not ride in a group now, but broke up into twos and twos sauntering slowly homeward. the tender pink and green of the landscape with the april sunset tinting in the sky overhead, and all the far south and west stretching away into limitless waves of misty green blending into the amethyst of the world's far bound, gave setting for young hearts beating in tune with the year's young beauty. tell mapleson and lettie had been with marjie and me for a time, but at last tell had led lettie far away. when we reached the draw beyond the big cottonwood where jean pahusca threw us into such disorder on that august evening the year before, we found a rank profusion of spring blossoms. leading our ponies by the bridle rein we lingered long in the fragrant draw, gathering flowers and playing like two children among them. at length marjie sat down on the sloping ground and deftly wove into a wreath the little pink blooms of some frail wild flower. "come, phil," she cried, "come, crown me queen of may here in april!" i was as tall then as i am now, and marjie at her full height came only to my shoulder. i stooped to lay that dainty string of blossoms above her brow. they fell into place in her wavy hair and nestled there, making a picture only memory can keep. the air was very sweet and the whole prairie about the little draw was still and dewy. the purple twilight, shot through with sunset coloring, made an exquisite glory overhead, and far beyond us. it is all sacred to me even now, this moment in love's young dream. i put both my hands gently against her fair round cheeks and looked down her into her brown eyes. "oh, marjie," i said softly, and kissed her red lips just once. she said never a word while we stood for a moment, a moment we never forgot. the day's last gleam of gold swept about us, and the ripple of a bird's song in the draw beyond the bend fell upon the ear. an instant later both ponies gave a sudden start. we caught their bridle reins, and looked for the cause. nothing was in sight. "it must have been a rattlesnake in that tall grass, phil," marjie exclaimed. "the ponies don't like snakes, and they don't care for flowers." "there are no snakes here, marjie. this is the garden of eden without the serpent," i said gayly. all the homeward way was a dream of joy. we forgot there was a civil war; that this was a land of aching hearts and dreary homes, and bloodshed and suffering and danger and hate. we were young, it was april on the prairies, and we had kissed each other in the pink-wreathed shadows of the twilight. oh, it was good to live! the next morning o'mie came grinning up the hill. "say, phil, ye know i cut the chape neosho crowd last evening up to rid range fur that black-eyed little irish girl they call kathleen. so i came home afterwhoile behind you, not carin' to contaminate meself wid such a common set after me pleasant company at rid range." "well, we managed to pull through without you, o'mie, but don't let it happen again. it's too hard on the girls to be deprived of your presence. do be more considerate of us, my lord." o'mie grinned more broadly than ever. "well, i see a sight worth waitin' fur on my homeward jaunt in the gloamin'." "what was it, a rattlesnake?" "yes, begorra, it was just that, an' worse. you remember the draw this side of the big cottonwood, the one where the 'good injun' come at us last august, the time he got knocked sober at the old tepee ring?" i gave a start and my cheeks grew hot. o'mie pretended not to notice me. "well," he went on, "just as i came beyont that ring on this side and dips down toward the draw where jean come from when he was aimin' to hang a certain curly brown-haired scalp--" a thrill of horror went through me at the picture. "ye needn't shiver. injuns do that; even little golden curls from babies' heads. you an' me may live to see it, an' kill the injun that does it, yit. now kape quiet. in this draw aforesaid, just like a rid granite gravestone sat a rid granite injun, 'a good injun,' mind you. in his hands was trailin' a broken wreath of pink blossoms, an' near as an injun can, an' a frenchman can't, he was lovin' 'em fondly. my appearance, unannounced by me footman, disconcerted him extramely. he rose up an' he looked a mile tall. they moved some clouds over a little fur his head up there," pointing toward the deep blue april sky where white cumulus clouds were heaped, "an' his eyes was one blisterin' grief, an' blazin' hate. he walks off proud an' erect, but some like a wounded bird too. but mostly and importantly, remember, and renew your watchfulness. it's hate an' a bad injun now. mark my words. the 'good injun' went out last night wid the witherin' of them pink flowers lyin' limp in his cruel brown hands." "but whose flower wreath could it have been?" i asked carelessly. "o, phwat difference! just some silly girl braided 'em up to look sweet for some silly boy. an' maybe he kissed her fur it. i dunno. annyhow she lost this bauble, an' looking round i found it on the little knoll where maybe she sat to do her flower wreathin'." he held up an old-fashioned double silver scarf-pin, the two pins held together by a short silver chain, such as shawls were fastened with in those days. marjie had had the pin in the light scarf she carried on her arm. it must have slipped out when she laid the scarf beside her and sat down to make the wreath. i took the pin from o'mie's hand, my mind clear now as to what had frightened the ponies. a new anxiety grew up from that moment. the "good indian" was passing. and yet i was young and joyously happy that day, and i did not feel the presence of danger then. the early may rains following that april were such as we had never known in kansas before. the neosho became bank-full; then it spread out over the bottom lands, flooding the wooded valley, creeping up and up towards the bluffs. it raced in a torrent now, and the song of its rippling over stony ways was changed to the roar of many waters, rushing headlong down the valley. on the south of us fingal's creek was impassable. every draw was brimming over, and the smaller streams became rivers. all these streams found their way to the neosho and gave it impetus to destroy--which it did, tearing out great oaks and sending them swirling and plunging, in its swiftest currents. it found the soft, uncertain places underneath its burden of waters and with its millions of unseen hands it digged and scooped and shaped the thing anew. when at last the waters were all gone down toward the sea and our own beautiful river was itself again, singing its happy song on sunny sands and in purple shadows, the valley contour was much changed. to the boys who had known it, foot by foot, the differences would have been most marked. especially would we have noted the change about the hermit's cave, had not that maytime brought its burden of strife to us all. that was the black year of the civil war, with murfreesboro, chancellorsville, gettysburg, chattanooga and chickamauga all on its record. here in kansas the minor tragedies are lost in the great horror of the quantrill raid at lawrence. but the constant menace of danger, and the strain of the thousand ties binding us to those from every part of the north who had gone out to battle, filled every day with its own care. when the news of chancellorsville reached us, cam gentry sat on the tavern veranda and wept. "an' to think of me, strong, an' able, an' longin' to fight for the union, shut out because i can only see so far." "but uncle cam," dr. hemingway urged, "stonewall jackson was killed by his own men just when victory was lost to us. you might do the same thing,--kill some man the country needs. and i believe, too, you are kept here for a purpose. who knows how soon we may need strong men in this town, men who can do the short-range work? the lord can use us all, and your place is here. isn't that true, brother dodd?" i was one of the group on the veranda steps that evening where the men were gathered in eager discussion of the news of the great union loss at chancellorsville, brought that afternoon by the stage from topeka. i glanced across at dodd, pastor of the methodist church south. a small, secretive, unsatisfactory man, he seemed to dole out the gospel grudgingly always, and never to any outside his own denomination. he made no reply and dr. hemingway went on: "we have philip here, and i'd count on him and his crowd against the worst set of outlaws that ever rode across the border. yet they need your head, uncle cam, although their arms are strong." he patted my shoulder kindly. "we need you, too," he continued, "to keep us cheered up. when the lord says to some of us, 'so far shalt thou see, and no farther,' he may give to that same brother the power to scatter sunshine far and wide. oh, we need you, brother gentry, to make us laugh if for nothing else." uncle cam chuckled. he was built for chuckling, and we all laughed with him, except mr. dodd. i caught a sneer on his face in the moment. presently father le claire and jean pahusca joined the group. i had not seen the latter since the day of o'mie's warning. indian as he was, i could see a change in his impassive face. it made me turn cold, me, to whom fear was a stranger. father le claire, too, was not like himself. self-possessed always, with his native french grace and his inward spiritual calm, this evening he seemed to be holding himself by a mighty grip, rather than by that habitual self-mastery that kept his life in poise. i tell these impressions as a man, and i analyze them as a man, but, boy as i was, i felt them then with keenest power. again the likeness of indian and priest possessed me, but raised no query within me. in form, in gait and especially in the shape of the head and the black hair about their square foreheads they were as like as father and son. just once i caught jean's eye. the eye of a rattlesnake would have been more friendly. o'mie was right. the "good indian" had vanished. what had come in his stead i was soon to know. but withal i could but admire the fine physique of this giant. while the men were still full of the union disaster, two horsemen came riding up to the tavern oak. their horses were dripping wet. they had come up the trail from the southwest, where the draws were barely fordable. strangers excited no comment in a town on the frontier. the trail was always full of them coming and going. we hardly noted that for ten days springvale had not been without them. "come in, gentlemen," called cam. "here, dollie, take care of these friends. o'mie, take their horses." they passed inside and the talk outside went eagerly on. "father le claire, how do the injuns feel about this fracas now?" inquired tell mapleson. the priest spoke carefully. "we always counsel peace. you know we do not belong to either faction." his smile was irresistible, and the most partisan of us could not dislike him that he spoke for neither north nor south. "but," tell persisted, "how do the injuns themselves feel?" tell seemed to have lost his usual insight, else he could have seen that quick, shrewd, penetrating glance of the good father's reading him through and through. "i have just come from the mission," he said. "the osages are always loyal to the union. the verdigris river was too high for me to hear from the villages in the southwest." tell was listening eagerly. so also were the two strangers who stood in the doorway now. if the priest noted this he gave no sign. mr. dodd spoke here for the first time. "well," he said in his pious intonation, "if the osages are loyal, that clears jean here. he's an osage, isn't he?" jean made no reply; neither did le claire, and tell mapleson turned casually to the strangers, engaging them in conversation. "we shall want our horses at four sharp in the morning," one of the two came out to say to cam. "we have a long hard day before us." "at your service," answered cam. "o'mie, take the order in your head." "is that the biggest hostler you've got?" looking contemptuously at little o'mie standing beside me. "if you kansas folks weren't such damned abolitionists you'd have some able-bodied niggers to do your work right." o'mie winked at me and gave a low whistle. neither the wink nor the whistle was lost on the speaker, who frowned darkly at the boy. cam squinted up at the men good-naturedly. "them horses dangerous?" he asked. "yes, they are," the stranger replied. "can we have a room downstairs? we want to go to bed early. we have had a hard day." "you can begin to say your 'now i lay me' right away in here if you like," and the landlord led the way into a room off the veranda. one of the two lingered outside in conversation with mapleson for a brief time. "come, go home with me, o'mie," i said later, when the crowd began to thin out. "not me," he responded. "didn't ye hear, 'four a. m. sharp'? it's me flat on me bed till the dewy morn an' three-thirty av it. them's vicious horses. an' they'll be to curry clane airly. phil," he added in a lower voice, "this town's a little overrun wid strangers wid no partic'lar business av their own, an' we don't need 'em in ours. for one private citizen, i don't like it. the biggest one of them two men in there's named yeager, an' he's been here three toimes lately, stayin' only a few hours each toime." o'mie looked so little to me this evening! i had hardly noted how the other boys had outgrown him. "you're not very big for a horseman after all, my son, but you're grit clear through. you may do something yet the big fellows couldn't do," i said affectionately. he was irish to the bone, and never could entirely master his brogue, but we had no social caste lines, and springvale took him at face value, knowing his worth. at marjie's gate i stopped to make sure everything was all right. somehow when i knew the indian was in town i could never feel safe for her. she hurried out in response to my call. "i'm so glad to see you to-night, phil," she said, a little tremulously. "i wish father were here. do you think he is safe?" she was leaning on the gate, looking eagerly into my eyes. the shadows of the may twilight were deepening around us, and marjie's white face looked never so sweet to me as now, in her dependence on my assurance. "i'm sure mr. whately is all right. it is the bad news that gets here first. i'm so glad our folks weren't at chancellorsville." "but they may be in as dreadful a battle soon. oh, phil, i'm so--what? lonesome and afraid to-night. i wish father could come home." it was not like marjie, who had been a dear brave girl, always cheering her dependent mother and hopefully expecting the best. to-night there swept over me anew that sense of the duty every man owes to the home. it was an intense feeling then. later it was branded with fire into my consciousness. i put one of my big hands over her little white hand on the gate. "marjie," i said gently, "i promised your father i would let no harm come to you. don't be afraid, little girl. you can trust me. until he comes back i will take care of you." the twilight was sweet and dewy and still. about the house the shadows were darkening. i opened the gate, and drawing her hand through my arm, i went up the walk with her. "is that the lilac that is so fragrant?" i caught a faint perfume in the air. "yes," sadly, "what there is of it." and then she laughed a little. "that miserable o'mie came up here the day after we went to red range and persuaded mother to cut it all down except one straight stick of a bush. he told her it was dying, and that it needed pruning, and i don't know what. and you know mother. i was over at the anderson's, and when i came home the whole clump was gone. i dreamed the other night that somebody was hiding in there. it was all dead in the middle. do you remember when we played hide-and-seek in there?" "i never forget anything you do, marjie," i answered; "but i'm glad the bushes are thinned out." she broke off some plumes of the perfumy blossoms. "take those to aunt candace. tell her i sent them. don't let her think you stole them," she was herself now, and her fear was gone. "may i take something else to aunt candace, too, marjie?" "what else?" she looked up innocently into my face. we were at the door-step now. "a good-night kiss, marjie." "i'll see her myself about that," she replied mischievously but confusedly, pushing me away. i knew her cheek was flushed as my own, and i caught her hand and held it fast. "good-night, phil." that sweet voice of hers i could not disobey. in a moment i was gone, happy and young and confident. i could have fought the whole confederate army for the sake of this girl left in my care--my very own guardianship. chapter vii the foreshadowing of peril o clear-eyed faith, and patience thou so calm and strong! lend strength to weakness, teach us how the sleepless eyes of god look through this night of wrong! --whittier. while these may days were slipping by, strange history was making itself in kansas. i marvel now, as i recall the slender bonds that stayed us from destruction, that we ever dared to do our part in that record-building day. and i rejoice that we did not know the whole peril that menaced us through those uncertain hours, else we should have lost all courage. father le claire held himself neutral to the north and the south, and was sometimes distrusted by both factions in our town; but he went serenely on his way, biding his time patiently. at sunrise on the morning after o'mie had surprised jean pahusca with marjie's wreath of faded blossoms held caressingly in his brown hands, le claire met him in the little chapel. what he confessed led the priest to take him at once to the osages farther down on the neosho. "i had hoped to persuade jean to stay at the mission," le claire said afterwards. "he is the most intelligent one of his own tribe i have ever known, and he could be invaluable to the osages, but he would not stay away from springvale. and i thought it best to come back with him." the good man did not say why he thought it best to keep jean under his guardianship. few people in springvale would have dreamed how dangerous a foe we had in this superbly built, picturesque, handsome indian. in the early hours of the morning after his return, the priest was roused from a sound sleep by o'mie. a storm had broken over the town just after midnight. when it had spent itself and roared off down the valley, the rain still fell in torrents, and o'mie's clothes were dripping when he rushed into le claire's room. "for the love av heaven," he cried, "they's a plot so pizen i must git out of me constitution quick. they're tellin' it up to conlow's shop. them two strangers, yeager and his pal, that's s'posed to be sleepin' now to get an airly start, put out 'fore midnight for a prowl an' found theirsilves right up to conlow's. an' i wint along behind 'em--respectful," o'mie grinned; "an' there was mapleson an' conlow an' the holy dodd, mind ye. m. e. south's his rock o' defence. an' jean was there too. they're promisin' him somethin', the strangers air. tell an' conlow seemed to kind o' dissent, but give in finally." "is it whiskey?" asked the priest. "no, no. tell says he can't have nothin' from the 'last chance.' says the old roman catholic'll fix his agency job at washington if he lets jean get drunk. it's somethin' else; an' tell wants to git aven with you, so he gives in." the priest's face grew pale. "well, go on." "there's a lot of carrion birds up there i never see in this town. just lit in there somehow. but here's the schame. the confederates has it all planned, an' they're doin' it now to league together all the injun tribes av the southwest. they's more 'n twinty commissioned officers, rebels, ivery son av 'em, now on their way to meet the chiefs av these tribes. an' all the kansas settlements down the river is to be fell upon by the ridskins, an' nobody to be spared. wid them missouri raiders on the east and the injuns in the southwest where'll anybody down there be, begorra, betwixt two sich grindin' millstones? i couldn't gather it all in, ye see. i was up on a ladder peeking in through a long hole laid down sideways. but that's the main f'ature av the rumpus. they're countin' big on the osages becase the gov'mint trusts 'em to do scout duty down beyont humboldt, and jean says the osages is sure to join 'em. said it is whispered round at the mission now. and phwat's to be nixt?" father le claire listened intently to o'mie's hurried recital. then he rose up before the little irishman, and taking both of the boy's hands in his, he said: "o'mie, you must do your part now." "phwat can i do? show me, an' bedad, i'll do it." "you will keep this to yourself, because it would only make trouble if it were repeated now, and we may outwit the whole scheme without any unnecessary anxiety and fright. also, you must keep your eyes and ears open to all that's done and said here. don't let anything escape you. if i can get across the neosho this morning i can reach the mission in time to keep the osages from the plot, and maybe break it up. then i'll come back here. they might need me if jean"--he did not finish the sentence. "in two days i can do everything needful; while if the word were started here now, it might lead to a rebel uprising, and you would be outnumbered by the copperheads here, backed by the fingal's creek crowd. you could do nothing in an open riot." "i comprehend ye," said o'mie. "it's iverything into me eyes an' ears an' nothin' out av me mouth." "meanwhile," the priest spoke affectionately, "you must be strong, my son, to choose the better part. if it's life or death,--o god, that human life should be held so cheap!--if it's left to you to choose who must be the sacrifice, you will choose right. i can trust you. remember, in two or three days at most, i can be back; but keep your watch, especially of jean. he means mischief, but i cannot stay here now, much less take him with me. he would not go." so it happened that father le claire hurried away in the darkness and the driving rain, and at a fearful risk swam his horse across the neosho, and hastened with all speed to the mission. when that midnight storm broke over the town, on the night when o'mie followed the strangers and found out their plot, i helped aunt candace to fasten the windows and make sure against it until i was too wide awake to go to bed. i sat down by my window, in the lightning flashes watching the rain, wind-driven across the landscape. the night was pitch black. in all the southwest there was only one light, a sullen red bar of flame that came up from conlow's forge fire. i watched it indifferently at first because it was there. then i began to wonder why it should gleam there red and angry at this dead hour of darkness. as i watched, the light flared up as though it were fanned into a blaze. then it began to blink and i knew some one was inside the shop. it was blotted out for a time, then it glowed again, as if there were many passing and re-passing. i wondered what it could all mean in such an hour, on such a night as this. then i thought of old conlow's children, of "possum" in his weak, good-natured homeliness, and of lettie. how i disliked her, and wished she would keep out of my way, which she never would do. her face was clear to me, there in the dark. it grew malicious; then it hardened into wickedness, and i slipped from watching into a drowsy, half-waking sleep in my chair. the red bar of light became the flame of cannon on a battlefield, i saw our men in a life-and-death struggle with the enemy on a rough, wild mountainside. everywhere my father was leading them on, and by his side irving whately bore the springvale flag aloft. and then beside me lay the color-bearer with white, agonized face, pleading with me. his words were ringing in my ears, "take care of marjie, phil; keep her from harm." i woke with a start, stiff and shivering. with one half-dazed glance at the black night and that sullen tell-tale light below me, i groped my way to my bed and slept then the dreamless sleep of vigorous youth. the rain continued for many hours. yeager and his company could not get away from town on account of the booming neosho. also several other strange men seemed to have rained down from nobody asked where, and while the surface of affairs was smooth there was a troubled undercurrent. nobody seemed to know just what to expect, yet a sense of calamity pervaded the air. meanwhile the rain poured down in intermittent torrents. on the second evening of this miserable gloom i strolled down to the tavern stables to find o'mie. bud and john anderson and both the mead boys were there, sprawled out on the hay. o'mie sat on a keg in the wagon way, and they were all discussing affairs of state like sages. i joined in and we fought the civil war to a finish in half an hour. in all the "solid north" there was no more loyal company on that may night than that group of brawny young fellows full of the fire of patriotism, who swore anew their eternal allegiance to the union. "it's a crime and a disgrace," declared dave mead, "that because we're only boys we can't go to the war, and every one of us, except o'mie here, muscled like oxen; while older, weaker men are being shot down at chancellorsville or staggering away from bull run." "o'mie 'thgot the thtuff in him though. i'd back him againth david and goliath," bud anderson insisted. "yes, or sodom and gomorrah, or some other bible characters," observed bill mead. "you'd better join the methodist church south, bud, and let old dodd labor with you." then o'mie spoke gravely: "boys, we've got a civil war now in our middust. don't ask me how i know. the feller that clanes the horses around the tavern stables, trust him fur findin' which way the neosho runs, aven if he is small an' insignificant av statoor. i've seen an' heard too much in these two dirty wet days." he paused, and there came into his eyes a pathetic pleading look as of one who sought protection. it gave place instantly to a fearless, heroic expression that has been my inspiration in many a struggle. i know now how he longed to tell us all he knew, but his word to le claire held him back. "i can't tell you exactly phwat's in the air, fur i don't know it all yit. but there's trouble brewin' here, an' we must be ready, as we promised we would be when our own wint to the front." o'mie had hit home. had we not sworn our fealty to the flag, and protection to our town in our boyish patriotism the summer before? "boys," o'mie went on, "if the storm breaks here in springvale we've got to forgit ourselves an' ivery son av us be a hero for the work that's laid before him. safe or dangerous, it's duty we must be doin', like the true sons av a glorious commonwealth, an' we may need to be lightnin' swift about it, too." tell mapleson and jim conlow had come in as o'mie was speaking. we knew their fathers were bitter rebels, although the men made a pretence to loyalty, which kept them in good company. but somehow the boys had not broken away from young tell and jim. from childhood we had been playmates, and boyish ties are strong. this evening the two seemed to be burdened with something of which they dared not or would not speak. there was a sort of defiance about them, such as an enemy may assume toward one who has been his friend, but whom he means to harm. was it the will of providence made o'mie appeal to them at the right moment? "say, boys," he had a certain celtic geniality, and a frank winning smile that was irresistible. "say, boys, all av the crowd's goin' to stand together no matter what comes, just as we've done since we learned how to swim in the shallows down by the deep hole. we're goin' to stand shoulder to shoulder, an' we'll save this town from harm, whativer may come in betwane, an' whoiver av us it's laid on to suffer, in the ind we'll win. for why? we are on the right side, an' can count on the same power that's carried men aven to the inds av the earth to fight an' die fur what's right. will ye be av us, boys? we've niver had no split in our gang yet. will ye stay wid us?" tell and jim looked at each other. then tell spoke. he had the right stuff in him at the last test always. "yes, boys, we will, come what will come." jim grinned at tell. "i'll stand by tell, if it kills me," he declared. we put little trust in his ability. it is the way of the world to overlook the stone the master builder sometimes finds useful for his purpose. "an' you may need us real soon, too," tell called back as the two went out. "by cracky, i bet they know more 'n we do," bud anderson declared. dave mead looked serious. "well, i believe they'll hold with us anyhow," he said. "what they know may help us yet." the coming of another tremendous downpour sent us scampering homeward. o'mie and i had started up the hill together, but the underside of the clouds fell out just as we reached judson's gate, and by the time we had come to mrs. whately's we were ready to dive inside for shelter. when the rain settled down for an all-night stay, mrs. whately would wrap us against it before we left her. she put an old coat of mr. whately's on me. i had gone out in my shirt sleeves. marjie looked bravely up at my tall form. i knew she was thinking of him who had worn that coat. the only thing for o'mie was marjie's big water proof cloak. the old-fashioned black-and-silver mix with the glistening black buttons, such as women wore much in those days. it had a hood effect, with a changeable red silk lining, fastened at the neck. to my surprise o'mie made no objection at all to wearing a girl's wrap. but i could never fully forecast the irish boy. he drew the circular garment round him and pulled the hood over his head. "come, philip, me strong protector," he called, "let's be skiting." at the door he turned back to marjie and said in a low voice, "phil will mistake me fur a girl an' be wantin' me to go flower-huntin' out on the west prairie, but i won't do it." marjie blushed like the june roses, and slammed the door after him. a moment later she opened it again and held the light to show us the dripping path to the gate. framed in the doorway with the light held up by her round white arm, the dampness putting a softer curl in every stray lock of her rich brown hair, the roses still blooming on her cheeks, she sent us away. too young and sweet-spirited she seemed for any evil to assail her in the shelter of that home. late at night again the red light of the forge was crossed and re-crossed by those who moved about inside the shop. aunt candace and i had sat long together talking of the war, and of the raiding on the kansas border. she was a balm to my spirit, for she was a strong, fearless woman, always comforting in the hour of sorrow, and self-possessed in the face of danger. i wonder how the mothers of springvale could have done without her. she decked the brides for their weddings, and tenderly laid out the dead. the new-born babe she held in her arms, and dying eyes looking back from the valley of the shadow, sought her face. that night i slept little, and i welcomed the coming of day. when the morning dawned the world was flooded with sunshine, and a cool steady west wind blew the town clear of mud and wet, the while the neosho valley was threshed with the swollen, angry waters. with the coming of the sunshine the strangers disappeared. nowhere all that day were there any but our own town's people to be seen. some of these, however, i knew afterwards, were very busy. i remember seeing conlow and mapleson and dodd sauntering carelessly about in different parts of the town, especially upon cliff street, which was unusual for them. just at nightfall the town was filled with strangers again. yeager and his companion, who had been water-bound, returned with half a dozen more to the cambridge house, and other unknown men were washed in from the west. that night i saw the red light briefly. then it disappeared, and i judged the shop was deserted. i did not dream whose head was shutting off the light from me, nor whose eyes were peering in through that crevice in the wall. the night was peacefully beautiful, but its beauty was a mockery to me, filled as i was with a nameless anxiety. i had no reason for it, yet i longed for the return of father le claire. he had not taken jean with him, and i judged that the indian was near us somewhere and in the very storm centre of all this uneasiness. at midnight i wakened suddenly. outside, a black starless sky bent over a cool, quiet earth. a thick darkness hid all the world. dead stillness everywhere. and yet, i listened for a voice to speak again that i was sure i had heard as i wakened. i waited only a moment. a quick rapping under my window, and a low eager call came to my ears. i sprang up and groped my way to the open casement. "what's the matter down there?" i called softly. "phil, jump into your clothes and come down just as quick as you can." it was tell mapleson's voice, full of suppressed eagerness. "for god's sake, hurry. it's life and death. hurry! hurry!" "run to the side door, tell, and call aunt candace. she'll let you in." i heard him make a plunge for the side door. by the time my aunt wakened to open it, i was down stairs. tell stood inside the hallway, white and haggard. our house was like a stone fort in its security, and aunt candace had fastened the door behind him. she seemed a perfect tower of strength to me, standing there like a strong guardian of the home. "stop a minute, tell. we'll save time by knowing what we are about. what's the matter?" my aunt's voice gave him self-control. he held himself by a great effort. "there's not a second to lose, but we can't do anything without phil. he must lead us. there's been a plot worked up here for three nights in conlow's shop, to burn' every union man's house in town. preacher dodd and that stranger named yeager and the other fellow that's been stayin' at the tavern are backin' the whole thing. the men that's been hanging round here are all in the plot. they're to lay low a little while, and at two o'clock the blazin's to begin. jim's run to anderson's and mead's, but we'll do just what phil says. we'll get the boys together and you'll tell us what to do. the men'll kill jim an' me if they find out we told, but we swore we'd stay by you boys. we'll help clear through, but don't tell on us. don't never tell who told on 'em. please don't." tell never had seemed manly to me till that moment. "they're awful against o'mie. they say he knows too much. he heard 'em talking too free round the stables. they're after you too, phil. they think if they get you out of the way, they can manage all the rest. i heard old dodd tell 'em to make sure of john baronet's cub. said you were the worst in town, to come against. they'll kill you if they lay hands on you. they'll come right here after you." "then they'll go back without him," my aunt said firmly. "they say the indians are to come from the south at daylight," tell hurried on, "an' finish up all that's left without homes. they're the kiowas. they'll not get here till just about daylight." tell's teeth were chattering, and he trembled as with an ague. "worst of all,"--he choked now,--"whately's home's to be left alone, and jean's to get marjie and carry her off. they hate her father so, they've let jean have her. they know she was called over to judson's late to stay with mrs. judson. he's away, water-bound, and the baby's sick, and just as she gets home, he's to get her. if she screams, or tries to get away, he'll scalp her." i heard no more. my heart forgot to beat. i had seen marjie's signal light at ten o'clock and i was sure of her safety. the candle turned black before me. the cry of my dreams, irving whately's pleading cry, rang in my ears: "take care of marjie, phil! keep her from harm!" "phil baronet, you coward," tell fairly hissed in my ear, "come and help us! we can't do a thing without you." i, a coward! i sprang to the door and with tell beside me we sped away in the darkness. a faint light glimmered in the whately home. at the gate, dave mead hailed us. "it's too late, boys," he whispered, "jean's gone and she's with him. he rode by me like the devil, going toward the ford. they'll be drowned and that's better than for her to live. the whole indian territory may be here by morning." i lifted my face to the pitiless black sky above me, and a groan, the agony of a breaking heart, burst from my lips. in that instant, i lived ages of misery. "oh, phil, what shall we do? the town's full of helpless folks." dave caught my arm to steady himself. "can't you, can't you put us to work?" could i? his appeal brought me to myself. in the right moment the lord sends us to our places, and forsakes us not until our task is finished. on me that night, was laid the duty of leadership in a great crisis; and he who had called me, gave me power. every union household in the town must be roused and warned of the impending danger. and whatever was done must be done quickly, noiselessly, and at a risk of life to him who did it. my plan sprang into being, and dave and tell ran to execute it. in a few minutes we were to meet under the tavern oak. i dashed off toward the cambridge house. uncle cam had not yet gone to bed. "where's o'mie?" i gasped. "i dunno. he flew in here ten minutes or more ago, but he never lit. in ten seconds he was out again an' gone. he's got some sense an' generally keeps his red head level. i'm waitin' to see what's up." in a word i gave cam the situation, all except jean's part. as i hurried out to meet the boys at the oak, i stumbled against something in the dense darkness. cam hastened after me. the flare of the light from the opening of the door showed a horse, wet and muddy to the throat latch. it stared at the light in fright and then dashed away in the darkness. all the boys, tell and jim, the meads, john, clayton, and bud anderson,--all but o'mie, met in the deep shadow of the oak before the tavern door. our plans fell into form with cam's wiser head to shape them here and there. the town was districted and each of us took his portion. in the time that followed, i worked noiselessly, heroically, taking the most dangerous places for my part. the boys rallied under my leadership, for they would have it so. everywhere they depended on my word to direct them, and they followed my direction to the letter. it was not i, in myself, but john baronet's son on whom they relied. my father's strength and courage and counsel they sought for in me. but all the time i felt myself to be like a spirit on the edge of doom. i worked as one who feels that when his task is ended, the blank must begin. yet i left nothing undone because of the dead weight on my soul. what happened in that hour, can never all be told. and only god himself could have directed us among our enemies. since then i have always felt that the purpose crowns the effort. in springvale that night was a band of resolute lawless men, organized and armed, with every foot of their way mapped out, every name checked, the lintel of every union doorway marked, men ready and sworn to do a work of fire and slaughter. against them was a group of undisciplined boys, unorganized, surprised, and unequipped, groping in the darkness full of unseen enemies. but we were the home-guard, and our own lives were nothing to us, if only we could save the defenceless. chapter viii the cost of safety in the dark and trying hour, in the breaking forth of power, in the rush of steeds and men, his right hand will shield thee then. --longfellow. it was just half past one o'clock when the sweet-toned bell in the presbyterian church steeple began to ring. dr. hemingway was at the rope in the belfry. his part was to give us our signal. at the first peal the windows of every union home blazed with light. the doors were flung wide open, and a song--one song--rose on the cool still night. o say, can you see by the dawn's early light what so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?-- whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight o'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming! o say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave o'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? it was sung in strong, clear tones as i shall never hear it sung again; and the echoes of many voices, and the swelling music of that old church bell, floated down the neosho valley, mingling with the rushing of the turbulent waters. it was cam gentry's plan, this weapon of light and song. the lord did have a work for him to do, as dr. hemingway had said. "boys," he had counselled us under the oak, "we can't match 'em in a pitched battle. they're armed an' ready, and you ain't and you can't do nothing in the dark. but let every house be ready, just as phil has planned. warn them quietly, and when the church bell rings, let every winder be full of light, every door wide open, and everybody sing." he could roar bass himself to be heard across the state line, and that night he fairly boomed with song. "they're dirty cowards, and can't work only in the dark and secret quiet. give 'em light and song. let 'em know we are wide awake and not afraid, an' if gideon ever had the midianites on the hike, you'll have them pisen copperheads goin'. they'll never dast to show a coil, the sarpents! cause that's not the way they fight; an' they'll be wholly onprepared, and surprised." just before the ringing of the signal bell, the boys had met again by appointment under the tavern oak. two things we had agreed upon when we met there first. one was a pledge of secrecy as to the part of young tell and jim in our work and to the part of mapleson and conlow in the plot, for the sake of their boys, who were loyal to the town. the other was to say nothing of jean's act. marjie was the light of springvale, and we knew what the news would mean. we must first save the homes, quietly and swiftly. other calamities would follow fast enough. in the darkness now, bud anderson put both arms around me. "phil," he whispered, "you're my king. you muth go to her mother now. in the morning, your aunt candathe will come to her. maybe in the daylight we can find marjie. he can't get far, unleth the river--" he held me tight in his arms, that manly, tender-hearted boy. then i staggered away like one in a dream toward the whately house. we had not yet warned mrs. whately, for we knew her home was to be spared, and our hands were full of what must be done on the instant. time never seemed so precious to me as in those dreadful minutes when we roused that sleeping town. i know now how paul revere felt when he rode to lexington. but now my cold knuckles fell like lead against mrs. whately's door, and mechanically i gave the low signal whistle i had been wont to give to marjie. like a mockery came the clear trill from within. but there was no mockery in the quick opening of the casement above me, where a dim light now gleamed, nor in the flinging up of the curtain, and it was not a spirit but a real face with a crown of curly hair that was outlined in the gloom. and a voice, marjie's sweet voice, called anxiously: "is that you, phil? i'll be right down." then the light disappeared, and i heard the patter of feet on the stairs; then the front door opened and i walked straight into heaven. for there stood marjie, safe and strong, before me--my marjie, escaped from the grave, or from that living hell that is worse than death, captivity in the hands of an indian devil. "what's the matter, phil?" "marjie, can it be you? how did you ever get back?" she looked at me wonderingly. "why, i was only down there at judson's. the baby's sick and mrs. judson sent for me after ten o'clock. i didn't come away till midnight. she may send for me again at any minute,--that's why i'm not in bed. i wanted to stay with her, but she made me come home on mother's account. i ran home by myself. i wasn't afraid. i heard a horse galloping away just before i got up to the gate. but what is the matter, phil?" i stood there wholly sure now that i was in paradise. jean had not tried to get her after all. she was here, and no harm had touched her. tell had not understood. jean had been in the middle of this night's business somewhere, i felt sure, but he had done no one any harm. after all he had been true to his promise to be a good indian, and le claire had misjudged him. "you didn't see who was on the horse, did you?" "no. just as i started from mrs. judson's, o'mie came flying by me. he looked so funny. he had on the waterproof cloak i loaned him last night, hood and all, and his face was just as white as milk. i thought he was a girl at first. he called to me almost in a whisper. 'don't hurry a bit, marjie,' he said; 'i'm taking your cloak home.' but i couldn't find it anywhere about the door. o'mie is always doing the oddest things!" just then the church bell began to ring, and together we put on the lights and joined in the song. its inspiration drove everything before it. i did not stay long with marjie, however, for there was much for me to do, and i seemed to have stepped from a world of horror and darkness into a heaven of light. how i wished o'mie would come in! i had not found him in all that hour, ages long to us, in which we had done this much of our work for the town. but i was sure of o'mie. "he's doing good business somewhere," i said. "bless his red head. he'll never quit so long as there's a thing to do." there was no rest for anybody in springvale that night. as cam gentry had predicted, not a torch blazed; and the attacking party, thrown into confusion by the sudden blocking of their secret plan of assault, did not rally. our next task was to make sure against the indians, the rumor of whose coming grew everywhere, and the fear of a daybreak massacre kept us all keyed to the pitch of terrible expectancy. the town had four strongholds, the tavern, the whately store, the presbyterian church, and my father's house. all these buildings were of stone, with walls of unusual thickness. into these the women and children were gathered as soon as we felt sure the enemy in our midst was outdone. dr. hemingway took command of the church. cam gentry at his own door was a host. "i can see who goes in and out of the cambridge house; i reckon, if i can't tell a reb from a bluecoat out in a battle," he declared, as he opened his doors to the first little group of mothers and children who came to him for protection. "i can see safety for every one of you here," he added with that cheery laugh that made us all love him. aunt candace was the strong guardian in our home up on cliff street. we looked for o'mie to take care of the store, but he was nowhere to be seen and that duty was given to grandpa mead, whose fiery union spirit did not accord with his halting step and snowy hair. a patrol guard was quickly formed, and sentinels were stationed on the south and west. on the north and east the flooded neosho was a perfect wall of water round about us. since that maytime, i have lived through many days of peril and suffering, and i have more than once walked bravely as i might along the path at whose end i knew was an open grave, but never to me has come another such night of terror. in all the town there were not a dozen men, loyal supporters of the union cause, who had a fighting strength. on the eight stalwart boys, and the quickness and shrewdness of little o'mie, the salvation of springvale rested. after that awful night i was never a boy again. henceforth i was a man, with a man's work and a man's spirit. the daylight was never so welcome before, and never a grander sunrise filled the earth with its splendor. i was up on the bluff patrolling the northwest boundary when the dawn began to purple the east. oh, many a time have i watched the sunrise beyond the neosho valley, but on this rare may morning every shaft of light, every tint of roseate beauty along the horizon, every heap of feathery mist that decked the plains, with the neosho, bank-full, sweeping like molten silver below it--all these took on a new loveliness. eagerly, however, i scanned the southwest where the level beams of day were driving back the gray morning twilight, and the green prairie billows were swelling out of the gloom. point by point, i watched every landmark take form, waiting to see if each new blot on the landscape might not be the first of the dreaded indian bands whose coming we so feared. with daybreak, came assurance. somehow i could not believe that a land so beautiful and a village so peaceful could be threshed and stained and blackened by the fire and massacre of a savage band allied to a disloyal, rebellious host. and yet, i had lived these stormy years in kansas and the border strife has never all been told. i dared not relax my vigilance, so i watched the south and west, trusting to the river to take care of the east. and so it happened that, sentinel as i was, i had not seen the approach of a horseman from the northwest, until father le claire came upon me suddenly. his horse was jaded with travel, and he sat it wearily. a pallor overspread his brown cheeks. his garments were wet and mud-splashed. "oh, father le claire," i cried, "nobody except my own father could be more welcome. where have you been?" "i am not too late, then!" he exclaimed, ignoring my question. his eyes quickly took in the town. no smoke was rising from the kitchen fires this morning, for the homes were deserted. "you are safe still?" he gave a great gasp of relief. then he turned and looked steadily into my eyes. "it has been bought with a price," he said simply. "three days ago i left you a boy. i come back to find you a man. where's o'mie?" "d--down there, i think." it dawned on me suddenly that not one of us had seen or heard of o'mie since he left tell and jim at the shop just before midnight. marjie had seen him a few minutes later, and so had cam gentry. but where was he after that? much as we had needed him, we had had no time to hunt for him. places had to be filled by those at hand in the dreadful necessity before us. we could count on o'mie, of course. he was no coward, nor laggard; but where could he have kept himself? "what has happened, philip?" the priest asked. briefly i told him, ending with the story of the threatening terror of an indian invasion. "they will not come, philip. do not fear. that danger is cut off. the kiowas, who were on their way to springvale, have all turned back and they are far away. i know." his assurance was balm to my soul. and my nerves, on the rack for these three days, with the culmination of the last six hours seemed suddenly to snap within me. "go home and rest now," said father le claire. "i will take the word along the line. come down to the tavern at nine o'clock." aunt candace had hot coffee and biscuit and maple syrup from old vermont, with ham and eggs, all ready for me. the blessed comfort of a home, safe from harm once more, filled me with a sense of rest. not until it was lifted did i realize how heavy was the burden i had carried through those may nights and days. long before nine o'clock, the tavern yard was full of excited people, all eagerly talking of the events of the last few hours. we had hardly taken our bearings yet, but we had an assurance that the perils of the night no longer threatened us. the strange men who had filled the town the evening before had all disappeared, but in the company here were many whom we knew to be enemies in the dark. yet they mingled boldly with the others, assuming a loyalty for their own purposes. in the crowd, too, was jean pahusca, impenetrable of countenance, indifferent to the occasion as a thing that could not concern him. his red blanket was gone and his leather trousers and dark flannel shirt displayed his superb muscular form. there was no knife in his belt now, and he carried no other weapon. with his soft dark hair and the ruddy color showing in his cheeks, he was dangerously handsome to a romantic eye. among all its enemies, he had been loyal to springvale. my better self rebuked my distrust, and my heart softened toward him. his plan with the raiders to seize marjie must have been his crude notion of saving her from a worse peril. when he knew she was safe he had dropped out of sight in the darkness. the boys who had done the work of the night before suddenly became heroes. not all of us had come together here, however. tell was keeping store up at the "last chance," and jim was seeing to the forge fire, while the father of each boy sauntered about in the tavern yard. "you won't tell anybody about father," tell pleaded before he left us. "he never planned it, indeed he didn't. it was old man dodd and yeager and them other strangers." i can picture now the reverend mr. dodd, piously serious, sitting on the tavern veranda at that moment, a disinterested listener to what lay below his spiritual plane of life. just above his temple was a deep bruise, and his right hand was bound with a white bandage. five years later, one dark september night, by the dry bed of the arickaree creek in colorado, i heard the story of that bandage and that bruise. "and you'll be sure to keep still about my dad, too, won't you?" jim conlow urged. "he's bad, but--" as if he could find no other excuse, he added grinning, "i don't believe he's right bright; and tell and me done our best anyhow." their best! these two had braved the worst of foes, with those of their own flesh and blood against them. we would keep their secret fast enough, nor should anyone know from the boys who of our own townspeople were in the plot. i believe now that conlow would have killed jim had he suspected the boy's part in that night's work. i have never broken faith with jim, although heaven knows i have had cause enough to wish never to hear the name of conlow again. one more boy was not in our line, o'mie, still missing from the ranks, and now my heart was heavy. everybody else seemed to forget him in the excitement, however, and i hoped all was well. on the veranda a group was crowding about father le claire, listening to what he had to say. nobody tried to do business in our town that day. men and women and children stood about in groups, glad to be alive and to know that their homes were safe. it was a sight one may not see twice in a lifetime. and the thrill within me, that i had helped a little toward this safety, brought a pleasure unlike any other joy i have ever known. "where's aunt candace?" i asked dollie gentry, who had grasped my arm as if she would ring it from my shoulder. "hadn't you heard?" dollie's eyes filled with tears. "judson's baby died this mornin'. judson he can't get across fingal's creek or some of the draws, to get home, and the fright last night was too much for mis' judson. she fainted away, an' when she come to, the baby was dead. i'm cookin' a good meal for all of 'em. land knows, carin' for the little corpse is all they can do without botherin' to cook." good mrs. gentry used her one talent for everybody's comfort. and as for the judsons, theirs was one of the wayside tragedies that keep ever alongside the line of civil strife. they made room for us on the veranda, six husky kansas bred fellows, hardly more than half-way through our teens, and we fell in with the group about father le claire. he gave us a searching glance, and his face clouded. good dr. hemingway beside him was eager for his story. "tell us the whole thing," he urged. "then we can understand our part in it. surely the arm of the lord was not shortened for us last night." "it is a strange story, dr. hemingway, with a strange and tragic ending," replied the priest. he related then the plot which o'mie had heard set forth by the strangers in our town. "i left at once to warn the osages, believing i could return before last night." "them osages is a cussed ornery lot, if that jean out on the edge of the crowd there is a sample," a man from the west side of town broke in. "they are true blue, and jean is not an osage; he's a kiowa," le claire replied quietly. "what of him ain't french," declared cam gentry. "that's where his durned meanness comes in biggest. not but what a kiowa's rotten enough. but sence he didn't seem to take part in this doings last night, i guess we can stand him a little while longer." father le claire's face flushed. then a pallor overspread the flame. his likeness to the indian flashed up with that flush. so had i seen pahusca flush with anger, and a paleness cover his coppery countenance. self-mastery was a part of the good man's religion, however, and in a voice calm but full of sympathy he told us of the tragic events whose evil promise had overshadowed our town with an awful peril. it was a well-planned, cold-blooded horror, this scheme of the southern confederacy, to unite the fierce tribes of the southwest against the unprotected union frontier. and with the border raiders on the one side and the hostile indians on the other, small chance of life would have been left to any union man, woman, or child in all this wide, beautiful kansas. in the four years of the civil war no cruelty could have exceeded the consequences of this conspiracy. unity of purpose has ever been lacking to the red race. no federation has been possible to it except as that federation is controlled by the european brain. the controlling power in the execution of this dastardly crime lay with desperate but eminently able white men. their appeal to the osages, however, was a fruitless one. for a third of a century the faithful jesuits had labored with this tribe. not in vain was their seed-sowing. le claire reached the osages only an hour before an emissary from the leaders of this infamous plot came to the mission. the presence of the priest counted so mightily, that this call to an indian confederacy fell upon deaf ears, and the messenger departed to rejoin his superiors. he never found them, for a sudden and tragic ending had come to the conspiracy. it was a busy day in kansas annals when that company of rebel officers came riding up from the south to band together the lawless savages and the outlawed raiders against a loyal commonwealth. humboldt was the most southern union garrison in kansas at that time. south of it the osages did much scout duty for the government, and it held them responsible for any invasion of this strip of neutral soil between the north and the south. out in the verdigris river country, in this maytime, a little company of osage braves on the way from their village to visit the mission came face to face with this band of invaders in the neutral land. the presence of a score of strange men armed and mounted, though they were dressed as union soldiers, must be accounted for, these indians reasoned. the scouts were moved only by an unlettered loyalty to the flag. they had no notion of the real purpose of these invaders. the white men had only contempt for the authority of a handful of red men calling them to account, and they foolishly fired into the indian band. it was a fatal foolishness. two braves fell to the earth, pierced by their bullets. the little body of red men dropped over on the sides of their ponies and were soon beyond gun range, while their opponents went on their way. but briefly only, for, reinforced by a hundred painted braves, the whole fighting strength of their little village, the osages came out for vengeance. near a bend in the verdigris river the two forces came together. across a scope five miles wide they battled. the white men must have died bravely, for they fought stubbornly, foot by foot, as the indians drove them into that fatal loop of the river. it is deep and swift here. down on the sands by its very edge they fell. not a white man escaped. the indians, after their savage fashion, gathered the booty, leaving a score of naked, mutilated bodies by the river's side. it was a cruel bit of western warfare, yet it held back from kansas a diabolical outrage, whose suffering and horror only those who know the southwest tribes can picture. and strangely enough, the power that stayed the evil lay with a handful of faithful indian scouts. the story of the massacre soon reached the mission. dreadful as it was, it lifted a burden from le claire's mind; but the news that the comanches and the kiowas, unable to restrain their tribes, were already on the war-path, filed him with dread. a twenty-four hours' rain, with cloudbursts along the way, was now sending the neosho and verdigris rivers miles wide, across their valleys. it was impossible for him to intercept these tribes until the stream should fall. the priest perfected his plans for overtaking them by swift messengers to be sent out from the mission at the earliest moment, and then he turned his horse upstream toward springvale. all day he rode with all speed to the northward. the ways were sodden with the heavy rains, and the smaller streams were troublesome to the horseman. night fell long before he had come to the upper neosho valley. with the darkness his anxiety deepened. a thousand chances might befall to bring disaster before he could reach us. the hours of the black night dragged on, and northward still the priest hurried. it was long after midnight when he found himself on the bluff opposite the town. between him and springvale the neosho rushed madly, and the oak grove of the bottom land was only black treetops above, and water below. all hope of a safe passage across the river here vanished, for he durst not try the angry waters. "there must have been heavier rains here than down the stream," he thought. "pray heaven the messengers may reach the kiowas before they fall upon any of the settlements in the south. i must go farther up to cross. o god, grant that no evil may threaten that town over there!" turning to look once more at the dark valley his eye caught a gleam of light far down the river. "that must be jean down at the hermit's hole," he said to himself. "i wonder i never tried to follow him there. but if he's down the river it is better for springvale, anyhow." all this the priest told to the eager crowd on the veranda of the cambridge house that morning. but regarding the light and his thought of it, he did not tell us then, nor how, through all and all, his great fear for springvale was on account of jean pahusca's presence there. he knew the indian's power; and now that the fierce passion of love for a girl and hatred of a rival, were at fever pitch, he dared not think what might follow, neither did he tell us how bitterly he was upbraiding himself for having charged o'mie with secrecy. he had not yet caught sight of the irish boy; and jean, who had himself kept clear of the evil intent against springvale the night before, had studiously kept the crowd between the priest and himself. we did not note this then, for we were spell-bound by the story of the confederate conspiracy and of father le claire's efforts for our safety. "the kiowas, who were on the war-path, have been cut off by the verdigris," he concluded. "the waters, that kept me away from springvale on this side, kept them off in the southwest. the osages did us god's service in our peril, albeit their means were cruel after the manner of the savage." a silence fell upon the group on the veranda, as the enormity of what we had escaped dawned upon us. "let us thank god that in his ways, past finding out, he has not forsaken his children." dr. hemingway spoke fervently. i looked out on the broad street and down toward the river shining in the may sunlight. the air was very fresh and sweet. the oak trees, were in their heaviest green, and in the glorious light of day the commonest things in this little frontier town looked good to me. across my vision there swept the picture of that wide, swift-flowing verdigris river, and of the dead whose blood stained darkly that fatal sand-bar, their naked bodies hacked by savage fury, waiting the coming of pitiful hands to give them shelter in the bosom of the earth. and then i thought of all these beautiful prairies which the plough was beginning to subdue, of the homesteads whose chimney smoke i had seen many a morning from my windows up on cliff street. i thought of the little towns and unprotected villages, and of what an indian raid would mean to these,--of murdered men and burning houses, and women dragged away into a slavery too awful to picture. i thought of marjie and of what she had escaped. and then clear, as if he were beside me, i heard o'mie's voice: "phil, oh, phil, come, come!" it pleaded. i started up and stared around me. chapter ix the search for the missing also time runnin' into years-- a thousand places left be'ind; an' men from both two 'emispheres discussin' things of every kind; so much more near than i 'ad known, so much more great than i 'ad guessed-- an' me, like all the rest, alone, but reachin' out to all the rest! --kipling. "uncle cam, where is o'mie? i haven't seen him yet," i broke in upon the older men in the council. "could anything have happened to him?" the priest rose hurriedly. "i have been hoping to see him every minute," he said. "has anybody seen him this morning?" a flurry followed. everybody thought he had seen somebody else who had been with o'mie, but nobody, first hand, could report of him. "why, i thought he was with the boys," cam gentry exclaimed. "nobody could keep track of nobody else last night." "i thought i saw him this morning," said dr. hemingway. "but"--hesitatingly--"i do not believe i did either. i just had him in mind as i watched henry anderson's boys go by." "all three of us are not equal to one o'mie," clayton anderson declared. "what part of town did he have, philip?" asked le claire. "no part," i answered. "we had to take the boys that were out there under the oak." dr. hemingway called a council at once, and all who knew anything of the missing boy reported. i could give what had been told to aunt candace and myself only in a general way, in order to shield tell mapleson. cam had seen o'mie only a minute, just before midnight. "he went racin' out draggin' somethin' after him, an' jumped over the porch railin' here," pointing to the north, "stid o' goin' down the steps. o'mie's double-geared lightin' for quickness anyhow, but last night he jist made lightnin' seem slow the way he got off the reservation an' into the street. it roused me up. i was half asleep settin' here waitin' to put them strangers to bed again. so i set up an' waited fur the boy to show up an' apologize fur his not bein' no quicker, when in comes phil; an' ye all know the rest. i've not laid an eye on o'mie sence, but bein' short on range i took it he was here but out of sight. oh, lord!" cam groaned, "can anything have happened to him?" while cam was speaking i noticed that jean pahusca who had been loafing about at the far side of the crowd, was standing behind father le claire. no one could have told from his set, still face what his thoughts were just then. the last one who had seen o'mie was marjie. "i had left the door open so i could find the way better," she said. "at the gate o'mie came running up. i thought he was a girl, for he had my cloak around him and the hood over his head. his face was very white. "i supposed it was just the light behind me, made it look so, for he wasn't the least bit scared. he called to me twice. 'don't hurry,' he said; 'i'm taking your cloak home.' mrs. judson shut the door just then, thinking i had gone on, and i ran home, but o'mie flew ahead of me. just before i came around the corner i heard a horse start up and dash off to the river. i ran in to mother and shut the door." "i met a horse down by the river as i ran to grandpa's after bill. he was staying over there last night." it was dave mead who spoke. "i made a grab at the rein. i was crazy to think of such a thing, but--" dave didn't say why he tried to stop the horse, for that would mean to repeat what tell had told us, and we had to keep tell's part to ourselves. "the horse knocked me twenty feet and tore off toward the river." and then for the first time we noticed dave mead's right arm in a sling. too much was asked of us in those hours for us to note the things that mark our common days. "it put my shoulder out of place," dave said simply. "didn't get it in again for so long, it's pretty sore. i was too busy to think about it at first." dave mead never put his right hand to his head again. and to-day, if the broad-shouldered, fine-looking american should meet you on the streets of hong kong, he would offer you his left hand. for hours he forgot himself to save others. it is his like that have filled kansas and made her story a record of heroism like to the story of no other state in all the nation. but as to o'mie we could find nothing. there was something strange and unusual about his returning the borrowed cloak at that late hour. the whole thing was so unlike o'mie. "they've killed him and put him in the river," wailed dollie gentry. "i'm afraid he's been foully dealt with. they suspected he knew too much," and dr. hemingway bowed his head in sorrow. "he's run straight into a coil of them pisen copperheads an' they've made way with him; an' to think we hadn't missed him," sobbed cam in his chair. father le claire gripped his hands, and his face grew as expressionless as the indian's behind him. it dawned upon us now that o'mie was lost, there was no knowing how. o'mie, who belonged to the town and was loved as few orphan boys are loved. oh, any of us would have suffered for him, and to think that he should be made the victim of rebel hate, that the blow should fall on him who had given no offence. all his manliness, his abounding kindness, his sunny smile and joy in living, swept up in memory in the instant. instinctively the boys drew near to one another, and there came back to me the memory of that pathetic look in his eyes as we talked of our troubles down in the tavern stables two nights before: "whoiver it's laid on to suffer," i could almost hear him saying it. and then i did hear his voice, low and clear, a faint call again, as i had heard it before. "phil, oh phil, come!" it shot through my brain like an arrow. i turned and seized le claire by the hand. "o'mie's not dead," i cried. "he's alive somewhere, and i'm going to find him." "you bet your life he'th not dead," bud anderson echoed me. "come on." the boys with le claire started in a body through the crowd; a shout went up, a sudden determination that o'mie must be alive seemed to possess springvale. "stay with cam and dollie," le claire turned dr. hemingway back with a word. "they need you now. we can do all that can be done." he strode ahead of us; a stalwart leader of men he would make in any fray. it flashed into my mind that it was not the kiowa indian blood that made jean pahusca seem so stately and strong as he strode down the streets of springvale. a red blanket over le claire's broad shoulders would have deceived us into thinking it was the indian brave leading on before us. the river was falling rapidly, and the banks were slimy. fingal's creek was almost at its usual level and the silt was crusting along its bedraggled borders. just above where it empties into the neosho we noted a freshly broken embankment as though some weight had crushed over the side and carried a portion of the bank with it. puddles of water and black mud filled the little hollows everywhere. into one of these i stepped as we were eagerly searching for a trace of the lost boy. my foot stuck to something soft like a garment in the puddle. i kicked it out, and a jet button shone in the ooze. i stooped and lifted the grimy thing. it was marjie's cloak. "this is the last of o'mie," dave mead spoke reverently. "here's where they pushed him in," said john anderson pointing to the break in the bank. there was a buzzing in my ears, and the sunlight on the river was dancing in ten thousand hideous curls and twists. the last of o'mie, until maybe, a bloated sodden body might be found half buried in some flood-wrought sand-bar. the may morning was a mockery, and every green growing leaf seemed to be using the life force that should be in him. "yes, there's where he went in." it was father le claire's voice now, "but he fought hard for his life." "yeth, and by george, yonder'th where he come out. thee that thaplin' on the bank? it'th thplit, but it didn't break; an' that bank'th brokener'n thith." oh, blessed bud! his tow head will always wear a crown to me. on the farther bank a struggle had wrenched the young trees and shrubs away and a slide of slime marked where the victim of the waters had fought for life. we knew how to swim, and we crossed the swollen creek in a rush. but here all trace disappeared. something or somebody had climbed the bank. a horse's hoofs showed in the mud, but on the ground beyond the horse's feet had not seemed to leave a track. the cruel ruffians must have pushed him back when he tried to gain the bank here. we hunted and hunted, but to no avail. no other mark of o'mie's having passed beyond the creek could be found. it was nearly sunset before we came back to town. not a mouthful had been eaten, and with the tenseness of the night's excitement stretching every nerve, the loss of sleep, the constant searching, and the heaviness of despair, mud-stained, wearied, and haggard, we dragged ourselves to the tavern again. other searchers had been going in different directions. in one of these parties, useful, quick and wisely counselling, was jean pahusca. his companions were loud in their praise of his efforts. the red range neighborhood had received the word at noon and turned out in a mass, women and children joining in the quest. but it was all in vain. wild theories filled the air, stories of strangers struggling with somebody in the dark; the sound of screams and of some one running away. but none of these stories could be substantiated. and all the while what tell mapleson had said to aunt candace and me when he came to warn us, kept repeating itself to me. "they're awful against o'mie. they think he knows too much." early the next morning the search was renewed, but at nightfall no further trace of the lost boy had been discovered. on the second evening, when we gathered at the cambridge house, dr. hemingway urged us to take a little rest, and asked that we come later to a prayer meeting in the church. "o'mie is our one sacrifice beside the dear little babe of judson's. all the rest of us have been spared to life, and our homes have been protected. we must look to the lord for comfort now, and thank him for his goodness to us." then the rev. mr. dodd spoke sneeringly: "you've made a big ado for two days about a little coward who cut and run at the first sound of danger. disguised himself like a girl to do it. he will come sneaking in fast enough when he finds the danger is over. a lot of us around town are too wise to be deceived. the lord did save us," how piously he spoke, "but we should not disgrace ourselves." he got no further. i had been leaning limply against the veranda post, for even my strength was giving way, more under the mental strain than the physical tax. but at the preacher's words all the blood of my fighting ancestry took fire. there was a baronet with cromwell's ironsides, the regiment that was never defeated in battle. there was a baronet color-bearer at bunker hill and later at saratoga, and it was a baronet who waited till the last boat crossed the delaware when washington led his forces to safety. there were baronets with perry on lake erie, and at that moment my father was fighting for the life of a nation. i cleared the space between us at a bound, and catching the reverend dodd by throat and thigh, i lifted him clear of the railing and flung him sprawling on the blue-grass. "if you ever say another word against o'mie i'll break your neck," i cried, as he landed. father le claire was beside him at once. "he's killed me," groaned dodd. "then he ought to bury his dead," dr. hemingway said coldly, which was the only time the good old man was ever known to speak unkindly to any one among us. the fallen preacher gathered himself together and slipped away. dollie gentry had a royal supper for everybody that night. jean pahusca sat by father le claire with us at the long table in the dining-room. again my conscience, which upbraided me for doubting him, and my instinct, which warned me to beware of him, had their battle within me. "i just had to do something or i'd have jumped into the neosho myself," dollie explained in apology for the abundant meal, as if cooking were too worldly for that grave time. "i know now," she said, "how that poor woman felt whose little boy was took by the kiowas years ago out on the west prairie. they said she did jump into the river. anyhow, she disappeared." "did you know her or her husband?" father le claire asked quietly. "yes, in a way," dollie replied. "he was a big, fine-looking man built some like you, an' dark. he was a frenchman. she was a little, small-boned woman. i saw her in the 'last chance' store the day she got here from the east. she was fair and had red hair, i should say; but they said the woman that drowned herself was a black-haired french woman. she didn't look french to me. she lived in that little cabin up around the bend toward red range, poor dear! that cabin's always been haunted, they say." "was she never heard of again?" the priest went on. we thought he was keeping dollie's mind off o'mie. "ner him neither. he cut out west toward santy fee with some mexican traders goin' home from westport. i heard he left 'em at pawnee rock, where they had a regular battle with the kiowas; some thought he might have been killed by the kiowas, and others by the mexicans. anyhow, he never was heard of in springvale no more." "mrs. gentry," le claire asked abruptly, "where did you find o'mie?" "why, we've had him so long i forget we never hadn't him." dollie seemed confused, for o'mie was a part of her life. "he was brought up here from the south by a missionary. seems to me he found the little feller (he was only five years old) trudgin' off alone, an' sayin' he wouldn't stay at the mission 'cause there was injuns there. said the injuns killed his father, an' he kicked an' squalled till the missionary just brought him up here. he was on his way to st. mary's, up on the kaw, an' he was takin' the little one on with him. he stopped here with o'mie an' the little feller was hungry--" "and you fed him; naked, and you clothed him," the priest added reverently. "poor o'mie!" and dollie made a dive for the kitchen to weep out her grief alone. it seemed to settle upon springvale that o'mie was lost; had been overcome in some way by the murderous raiders who had infested our town. in sheer weariness and hopelessness i fell on my bed, that night, and sleep, the "sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care," fell upon me. just at daybreak i woke with a start. i had not dreamed once all night, but now, wide awake, with my face to the open east window where the rose tint of a grand new day was deepening into purple on the horizon's edge, feeling and knowing everything perfectly, i saw o'mie's face before me, white and drawn with pain, but gloriously brave. and his pleading voice, "phil, ye'll come soon, won't ye?" sounded low and clear in my ears. i sprang up and dressed myself. i was so sure of o'mie, i could hardly wait to begin another search. something seemed to impel me to speed. "he won't last long," was a vague, persistent thought that haunted me. "what is it, phil?" my aunt called as i passed her door. "aunt candace, it's o'mie. he's not dead yet, i'm sure. but i must go at once and hunt again." "where will you go now?" she queried. "i don't know. i'm just being led," i replied. "phil," aunt candace was at the door now, "have you thought of the hermit's cave?" her words went through me like a sword-thrust. "why, why,--oh, aunt candace, let me think a minute." "i've been thinking for twelve hours," said my aunt. "until you try that place don't give up the hunt." "but i don't know how to get there." "then make a way. you are not less able to do impossible things than the pilgrim fathers were. if you ever find o'mie it will be in that place. i feel it, i can't say why. but, phil, you will need the boys and father le claire. take time to get breakfast and get yourself together. you will need all your energy. don't squander it the first thing." dear aunt candace! this many a year has her grave been green in the springvale cemetery, but greener still is her memory in the hearts of those who knew her. she had what the scholars of to-day strive to possess--the power of poise. i ate my breakfast as calmly as i could, and before i left home aunt candace made me read the ninety-first psalm. then she kissed me good-bye and bade me god-speed. something kept telling me to hurry, hurry, as i tried to be deliberate, and quickened my thought and my step. at the tavern cam gentry met us. "it ain't no use to try, boys, o'mie's down in the river where the cussed copperheads put him; but you're good to keep tryin'." he sat down in a helpless resignation, so unlike his natural buoyant spirit it was hard to believe that this was the same cam we had always known. "judson's baby's to be buried to-day, but we can't even bury o'mie. oh, it's cruel hard." cam groaned in his chair. the dew had not ceased to glitter, and the sun was hardly more than risen when father le claire and the crowd of boys, reinforced now by tell mapleson and jim conlow, started bravely out, determined to find the boy who had been missing for what seemed ages to us. "if we find o'mie, we'll send word by the fastest runner, and you must ring the church bell," le claire arranged with cam. "all the town can have the word at once then." "we'll go to the hermit's cave first," i announced. the company agreed, but only bud anderson seemed to feel as i did. to the others it was a wasted bit of heroism, for if none of us had yet found the way to this retreat, why should we look for o'mie there? so the boys argued as we hurried to the river. the neosho was inside its banks again, but, deep and swift and muddy, it swept silently by us who longed to know its secrets. "philip, why do you consider the cave possible?" le claire asked as we followed the river towards the cliff. "aunt candace says so," i replied. "well, it's worth the trial if only to prove a woman's intuition--or whim," he said quietly. the same old cliff confronted us, although the many uprooted trees showed a jagged outcrop this side the sheer wall. we looked up helplessly at the height. it seemed foolish to think of o'mie being in that inaccessible spot. "if he is up there," dave mead urged, "and we can get to him, it will be to put him alongside judson's baby this afternoon." all the other boys were for turning back and hunting about fingal's creek again, all except bud. such a pink and white boy he was, with a dimple in each cheek and a blowsy tow head. "will you stay with me, bud, till i get up there?" i asked him. "yeth thir! or down there. let'th go round an' try the other thide." "well, i guess we'll all stay with phil, you cottontop," tell mapleson put in. we all began to circle round the bluff to get beyond this steep, forbidding wall. our plan was to go down the river beyond the cave, and try to climb up from that point. crossing along by the edge of the bluff we passed the steepest part and were coming again to where the treetops and bushes that clung to the side of the high wall reached above the crest, as they do across the street from my own home. just ahead of us, as we hurried, i caught sight of a flat slab of the shelving rock slipped aside and barely balancing on the edge, one end of it bending down the treetops as if newly slid into that place. all about the stone the thin sod of the bluff's top was cut and trampled as if a struggle had been there. we examined it carefully. a horse's tracks were plainly to be seen. "something happened here," le claire said. "looks like a horse had been urged up to the very edge and had kept pulling back." "and that stone is just slipped from its place," clayton anderson declared. "something has happened here since the rains." as we came to the edge, we saw a pile of earth recently scraped from the stone outcrop above. "somebody or something went over here not long ago," i cried. "look out, phil," bill mead called, "or somebody else will follow somebody before 'em--" bill's warning came too late. i had stepped on the balanced slab. it tipped and went over the side with a crash. i caught at the edge and missed it, but the effort threw me toward the cliff and i slid twenty feet. the bushes seemed to part as by a well-made opening and i caught a strong limb, and gained my balance. i looked back at the way i had come. and then i gave a great shout. the anxious faces peering down at me changed a little. "what is it?" came the query. i pointed upward. "the nicest set of hand-holds and steps clear up," i called. "you can't see for the shelf. but right under there where bud's head is, is the best place to get a grip and there's a foothold all the way down." i stared up again. "there's a rope fastened right under there. bend over, bud, careful, and you'll find it. it will let you over to the steps. swing in on it." in truth, a set of points for hand and foot partly natural, partly cut there, rude but safe enough for boy climbers like ourselves, led down to my tree lodge. "and what's below you?" shouted tell. "another tree like this. i don't know how far down if you jump right," i answered back. "well, jump right, for i'm nekth. ever thee a tow-headed flying thquirrel?" and bud was shinning down over the edge clawing tightly the stone points of vantage. many a time in these sixty years have i seen a difficult and dreaded way grow suddenly easy when the time came to travel it. when we were only boys idling away the long summer afternoons the cliff was always impossible. we had rarely tried the downward route, and from below with the river, always dangerously deep and swift, at the base, our exploring had brought failure. that hand-hold of leather thongs, braided into a rope and fastened securely under the ledge out of sight from above, gave the one who knew how the easy passage to the points of rock. then for nearly a hundred feet zigzagging up stream by leaping cautiously to the right place, by clinging and swinging, the way opened before us. i took the first twenty feet at a slide. the others caught the leather rope, testing to see if it was securely fastened. its two ends were tied around the deeply grooved stone. father le claire and jim conlow stayed at the top. the one to help us back again; the other, as the swiftest-footed boy among us, to run to town with any message needful to be sent. the rest of us, taking all manner of fearful risks, crashed down over the side of that bluff in headlong haste. the hermit's cave opened on a narrow ledge such as runs below the "rockport" point, where marjie and i used to play, off cliff street. we reached this ledge at last, hot and breathless, hardly able to realize that we were really here in the place that had baffled us so long. it was an almost inaccessible climb to the crest above us, and the cliff had to be taken at an angle even then. i believe any one accustomed only to the prairie would never have dared to try it. the hermit's cave was merely a deep recess under the overhanging shelf. it penetrated far enough to offer a retreat from the weather. the thick tangle of vines before it so concealed the place that it was difficult to find it at first. just beyond it the rock projected over the line of wall and overhung the river. it was on this point that the old hermit had been wont to sit, and from which tradition says he fell to his doom. it was here we had seen jean pahusca on that hot august afternoon the summer before. how long ago all that seemed now as the memory of it flashed up in my mind, and i recalled o'mie's quiet boast, "if he can get up there, so can i!" i was a careless boy that day. i felt myself a man now, with human destiny resting on my shoulders. as we came to this rocky projection i was leading the file of cliff-climbers. the cave was concealed by the greenery. i stared about and then i called, "o'mie! o'mie!" faintly, just beside me, came the reply: "phil, you 've come? thank god!" i tore through the bushes and vines into the deep recess. the dimness blinded me at first. what i saw when the glare left my eyes was o'mie stretched on the bare stones, bound hand and foot. his eyes were burning like stars in the gloom. his face was white and drawn with suffering, but he looked up bravely and smiled upon me as i bent over him to lift him. before i could speak, bud had cut the bands and freed him. he could not move, and i lifted him like a child in my strong arms. "is the town safe?" he asked feebly. "yes, now we've found you," dave mead replied. "how did you get here, o'mie?" clayton anderson asked. but o'mie, lying limply in my arms, murmured deliriously of the ladder by the shop, and wondered feebly if it could reach from the river up to the hermit's cave. then his head fell forward and he lay as one dead on my knee. a year before we would have been a noisy crew that worked our way to this all but inaccessible place, and we would have filled the valley with whoops of surprise at finding anything in the cavern. to-day we hardly spoke as we carried o'mie out into the light. he shivered a little, though still unconscious, and then i felt the hot fever begin to pulse throughout his body. dave mead was half way up the cliff to father le claire. out on the point john anderson waved, to the crest above, the simple message, "we've found him." bud dived into the cavern and brought out an empty jug, relic of jean pahusca's habitation there. "what he needth ith water," bud declared. "i'll bet he'th not had a drop for two dayth." "how can you get some, bud? we can't reach the river from here," i said. "bah! all mud, anyhow. i'll climb till i find a thpring. they're all around in the rockth. the lord give motheth water. i'll hunt till he thoweth me where it ith." bud put off in the bushes. presently his tow head bobbed through the greenery again and a jug dripping full of cool water was in his hands. "thame leadin' that brought uth here done it," he lisped, moistening o'mie's lips with the precious liquid. bud had a quaint use of bible reference, although he disclaimed dr. hemingway's estimate of him as the best scholar in the presbyterian sunday-school. it seemed hours before relief came. i held o'mie all that time, hoping that the gracious may sunshine might win him to us again, but his delirium increased. he did not know any of us, but babbled of strange things. at length many shouts overhead told us that half of springvale was above us, and a rude sort of hammock was being lowered. "it's the best we can do," shouted father le claire. "tie him in and we'll pull him up." it was rough handling even with the tenderest of care, and a very dangerous feat as well. i watched those above draw up o'mie's body and i was the last to leave the cave. as i turned to go, by merest chance, my eye caught sight of a knife handle protruding from a crevice in the rock. i picked it up. it was the short knife jean pahusca always wore at his belt. as i looked closely, i saw cut in script letters across the steel blade the name, _jean le claire_. i put the thing in my pocket and soon overtook the other boys, who were leaping and clinging on their way to the crest. that night kansas was swept across by the very worst storm i have known in all these sixty years. it lifted above the town and spared the beautiful oak grove in the bottom lands beside us. further down it swept the valley clean, and the bluff about the cave had not one shrub on its rough sides. the lightning, too, played strange pranks. the thunderbolts shattered trees and rocks, up-rooting the one and rending and tumbling the other in huge masses of debris upon the valley. it broke even the rough way we had traversed to the hermit's cave, and a great heap of fallen stone now shut the cavern in like a rock tomb. where o'mie had lain was sealed to the world, and it was a full quarter of a century before a path was made along that dangerous cliff-side again. chapter x o'mie's choice and how can man die better than facing fearful odds for the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his gods? --macaulay. there was only one church bell in springvale for many years. it called to prayers, or other public service. it sounded the alarm of fire, and tolled for the dead. it was our school-bell and wedding-bell. it clanged in terror when the cheyennes raided eastward in ' , and it pealed out solemnly for the death of abraham lincoln. it chimed on christmas eve and rang in each new year. its two sad notes that were tolled for the years of the little judson baby had hardly ceased their vibrations when it broke forth into a ringing, joyous resonance for the finding of o'mie alive. o'mie was taken to our home. no other woman's hands were so strong and gentle as the hands of candace baronet. everybody felt that o'mie could be trusted nowhere else. it was hard for cam and dollie at first, but when dollie found she might cook every meal and send it up to my aunt, she was more reconciled; while cam came and went, doing a multitude of kindly acts. this was long before the days of telephones, and a hundred steps were needed for every one taken to-day. in the weeks that followed, o'mie hung between life and death. with all the care and love given him, his strength wasted away. he had been cruelly beaten, and cuts and bruises showed how terrible had been his fight for freedom. at first he talked deliriously, but in the weakness that followed he lay motionless hour on hour. and with the fever burning out his candle of life, we waited the end. how heavy-hearted we were in those days! it seemed as though all springvale claimed the orphan boy. and daily, morning and evening, a messenger from red range came for word of him, bearing always offers of whatever help we would accept from the kind-hearted neighborhood. father le claire had come into our home with the bringing of o'mie, and gentle as a woman's were his ministrations. one evening, when the end of earthly life seemed near for o'mie, the priest took me by the arm, and we went down to the "rockport" point together. the bushes were growing very rank about my old playground and trysting place. i saw marjie daily, for she came and went about our house with quiet usefulness. but our hands and hearts were full of the day's sad burden, and we hardly spoke to each other. marjie's nights were spent mostly with poor mrs. judson, whose grief was wearing deep grooves into the young mother face. to-night le claire and i sat down on the rock and breathed deeply of the fresh june air. below us, for many a mile, the neosho lay like a broad belt of silver in the deepening shadows of the valley, while all the west prairie was aflame with the sunset lights. the world was never more beautiful, and the spirit of the plains seemed reaching out glad hands to us who were so strong and full of life. all day we had watched beside the irish boy. his weakened pulse-beat showed how steadily his strength was ebbing. he had fallen asleep now, and we dared not think what the waking might be for us. "philip, when o'mie is gone, i shall leave springvale," the priest began. "i think that jean pahusca has at last decided to go to the osages. he probably will never be here again. but if he should come--" le claire paused as if the words pained him--"remember you cannot trust him. i have no tie that binds me to you. i shall go to the west. i feel sure the plains indians need me now more than the osages and the kaws." i listened silently, not caring to question why either o'mie or jean should bind him anywhere. the former was all but lost to me already. of the latter i did not care to think. "and before i go, i want to tell you something i know of o'mie," le claire went on. i had wondered often at the strange sort of understanding i knew existed between himself and o'mie. i began to listen more intently now, and for the first time since leaving the hermit's cave i thought of the knife with the script lettering. i shrank from questioning him or showing him the thing. i had something of my father's patience in letting events tell me what i wanted to know. so i asked no questions, but let him speak. "o'mie comes by natural right into a dislike, even hatred, of the red race. it may be i know something more of him than anyone else in springvale knows. his story is a romance and a tragedy, stranger than fiction. in the years to come, when hate shall give place to love in our nation, when the world is won to the church, a younger generation will find it hard to picture the life their forefathers lived." the priest's brow darkened and his lips were compressed, as if he found it hard to speak what he would say. "i come to you, philip, because your experience here has made you a man who were only a boy yesterday; because you love o'mie; because you have been able to keep a quiet tongue; and most of all, because you are john baronet's son, and heir, i believe, to his wisdom. most of o'mie's story is known to your father. he found it out just before he went to the war. it is a tragical one. the boy was stolen by a band of indians when he was hardly more than a baby. it was a common trick of the savages then; it may be again as our frontier creeps westward." the priest paused and looked steadily out over the neosho valley, darkening in the twilight. "you know how you felt when o'mie was lost. can you imagine what his mother felt when she found her boy was stolen? her husband was away on a trapping tour, had been away for a long time, and she was alone. in a very frenzy, she started out on the prairie to follow the indians. she suffered terrible hardship, but providence brought her at last to the osage mission, whose doors are always open to the distressed. and here she found a refuge. a strange thing happened then. while patrick o'meara, o'mie's father, was far from home, word had reached him that his wife was dead. coming down the arkansas river, o'meara chanced to fall in with some mexicans who had a battle with a band of indians at pawnee rock. with these indians was a little white boy, whom o'meara rescued. it was his own son, although he did not know it, and he brought the little one to the mission on the neosho. "philip, it is vouchsafed to some of us to know a bit of heaven here on earth. such a thing came to patrick o'meara when he found his wife alive, and the baby boy was restored to her. they were happy together for a little while. but mrs. o'meara never recovered from her hardships on the prairie, and her husband was killed by the comanches a month after her death. little o'mie, dying up there now, was left an orphan at the mission. you have heard mrs. gentry tell of his coming here. your father is the only one here who knows anything of o'mie's history. if he never comes back, you must take his place." the purple shadows of twilight were folding down upon the landscape. in the soft light the priest's face looked dark and set. "why not tell me now what father knows?" i asked. "i cannot tell you that now, philip. some day i may tell you another story. but it does not concern you or o'mie. what i want you to do is what your father will do if he comes home. if he should not come, he has written in his will what you must do. i need not tell you to keep this to yourself." "father le claire, can you tell me anything about jean pahusca, and where he is now?" he rose hastily. "we must not stay here." then, kindly, he took my hand. "yes, some day, but not now, not to-night." there was a choking in his voice, and i thought of o'mie. we stood up and let the cool evening air ripple against our faces. the neosho valley was black now. only here and there did we catch the glitter of the river. the twilight afterglow was still pink, but the sweep of the prairie was only a purple blur swathed in gray mist. out of this purple softness, as we parted the bushes, we saw marjie hurrying toward us. "phil, phil!" she cried, "o'mie's taken a change for the better. he's been asleep for three hours, and now he is awake. he knew aunt candace and he asked for you. the doctor says he has a chance to live. oh, phil!" and marjie burst into tears. le claire took her hand and, putting it through my arm, he said, gently as my father might have done, "you are both too young for such a strain as this. oh, this civil war! it robs you of your childhood. too soon, too soon, you are men and women. philip, take marjory home. don't hurry." he smiled as he spoke. "it will do you good to leave o'mie out of mind for a little while." then he hurried off to the sick room, leaving us together. it seemed years since that quiet april sunset when we gathered the pink flowers out in the draw, and i crowned marjie my queen. it was now late june, and the first little yellow leaves were on the cottonwoods, telling that midsummer was near. "marjie," i said, putting the hand she had withdrawn through my arm again, "the moon is just coming up. let's go out on the prairie a little while. those black shadows down there distress me. i must have some rest from darkness." we walked slowly out on cliff street and into the open prairie, which the great summer moon was flooding with its soft radiance. no other light is ever so regal as the full moon above the prairie, where no black shadows can checker and blot out and hem in its limitless glory. marjie and i were young and full of vigor, but the steady drain on mind and heart, and the days and nights of broken rest, were not without effect. and yet to-night, with hope once more for o'mie's life, with a sense of lifted care, and with the high tide of the year pouring out its riches round about us, the peace of the prairies fell like a benediction on us, as we loitered about the grassy spaces, quiet and very happy. then the care for others turned our feet homeward. i must relieve aunt candace to-night by o'mie's side, and marjie must be with her mother. the moonlight tempted us to linger a little longer as we passed by "rockport," and we parted the bushes and stood on our old playground rock. "marjie, the moonlight makes a picture of you always," i said gently. she did not answer, but gazed out across the valley, above whose dark greenery the silvery mists lay fold on fold. when she turned her face to mine, something in her eyes called up in me that inspiration that had come to be a part of my thought of her, that sense of a woman's worth and of her right to tenderest guardianship. "marjie"--i put both arms around her and drew her to me--"the best thing in the world is a good girl, and you are the best girl in the world." i held her close. it was no longer a boy's admiration, but a man's love that filled my soul that night. marjie drew gently away. "we must go now, phil, indeed we must. mother needs me." oh, i could wait her time. i took her arm and led her out to the street. the bushes closed behind us, and we went our way together. it was well we could not look back upon the rock. we had hardly left it when two figures climbed up from the ledge below and stood where we had been--two for whom the night had no charm and the prairie and valley had no beauty, a low-browed, black-eyed girl with a heart full of jealousy, and a tall, graceful, picturesquely handsome young indian. they had joined forces, just as i had once felt they would sometime do. as i came whistling up the street on my way home i paused by the bushes, half inclined to go beyond them again. i was happy in every fiber of my being. but duty prodded me sharply to move on. i believe now that jean pahusca would have choked the life out of me had i met him face to face that moonlit night. heaven turns our paths away from many an unknown peril, and we credit it all to our own choice of ways. * * * * * slowly but steadily o'mie came back to us. so far had he gone down the valley of the shadow, he groped with difficulty up toward the light again. he slept much, but it was life-giving sleep, and he was not overcome by delirium after that turning point in his illness. i think i never fully knew my father's sister till in those weeks beside the sickbed. it was not the medicine, nor the careful touch, it was herself--her wholesome, hopeful, trustful spirit--that seemed to enter into the very life of the sick one, and build him to health. i had rarely known illness, i who had muscles like iron, and the frame of a giant. my father was a man of wonderful vigor. it was not until o'mie was brought to our house that i understood why he should have been trusted to no one else. we longed to know his story. the town had settled into its old groove. the victories of gettysburg and vicksburg had thrilled us, as the loss at chancellorsville had depressed our spirits; and the war was our constant theme. and then the coming and going of traders and strangers on the old trail, the undercurrent of anxiety lest another conspiracy should gather, the quantrill raid at lawrence, all helped to keep us from lethargy. we had had our surprise, however. strangers had to give an account of themselves to the home guard now. but we were softened toward our own townspeople. they were very discreet, and we must meet and do business with them daily. for the sake of young tell and jim, we who knew would say nothing. jean came into town at rare intervals, meeting the priest down in the chapel. attending to his own affairs, walking always like a very king, or riding as only a plains indian can ride, he came and went unmolested. i never could understand that strange power he had of commanding our respect. he seldom saw marjie, and her face blanched at the mention of his name. i do not know when he last appeared in our town that summer. nobody could keep track of his movements. but i do know that after the priest's departure, his disappearance was noted, and the daylight never saw him in springvale again. what the dark hours of the night could have told is another story. with o'mie out of danger, le claire left us. his duties, he told us, lay far to the west. he might go to the kiowas or the cheyennes. in any event, it would be long before he came again. "i need not ask you, philip, to take good care of o'mie. he could not have better care. you will guard his interests. until you know more than you do now, you will say nothing to him or any one else of what i have told you." he looked steadily into my eyes, and i understood him. "i think jean pahusca will never trouble you, nor even come here now. i have my reasons for thinking so. but, philip, if you should know of his being here, keep on your guard. he is a man of more than savage nature. what he loves, he will die for. what he hates, he will kill. cam gentry is right. the worst blood of the kiowas and of the french nationality fills his veins. be careful." brave little o'mie struggled valiantly for health again. he was patient and uncomplaining, but the days ran into weeks before his strength began to increase. only one want was not supplied: he longed for the priest. "you're all so good, it's mighty little in me to say it, an' dr. hemingway's gold, twenty-four karat gold; but me hair's red, an' me rale name's o'meara, an' naturally i long for the praist, although i'm a proper presbyterian." "how about brother dodd?" i inquired. "all the love in his heart fur me put in the shell of a mustard seed would rattle round loike a walnut in a tin bushel box, begorra," the sick boy declared. it was long before he could talk much and we did not ask a question we could avoid, but waited his own time to know how he had been taken from us and how he had found himself a prisoner in that cavern whence we had barely cheated death of its pitiful victim. as he could bear it he told us, at length, of his part in the night the town was marked for doom. propped up on his pillows, his face to the open east window, his thin, white hands folded, he talked quietly as of a thing in which he had had little part. "ye see, phil, the almighty made us all different, so he could know us, an' use us when he wanted some partic'lar thing that some partic'lar one could do. when folks puts on a uniform in their dress or their thinkin', they belong to one av two classes--them as is goin' to the devil like convicts an' narrow churchmen, or them as is goin' after 'em hard to bring 'em into line again, like soldiers an' sisters av charity; an' they just have to act as one man. but mainly we're singular number. the lord didn't give me size." he looked up at my broad shoulders. i had carried him in my arms from his bed to the east window day after day. "i must do me own stunt in me own way. you know mebby, how i tagged thim strangers till, if they'd had the chance at me they'd have fixed me. specially that dick yeager, the biggest av the two who come to the tavern." "the chance! didn't they have their full swing at you?" "well, no, not regular an' proper," he replied. i wondered if the cruelty he had suffered might not have injured his brain and impaired his memory. "you know i peeked through that hole up in the shop that conlow seems to have left fur such as me. honorable business, av coorse. but tell and jim, they was hid behind the stack av wagon wheels in the dark corner--just as honorable an' high-spirited as meself, on their social level. i was a high-grader up on that ladder. well, annyhow, i peeked an' eavesdropped, as near as i could get to the eaves av the shop, an' i tould father le claire all i could foind out. an' then he put it on me to do my work. 'you can be spared,' he says. 'if it's life and death, ye'll choose the better part.' phil, it was laid on all av us to choose that night." his thin, blue-veined hand sought mine where he lay reclining against the pillows. i took it in my big right hand, the hand that could hold jean pahusca with a grip of iron. "there was only one big enough an' brainy enough an' brave enough to lead the crowd to save this town an' that was philip baronet. there was only one who could advise him well an' that was cam gentry. poor old cam, too near-sighted to tell a cow from a catfish tin feet away. without you, cam and the boys couldn't have done a thing. "can ye picture what would be down there now? i guess not, fur you'd not be making pictures now, you'd be a picture yourself, the kind they put on the carbolic acid bottle an' mark 'pizen.'" o'mie paused and looked out dreamily across the valley to the east plains beyond them. "i can't tell how fast things wint through me moind that night. you did some thinkin' yourself, an' you know. 'i can't do phil's part if i stay here,' i raisoned, 'an' bedad, i don't belave he can do my part. bein' little counts sometimes. it's laid on me to be the sacrifice, an' i'll kape me promise an' choose the better part. i'll cut an' run.'" he looked up at my questioning face with a twinkle in his eye. "'there's only one to save this town. that's phil's stunt,' i says; 'an' there's only one to save marjie. that's my stunt.'" i caught my breath, for my heart stood still, and i felt i must strangle. "do you mean to say, thomas o'meara--?" i could get no fuither. "i mane, either you or me's got to tell this. if you know it better'n i do, go ahead." and then more gently he went on: "yes, i mane to say, kape still, dear; i'm not very strong yet. if i'd gone up to cliff street afther you to come to her, she'd be gone. if jean got hands on her an' she struggled or screamed, as she'd be like to do, bein' a sensible girl, he had that murderous little short knife, an' he'd swore solemn he'd have her or her scalp. he's not got her, nor her scalp, nor that knife nather now. i kept that much from doin' harm. i dunno where the cruel thing wint to, but it wint, all right. "and do ye mane to say, philip baronet, that ye thought i'd lost me nerve an' was crude enough to fall in wid a nest av thim copperheads an' let 'em do me to me ruin? or did you think his excellency, the reverend dodd was right, an' i'd cut for cover till the fuss was over? well, honestly now, i'm not that kind av an irishman." my mind was in a tumult as i listened. i wondered how o'mie could be so calm when i durst not trust myself to speak. "so i run home, thinkin' ivery jump, an' i grabbed the little girl's waterproof cloak. your lady friends' wraps comes in handy sometimes. don't niver despise 'em, phil, nor the ladies nather. you woman-hater!" o'mie's laugh was like old times and very good to hear. "i flung that thing round me, hood on me brown curls, an' all, an' then i flew. i made the ground just three times in thim four blocks and a half to judson's. you know how the kangaroo looks in the geography picture av australia, illustratin' the fauna an' flora, with a tall, thin tree beyont, showin' lack of vegetation in that tropic, an' a little quilly cus they call a ornithorynchus, its mouth like jim conlow's? well, no kangaroo'd had enough self-respect to follow me that night. i caught marjie just in time, an' i puts off before her toward her home. at the corner i quit kangarooin' an' walks quick an' a little timid-like, just marjie to a dimple. if you'd been there, you'd wanted to put some more pink flowers round where they'd do the most good." i squeezed his hand. "quit that, you ugly bear. that's a lady's hand yet a whoile an' can't stand too much pressure. "it was to save her loife, phil." o'mie spoke solemnly now. "you could save the town. i couldn't. i could save her. you couldn't. in a minute, there in the dark by the gate, jean pahusca grabs me round me dainty waist. his horse was ready by him an' he swung me into the saddle, not harsh, but graceful like, an' gintle. i never said a word, but gave a awful gasp like i hadn't no words, appreciative enough. 'i'm saving' you, star-face,' he says. 'the copperheads will burn your mother's house an' the kiowas will come and steal star-face--' an' he held me close as if he would protect me--he got over that later--an' i properly fainted. that's the only way the abducted princess can do in the novel--just faint. it saves hearin' what you don't want to know. an' me size just suited the case. don't never take on airs, you big hulkin' fellow. no graceful prince is iver goin' to haul you over the saddle-bow thinkin' you're the choice av his heart. it saved marjie, an' it got jean clear av town before he found his mistake, which wa'n't bad for springvale. down by fingal's creek i come to, an' we had a rumpus. bein' a dainty girl, i naturally objected to goin' into that swirlin' water, though i didn't object to jean's goin'--to eternity. in the muss i lost me cloak--the badge av me business there. i never could do nothin' wid thim cussed hooks an' eyes on a collar an' the thing wasn't anchored securely at me throat. it was awful then. i can't remember it all. but it was dark, and jean had found me out, and the waters was deep and swift. the horse got away on the bank an' slid back, i think. it must have been then it galloped up to town; but findin' jean didn't follow, it came back to him. i didn't know annything fur some toime. i'd got too much av fingal's creek mixed into me constitution an' by-laws to kape my thoughts from floatin' too. i'll never know rightly whin i rode an' whin i was dragged, an' whin i walked. it was a runnin' fight av infantry and cavalry, such as the neosho may never see again, betwixt the two av us." blind, trustful fool that i had been, thinking after all le claire's warnings that jean had been a good, loyal, chivalrous indian, protecting marjie from harm. "and to think we have thought all this time there were a dozen rebels making away with you, and never dreamed you had deliberately put yourself into the hands of the strongest and worst enemy you could have!" "it was to save a woman, phil," o'mie said simply. "he could only kill me. he wouldn't have been that good to her. you'd done the same yoursilf to save anny woman, aven a stranger to you. wait an' see." how easily forgotten things come back when we least expect them. there came to me, as o'mie spoke, the memory of my dream the night after jean had sought marjie's life out on the red range prairie. the night after i talked with my father of love and of my mother. that night two women whom i had never seen before were in my dreams, and i had struggled to save them from peril as though they were of my own flesh and blood. "you will do it," o'mie went on. "you were doing more. who was it wint down along the creek side av town where the very worst pro-slavery fellows is always coiled and ready to spring, wint in the dark to wake up folks that lived betwixt them on either side, who was ready to light on 'em at a minute's notice? who wint upstairs above thim as was gettin' ready to burn 'em in their beds, an' walked quiet and cool where one wrong step meant to be throttled in the dark? don't talk to me av courage." "but, o'mie, it was all chance with us. you went where danger was certain." "it was my part, phil, an' i ain't no shirker just because i'm not tin feet tall an' don't have to be weighed on judson's stock scales." o'mie rested awhile on the pillows. then he continued his story. "they was more or less border raidin' betwixt jean an' me till we got beyont the high cliff above the hermit's cave. when i came to after one of his fists had bumped me head he was urgin' his pony to what it didn't want. the river was roarin' below somewhere an' it was black as the grave's insides. it was way up there that in a minute's lull in the hostilities, i caught the faint refrain: 'does the star-spangled banner yit wave, o'er the land av the free and the home av the brave?' "i didn't see your lights. they was tin thousand star-spangled banners wavin' before me eyes ivery second. but that strain av song put new courage into me soul though i had no notion what it really meant. i was half dead an' wantin' to go the other half quick, an' it was like a drame, till that song sent a sort of life-givin' pulse through me. the next minute we were goin' over an' over an' over, betwane rocks, an' hanging to trees, down, down, down, wid that murderous river roarin' hungry below us. jean jumpin' from place to place an' me clingin' to him an' hittin' iverything that could be hit at ivery jump. an' then come darkness over me again. there was a light somewhere when i come to. i was free an' i made a quick spring. i got that knife, an' like a flash i slid the blade down a crack somewhere. an' then he tied me solid, an' standin' over me he says slow an' cruel: 'you--may--stay--here--till--you--starve--to--death. nobody--can--get--to--you--but--me--an'--i'm--niver--comin'--back. i hate you.' an' his eyes were just loike that noight whin i found him with thim faded pink flowers out on the prairie." "o'mie, dear, you are the greatest hero i ever heard of. you poor, beaten, tortured sacrifice." i put my arm around his shoulder and my tears fell on his red hair. "i didn't do no more than ivery true american will do--fight an' die to protect his home; or if not his'n, some other man's. whin the day av choosin' comes we can't do no more 'n to take our places. we all do it. whin jean put it on me to lay there helpless an' die o' thirst, i know'd i could do it. same as you know'd you'd outwit that gang ready to burn an' kill, that i'd run from. i just looked straight up at jean--the light was gettin' dim--an' i says, 'you--may--go--plum--to--the--divil, --but--you--can't--hurt--that--part--av--me--that's--never--hungry--nor --thirsty.' when you git face to face wid a thing like that," o'mie spoke reverently, "somehow the everlastin' arms, dr. hemingway's preaches of, is strong underneath you. the light wint out, an' jean in his still way had slid off, an' i was alone. alone wid me achin' and me bonds, an' wid a burnin' longin' fur water, wid a wish to go quick if i must go; but most av all--don't never furgit it, phil, whin the thing overtakes you aven in your strength--most av all, above all sufferin' and natural longin' to live--there comes the reality av the words your aunt candace taught us years ago in the little school: "'though i walk through the valley av the shadow av death, i will fear no evil.' "i called for you, phil, in my misery, as' i know'd somehow you'd hear me. an' you did come." his thin hand closed over mine, and we sat long in silence--two boys whom the hand of providence was leading into strange, hard lines, shaping us each for the work the years of our manhood were waiting to bring to us. chapter xi golden days there are days that are kind as a mother to man, showing pathways that wind out and in, like a dream, by some stream of delight; never hinting of aught that they hold to affright; only luring us on, since the way must be trod, over meadows of green with their velvety sod, to the steeps, that are harder to climb, far before. there are nights so enchanting, they seem to restore the original beauty of eden; so tender, they woo every soul to a willing surrender of feverish longing; so holy withal, that a broad benediction seems sweetly to fall on the world. we were a busy folk in those years that followed the close of the war. the prairies were boundless, and the constant line of movers' wagons reaching out endlessly on the old trail, with fathers and mothers and children, children, children, like the ghosts of banquo's lineal issue to king macbeth, seemed numerous enough to people the world and put to the plough every foot of the virgin soil of the beautiful plains. with the downfall of slavery the strife for commercial supremacy began in earnest here, and there are no idle days in kansas. when i returned home after two years' schooling in massachusetts, i found many changes. i had beaten my bars like a caged thing all those two years. rockport, where i made my home and spent much of my time, was so unlike springvale, so wofully and pridefully ignorant of all kansas, so unable to get any notion of my beautiful prairies and of the free-spirited, cultured folk i knew there, that i suffered out my time there and was let off a little early for good behavior. only one person did i know who had any real interest in my west, a tall, dark-eyed, haughty young lady, to whom i talked of kansas by the hour. her mother, who was officiously courteous to me, didn't approve of that subject, but the daughter listened eagerly. when i left rockport, rachel--that was her name, rachel melrose--asked me when i was coming back. i assured her, never, and then courteously added if she would come to kansas. "well, i may go," she replied, "not to your springvale, but to my aunt in topeka for a visit next fall. will you come up to topeka?" of course, i would go to topeka, but might she not come to springvale? there were the best people on earth in springvale. i could introduce her to boys who were gentlemen to the core. i'd lived and laughed and suffered with them, and i knew. "but i shouldn't care for any of them except you." rachel's voice trembled and i couldn't help seeing the tears in her proud dark eyes. "oh, i've a girl of my own there," i said impulsively, for i was always longing for marjie, "but clayton anderson and dave mead are both college men now." and then i saw how needlessly rude i had been. "of course i want you to come to springvale. come to our house. aunt candace will make you royally welcome. the baronets and melroses have been friends for generations. i only wanted the boys to know you; i should be proud to present my friend to them. i would take care of you. you have been so kind to me this year, i should be glad to do much for you." i had taken her hand to say good-bye. "and you would let that other girl take care of herself, wouldn't you, while i was there? promise me that when i go to kansas you will come up to topeka to see me, and when i go to your town, if i do, you will not neglect me but will let that springvale girl entirely alone." i did not know much of women then--nor now--although i thought then i knew everything. i might have read behind that fine aristocratic face a supremely selfish nature, a nature whose pleasure increased only as her neighbor's pleasure decreased. there are such minds in the world. i turned to her, and taking both of her willing hands in mine, i said frankly: "when you visit your aunt, i'll be glad to see you there. if you visit my aunt i would be proud to show you every courtesy. as for that little girl, well, when you see her you will understand. she has a place all her own with me." i looked straight into her eyes as i said this. she smiled coquettishly. "oh, i'm not afraid of her," she said indifferently; "i can hold my own with any kansas, girl, i'm sure." she was dangerously handsome, with a responsive face, a winning smile and gracious manners. she seemed never to accept anything as a gift, but to take what was her inherent right of admiration and devotion. when i bade her good-bye a look of sadness was in her eyes. it rebuked my spirit somehow, although heaven knows i had given her no cause to miss me. but my carriage was waiting and i hurried away. for a moment only her image lingered with me, and then i forgot her entirely; for every turn of the wheel was bringing me to kansas, to the prairies, to the beautiful neosho valley, to the boys again, to my father and home, but most of all to marjie. it was twenty months since i had seen her. she had spent a year in ohio in the girls' college at glendale, and had written me she would reach springvale a month before i did. after that i had not heard from her except through a marked copy of the _springvale weekly press_, telling of her return. she had not marked that item, but had pencilled the news that "philip baronet would return in three weeks from massachusetts, where he had been enjoying the past two years in school." enjoying! under this marjie had written in girlish hand, "hurry up, phil." on the last stage of my journey i was wild with delight. it was springtime on the prairies, and a verdure clothed them with its richest garments. i did not note the growing crops, and the many little freeholds now, where there had been only open unclaimed land two years before. i was longing for the plains again, for one more ride, reckless and free, across their broad stretches, for one more gorgeous sunset out on red range, one more soft, iridescent twilight purpling down to the evening darkness as i had seen it on "rockport" all those years. how the real rockport, the massachusetts town, faded from me, and the sea, and the college halls, and city buildings. the steam and steel and brick and marble of an older civilization, all gave place to nature's broad handiwork and the generous-hearted, capable, unprejudiced people of this new west. however crude and plain springvale might have seemed to an eastern boy suddenly transplanted here, it was fair and full of delight for me. the stage driver, dever, by name, was a stranger to me, but he knew all about my coming. also he was proud to be the first to give me the freshest town gossip. that's the stage-driver's right divine always. i was eager to hear of everybody and in this forty miles' ride i was completely informed. the story rambled somewhat aimlessly from topic to topic, but it never lagged. "did i know judson? he'd got a controlling interest now in whately's store. he was great after money, judson was. they do say he's been a little off the square getting hold of the store. the widder whately kept only about one-third, or maybe one-fourth of the stock. mrs. whately, she wa'n't no manager. marjie'd do better, but marjie wa'n't twenty yet. and yet if all they say's true she wouldn't need to manage. judson is about the sprucest widower in town, though he did seem to take it so hard when poor mis' judson was taken." she never overcame the loss of her baby, and the next summer they put her out in the prairie graveyard beside it. "but judson now, he's shyin' round marjie real coltish. "it'd be fine fur her, of course," my driver went on, "an' she was old a-plenty to marry. marjie was a mighty purty girl. the boys was nigh crazy about her. did i know her?" i did; oh, yes, i remembered her. "they's another chap hangin' round her, too; his name's--lemme see, uh--common enough name when i was a boy back in kentucky--uh--tillhurst, richard tillhurst. tall, peaked, thin-visaged feller. come out from virginny to illinois. got near dead with consumption 'nd come on to kansas to die. saw springvale 'nd thought better of it right away. was teachin' school and payin' plenty of attention to the girls, especially marjie. they was an old man tillhurst when i was a boy. he was from virginny, too--" but i pass that story. "tell mapleson's pickin' up sence he's got the post-office up in the 'last chance'; put that doggery out'n his sullar, had in wall paper now, an' drugs an' seeds, an' nobody was right sure where he got his funds to stock up, so--they was some sort of story goin' about a half-breed named pahusky when i first come here, bein' 'sociated with mapleson--cam gentry's same old cam, squintin' round an' jolly as ever. o'mie? oh, he's leadin' the band now. by jinks, that band of his'n will just take the cake when it goes up to topeky this fall to the big political speak-in's." on and on the driver went, world without end, until we caught the first faint line along the west that marked the treetops of the neosho valley. we were on the santa fé trail now, and we were coming to the east bluff where i had first seen the little whately girl climb out of the big wagon and stretch the stiffness out of her fat little legs. the stage horses were bracing for the triumphal entry into town, when a gang of young outlaws rushed up over the crest of the east slope. they turned our team square across the way and in mock stage-robbery style called a halt. the driver threw up his hands in mock terror and begged for mercy, which was granted if he would deliver up one philip baronet, student and tenderfoot. but i was already down from the stage and o'mie was hugging me hard until bud anderson pulled him away and all the boys and girls were around me. oh, it was good to see them all again, but best of all was it to see marjie. she had been a pretty picture of a young girl. she was beautiful now. no wonder she had many admirers. she was last among the girls to greet me. i took her hand and our eyes met. oh, i had no fear of widower nor of school-teacher, as i helped her to a seat beside me in the stage. "i'm so glad to see you again, phil," she looked up into my face. "you are bigger than ever." "and you are just the same marjie." the crowd piled promiscuously about us and we bumped down the slope and into the gurgling neosho, laughing and happy. with all the rough and tumble years of a boyhood and youth on the frontier, the west has been good to me, and i look back along the way glad that mine was the pioneer's time, and that the experiences of those early days welded into my building and being something of their simplicity, and strength, and capacity for enjoyment. but of all the seasons along the way of these sixty years, of all the successes and pleasures, i remember best and treasure most that glorious summer after my return from the east. my father was on the judge's bench now and his legal interests and property interests were growing. i began the study of law under him at once, and my duties were many, for he put responsibility on me from the first. but i was in the very heyday of life, and had no wish ungratified. "phil, i want you to go up the river and take a look at two quarters of section , range , this afternoon. it lies just this side of the big cottonwood," my father said to me one june day. "make a special note of the land, and its natural appurtenances. i want the information at once, or you needn't go out on such a hot day. it's like a furnace in the courthouse. it may be cooler out that way." he fanned his face with his straw hat, and the light breeze coming up the valley lifted the damp hair about his temples. "there's a bridle path over the bluff a mile or so out, where you can ride a horse down and go up the river in the bottom. it's a much shorter way, but you'd better go out the red range road and turn north at the third draw well on to the divide. it gets pretty steep near the river, so you have to keep to the west and turn square at the draw. if it wasn't so warm you might go on to red range for some depositions for me. but never mind, dave mead is going up there monday, anyhow. will you ride the pony?" "no, i'll go out in the buggy." "and take some girl along? well, don't forget your errand. be sure to note the lay of the land. there's no building, i believe, but a little stone cabin and it's been empty for years; but you can see. be sure to examine everything in that cabin carefully. stop at the courthouse as you go out, and get the surveyor's map and some other directions." it was a hot summer day, with that thin, dry burning in the air that the light kansas zephyr fanned back in little rippling waves. my horses were of the indian pony breed, able to go in heat or cold. most enduring and least handsome of the whole horse family, with temper ranging from moderately vicious to supremely devilish, is this indian pony of the plains. marjie was in the buggy beside me when i stopped at the courthouse for instructions. lettie conlow was passing and came to the buggy's side. "where are you going, marjie?" she asked. there was a sullen minor tone in her voice. "with phil, out somewhere. where is it you are going, phil?" i was tying the ponies. they never learned how to stand unanchored a minute. "out north on the red range prairie to buy a couple of quarters," i replied carelessly and ran up the courthouse steps. "well, well, well," cam gentry roared as he ambled up to the buggy. cam's voice was loud in proportion as his range of vision was short. "you two gettin' ready to elope? an' he's goin' to git his dad to back him up gettin' a farm. now, marjie, why'd you run off? let us see the performance an' hear dr. hemingway say the words in the presbyterian church. or maybe you're goin' to hunt up dodd. he went toward santy fee when he put out of here after the war." cam could be heard in every corner of the public square. i was at the open window of my father's office. looking out, i saw lettie staring angrily at cam, who couldn't see her face. she had never seemed less attractive to me. she had a flashy coloring, and she made the most of ornaments. some people called her good-looking. beside marjie, she was as the wild yoncopin to the calla lily. marjie knew how to dress. to-day, shaded by the buggy-top, in her dainty light blue lawn, with the soft pink of her cheeks and her clear white brow and throat, she was a most delicious thing to look upon in that hot summer street. poor lettie suffered by contrast. her cheeks were blazing, and her hair, wet with perspiration, was adorned with a bow of bright purple ribbon tied butterfly-fashion, and fastened on with a pin set with flashing brilliants. "oh, uncle cam," marjie cried, blushing like the pink rambler roses climbing the tavern veranda, "phil's just going out to look at some land for his father. it's up the river somewhere and i'm going to hold the ponies while he looks." "well, he'd ort to have somebody holdin' 'em fur him. i'll bet ye i'd want a hostler if i had the lookin' to do. land's a mighty small thing an' hard to look at, sometimes; 'specially when a feller's head's in the clouds an' he's walkin' on air. goin' northwest? look out, they's a ha'nted house up there. but, by hen, i'd never see a ha'nt long's i had somethin' better to look at." i saw lettie turn quickly and disappear around the corner. my father was busy, so i sat in the office window and whistled and waited, watching the ponies switch lazily at the flies. when we were clear of town, and the open plain swept by the summer breezes gave freedom from the heat, marjie asked: "where is lettie conlow going on such a hot afternoon?" "nowhere, is she? she was talking to you at the courthouse." "but she rushed away while uncle cam was joking, and i saw her cross the alley back of the courthouse on tell's pony, and in a minute she was just flying up toward cliff street. she doesn't ride very well. i thought she was afraid of that pony. but she was making it go sailing out toward the bluff above town." "well, let her go, marjie. she always wears on my nerves." "phil, she likes you, i know. everybody knows." "well, i know and everybody knows that i never give her reason to. i wish she would listen to tell. i thought when i first came home they were engaged." "before he went up to wyandotte to work they were--he said so, anyhow." then we forgot lettie. she wasn't necessary to us that day, for there were only two in our world. [illustration: "baronet, i think we are marching straight into hell's jaws"] out on the prairie trail a mile or more is the point where the bridle path leading to the river turns northwest, and passing over a sidling narrow way down the bluff, it follows the bottom lands upstream. as we passed this point we did not notice tell mapleson's black pony just making the top from the sidling bluff way, nor how quickly its rider wheeled and headed back again down beyond sight of the level prairie road. we had forgotten lettie conlow and everybody else. the draw was the same old verdant ripple in the surface of the plains. the grasses were fresh and green. toward the river the cottonwoods were making a cool, shady way, delightfully refreshing in this summer sunshine. we did not hurry, for the draw was full of happy memories for us. "i'll corral these bronchos up under the big cottonwood, and we'll explore appurtenances down by the river later," i said. "father says every foot of the half-section ought to be viewed from that tree, except what's in the little clump about the cabin." we drove up to the open prairie again and let the horses rest in the shade of this huge pioneer tree of the plains. how it had escaped the prairie fires through its years of sturdy growth is a marvel, for it commanded the highest point of the whole divide. its shade was delicious after the glare of the trail. for once the ponies seemed willing to stand quiet, and marjie and i looked long at the magnificent stretch of sky and earth. there were a few white clouds overhead, deepening to a dull gray in the southwest. all the sunny land was swathed in the midsummer yellow green, darkening in verdure along the river and creeks, and in the deepest draws. even as we rested there the clouds rolled over the horizon's edge, piling higher and higher, till they hid the afternoon sun, and the world was cool and gray. then down the land sped a summer shower; and the sweet damp odor of its refreshing the south wind bore to us, who saw it all. sheet after sheet of glittering raindrops, wind-driven, swept across the prairie, and the cool green and the silvery mist made a scene a master could joy to copy. i didn't forget my errand, but it was not until the afternoon was growing late that we left the higher ground and drove down the shady draw toward the river. the neosho is a picture here, with still expanses that mirror the trees along its banks, and stony shallows where the water, even in midsummer, prattles merrily in the sunshine, as it hurries toward the deep stillnesses. we sat down in a cool, grassy space with the river before us, and the green trees shading the little stone cabin beyond us, while down the draw the vista of still sunlit plains was like a dream of beauty. "marjie,"--i took her hand in mine--"since you were a little girl i have known you. of all the girls here i have known you longest. in the two years i was east i met many young ladies, both in school and at rockport. there were some charming young folks. one of them, rachel melrose, was very pretty and very wealthy. her mother made considerable fuss over me, and i believe the daughter liked me a little; for she--but never mind; maybe it was all my vanity. but, marjie, there has never been but one girl for me in all this world; there will never be but one. if jean pahusca had carried you off--oh, god in heaven! marjie, i wonder how my father lived through the days after my mother lost her life. men do, i know." i was toying with her hand. it was soft and beautifully formed, although she knew the work of our springvale households. "marjie," my voice was full of tenderness, "you are dear to me as my mother was to my father. i loved you as my little playmate; i was fond of you as my girl when i was first beginning to care for a girl as boys will; as my sweetheart, when the liking grew to something more. and now all the love a man can give, i give to you." i rose up before her. they call me vigorous and well built to-day. i was in my young manhood's prime then. i looked down at her, young and dainty, with the sweet grace of womanhood adorning her like a garment. she stood up beside me and lifted her fair face to mine. there was a bloom on her cheeks and her brown eyes were full of peace. i opened my arms to her and she nestled in them and rested her cheek against my shoulder. "marjie," i said gently, "will you kiss me and tell me that you love me?" her arms were about my neck a moment. sometimes i can feel them there now. all shy and sweet she lifted her lips to mine. "i do love you, phil," she murmured, and then of her own will, just once, she kissed me. "it is vouchsafed sometimes to know a bit of heaven here on earth," le claire had said to me when he talked of o'mie's father. it came to me that day; the cool, green valley by the river, the vine-covered old stone cabin, the sunlit draw opening to a limitless world of summer peace and beauty, and marjie with me, while both of us were young and we loved each other. the lengthening shadows warned me at last. "well, i must finish up this investigation business of judge baronet's," i declared. "come, here's a haunted house waiting for us. father says it hasn't been inhabited since the frenchman left it. are you afraid of ghosts?" we were going up a grass-grown way toward the little stone structure, half buried in climbing vines and wild shrubbery. "what a cunning place, phil! it doesn't look quite deserted to me, somehow. no, i'm not afraid of anything but indians." my arm was about her in a moment. she looked up laughing, but she did not put it away. "why, there are no indians here, phil," and she looked out on the sunny draw. my face was toward the cabin. i was in a blissful waking dream, else i should have taken quicker note. for sure as i had eyes, i caught a flash of red between the far corner of the cabin and the thick underbrush beyond it. it was just a narrow space, where one might barely pass, between the corner of the little building and the surrounding shrubbery; but for an instant, a red blanket with a white centre flashed across this space, and was gone. so swift was its flight and so full was my mind of the joy of living, i could not be sure i had seen anything. it was just a twitch of the eyelid. what else could it be? we pushed open the solid oak door, and stood inside the little room. the two windows let in a soft green light. it was a rude structure of the early territorial days, made for shelter and warmth. there was a dark little attic or loft overhead. a few pieces of furniture--a chair, a table, a stone hearth by the fireplace, and a sort of cupboard--these, with a strong, old worn chest, were all that the room held. dust was everywhere, as might have been expected. and yet marjie was right. the spirit of occupation was there. "do you know, marjie, this cabin has hardly been opened since the poor woman drowned herself in the river, down there. they found her body in the deep hole. the frenchman left the place, and it has been called haunted. an indian and a ghost can't live together. the race fears them of all things. so the indians would never come here." "but look there, phil!"--marjie had not heeded my words--"there's a stick partly burned, and these ashes look fresh." she was bending over the big stone hearth. as i started forward, my eye caught a bit of color behind the chair by the table. i stooped to see a purple bow of ribbon, tied butterfly fashion--lettie conlow's ribbon. i put it in my pocket, determined to find out how it had found its way here. "ugh! let's go," said marjie, turning to me. "i'm cold in here. i'd want a home up under the cottonwood, not down in this lonely place. maybe movers on the trail camp in here." marjie was at the door now. i looked about once more and then we went outside and stood on the broad, flat step. the late afternoon was dreamily still here, and the odor of some flowers, faint and woodsy, came from the thicket beside the doorway. "it is dreary in there, marjie, but i'll always love this place outside. won't you?" i said, and with a lover's happiness in my face, i drew her close to me. she smiled and nodded. "i'll tell you all i think after a while. i'll write it to you in a letter." "do, marjie, and put it in our 'rockport' post-office, just like we used to do. i'll write you every day, too, and you'll find my letter in the same old crevice. come, now, we must go home." "we'll come again." marjie waved her hand to the silent gray cabin. and slowly, as lovers will, we strolled down the walk and out into the open where the ponies neighed a hurry-up call for home. somehow the joy of youth and hope drove fear and suspicion clear from my mind, and with the opal skies above us and the broad sweet prairies round about us for an eternal setting of peace and beauty, we two came home that evening, lovers, who never afterwards might walk alone, for that our paths were become one way wherein we might go keeping step evermore together down the years. chapter xii a man's estate when i became a man i put away childish things. the next day was the sabbath. i was twenty-one that day. marjie and i sang in the choir, and most of the solo work fell to us. dave mead was our tenor, and bess anderson at the organ sang alto. dave was away that day. his girl sweetheart up on red range was in her last illness then, and dave was at her bedside. poor dave! he left springvale that fall, and he never came back. and although he has been honored and courted of women, i have been told that in his luxurious bachelor apartments in hong kong there is only one woman's picture, an old-fashioned daguerreotype of a sweet girlish face, in an ebony frame. dr. hemingway always planned the music to suit his own notions. what he asked for we gave. on this sabbath morning there was no surprise when he announced, "our tenor being absent, we will omit the anthem, and i shall ask brother philip and sister marjory to sing number , 'oh, for a closer walk with god.'" he smiled benignly upon us. we were accustomed to his way, and we knew everybody in that little congregation. and yet, somehow, a flutter went through the company when we stood up together, as if everybody knew our thoughts. we had stood side by side on sabbath mornings and had sung from the same book since childhood, with never a thought of embarrassment. it dawned on springvale that day as a revelation what marjie meant to me. all the world, including our town, loves a lover, and it was suddenly clear to the town that the tall, broad-shouldered young man who looked down at the sweet-browed little girl-woman beside him as he looked at nobody else, whose hand touched hers as they turned the leaves, and who led her by the arm ever so gently down the steps from the choir seats, was reading for himself that old fair story set round in glory wherever life is found. and marjie, in spotless white, with her broad-brimmed hat set back from her curl-shaded forehead, the tinted lights from the memorial window which amos judson had placed there for his wife, falling like an aureole about her, who could keep from loving her? "her an' phil baronet's jist made fur one another," cam gentry declared to a bunch of town gossips the next day. "now'd ye ever see a finer-lookin' couple?" broke in grandpa mead. "an' the way they sung that hymn yesterday--well, i just hope they'll repeat it over my remains." and grandpa began to sing softly in his quavering voice: oh, for a closer walk with god, a cam and heavenli frame, a light toe shine upon tha road that leads me toe tha lamb. everybody agreed with cam except judson. he was very cross with o'mie that morning. o'mie was clerk and manager for him now, as judson himself had been for irving whately. he rubbed his hands and joined the group, smiling a trifle scornfully. "seems to me you're all gossiping pretty freely this morning. the young man may be pretty well fixed some day. but he's young, he's young. mrs. whately's my partner, and i know their affairs very well, very well. she'll provide her daughter with a man, not a mere boy." "well, he was man enough to keep this here town from burnin' up, an' no tellin' how many bloodsheds," grandpa mead piped in. "he was man enough to find o'mie and save his life," cam protested. "well, we'll leave it to dr. hemingway," judson declared, as the good doctor entered the doorway. judson paid liberally into the church fund and accounted that his wishes should weigh much with the good minister. "we--these people here--were just coupling the name of marjory whately with that boy of judge baronet's. now i know how mrs. whately is circumstanced. she is peculiarly situated, and it seems foolish to even repeat such gossip about this young man, this very young man, philip." the minister smiled upon the group serenely. he knew the life-purpose of every member of it, and he could have said, as kipling wrote of the hindoo people: i have eaten your bread and salt, i have drunk your water and wine; the deaths ye died i have watched beside, and the lives ye led were mine. "i never saw a finer young man and woman in my life," he said gently. "i know nothing of their intentions--as yet. they haven't been to me," his eyes twinkled, "but they are good to look upon when they stand up together. our opinions, however, will cut little figure in their affairs. heaven bless them and all the boys and girls! how soon they grow to be men and women." the good man made his purchase and left the store. "but he's a young man, a very boy yet," amos judson insisted, unable to hide his disappointment at the minister's answer. the very boy himself walked in at that instant. judson turned a scowling face at o'mie, who was chuckling among the calicoes, and frowned upon the group as if to ward off any further talk. i nodded good-morning and went to o'mie. "aunt candace wants some jane p. coats's thread, number white, two spools." "that's j. & p. coats, young man." judson spoke more sharply than he need to have done. "goin' east to school doesn't always finish a boy; size an' learnin' don't count," and he giggled. i was whistling softly, "oh, for a closer walk with god," and i turned and smiled down on the little man. i was head and shoulders above him. "no, not always. i can still learn," i replied good-naturedly, and went whistling on my way to the courthouse. i was in a good humor with all the world that morning. out on "rockport" in the purple twilight of the sabbath evening i had slipped my mother's ring on marjie's finger. i was on my way now for a long talk with my father. i was twenty-one, a man in years, as i had been in spirit since the night the town was threatened by the rebel raiders--aye, even since the day irving whately begged me to take care of marjie. i had no time to quarrel with the little widower. "he's got the best of you, judson," cam declared. "no use to come, second hand, fur a girl like that when a handsome young feller like phil baronet, who's run things his own way in this town sence he was a little feller, 's got the inside track. why, the young folks, agged on by some older ones, 'ud jist natcherly mob anybody that 'ud git in phil's way of whatever he wanted. take my word, if he wants marjie he kin have her; and likewise take it, he does want her." "an' then," grandpa spoke with mock persuasion, "amos, ye know ye've been married oncet. an' ye're not so young an' ye're a leetle bald. d'ye just notice phil's hair, layin' in soft thick waves? allers curled that way sence he was a little feller." amos judson went into an explosive combustion. "i've treated my wife's memory and remains as good as a man ever did. she's got the biggest stone in the cemet'ry, an' i've put a memorial window in the church. an' what more could a man do? it's more than any of you have done." amos was too wrought up to reason. "well, i acknowledge," said cam, "i've ben a leetle slack about gittin' a grave-stun up fur dollie, seein' she's still livin', but i have threatened her time an' agin to put a winder to her memory in the church an' git her in shape to legalize it if she don't learn how to git me up a good meal. darned poor cook my wife is." "an' as for this boy," judson broke in, not noticing cam's joke, "as to his looks," he stroked his slick light brown hair, "a little baldness gives dignity, makes a man look like a man. who'd want to have hair like a girl's? but mrs. whately's too wise not to do well by her daughter. she knows the value of a dollar, and a man makin' it himself." "well, why not set your cap fur the widder? you'd make a good father to her child, an' phil would jest na'chelly be proud of you for a daddy-in-law." this from the stage driver, dever, who had caught the spirit of the game in hand. "anyhow you'd orter seen them two young folks meet when he first got back home, out there where the crowd of 'em helt up the stage. well, sir, she was the last to say 'howdy do.' everybody was lookin' the other way then, 'cept me, and i didn't have sense enough. well, sir, he jist took her hand like somethin' he'd been reachin' fur about two year, an' they looked into each other's eyes, hungry like, an' a sort of joy such as any of us 'ud long to possess come into them two young faces. i tell you, if you're goin' to gossip jist turn it onto judson er me, but let them two alone." judson was too violently angry to be discreet. "it's all silly scand'lous foolishness, and i won't hear another word of it," he shouted. just as he spoke, marjie herself came in. judson stepped forward in an officious effort to serve her, and unable to restrain himself, he called out to o'mie, "put four yards of towelling, twelve and a half cents a yard, to mrs. whately's standing account." it was not the words that offended, so much as the tone, the proprietary sound, the sense of obligation it seemed to put upon the purchaser, unrelieved by his bland smile and attempt at humor in his after remark, "we don't run accounts with everybody, but i guess we can trust you." it cut marjie's spirit. a flush mounted to her cheeks, as she took her purchase and hurried out of the door and plump into my father, who was passing just then. judge baronet was a man of courtly manners. he gently caught marjie's arm to steady her. "good-morning, marjie. how is your mother to-day?" the little girl did not speak for a moment. her eyes were full of tears. presently she said, "may i come up to your office pretty soon? i want to ask you something--something of our business matters." "yes, yes, come now," he replied, taking her bundle and putting himself on the outer side of the walk. he had forgotten my appointment for the moment. when they reached the courthouse he said: "just run into my room there; i've got to catch sheriff karr before he gets away." he opened the door of his private office, thrusting her gently inside, and hurried away. i turned to meet my father, and there was marjie. tear drops were on her long brown lashes, and her cheeks were flushed. "why, my little girl!" i exclaimed in surprise as she started to hurry away. "i didn't know you were in here; your father sent me in"--and then the tears came in earnest. i couldn't stand for that. "what is it, marjie?" i had put her in my father's chair and was bending over her, my face dangerously near her cheek. "it's amos judson--oh, phil, i can't tell you. i was going to talk to your father." "all right," i said gayly. "ask papa. it's the proper thing. he must be consulted, of course. but as to judson, don't worry. o'mie promised me just this morning to sew him up in a sack and throw him off the cliff above the hermit's cave into the river. o'mie says it's safe; he's so light he'll float." marjie smiled through her tears. a noise in the outer office reminded us that some one was there, and that the outer door was half ajar. then my father came in. his face was kindly impenetrable. "i had forgotten my son was here. phil, take these papers over to the county attorney's office. i'll call you later." he turned me out and gave his attention to marjie. i loafed about the outer office until she and my father came out. he led her to the doorway and down the steps with a courtesy he never forgot toward women. when we were alone in his private office i longed to ask marjie's errand, but i knew my father too well. "you wanted to see me, phil?" he was seated opposite to me, his eyes were looking steadily into mine, and clear beyond them down into my soul. "yes, father," i replied; "i am a man now--twenty-one years and one day over. and there are a few things, as a man, i want to know and to have you know." he was sharpening a pencil carefully. "i'm listening," he said kindly. "well, father--" i hesitated. it was so much harder to say than i had thought it would be. i toyed with the tassel of the window cord confusedly. "father, you remember when you were twenty-one?" "yes, my son, i was just out of harvard. and like you i had a father to whom i went to tell him i was in love, just as you are. when your own son comes to you some day, help him a little." i felt a weight lifted from my mind. it was good of him to open the way. "father, i have never seen any other girl like marjie." "no, there isn't any--for you. but how about her?" "i think, i know she--does care. i think--" i was making poor work of it after all his help. "well, she said she did, anyhow." i blurted out defiantly. "the court accepts the evidence," he remarked, and then more seriously he went on: "my son, i am happy in your joy. i may have been a little slow. there was much harmless coupling of her name with young tillhurst's while you were away. i did not give it much thought. letters from rockport were also giving you and rachel melrose some consideration. rachel is an only child and pretty well fixed financially." "oh, father, i never gave her two thoughts." "so the letters intimated, but added that the melrose blood is persistent, and that rachel's mother was especially willing. she is of a good family, old friends of candace's and mine. she will have money in her own right, is handsome and well educated. i thought you might be satisfied there." "but i don't care for her money nor anybody else's. nobody but marjie will ever suit me," i cried. "so i saw when i looked at you two in church yesterday. it was a revelation, i admit; but i took in the situation at once." and then more affectionately he added: "i was very proud of you, phil. you and marjie made a picture i shall keep. when you want my blessing, i have part of it in the strong box in my safe. all i have of worldly goods will be yours, phil, if you do it no dishonor; and as to my good-will, my son, you are my wife's child, my one priceless treasure. when by your own efforts you can maintain a home, nor feel yourself dependent, then bring a bride to me. i shall do all i can to give you an opportunity. i hope you will not wait long. when irving whately lay dying at chattanooga he told me his hopes for marjie and you. but he charged me not to tell you until you should of your own accord come to me. you have his blessing, too." how good he was to me! his hand grasped mine. "phil, let me say one thing; don't ever get too old to consult your father. it may save some losses and misunderstandings and heart-aches. and now, what else?" "father, when o'mie seemed to be dying, le claire told me something of his story one evening. he said you knew it." my father looked grave. "how does this concern you, phil?" "only in this. i promised le claire i would see that o'mie's case was cared for if he lived and you never came back," i replied. "he is of age now, and if he knows his rights he does not use them." "have you talked to o'mie of this?" he asked quickly. "no, sir; i promised not to speak of it." "phil, did le claire suggest any property?" "no, sir. is there any?" my father smiled. "you have a lawyer's nose," he said, "but fortunately you can keep a still tongue. i'm taking care of o'mie's case right now. by the way," he went on after a short pause. "i sent you out on an errand saturday. that's another difficult case, a land claim i'm trying to prove for a party. there are two claimants. tell mapleson is the counsel for the other one. it's a really dangerous case in some ways. you were to go and spy out the land. what did you see? anything except a pretty girl?" my face was burning. "oh, i understand. you found a place out there to stand, and now you think you can move the world." "i found something i want to speak of besides. oh, well--i'm not ashamed of caring for marjie." "no, no, my boy. you are right. you found the best thing in the world. i found it myself once, by a moonlit sea, not on the summer prairie; but it is the same eternal blessing. now go on." "well, father, you said the place was uninhabited. but it isn't. somebody is about there now." "did you see any one, or is it just a wayside camp for movers going out on the trail?" "i am not sure that i saw any one, and yet--" "tell me all you know, and all you suspect, and why you have conclusions," he said gravely. "i caught just a glimpse, a mere flirt of a red blanket with a white centre, the kind jean pahusca used to wear. it was between the corner of the house and the hazel-brush thicket, as if some one were making for the timber." "did you follow it?" "n--no, i could hardly say i saw anything; but thinking about it afterwards, i am sure somebody was getting out of sight." "i see." my father looked straight at me. i knew his mind, and i blushed and pulled at the tassel of the window cord. "be careful. the county has to pay for curtain fixtures. what else?" "well, inside the cabin there were fresh ashes and a half-burned stick on the hearth. by a chair under the table i picked this up." i handed him the bow of purple ribbon with the flashing pin. "it must be movers, and as to that red flash of color, are you real sure it was not just a part of the rose-hued world out there?" he smiled as he spoke. "father, that bow was on lettie conlow's head not an hour before it was lost out there. she found out where we were going, and she put out northwest on tell mapleson's pony. she may have taken the river path. it is the shortest way. why should she go out there?" "do some thinking for yourself. you are a man now, twenty-one, and one day over. you can unravel this part." he sat with impenetrable face, waiting for me to speak. "i do not know. lettie conlow has always been silly about--about the boys. all the young folks say she likes me, has always liked me." "how much cause have you given her? be sure your memory is clear." my father spoke sternly. "father," i stood before him now, "i am a man, as you say, and i have come up through a boyhood no better nor worse than the other boys whom you know here. we were a pretty decent gang even before you went away to the war. after that we had to be men. but all these years, father, there has been only one girl for me. i never gave lettie conlow a ghost of a reason for thinking i cared for her. but she is old conlow's own child, and she has a bitter, jealous nature." "well, what took her to the--to the old cabin out there?" "i do not know. she may have been hidden out there to spy what we--i was doing." "did she have on a red blanket too, saturday afternoon?" "well, now i wonder--." my mind was in a whirl. could she be in league against me? what did it mean? i sat down to think. "father, there's something i've never yet understood about this town," i burst out impetuously. "if it is to have anything to do with my future i ought to know it. father le claire would tell me only half his story. you know more of o'mie than you will tell me. and here is a jealous girl whose father consented to give marjie to a brutal indian out of hatred for her father; and it is his daughter who trails me over the prairie because i am with marjie. why not tell me now what you know?" my father sat looking thoughtfully at me. at last he spoke. "i know nothing of girls' love affairs and jealousies," he said; "pass that now. i am o'mie's attorney and am trying to adjust his claims for him as i can discover them. i cannot get hold of the case myself as i should like. if le claire were here i might find out something." "or nothing," i broke in. "it would depend on circumstances." "you are right. he has never told me all he knows, but i know much without his telling." "do you know how jean pahusca came to carry a knife for years with the name, 'jean le claire,' cut in the blade? do you know why the half-breed and the priest came to look so much alike, same square-cut forehead, same build, same gait, same proud way of throwing back the head? you've only to look at them to see all this, except that with a little imagination the priest's face would fit a saint and jean's is a very devil's countenance." "i do not know the exact answer to any of these questions. they are points for us to work out together now you are a man. jean is in some way bound to le claire. if by blood ties, why does the priest not own, or entirely disown him? if not, why does the priest protect him? "in some way, too, both are concerned with o'mie. le claire is eager to protect the irishman. i do not know where jean is, but i believe sometimes he is here in concealment. he and tell mapleson are counselling together. i think he furnishes tell with some booty, for tell is inordinately prosperous. i look at this from a lawyer's place. you have grown up with the crowd here, and you see as a young man from the social side, where personal motives count for much. together we must get this thing unravelled; and it may be in doing it some love matters and some church matters may get mixed and need straightening. you must keep me informed of every thing you know." he paused a moment, then added: "i am glad you have let me know how it is with you, phil. in your life i can live my own again. children do so bless us. be happy in your love, my boy. but be manly, too. there are some hard climbs before you yet. learn to bear and wait. yours is an open sunlit way to-day. if the shadows creep across it, be strong. they will lift again. run home now and tell aunt candace i'll be home at one o'clock. tell her what you have told me, too. she will be glad to know it." "she does know it; she has known it ever since the night we came into springvale in ." my father turned to the door. then he put his arms about me and kissed my forehead. "you have your mother's face, phil." how full of tenderness his tones were! in the office i saw judson moving restlessly before the windows. he had been waiting there for some time, and he frowned on me as i passed him. he was a man of small calibre. his one gift was that of money-getting. by the careful management of the whately store in the owner's absence he began to add to his own bank account. with the death of mr. whately he had assumed control, refusing to allow any investigation of affairs until, to put it briefly, he was now in entire possession. poor mrs. whately hardly knew what was her own, while her husband's former clerk waxed pompous and well-to-do. being a vain man, he thought the best should come to him in social affairs, and being a man of medium intellect, he lacked self-control and tact. this was the nature of the creature who strode into judge baronet's private office, slamming the door behind him and presenting himself unannounced. the windows front the street leading down to where the trail crossed the river, and give a view of the glistening neosho winding down the valley. my father was standing by one of these windows when judson fired himself into the room. john baronet's mind was not on springvale, nor on the river. his thoughts were of his son and of her who had borne him, the sweet-browed woman whose image was in the sacredest shrine of his heart. judson's advent was ill-timed, and his excessive lack of tact made the matter worse. "mr. baronet," he began pompously enough, "i must see you on a very grave matter, very grave indeed." judge baronet gave him a chair and sat down across the table from him to listen. judson had grated harshly on his mood, but he was a man of poise. "i'll be brief and blunt. that's what you lawyers want, ain't it?" the little man giggled. "but i must advise this step at once as a necessary, a very necessary one." my father waited. judson hadn't the penetration to feel embarrassed. "you see it's like this. if you'll just keep still a minute i can show you, though i ain't no lawyer; i'm a man of affairs, a commercialist, as you would say. a producer maybe is a better term. in short, i'm a money-maker." my father smiled. "i see," he remarked. "i'll keep still. go on." "well, now, i'm a widower that has provided handsome for my first wife's remains. i've earned and paid for the right to forget her." the great broad-shouldered, broad-minded man before the little boaster looked down to hide his contempt. "i've did my part handsome now, you'll admit; and being alone in the world, with no one to enjoy my prosperity with me, i'm lonesome. that's it, i'm lonesome. ain't you sometimes?" "often," my father replied. "now i know'd it. we're in the same boat barring a great difference in ages. why, hang it, judge, let's get married!" he giggled explosively and so failed to see the stern face of the man before him. "i want a young woman, a pretty girl, i've a right to a pretty girl, i think. in fact, i want marjory whately. and what's more, i'm going to have her. i've all but got the widder's consent now. she's under considerable obligation to me." across john baronet's mind there swept a picture of the chattanooga battle field. the roar of cannon, the smoke of rifles, the awful charge on charge, around him. and in the very heart of it all, irving whately wounded unto death, his hands grasping the springvale flag, his voice growing faint. "you will look after them, john? phil promised to take care of marjie. it makes this easier. i believe they will love each other, john. i hope they may. when they do, give them my blessing. good-bye." across this vision judson's thin sharp voice was pouring out words. "now, baronet, you see, to be plain, it's just this way. if i marry marjory, folks'll say i'm doing it to get control of the widder's stock. it's small; but they'll say it." "why should it be small?" my father's voice was penetrating as a knife-thrust. judson staggered at it a little. "business, you know, management you couldn't understand. she's no hand at money matters." "so it seems," my father said dryly. "but you'd not understand it. to resume. folks'll say i'm trying to get the whole thing, when all i really want is the girl, the girl now. she'll not have much at best; and divided between her and her mother, there'll be little left for mrs. whately to go on livin' on, with mrs. judson's share taken out. now, here's my point precisely, precisely. you take the widder yourself. you need a wife, and mrs. whately's still good-looking most ways. she was always a pretty, winsome-faced woman. "you've got a plenty and getting more all the time. you could provide handsome for her the rest of her life. you'd enjoy a second wife, an' she'd be out of my way. you see it, don't you? i'll marry marjie, an' you marry her mother, kind of double wedding. whew! but we'd make a fine couple of grooms. what's in gray hair and baldness, anyhow? but there's one thing i can't stand for. gossip has begun to couple the name of your boy with miss whately. now he's just a very boy, only a year or two older'n she, and nowise able to take care of her properly, you'll admit; and it's silly. besides, conlow was telling me just an hour or more ago, that phil and lettie was old-time sweethearts. i've nothing to do with phil's puppy love, however. i'm here to advise with you. shall we clinch the bargain now, or do you want to think about it a little while? but don't take long. it's a little sudden maybe to you. it's been on my mind since the day i got that memorial window in an' marjory sang 'lead kindly light,' standing there in the light of it. it was a service for my first wife sung by her that was to be my second, you might almost say. dr. hemingway talked beautiful, too, just beautiful. but i've got to go. business don't bother you lawyers,"--he was growing very familiar now,--"but us merchants has to keep a sharp eye to time. when shall i call?" he rose briskly. "when shall i call?" he repeated. my father rose up to his full height. his hands were clasped hard behind his back. he did not lift his eyes to the expectant creature before him, and the foxy little widower did not dream how near to danger he was. with the self-control that was a part of john baronet's character, he replied in an even voice: "you will come when i send for you." that evening my father told me all that had taken place. "you are a man now, and must stand up against this miserable cur. but you must proceed carefully. no hot-headed foolishness will do. he will misjudge your motives and mine, and he can plant some ugly seeds along your way. property is his god. he is daily defrauding the defenceless to secure it. when i move against him it will be made to appear that i do it for your sake. put yourself into the place where, of your own wage-earning power, you can keep a wife in comfort, not luxury yet. that will come later, maybe. and then i'll hang this dog with a rope of his own braiding. but i'll wait for that until you come fully into a man's estate, with the power to protect what you love." chapter xiii the topeka rally and men may say what things they please, and none dare stay their tongue. but who has spoken out for these--the women and the young? --kipling. henceforth i had one controlling purpose. mine was now the task to prove myself a man with power to create and defend the little kingdom whose throne is builded on the hearthstone. i put into my work all the energy of my youth and love and hope. i applied myself to the study of law, and i took hold of my father's business interests with a will. i was to enter into a partnership with him when i could do a partner's work. he forebore favors, but he gave me opportunity to prove myself. stories of favoritism on account of my father's position, of my wasteful and luxurious habits, ludicrous enough in a little kansas town in the sixties, were peddled about by the restless little widower. by my father's advice i let him alone and went my way. i knew that silently and persistently john baronet was trailing him. and i knew the cause was a righteous one. i had lived too long in the baronet family to think the head of it would take time to follow after a personal dislike, or pursue a petty purpose. there may have been many happy lovers on these sunny prairies that idyllic summer, now forty years gone by. the story of each, though like that of all the others, seems best to him who lived it. marjie and i were going through commonplace days, but we were very happy with the joy of life and love. our old playground was now our trysting place. together on our "rockport" we planned a future wherein there were no ugly shadows. "marjie, i'll always keep 'rockport' for my shrine now," i said to her one evening as we were watching the sunset lights on the prairie and the river upstream. "if you ever hear me say i don't care for 'rockport,' you will know i do not care for you. now, think of that!" "don't ever say it, phil, please, if you can help it." marjie's mood was more serious than mine just then. "i used to be afraid of indians. i am still, if there were need to be, and i looked to you always somehow to keep them away. do you remember how i would always get on your side of the game when jean pahusca played with us?" "yes, marjie. that's where you belong--on my side. that's the kind of game i'm playing." "phil, i am troubled a little with another game. i wish amos judson would stay away from our house. he can make mother believe almost anything. i don't feel safe about some matters. judge baronet tells me not to worry, that he will keep close watch." "well, take it straight from me that he will do it," i assured her. "let's let the widower go his way. he talks about me; says i'm 'callow, that's it, just callow.' i don't mind being callow, as long as it's not catching. look at the river, how it glistens now. we can almost see the shallows up by the stone cabin below the big cottonwood. the old tree is shapely, isn't it?" we were looking upstream to where the huge old tree stood out against the golden horizon. "let's buy that land, phil, and build a house under the big cottonwood some day." "all right, i'm to go out there again soon. will you go too?" "of course," marjie assented, "if you want me to." "i am sure i'd never want to take any other girl out there, but just you, dear," i declared. and then we talked of other things, and promised to put our letters next day, into the deep crevice we had called our post-office these many years. before we parted that night, i said: "i'm thinking of going up to topeka when the band goes to the big political speaking, next week. i will write to you. and be sure to let me find a letter in 'rockport' when i get back. i'll be so lonely up there." "well, find some pretty girl and let her kill time for you." "will you and judson kill time down here?" "ugh! no," marjie shivered in disgust. "i can't bear the sight of his face any more." "good! i'll not try to be any more miserable by being bored with somebody i don't care for at topeka. but don't forget the letter. good-night, little sweetheart," and after the fashion of lovers, i said good-bye. kansas is essentially a land of young politicians. when o'mie took his band to the capital city to play martial music for the big political rally, there were more young men than gray beards on the speakers' stand and on the front seats. i had gone with the springvale crowd on this jaunt, but i did not consider myself a person of importance. "there's judge baronet's son; he's just out of harvard. he's got big influence with the party down his way. his father always runs away ahead of his ticket and has the whole district about as he wants it. that's the boy that saved springvale one night when the pro-slavery crowd was goin' to burn it, the year of the quantrill raid." so, i heard myself exploited in the hotel lobby of the old teft house. "what's tell mapleson after this year, d'ye reckon? come in a week ago. he's the doggondest feller to be after somethin', an' gets it, too, somehow." the speaker was a seasoned politician of the hotel lobby variety. "oh, he's got a big suit of some kind back east. it's a case of money bein' left to heirs, and he's looking out that the heirs don't get it." "ain't it awful about the saline country?" a bystander broke in here. "just awful! saw a man from out there last night by the name of morton. he said that them cheyennes are raidin' an' murderin' all that can't get into the towns. lord pity the unprotected settlers way out in that lonely country. this man said they just killed the little children before their mothers' eyes, after they'd scalped and tomahawked the fathers. just beat them to death, and then carried off the women. oh, god! but it's awful." awful! i lived through the hours of that night from the time young tell mapleson had told of jean pahusca's plan to seize marjie, to the moment when i saw her safe in the shelter of her mother's doorway. awful! and this sort of thing was going on now in the saline valley. how could god permit it? "there was one family out there, they got the mother and baby and just butchered the other children right before her eyes. they hung the baby to a tree later, and when they got ready they killed its mother. it was the only merciful thing they done, i guess, in all their raid, for they made her die a thousand deaths before they really cut off her poor pitiful life." so i heard the talk running on, and i wondered at the bluff committeeman who broke up the group to get the men in line for a factional caucus. did the election of a party favorite, the nomination of a man whose turn had come, or who would be favorable to "our crowd" in his appointments match in importance this terrible menace to life on our indian frontier? i had heard much of the saline and the solomon river valleys. union soldiers were homesteading those open plains. my father's comrades-in-arms they had been, and he was intensely interested in their welfare. these union men had wounds still unhealed from service in the civil war. and the nation they bore these wounds to save, the government at washington, was ignorant or indifferent to this danger that threatened them hourly--a danger infinitely worse than death to women. and the state in the vital throes of a biennial election was treating the whole affair as a deplorable incident truly, but one the national government must look out for. i was young and enthusiastic, but utterly without political ambition. i was only recently out of college, with a scholar's ideals of civic duty. and with all these, i had behind me the years of a frontier life on the border, in which years my experience and inspiration had taught me the value of the american home, and a strong man's duty toward the weak and defenceless. the memories of my mother, the association and training of my father's sister, and my love for marjie made all women sacred to me. and while these feelings that stirred the finest fibres of my being, and of which i never spoke then, may have been the mark of a less practical nature than most young men have to-day, i account my life stronger, cleaner and purer for having had them. i could take only a perfunctory interest in the political game about me, and i felt little elation at the courteous request that i should take a seat in the speakers' stand, when the clans did finally gather for a grand struggle for place. the meeting opened with o'mie's band playing "the star-spangled banner." it brought the big audience to their feet, and the men on the platform stood up. i was the tallest one among them. also i was least nervous, least anxious, and least important to that occasion. perfunctorily, too, i listened to the speeches, hearing the grand old republican party's virtues lauded, and the especial fitness of certain of its color-bearers extolled as of mighty men of valor, with "the burning question of the hour" and "the vital issue of the time" enlarged upon, and "the state's most pernicious evil" threatened with dire besetments. and through it all my mind was on the unprotected, scattered settlements of the saline valley, and the murdered children and the defenceless women, even now in the cruel slavery of indian captivity. i knew only a few people in the capital city and i looked at the audience with the indifference of a stranger who seeks for no familiar face. and yet, subconsciously, i felt the presence of some one who was watching me, some one who knew me well. presently the master of ceremonies called for the gifted educator, richard tillhurst of springvale. i knew he was in topeka, but i had not hunted for him any more than he had sought me out. we mutually didn't need each other. and yet local pride is strong, and i led the hand-clapping that greeted his appearance. he was visibly embarrassed, and ultra-dignified. education had a representative above reproach in him. pompously, after the manner of the circumscribed instructor, he began, and for a limited time the travelling was easy. but he made the fatal error of keeping on his feet after his ideas were exhausted. he lost the trail and wandered aimlessly in the barren, trackless realms of thought, seeking relief and finding none, until at length in sheer embarrassment he forced himself to retreat to his seat. little enthusiasm was expressed and failure was written all over his banner. the next speaker was a politician of the rip-roaring variety who pounded the table and howled his enthusiasm, whose logic was all expressed in the short-story form, sometimes witty, sometimes far-fetched and often profane. he interested me least of all, and my mind abstracted by the tillhurst feature went back again to the plains. i could not realize what was going on when the politician had finished amid uproarious applause, and the chairman was introducing the next speaker, until i caught my father's name, coupled with lavish praise of his merits. there was a graceful folding of his mantle on the shoulders of "his gifted son, just out of harvard, but a true child of kansas, with a record for heroism in the war time, and a growing prominence in his district, and an altogether good-headed, good-hearted, and, the ladies all agree, good-looking young man, the handsome giant of the neosho." and i found myself thrust to the front of the speakers' stand, with applause following itself, and o'mie, the mischievous rascal, striking off a few bars of "see, the conquering hero comes!" i was taken so completely by surprise that i thought the earth especially unkind not to open at once and let me in. it must have been something of my inheritance of my father's self-control, coupled with my life experience of having to meet emergencies quickly, which all the children of springvale knew, that pulled me through. the prolonged cheering gave me a moment to get the mastery. then like an inspiration came the thought to break away from the beaten path of local politics and to launch forth into a plea for larger political ideals. i cited the civil war as a crucible, testing men. i did not once mention my father, but the company knew his proud record, and there were many present who had fought and marched and starved and bled beside him, men whom his genius and his kindness had saved from peril, even the peril of death. and then out of the fulness of a heart that had suffered, i pled for the lives and homes of the settlers on our plains frontier. i pictured, for i knew how to picture, the anguish of soul an indian raid can leave in its wake, and the duty we owe to the homes, our high privilege as strong men and guardians to care for the defenceless, and our opportunity to repay a part at least of the debt we owe to the union soldier by giving a state's defence to these men, who were homesteading our hitherto unbroken, trackless plains, and building empire westward toward the baths of sunset. the effort was so boyish, so unlike every other speech that had been made, and yet so full of a young man's honest zeal and profound convictions from a soul stirred to its very depths, that the audience rose to their feet at my closing words, and cheer followed cheer, making the air ring with sound. when the meeting had finished, i found myself in the centre of a group of men who knew john baronet and just wouldn't let his son get away without a handshake. i was flushed with the pleasure of such a reception and was doing my best to act well, when a man grasped my hand with a grip unlike any other hand i had ever felt, so firm, so full of friendship, and yet so undemonstrative, that i instinctively returned the clasp. he was a man of some thirty years, small beside me, and there was nothing unusual in his face or dress or manner to attract my attention. a stranger might not turn to him a second time in a crowd, unless they had once spoken and clasped hands. "my name is morton," he said. "i know your father, i knew him in the army and before, back in massachusetts. i am from the saline river country, and i came down here hoping to find the state more interested in the conditions out our way. you were the only speaker who thought of the needs of the settlers. there are terrible things being done right now." he spoke so simply that a careless ear would not have detected the strength of the feeling back of the words. "i'll tell my father i met you," i said cordially, "and i hope, i hope to heaven the captives may be found soon, and the indians punished. how can a man live who has lost his wife, or his sweetheart, in that way?" i knew i was blushing, but the matter was so terrible to me. before he could answer, richard tillhurst pushed through the crowd and caught my arm. "there's an old friend of yours here, who wants to meet you, mr. baronet," and he pulled me away. "i hope i'll see you again," i turned to mr. morton to say, and in a moment more, i was face to face with rachel melrose. it was she whose presence i had somehow felt in that crowd of strangers. she was handsomer even than i had remembered her, and she had a style of dress new and attractive. one would know that she was fresh from the east, for our own girls and women for the most part had many things to consider besides the latest fashions. i think tillhurst mistook my surprise for confusion. he was a man of good principles, but he was a human being, not a saint, and he pursued a purpose selfishly as most of us who are human do. the young lady grasped my hand in both of hers impulsively. "oh, mr. baronet, i'm so glad to see you again. i knew you would come to topeka as soon as you knew i had come west. i just got here two days ago, and i could hardly wait until you came. it's just like old times to see you again." then she turned to tillhurst, standing there greedily taking in every word, his face beaming as one's face may who finds an obstacle suddenly lifted from his way. "we are old friends, the best kind of friends, mr. tillhurst. mr. baronet and i have recollections of two delightful years when he was in harvard, haven't we?" "yes, yes," i replied. "miss melrose was the only girl who would listen to my praising kansas while i was in massachusetts. naturally i found her delightful company." "did he tell you about his girl here?" tillhurst asked, a trifle maliciously, maybe. "of course, i didn't," i broke in. "we don't tell all we know when we go east." "nor all you have done in the east when you come back home, evidently," tillhurst spoke significantly. "i've never heard him mention your name once, miss melrose." "has he been flirting with some one, mr. tillhurst? he promised me faithfully he wouldn't." her tone took on a disappointed note. "i'll promise anybody not to flirt, for i don't do it," i cried. "i came home and found this young educator trying to do me mischief with the little girl i told you about the last time i saw you. naturally he doesn't like me." all this in a joking manner, and yet a vein of seriousness ran through it somewhere. rachel melrose was adroit. "we won't quarrel," she said sweetly, "now we do meet again, and when i go down to springvale to visit your aunt, as you insisted i must do, we'll get all this straightened out. you'll come and take tea with us of course. mr. tillhurst has promised to come, too." the young man looked curiously at me at the mention of rachel's visit to springvale. a group of politicians broke in just here. "we can't have you monopolize 'the handsome giant of the neosho' all the time," they said, laughing, with many a compliment to the charming young monopolist. "we don't blame him, of course, now, but we need him badly. come, baronet," and they hurried me away, giving me time only to thank her for the invitation to dine with her. at the teft house letters were waiting for me. one from my father asking me to visit governor crawford and take a personal message of some importance to him, with the injunction, "stay till you do see him." the other was a fat little envelope inscribed in marjie's handwriting. inside were only flowers, the red blossoms that grow on the vines in the crevices of our "rockport," and a sheet of note paper about them with the simple message: "always and always yours, marjie." willing or unwilling, i found myself in the thick of the political turmoil, and had it not been for that indian raiding in northwest kansas, i should have plunged into politics then and there, so strong a temptation it is to control men, if opportunity offers. it was late before i could get out of the council and rush to my room to write a hurried but loving letter to marjie. i had to be brief to get it into the mails. so i wrote only of what was first in my thoughts; herself, and my longing to see her, of the noisy political strife, and of the saline river and solomon river outrages, i hurried this letter to the outgoing stage and fell in with the crowd gathering late in the dining-room. i was half way through my meal before i remembered rachel's invitation. "i can only be rude to her, it seems, but i'll offer my excuses, and maybe she will let me have the honor of her company home. she will hunt me up before i get out of the hall, i am sure." so i satisfied myself and prepared for the evening gathering. it was much on the order of the other meeting, except that only seasoned party leaders were given place on the programme. i asked rachel for her company home, but she laughingly refused me. "i must punish you," she said. "when do you go home?" "not for two days," i replied. "i have business for my father and the person i am to see is called out of town." "then there will be plenty of time later for you. you go home to-morrow, mr. tillhurst," she said coquettishly. "tell his friends in springvale, he is busy up here." she was a pretty girl, but slow as i was, i began to see method in her manner of procedure. i could not be rude to her, but i resolved then not to go one step beyond the demands of actual courtesy. in the crowd passing up to the hotel that night, i fell into step with my father's soldier friend, morton. "when you get ready to leave springvale, come out and take a claim on the saline," he said. "that will be a garden of eden some day." "it seems to have its serpent already, mr. morton," i replied. "well, the serpent can be crushed. come out and help us do it. we need numbers, especially in men of endurance." we were at the hotel door. morton bade me good-bye by saying, "don't forget; come our way when you get the western fever." governor crawford returned too late for me to catch the stage for springvale on the same day. having a night more to spend in the capital, it seemed proper for me to make amends for my unpardonable forgetfulness of rachel melrose's invitation to tea by calling on her in the evening. her aunt's home was at the far side of the town beyond the modest square stone building that was called lincoln college then. it was only a stone's throw from the state capitol, the walls of the east wing of which were then being built. i remember it was a beautiful moonlit night, in early august, and rachel asked me to take a stroll over the prairie to the southwest. the day had been very hot, and the west had piled up some threatening thunderheads. but the evening breezes fanned them away over the far horizon line and the warm night air was light and dry. the sky was white with the clear luminous moonlight of the open plains country. rachel and i had wandered idly along the gentle rise of ground until we could quite overlook the little treeless town with this lincoln college and the jagged portion of the state house wing gleaming up beyond. "hadn't we better turn back now? your aunt cautioned us two strangers here not to get lost." i was only hinting my wishes. "oh, let's go on to that tree. it's the only one here in this forsaken country. let's pay our respects to it," rachel urged. she was right. to an easterner's eye it was a forsaken country. from the shunganunga creek winding beneath a burden of low, black underbrush, northward to the river with its fringe of huge cottonwoods, not a tree broke the line of vision save this one sturdy young locust spreading its lacy foliage in dainty grace on the very summit of the gentle swell of land between the two streams. up to its pretty shadowed spaces we took our way. the grass was dry and brown with the august heat, and we rested awhile on the moonlit prairie. rachel was strikingly handsome, and the soft light lent a certain tone to her beauty. her hair and eyes were very dark, and her face was clear cut. there was a dash of boldness, an assumption of authority all prettily accented with smiles and dimples that was very bewitching. she was a subtle flatterer, and even the wisest men may be caught by that bait. it was the undercurrent of sympathy, product of my life-long ideals, my intense pity for the defenceless frontier, that divided my mind and led me away from temptation that night. "rachel melrose, we must go home," i insisted at last. "this tree is all right, but i could show you a cottonwood out above the neosho that dwarfs this puny locust. and yet this is a gritty sort of sapling to stand up here and grow and grow. i wonder if ever the town will reach out so far as this." i am told the tree is green and beautiful to-day, and that it is far inside the city limits, standing on the old huntoon road. about it are substantial homes. south of it is a pretty park now, while near it on the west is a handsome church, one of the city's lions to the stranger, for here the world-renowned author of "in his steps" has preached every sabbath for many years. but on that night it seemed far away from the river and the town nestling beside it. "i'll go down and take a look at your cottonwood before i go home. may i? you promised me last spring." rachel's voice was pleasant to hear. "why, of course. come on. mr. tillhurst will be there, i am sure, and glad as i shall be to see you." "oh, you rogue! always hunting for somebody else. i am not going to loose you from your promise. remember that you said you'd let everybody else alone when i came. now your mr. tillhurst can look after all the girls you have been flirting with down there, but you are my friend. didn't we settle that in those days together at dear old rockport? we'll just have the happiest time together, you and i, and nobody shall interfere to mar our pleasure." she was leaning toward me and her big dark eyes were full of feeling. i stood up before her. "my dear friend," i took her hand and she rose to her feet. "you have been very, very good to me. but i want to tell you now before you come to springvale"--she was close beside me, her hand on my arm, gentle and trembling. i seemed like a brute to myself, but i went on. "i want you to know that as my aunt's guest and mine, your pleasure will be mine. but i am not a flirt, and i do not care to hide from you the fact that my little springvale girl is the light of my life. you will understand why some claims are unbreakable. now you know this, let me say that it will be my delight to make your stay in the west pleasant." she bowed her proud head on my arm and the tears fell fast. "oh, rachel, i'm a beast, a coarse, crude westerner. forgive my plain speech. i only wanted you to know." but she didn't want to know. she wanted me to quit saying anything to her and her beautiful dark hair was almost against my cheek. gently as i could, i put her from me. drawing her hand through my arm, i patted it softly, and again i declared myself the bluntest of speakers. she only wept the more, and asked me to take her to her aunt's. i was glad to do it, and i bade her a humble good-bye at the door. she said not a word, but the pressure of her hand had speech. it made me feel that i had cruelly wronged her. as i started for town beyond the college, i shook my fist at that lone locust tree. "you blamed old sapling! if you ever tell what you saw to-night i hope you'll die by inches in a prairie fire." then i hurried to my room and put in the hours of the night, wakeful and angry at all the world, save my own springvale and the dear little girl so modest and true to me. the next day i left topeka, hoping never to see it again. chapter xiv deepening gloom a yellow moon in splendor drooping, a tired queen with her state oppressed, low by rushes and sword-grass stooping, lies she soft on the waves at rest. the desert heavens have felt her sadness; the earth will weep her some dewy tears; the wild beck ends her tune of gladness, and goeth stilly, as soul that fears. --jean ingelow. the easiest mental act i ever performed was the act of forgetting the existence of rachel melrose. before the stage had reached the divide beyond the wakarusa on its southward journey, i was thinking only of springvale and of what would be written in the letter that i knew was waiting for me in our "rockport." oh, i was a fond and foolish lover. i was only twenty-one and judson may have been right about my being callow. but i was satisfied with myself, as youth and inexperience will be. travelling was slow in those rough-going times, and a breakdown on a steep bit of road delayed us. instead of reaching home at sunset, we did not reach the ford of the neosho until eight o'clock. as i went up cliff street i turned by the bushes and slid down the rough stairway to the ledge below "rockport." i had passed under the broad, overhanging shelf that made the old playground above, when i suddenly became aware of the nearness of some one to me, the peculiar consciousness of the presence of a human being. the place was in deep shadow, although the full moon was sailing in glory over the prairies, as it had done above the lone topeka locust tree. my daily visits here had made each step familiar, however. i was only a few feet from the cunningly hidden crevice that had done post-office duty for marjie and me in the days of our childhood. just beside it was a deep niche in the wall. ordinarily i was free and noisy enough in my movements, but to-night i dropped silently into the niche as some one hurried by me, groping to find the way. instinctively i thought of jean pahusca, but jean never blundered like this. i had had cause enough to know his swift motion. and besides, he had been away from springvale so long that he was only a memory now. the figure scrambled to the top rapidly. "i'll guess that's petticoats going up there," i said mentally, "but who's hunting wild flowers out here alone this time of night? somebody just as curious about me as i am about her, no doubt. maybe some girl has a lover's haunt down that ledge. i'll have to find out. can't let my stairway out to the general climbing public." i was feeling for the letter in the crevice. "well, marjie has tucked it in good and safe. i didn't know that hole was so deep." i found my letter and hurried home. it was just a happy, loving message written when i was away, and a tinge of loneliness was in it. but marjie was a cheery, wholesome-spirited lass always, and took in the world from the sunny side. "there's a party down at anderson's to-night, phil," aunt candace announced, when i was eating my late supper. "the boys sent word for you to come over even if you did get home late. you are pretty tired, aren't you?" "never, if there's a party on the carpet," i answered gayly. i had nearly reached the anderson home, and the noisy gayety of the party was in my ears, when two persons met at the gate and went slowly in together. it was amos judson and lettie conlow. "well, of all the arrangements, now, that is the best," i exclaimed, as i went in after them. tillhurst was talking to marjie, who did not see me enter. "phil baronet! 'the handsome young giant of the neosho,'" o'mie shouted. "ladies and gentlemen: this is the very famous orator who got more applause in topeka this week than the very biggest man there. oh, my prophetic soul! but we were proud av him." "well, i guess we were," somebody else chimed in. "why didn't you come home with the crowd, handsome giant?" "he was charmed by that pretty girl, an old sweetheart of his from massachusetts." tillhurst was speaking. "you ought to have seen him with her, couldn't even leave when the rest of us did." there was a sudden silence. marjie was across the room from me, but i could see her face turn white. my own face flamed, but i controlled myself. and bud, the blessed old tow-head, came to my rescue. "good for you, phil. bet we've got one fellow to make a bothton girl open her eyeth even if tillhurtht couldn't. he'th jutht jealouth. but we all know phil! nobody'll ever doubt old philip!" it took the edge off the embarrassment, and o'mie, who had sidled over into marjie's neighborhood, said in a low voice: "tillhurst is a consummit liar, beautiful to look upon. that girl tagged phil. he couldn't get away an' be a gintleman." i did not know then what he was saying, but i saw her face bloom again. later i had her alone a moment. we were eating water melon on the back porch, half in the shadow, which we didn't mind, of course. "may i take you home, marjie, and tell you how sweet that letter was?" i asked. "phil, i didn't know you were coming, and richard tillhurst asked me just as you came in. i saw amos judson coming my way, so i made for the nearest port." "and you did right, dearie," i said very softly; "but, marjie, don't forget you are my girl, my only girl, and i'll tell you all about this topeka business to-morrow night. no, i'll write you a letter to-night when i go home. you'll find it at 'rockport' to-morrow." she smiled up at me brightly, saying contentedly, "oh, you are always all right, phil." as we trailed into the kitchen from the water melon feast, lettie conlow's dress caught on a nail in the floor. i stooped to loose it, and rasped my hand against a brier clinging to the floppy ruffle (lettie was much given to floppy things in dress), and behold, a sprig of little red blossoms was sticking to the prickles. these blooms were the kind marjie had sent me in her letter to topeka. they grew only in the crevices about the cliff. it flashed into my mind instantly that it was lettie who had passed me down on that ledge. "i suppose i'll find her under my plate some morning when i go to breakfast," i said to myself. "she is a trailer of the plains. why should she be forever haunting my way, though?" fate was against me that night. judson was called from the party to open the store. a messenger from red range had come posthaste for some merchandise. we did not know until the next day that it was the burial clothes for the beautiful young girl whose grave held dave mead's heart. before judson left, he came to me with lettie. "will you take this young lady home for me? i must go to the store at once. business before pleasure with me. that's it, business first. very sorry, miss lettie; phil will see you safely home." i was in for the obligation. the conlows lived four blocks beyond the shop down toward the creek. the way was shadowy, and lettie clung to my arm. i was tired from my stage ride of a day and a half, and i had not slept well for two nights. i distrusted lettie, for i knew her disposition as i knew her father's before her. "phil, why do you hate me?" she asked at the gate. "i don't hate you, lettie. you use an ugly word when you say 'hate,'" i replied. "there's one person i do hate," she said bitterly. "has he given you cause?" "it's not a man; it's a woman. it's marjie whately," she burst out. "i hate her." "well, lettie, i'm sorry, for i don't believe marjie deserves your hate." "of course, you'd say so. but never mind. marjie's not going to have my hate alone. you'll feel like i do yet, when her mother forces her away from you. marjie's just a putty ball in her mother's hands, and her mother is crazy about amos judson. oh, i've said too much," she exclaimed. "you have, lettie; but stop saying any more." i spoke sternly. "good-night." she did not return my greeting, and i heard her slam the door behind her. that night, late as it was, i wrote a long letter to marjie. i had no pangs of jealousy, and i felt that she knew me too well to doubt my faith, and yet i wanted just once more to assure her. when i had finished, i went out softly and took my way down to "rockport." it was one of those glorious midsummer moonlit nights that have in their subdued splendor something more regal than the most gorgeous midday. i was thankful afterwards for the perfect beauty of that peaceful night, with never a hint of the encroaching shadows, the deep gloom of sorrow creeping toward me and my loved one. the town was sleeping quietly. the neosho was "chattering over stony ways," and whispering its midnight melody. the wooded bottoms were black and glistening, and all the prairies were a gleaming, silvery sea of glory. the peace of god was on the world, the broad benediction of serenity and love. oh, many a picture have i in my memory's treasure house, that imperishable art gallery of the soul. and among them all, this one last happy night with its setting of nature's grand handiwork stands clear evermore. i had put my letter safe in its place, deep where nobody but marjie would find it. i knew that if even the slightest doubt troubled her this letter would lift it clean away. i told her of rachel melrose and of my fear of her designing nature, a fear that grew, as i reflected on her acts and words. i did not believe the young lady cared for me. it was a selfish wish to take what belonged to somebody else. i assured my little girl that only as a gentleman should be courteous, had been my courtesy to rachel. and then for the first time, i told marjie of her father's dying message. i had wanted her to love me for myself. i did not want any sense of duty to her father's wishes to sway her. i knew now that she did love me. and i closed the affectionate missive with the words: "to my father and aunt candace you are very dear. your mother has always been kind to me. i believe she likes me. but most of all, marjie, your father, who lies wrapped in the folds of that springvale flag, who gave his life to make safe and happy the land we love and the home we hope to build, your father, sent us his blessing. when the roar of cannon was changing for him to the chant of seraphim, and the glare of the battle field was becoming 'a sea of glass mingled with fire' that burst in splendor over the jewelled walls and battlements of the new jerusalem, even in that moment, his last thought was of us two. 'i hope they will love each other,' he said to my father. 'if they do, give them my blessing.' and then the night shut down for him. but in the eternal day where he waits our coming and loves us, marjie, if he knows of what we do here, he is blessing our love. "good-night, my dear, dear girl, my wife that is to be, and know now and always there is for me only one love. in sunny ways or shadow-checkered paths, whatever may come, i cannot think other than as i do now. you are life of my life. and so again, good-night." i had climbed to the rock above the crevice and was standing still as the night about me for the moment when a grip like steel suddenly closed on my neck and an arm like the tentacle of a devilfish slid round my waist. then the swift adroitness of knee and shoulder bent me backward almost off my feet. i gave a great wrench, and with a power equal to my assailant, struggled with him. it was some moments before i caught sight of his face. it was jean pahusca. i think my strength grew fourfold with that glimpse. it was the first time in our lives that we had matched muscle. he must have been the stronger of the two, but discipline and temperate habits had given me endurance and judgment. it was a life-and-death strife between us. he tried to drag me to the edge of the rock. i strove to get him through the bushes into the street. at length i gained the mastery and with my hand on his throat and my knee on his chest i held him fast. "you miserable devil!" i muttered, "you have the wrong man. you think me weak as o'mie, whose body you could bind. i have a mind to choke you here, you murderer. i could do it and rid the world of you, now." he struggled and i gave him air. there was something princely about him even as he lay in my power. and, fiend as he was, he never lost the spirit of a master. to me also, brute violence was repulsive now that the advantage was all mine. "you deserve to die. heaven is saving you for a fate you may well dread. you would be in jail in ten minutes if you ever showed your face here in the daylight, and hanged by the first jury whose verdict could be given. i could save all that trouble now in a minute, but i don't want to be a murderer like you. for the sake of my own hands and for the sake of the man whose son i believe you to be, i'll spare your life to-night on one condition!" i loosed my hold and stepped away from him. he rose with an effort, but he could not stand at first. "leave this country to-night, and never show your face here again. there are friends of o'mie's sworn to shoot you on sight. go now to your own tribe and do it quickly." slowly, like a promise made before high heaven, he answered me. "i will go, but i shall see you there. when we meet again, my hand will have you by the throat. and--i don't care whose son you are." he slid down the cliff-side like a lizard, and was gone. i turned and stumbled through the bushes full into lettie conlow crouching among them. "lettie, lettie," i cried, "go home." "i won't unless you will come with me," she answered coaxingly. "i have taken you home once to-night," i said. "now you may go alone or stay here as you choose," and i left her. "you'll live to see the day you'll wish you hadn't said that," i heard her mutter threateningly behind me. a gray mist had crept over the low-hanging moon. the world, so glorious in its softened radiance half an hour ago, was dull and cheerless now. and with a strange heartache and sense of impending evil i sought my home. the next day was a busy one in the office. my father was deep in the tangle of a legal case and more than usually grave. early in the afternoon, cam gentry had come into the courthouse, and the two had a long conference. toward evening he called me into his private office. "phil, this land case is troubling me. i believe the papers we want are in that old cabin. could you go out again to-morrow?" he smiled now. "go and make a careful search of the premises. if there are any boxes, open them. i will give you an order from sheriff karr. and phil, i believe i wouldn't take marjie this time. i want to have a talk with her to-morrow, anyhow. you can't monopolize all her time. i saw mrs. whately just now and made an appointment with her for marjie." when he spoke again, his words startled me. "phil, when did you see jean pahusca last?" "last night, no, this morning, about one o'clock," i answered confusedly. my father swung around in his chair and stared at me. then his face grew stern, and i knew my safety lay in the whole truth. i learned that when i was a boy. "where was he?" the firing had begun. "on the point of rock by the bushes on cliff street." "what were you doing there?" "looking at the moonlight on the river." "did you see him first?" "no, or he would not have seen me." "phil, save my time now. it's a matter of great importance to my business. also, it is serious with you. begin at the party. whose escort were you?" "lettie conlow's." my father looked me straight in the eyes. i returned his gaze steadily. "go on. tell me everything." he spoke crisply. "i was late to the party. tillhurst asked marjie for her company just as i went in. judson was going her way, and she chose the lesser of two--pleasures, we'll say. just before the party broke up, judson was called out. he had asked lettie for her company, and he shoved her over to my tender mercies." "and you went strolling up on cliff street in the moonlight with her till after midnight. is that fair to marjie?" i had never heard his voice sound so like resonant iron before. "i, strolling? i covered the seven blocks from anderson's to conlow's in seven minutes, and stood at the gate long enough to let the young lady through, and to pinch my thumb in the blamed old latch, i was in such a hurry; and then i made for the baronets' roost." "but why didn't you stay there?" he asked. i blushed for a certainty now. my actions seemed so like a brain-sick fool's. "now, phil," my father said more kindly, "you remember i told you when you came to let me know you were twenty-one, that you must not get too old to make a confidant of me. it is your only safe course now." "father, am i a fool, or is it in the baronet blood to love deeply and constantly even unto death?" the strong man before me turned his face to the window. "go on," he said. "i had been away nearly a week. i sat up and wrote a long letter to marjie. it would stand as clean evidence in court. i'm not ashamed of what i put on paper, although it is my own business. then i went out to a certain place under the cliff where marjie and i used to hide our valentines and put little notes for each other years ago." "the post-office is safer, phil." "not with tell mapleson as postmaster." he assented, and i went on. "i had come to the top again and was looking at the beauty of the night, when somebody caught me by the throat. it was jean pahusca." briefly then i related what had taken place. "and after that?" queried my questioner. "i ran into lettie conlow. she may have been there all the time. i do not know, but i felt no obligation to take care of a girl who will not take care of herself. it was rude, i know, and against my creed, but that's the whole truth. i may be a certain kind of a fool about a girl i know. but i'm not the kind of gay fool that goes out after divers and strange women. bill mead told me this morning that he and bud anderson passed lettie somewhere out west alone after one o'clock. he was in a hurry, but he stopped her and asked her why she should be out alone. i think bud went home with her. none of the boys want harm to come to her, but she grows less pleasant every day. bill would have gone home with her, but he was hurrying out to red range. dave's girl died out there last night. poor dave!" "poor dave!" my father echoed, and we sat in silence with our sympathy going out to the fine young man whose day was full of sorrow. "well," my father said, "to come back to our work now. there are some ugly stories going that i have yet to get hold of. cam gentry is helping me toward it all he can. this land case will never come to court if mapleson can possibly secure the land in any other way. he'd like to ruin us and pay off that old grudge against you for your part in breaking up the plot against springvale back in ' and the suspicion it cast on him. do you see?" i was beginning to see a little. "now, you go out to the stone cabin to-morrow afternoon and make a thorough search for any papers or other evidence hidden there. the man who owned that land was a degenerate son of a noble house. there are some missing links in the evidence that our claim is incontestable. the other claimant to the land is entirely under tell mapleson's control. that's the way it shapes up to me. meanwhile if it gets into court, two or more lines are ready to tighten about you. keep yourself in straight paths and you are sure at last to win. i have no fear for you, phil, but be a man every minute." i understood him. as i left the courthouse, i met o'mie. there was a strange, pathetic look in his eyes. he linked his arm in mine, and we sauntered out under the oak trees of the courthouse grounds. "phil, do ye remimber that may mornin' when ye broke through the vines av the hermit's cave? i know now how the pityin' face av the christ looked to the man who had been blind. i know how the touch av his hands felt to them as had been lepers. they was made free and safe. wake as i was that sorry mornin' i had one thought before me brain wint dark, the thought that i might some day help you aven a little. i felt that way in me wakeness thin. to-day in me strength i feel it a hundred times more. ye may not nade me, but whin ye do, i'm here. whin i was a poor lost orphan boy, worth nothin' to nobody, you risked life an' limb to drag me back from the agony av a death by inches. and now, while i'm only a rid-headed irishman, i can do a dale more thinkin' and i know a blamed lot more 'n this blessed little burg iver drames of. they ain't no bloodhound on your track, but a ugly octopus of a devilfish is gittin' its arms out after you. they's several av 'em. don't forgit, phil; i know i'd die for your sake." "o'mie, i believe you, but don't be uneasy about me. you know me as well as anybody in this town. what have i to fear?" "begorra, there was niver a purer-hearted boy than you iver walked out of a fun-lovin', rollickin' boyhood into a clane, honest manhood. you can't be touched." just then the evening stage swung by and swept up the hill. "look at the ould man, now, would ye? phil, he's makin' fur bar'net's. bet some av your rich kin's comin' from the east, bringing you their out-av-style clothes, an' a few good little books and sunday-school tracts to improve ye." there was only one passenger in the stage, a woman whose face i could not see. that evening o'mie went to judson at closing time. "mr. judson, i want a lave of absence fur a week or tin days," he said. "what for?" judson was the kind of man who could never be pleasant to his employees, for fear of losing his authority over them. "i want to go out av town on business," o'mie replied. "whose business?" snapped judson. "me own," responded o'mie calmly. "i can't have it. that's it. i just can't have my clerks and underlings running around over the country taking my time." "then i'll lave your time here whin i go," o'mie spoke coolly. he had always been respectful toward his employer, but he had no servile fear of him. "i just can't allow it," judson went on. "i need you here." o'mie was the life of the business, the best asset in the store. "it may be a slack time, but i can't have it; that's it, i just can't put up with it. besides," he simpered a little, in spite of himself, "besides, i'm likely to be off a few days myself, just any time, i can get ready for a step i have in mind, an important step, just any minute, but it's different with some others, and we have to regard some others, you know; have to let some others have their way once in a while. we'll consider it settled now. you are to stay right here." "ye'll consider it settled that i'm nadin' a tin days' vacation right away, an' must have it." "i can't do it, o'meara; that's it. i would not give you your place again, and i won't pay you a cent of this quarter's salary." judson's foolish temper was always his undoing. "you say you won't?" o'mie asked with a smile. "no, i won't. hereafter you may beg your way or starve!" judson fairly shouted. "excuse me, mr. amos judson, but i'm not to thim straits yit. not yit. i've a little bank account an' a good name at cris mead's bank. most as good as yours." the shot went home. judson had but recently failed to get the bank's backing in a business dealing he had hoped to carry through on loans, and it had cut his vanity deeply. "good-bye, amos, i'll be back, but not any sooner than ye nade me," and he was gone. the next day dever the stage driver told us o'mie was going up to wyandotte on business. "whose business?" i asked. "he doesn't know a soul in wyandotte, except tell and jim, who were working up there the last i knew. tell may be in fort scott now. whose business was it?" "that's what i asked him," dever answered with a grin, "and he said, his own." whatever it was, o'mie was back again before the end of the week. but he idled about for the full ten days, until judson grew frantic. the store could not be managed without him, and it was gratifying to o'mie's mischievous spirit to be solicited with pledge and courtesy to take his place again. after o'mie had left me in the courthouse yard, the evening after the party, i stopped on my way home to see marjie a moment. she had gone with the meads out to red range, her mother said, and might not be back till late, possibly not till to-morrow. judson was sitting in the room when i came to the door. i had no especial reason to think mrs. whately was confused by my coming. she was always kind to everybody. but somehow the gray shadows of the clouded moon of the night before were chilling me still, and i was bitterly disappointed at missing my loved one's face in her home. it seemed ages since i had had her to myself; not since the night before my trip to topeka. i stopped long enough to visit the "rockport" letter-box for the answer to my letter i knew she would leave before she went out of town. there was no letter there. my heart grew heavy with a weight that was not to lift again for many a long day. up on the street i met dr. hemingway. his kind eyes seemed to penetrate to my very soul. "good-evening, philip," he said pleasantly, grasping my hand with a firm pressure. "your face isn't often clouded." i tried to look cheerful. "oh, it's just the weather and some loss of sleep. kansas augusts are pretty trying." "they should not be to a young man," he replied. "all weathers suit us if we are at peace within. that's where the storm really begins." "maybe so," i said. "but i'm all right, inside and out." "you look it, philip." he took my hand affectionately. "you are the very image of clean, strong manhood. let not your heart be troubled." i returned his hand-clasp and went my way. however much courage it may take to push forward to victory or death on the battle field, not the least of heroism does it sometimes require to walk bravely toward the deepening gloom of an impending ill. i have followed both paths and i know what each one demands. at our doorway, waiting to welcome me, stood rachel melrose, smiling, sure, and effusively demonstrative in her friendship. she must have followed me on the next stage out of topeka. behind her stood candace baronet, the only woman i have ever known who never in all my life doubted me nor misunderstood me. somehow the sunset was colorless to me that night, and all the rippling waves of wide west prairie were shorn of their glory. chapter xv rockport and "rockport" glitters the dew, and shines the river, up comes the lily and dries her bell; but two are walking apart forever, and wave their hands in a mute farewell. --jean ingelow. the melrose family was of old time on terms of intimacy with the house of baronet. it was a family with a proud lineage, wealth, and culture to its credit. rachel had an inherited sense of superiority. too much staying between the white mountains and the atlantic ocean is narrowing to the mental scope. the west to her was but a wilderness whereto the best things of life never found their way. she took everything in massachusetts as hers by due right, much more did it seem that kansas should give its best to her; and withal she was a woman who delighted in conquest. her arrival in springvale made a topic that was soon on everybody's tongue. in the afternoon of the day following her coming, when i went to my father's office before starting out to the stone cabin, i found marjie there. i had not seen her since the party, and i went straight to her chair. "well, little girl, it's ten thousand years since i saw you last," i spoke in a low voice. my father was searching for some papers in his cabinet, and his back was toward us. "why didn't i get a letter, dearie?" she looked up with eyes whose brown depths were full of pain and sorrow, but with an expression i had never seen on her face before, a kind of impenetrable coldness. it cut me like a sword-thrust, and i bent over her. "oh, marjie, my marjie, what is wrong?" "here is that paper at last," my father said before he turned around. even as he spoke, rachel melrose swept into the room. "why, philip, i missed you after all. i didn't mean to keep you waiting, but i can never get accustomed to your western hurry." she was very handsome and graceful, and always at ease with me, save in our interviews alone. "i didn't know you were coming," i said frankly; "but i want you to meet miss whately. this is the young lady i have told you about." i took marjie's hand as i spoke. it was cold, and i gave it the gentle pressure a lover understands as i presented her. she gave me a momentary glance. oh, god be thanked for the love-light in those brown eyes! the memory of it warmed my heart a thousand times when long weary miles were between us, and a desolate sky shut down around the far desolate plains of a silent, featureless land. "and this is miss melrose, the young lady i told you of in my letter," i said to marjie. a quick change came into her eyes, a look of surprise and incredulity and scorn. what could have happened to bring all this about? rachel melrose had made the fatal mistake of thinking that no girl reared west of the alleghenies could be very refined or at ease or appear well dressed in the company of eastern people. she was not prepared for the quiet courtesy and self-possession with which the kansas girl greeted her; nor had she expected, as she told me afterward, to find in a town like springvale such good taste and exquisite neatness in dress. true, she had many little accessories of an up-to-date fashion that had not gotten across the mississippi river to our girls as yet, but marjie had the grace of always choosing the right thing to wear. i was very proud of my loved one at that moment. there was a show of cordiality between the two; then rachel turned to me. "i'm going with you this afternoon. excuse me, miss whately, mr. baronet promised me up at topeka to take me out to see a wonderful cottonwood tree that he said just dwarfed the little locust there, that we went out one glorious moonlight night to see. it was a lovely stroll though, wasn't it, philip?" this time it was my father's eyes that were fixed upon me in surprise and stern inquiry. "he will believe i am a flirt after all. it isn't possible to make any man understand how that miserable girl can control things, unless he is on the ground all the time." so ran my thoughts. "father, must that trip be made to-day? because i'd rather get up a party and go out when miss melrose goes." but my father was in no mood to help me then. he had asked me to go alone. evidently he thought i had forgotten business and constancy of purpose in the presence of this pretty girl. "it must be done to-day. miss melrose will wait, i'm sure. it is a serious business matter--" "oh, but i won't, mr. baronet. your son promised me to do everything for me if i would only come to springvale; that was away last spring, and my stay will be short at best. i must go back to-morrow afternoon. don't rob us of a minute." she spoke with such a pretty grace, and yet her words were so trifling that my father must have felt as i did. he could have helped me then had he thought that i deserved help, for he was a tactful man. but he merely assented and sent us away. when we were gone marjie turned to him bravely. "judge baronet, i think i will go home. i came in from red range this noon with the meads. it was very warm, coming east, and i am not very well." she was as white as marble. "i will see you again; may i?" john baronet was a man of deep sympathy as well as insight. he knew why the bloom had left her cheeks. "all right, marjie. you will be better soon." he had risen and taken her cold hand. there was a world of cheer and strength in that rich resonant voice of his. "little girl, you must not worry over anything. all the tangles will straighten for you. be patient, the sunshine is back of all shadows. i promised your father, marjory, that no harm should come to you. i will keep my promise. 'let not your heart be troubled.'" his words were to her what the good minister's had been to me. in the months that came after that my father was her one strong defence. poor marjie! her days as well as mine were full of creeping shadows. i had no notion of the stories being poured into her ears, nor did i dream of the mischief and sorrow that can be wrought by a jealous-hearted girl, a grasping money lover, and a man whose business dealings will not bear the light of day. it has ever been the stage-driver's province to make the town acquainted with the business of each passenger whom he imports or exports. our man, dever, was no exception. judson's store had become the centre of all the gossip in springvale. judson himself was the prince of scandalmongers, who with a pretence of refusing to hear gossip, peddled it out most industriously. he had hurried to mrs. whately with the story of our guest, and here i found him when i went to see marjie, before i myself knew what passenger the stage had carried up to cliff street. after the party at anderson's, tillhurst had not lost the opportunity of giving his version of all he had seen and heard in topeka. marjie listened in amazement but sure in her trustful heart that i would make it all clear to her in my letter. and yet she wondered why i had never mentioned that name to her, nor given her any hint of any one with claim enough on me to keep me for two days in topeka. after all, she did recall the name--something forgotten in the joy and peace of that sweet afternoon out by the river in the draw where the haunted house was. had i tried to tell her and lost my courage, she wondered. oh, no, it could not be so. the next day marjie spent at red range. it was noon of the day following rachel's arrival before she reached home. the ride in the midday heat, sympathy for dave mead, and the sad funeral rites in the morning, together with the memory of tillhurst's gossip and the long time since we had talked with each other alone, had been enough to check even her sunny spirit. gentle mrs. whately, willing to believe everybody, met her daughter with a sad face. "my dear, i have some unwelcome news for you," she said when marjie was resting in the cool sitting-room after the hot ride. "there's an old sweetheart of phil's came here last evening to visit him. mr. dever, the stage-driver, says she is the handsomest girl he ever saw. they say she and phil were engaged and had a falling out back east. they met again in topeka, and phil stayed a day or two to visit with her after the political meeting was over. and now she has come down here at his request to meet his folks. marjie, daughter, you need not care. there are more worthy men who would be proud to marry you." marjie made no reply. "oh, daughter, he isn't worth your grief. be strong. your life will get into better channels now. there are those who care for you more than you dream of. and you cannot care for phil when i tell you all i must tell." "i will be strong, mother. what else?" marjie said quietly. in the shadows of the room darkened to keep out the noonday heat, mrs. whately did not note the white face and the big brown eyes burning with pain. "it's too bad, but you ought to know it. judge baronet's got some kind of a land case on hand. there's a fine half-section he's trying to get away from a young man who is poor. the judge is a clever lawyer and he is a rich man. mr. judson says tell mapleson is this young man's counsel, and he's fighting to keep the land for its real owner. well, phil was strolling around until nearly morning with lettie conlow, and they met this young man somewhere. he doesn't live about here. and, marjie, right before lettie, phil gave him an awful beating and made him promise never to show himself in springvale again. you know judge baronet could do anything in that court-room he wants to. he is a fine man. how your father loved him! but phil goes out and does the dirty work to help him win. so amos judson says." "did amos judson tell you all this, mother?" marjie asked faintly. "most of it. and he is so interested in your welfare, daughter." marjie rose to her feet. "mother, i don't know how much truth there may be in the circumstances, but i'll wait until somebody besides amos judson tells me before i accept these stories." "well, marjie, you are young. you must lean on older counsel. there is no man living as good and true as your father was to me. remember that." "yes, there is," marjie declared. "who is he, daughter?" "philip baronet," marjie answered proudly. that afternoon richard tillhurst called and detained marjie until she was late in keeping her appointment with judge baronet. tillhurst's tale of woe was in the main a repetition of mrs. whately's, but he knew better how to make it convincing, for he had hopes of winning the prize if i were out of the way. he was too keen to think judson a dangerous rival with a girl of marjie's good sense and independence. it was with these things in mind that marjie had met me. rachel melrose had swept in on us, and i who had declared to my dear one that i should never care to take another girl out to that sunny draw full of hallowed memories for us two, i was going again with this beautiful woman, my sweetheart from the east. and yet marjie was quick enough to note that i had tried to evade the company of miss melrose, and she had seen in my eyes the same look that they had had for her all these years. could i be deceiving her by putting rachel off in her presence? she did not want to think so. had judge baronet not been my father, he could have taken her into his confidence. she could not speak to him of me, nor could he discuss his son's actions with her. but love is strong and patient, and marjie determined not to give up at the first onslaught against it. "i'll write to him now," she said. "there will be sure to be a letter for me up under 'rockport.' he said something about a letter this afternoon, the letter he promised to write after the party at anderson's. he couldn't be deceiving me, i'm sure. i'll tell him everything, and if he really doesn't care for me,"--the blank of life lay sullen and dull before her,--"i'll know it any how. but if he does care, he'll have a letter for me all right." and so she wrote, a loving, womanly letter, telling in her own sweet way all her faith and the ugly uncertainty that was growing up against it. "but i know you, phil, and i know you are all my own." so she ended the letter, and in the purple twilight she hastened up to the cliff and found her way down to our old shaded corner under the rock. there was no letter awaiting her. she held her own a minute and then she thrust it in. "i'll do anything for phil," she murmured softly. "i cannot help it. he was my own--he must be mine still." a light laugh sounded on the rock above her. "are you waiting for me here?" a musical voice cried out. it was rachel's voice. "your aunt said you were gone out and would be back soon. i knew you would like me to meet you half way. it is beautiful here, you must love the place, but"--she added so softly that the unwilling listener did not catch her words--"it isn't so fine as our old rockport!" quickly came the reply in a voice marjie knew too well, although the tone was unlike any she had ever heard before. "i hate rockport; i did not tell you so when i left last spring, but i hated it then." swiftly across the listener's mind swept the memory of my words. "if you ever hear me say i don't like 'rockport' you will know i don't care for you." she had heard me say these words, had heard them spoken in a tone of vehement feeling. there was no mistaking the speaker's sincerity, and then the quick step and swing of the bushes told her i had gone. the neosho valley turned black before her eyes, and she sank down on the stone shelving of the ledge. my ride that afternoon had been a miserable one. rachel was coy and sweet, yet cunningly bold. i felt indignant at my father for forcing her company on me, and i resented the circumstance that made me a victim to injustice. i detested the beautiful creature beside me for her assumption of authority over my actions, and above all, i longed with an aching, starved heart for marjie. i knew she had only to read my letter to understand. she might not have gone after it yet, but i could see her that evening and all would be well. i did not go near the old stone cabin. my father had failed to know his son if he thought i would obey under these hard conditions. we merely drove about beyond the draw. then we rested briefly under the old cottonwood before we started home. in the twilight i hurried out to our "rockport" to wait for marjie. i was a little late and so i did not know that marjie was then under the point of rock. my rudeness to rachel was unpardonable, but she had intruded one step too far into the sacred precincts of my life. i would not endure her in the place made dear to me from childhood, by association with marjie. so i rashly blurted out my feelings and left her, never dreaming who had heard me nor what meaning my words would carry. down at the whately home richard tillhurst sat, bland and smiling, waiting for miss whately's return. i sat down to wait also. the august evening was dry and the day's hot air was rippling now into a slight breeze. the shadows deepened and the twilight had caught its last faint glow, when marjie, white and cold, came slowly up the walk. her brown hair lay in little curls about her temples and her big dark eyes were full of an utterable sorrow. i hurried out to the gate to meet her, but she would have passed by me with stately step. "marjie," i called softly, holding the gate. "good-evening, philip. please don't speak to me one word." her voice was low and sweet as of yore save that it was cold and cutting. she stood beside me for a moment. "i cannot be detained now. you will find your mother's ring in a package of letters i shall send you to-morrow. for my sake as well as for your own, please let this matter end here without any questions." "but i will ask you questions," i declared. "then they will not be answered. you have deceived me and been untrue to me. i will not listen to one word. you may be very clever, but i understand you now. this is the end of everything for you and me." and so she left me. i stood at the gate only long enough to hear her cordial greeting of tillhurst. my marjie, my own, had turned against me. the shadows of the deepening twilight turned to horrid shapes, and all the purple richness with that deep crimson fold low in the western sky became a chill gloom bordered on the horizon by the flame of hate. so the glory of a world gone wrong slips away, and the creeping shadows are typical only of pain and heartache. i turned aimlessly away. i had told marjie she was the light of my life: i did not understand the truth of the words until the light went out. heavily, as i had staggered toward her mother's house on the night when i was sure jean pahusca had stolen her, i took my way now into the gathering shadows, slowly, to where i could hear the neosho whispering and muttering in the deep gloom. it comes sometimes to most of us, the wild notion that life, the gift of god alone, is a cheap thing not worth the keeping, and the impulse to fling it away uprears its ugly suggestion. out in a square of light by the ford i saw dave mead standing, looking straight before him. the sorrows of the day were not all mine. i went to him, and we stood there silent together. at length we turned about in a purposeless way toward the open west prairie. how many a summer evening we had wandered here! how often had our ponies come tramping home side by side, in the days when we brought the cows in late from the farthest draw! it seemed like another world now. "phil, you are very good to me. don't pity me! i can't stand that." we never had a tenor in our choir with a voice so clear and rich as his. "i don't pity you, dave, i envy you." i spoke with an effort. "you have not lost, you have only begun a long journey. there is joy at the end of it." "oh, that is easy for you to say, who have everything to make you happy." "i? oh, dave! i have not even a grave." the sudden sense of loss, driven back by the thought of another's sorrow, swept over me again. it was his turn now to forget himself. "what is it, phil? have you and marjie quarrelled? you never were meant for that, either of you. it can't be." "no, dave. i don't know what is wrong. i only wish--no, i don't. it is hard to be a man with the heart of a boy still, a foolish boy with foolish ideals of love and constancy. i can't talk to-night, dave, only i envy you the sure possession, the eternal faith that will never be lost." he pressed my hand in his left hand. his right arm had had only a limited usefulness since the night he tried to stop jean pahusca down by the mad floods of the neosho. i have never seen him since we parted on the prairie that august evening. the next day he went to red range to stay for a short time. by the end of a week i had left springvale, and we are to each other only boyhood memories now. out on the open prairie, where there was room to think and be alone, i went to fight my battle. there was only a sweep of silver sky above me and a sweep of moonlit plain about me. dim to the southwest crept the dark shadow of the wooded fingal's creek valley, while against the horizon the big cottonwood tree was only a gray blur. the mind can act swiftly. by the time the moon had swung over the midnight line i had mapped out my course. and while i seemed to have died, and another being had my personality, with only memory the same in both, i rose up armed in spirit to do a man's work in the world. but it cost me a price. i have been on a battle field with a thousand against fifty, and i was one of the fifty. such a strife as i pray heaven may never be in our land again. i have looked death in the face day after day creeping slowly, surely toward me while i must march forward to meet it. did the struggle this night out on the prairie strengthen my soul to bear it all, i wonder. the next morning a package addressed in marjie's round girlish hand was put before me. forgetful of resolve, i sent back by its bearer an imploring appeal for a chance to meet her and clear up the terrible misunderstanding. the note came back unopened. i gave it with the bundle to aunt candace. "keep this for me, auntie, dear," i said, and my voice trembled. she took it from my hand. "all right, phil, i'll keep it. you are not at the end of things, dearie. you are only at the beginning. i'll keep this. it is only keeping, remember." she pointed to a stain on the unopened note, the round little blot only a tear can make. "it isn't yours, i know." it was the first touch of comfort i had felt. however slender the thread, hope will find it strong to cling to. rachel's visit ended that day. self-centred always, she treated me as one who had been foolish, but whom she considered her admirer still. it was not in her nature to be rejected. she shaped things to fit her vanity, and forgot what could not be controlled. i refused to allow myself to be alone with her again. nobody was ever so tied to a woman's presence as i kept myself by aunt candace so long as i remained in the house. my father, i knew, was grieved and indignant. with all my fair promises and pretended loyalty i seemed to be an idle trifler. how could my relation to lettie conlow be explained away in the light of this visit from a handsome cultured young lady, who had had an assurance of welcome or she would not have come. he loved marjie as the daughter of his dearest friend. he had longed to call her, "daughter," and i had foolishly thrown away a precious prize. serious, too, was my reckless neglect of business. i had disregarded his request to manage a grave matter. instead of going alone to the cabin, i had gone off with a pretty girl and reported that i had found nothing. "did you go near the cabin?" he drove the question square at me, and i had sullenly answered, "no, sir." clearly i needed more discipline than the easy life in springvale was giving me. i went down to the office in the afternoon, hoping for something, i hardly knew what. he was alone, and i asked for a few words with him. somehow i seemed more of a man to myself than i had ever felt before in his presence. "father," i began. "when the sea did its worst for you--fifteen years ago--you came to the frontier here, and somehow you found peace. you have done your part in the making of the lawless territory into a law-abiding state, this portion of it at least. the frontier moves westward rapidly now." "well?" he queried. "i have lost--not by the sea--but, well, i've lost. i want to go to the frontier too. i must get away from here. the plains--somewhere--may help me." "but why leave here?" he asked. after all, the father-heart was yearning to keep his son. "why did you leave massachusetts?" i could not say rockport. i hated the sound of the name. "where will you go, my boy?" he spoke with deepest sorrow, and love mingled in his tones. "out to the saline country. they need strong men out there. i must have been made to defend the weak." it was not a boast, but the frank expression of my young manhood's ideal. "your friend mr. morton urged me to come. may i go to him? it may be i can find my place out in that treeless open land; that there will come to me, as it came to you, the help that comes from helping others." oh, i had fought my battle well. i was come into a man's estate now and had put away childish things. my father sitting before me took both my hands in his. "my son, you are all i have. you cannot long deceive me. i have trusted you always. i love you even unto the depths of disgrace. tell me truly, have you done wrong? i will soon know it. tell me now." "father," i held his hands and looked steadily into his eyes. "i have no act to conceal from you, nor any other living soul. i must leave here because i cannot stay and see--father, marjie is lost to me. i do not know why." "well, find out." he spoke cheerily. "it is no use. she has changed, and you know her father's firmness. she is his mental image." "there is no stain somewhere, no folly of idle flirtation, no weakness? i hear much of you and lettie." "father, i have done nothing to make me ashamed. last night when i fought my battle to the finish, for the first time in my life i knew my mother was with me. somehow it was her will guiding me. i know my place. i cannot stay here. i will go where the unprotected need a strength like mine." the stage had stopped at the courthouse door, and rachel melrose ran up the steps and entered the outer office. my father went out to meet her. "are you leaving us?" he asked kindly. "yes, i had only a day or two that i could spend here. but where is philip?" john baronet had closed his door behind him. i thanked him fervently in my heart for his protection. how could i meet this woman now? and yet she had seemed only selfishly mischievous, and i must not be a coward, so i came out of the inner room at once. a change swept over her face when i appeared. the haughty careless spirit gave place to gentleness, and, as always, she was very pretty. nothing of the look or manner was lost on john baronet, and his pity for her only strengthened his opinion of my insincerity. "good-bye, philip. we shall meet again soon, i hope. good-bye, judge baronet." her voice was soft and full of sadness. she smiled upon us both and turned to go. my father led her down the courthouse steps and helped her into the stage. when he came back i did not look up. there was nothing for me to say. quietly, as though nothing had occurred, he took up his work, his face as impenetrable as jean pahusca's. my resemblance to my mother is strong. as i bent over his desk to gather up some papers for copying, my heavy dark hair almost brushed his cheek. i did not know then how his love for me was struggling with his sense of duty. "i have trusted him too much, and given him too free a rein. he doesn't know yet how to value a woman's feelings. he must learn his lesson now. but he shall not go away without my blessing." so he mused. "philip," his voice was as kind as it was firm, "we shall see what the days will bring. your mother's spirit may be guiding you, and your father's love is always with you. whatever snarls and tangles have gotten into your threads, time and patience will straighten and unravel. whatever wrong you may have done, willingly or unwillingly, you must make right. there is no other way." "father," i replied in a voice as firm as his own. "father, i have done no wrong." once more he looked steadily into my eyes and through them down into my very soul. "phil, i believe you. these things will soon pass away." in the early twilight i went for the last time to "rockport." there are sadder things than funeral rites. the tragedies of life do not always ring down the curtain leaving the stage strewn with the forms of the slain. oftener they find the living actor following his lines and doing his part of the play as if all life were a comedy. the man of sixty years may smile at the intensity of feeling in the boy of twenty-one, but that makes it no easier for the boy. i watched the sun go down that night, and then i waited through the dark hour till the moon, now past the full, should once more illumine the neosho valley. although i have always been a lover of nature, that sunset and the purple twilight following, the darkness of the early evening hour and the glorious moonrise are tinged with a sorrow i have never quite lost even in the happier years since then. i sat alone on the point of rock. at last the impulse to go down below and search for a letter from marjie overcame me, although i laughed bitterly at the folly of such a notion. in the crevice where her letter had been placed for me the night before, i found nothing. what a different story i might have to tell had i gone down at sunset instead of waiting through that hour of darkness before the moon crept above the eastern horizon line! and yet i believe that in the final shaping-up the best thing for each one comes to all of us. else the universe is without a plan and love unwavering and eternal is only a vagary of the dreamer. early the next morning i left springvale, and set my face to the westward, as john baronet had done a decade and a half before, to begin life anew where the wilderness laps the frontier line. my father held my hand long when i said good-bye, and love and courage and trust were all in that hand-clasp. "you'll win out, my boy. keep your face to the light. the world has no place for the trifler, the coward, or the liar. it is open to homestead claims for all the rest. you will not fail." and with his kiss on my forehead he let me go. * * * * * anything is news in a little town, and especially interesting in the dull days of late summer. the word that i had gone away started from conlow's shop and swept through the town like a prairie fire through a grassy draw. no one man is essential to any community. springvale didn't need me so much as i needed it. but when i left it there were many more than i deserved who not only had a good word for me; they went further, and demanded that good reason for my going must be shown, or somebody would be made to suffer. foremost among these were cam gentry, dr. hemingway, and cris mead, president of the springvale bank, the father of bill and dave. of course, the boys, the blessed old gang, who had played together and worked together and been glad and sorry with each other down the years, the boys were loyal to the last limit. but we had our share of gossips who had a tale they could unfold--a dreadful tale! beginning with my forging my father's name to get money to spend on rachel melrose and other topeka girls, and to pay debts i had contracted at harvard, on and on the tale ran, till, by the time the fingal's creek neighborhood got hold of the "real facts," it developed that i had all but murdered a man who stood in the way of a rich fee my father was to get out of a land suit somewhere; and lastly came an ominous shaking of the head and a keeping back of the "worst truth," about my gay escapades with girls of shady reputation whom i had deceived, and cruelly wronged, trusting to my standing as a rich man's son to pull me through all right. marjie was the last one in springvale to be told of my sudden leave-taking. the day had been intolerably long for her, and the evening brought an irresistible temptation to go up to our old playground. contrary to his daily habit my father had passed the whately house on his way home, and marjie had seen him climb the hill. i was as like him in form as jean pahusca was like father le claire. six feet and two inches he stood, and so perfectly proportioned that he never looked corpulent. i matched him in height and weight, but i had not his fine bearing, for i had seen no military service then. i do not marvel that springvale was proud of him, for his character matched the graces nature had given him. as marjie watched him going the way i had so often taken, her resolve to forget what we had been to each other suddenly fell to pieces. her feelings could not change at once. mental habits are harder to break up than physical appetites. for fourteen years my loved one had known me, first as her stanch defender in our plays, then as her boy sweetheart and lastly as her lover and betrothed husband. could twenty-four hours of distrust and misunderstanding displace these fourteen years of happy thinking? and so after sunset marjie went up the slope, hardly knowing why she should do so or what she would say to me if she should meet me there. it was a poor beginning for the new life she had carefully mapped out, but impulse was stronger than resolve in her just then. just at the steep bend in the street she came face to face with lettie conlow. the latter wore a grin of triumph as the two met. "good-evening, marjie. i s'pose you've heard the news?" "what news?" asked marjie. "i haven't heard anything new to-day." "oh, yes, you have, too. you know all about it; but i'd not care if i was you." marjie was on her guard in a moment. "i don't care for what i don't know, lettie," she replied. "nor what you do, neither. i wouldn't if i was you. he ain't worth it; and it gives better folks a chance for what they want, anyhow." lettie's low brows and cunning black eyes were unendurable to the girl she was tormenting. "well, i don't know what you are talking about," and marjie would have passed on, but lettie intercepted her. "you know that rich melrose girl's gone back to topeka?" "oh, yes," marjie spoke indifferently; "she went last evening, i was told." "well, this morning phil baronet went after her, left springvale for good and all. o'mie says so, and he knows all phil knows. marjie, she's rich; and phil won't marry nobody but a rich girl. you know you ain't got what you had when your pa was alive." yes, marjie knew that. "well he's gone anyhow, and i don't care." "why should you care?" marjie could not help the retort. she was stung to the quick in every nerve. lettie's face blazed with anger. "or you?" she stormed. "he was with me last. i can prove it, and a lot more things you'd never want to hear. but you'll never be his girl again." marjie turned toward the cliff just as o'mie appeared through the bushes and stepped behind lettie. "oh, good-evening, lovely ladies; delighted to meet you," he hailed them. marjie smiled at him, but lettie gave a sudden start. "oh, o'mie, what are you forever tagging me for?" she spoke angrily and without another word to marjie she hurried down the hill. "i tag!" o'mie grinned. "i'd as soon tag satan, only i've just got to do it." but his face changed when he turned to marjie. "little girl, i overheard the lady. lovely spirit that! i just can't help dancin' attendance on it. but, marjie, i've come up here, knowin' phil had gone and wasn't in my way, 'cause i wanted to show you somethin'. yes, he's gone. left early this mornin'. never mind that, right now." he led the way through the bushes and they sat down together. i cannot say what marjie thought as she looked out on the landscape i had watched in loneliness the night before. it was o'mie, and not his companion, who told me long afterwards of this evening. "i thought you were away on a ten days' vacation, o'mie. dever said you were." she could not bear the silence. "i'm on a tin days' vacation, but i'm not away, marjie, darlin'," o'mie replied. "oh, o'mie, don't joke. i can't stand it to-night." her face was white and her eyes were full of pain. "indade, i'm not jokin'. i came up here to show you somethin' and to tell you somethin'." he took an old note book from his pocket and opened it to where a few brown blossoms lay flatly pressed between the leaves. "thim's not pretty now, marjie, but the day i got 'em they was dainty an' pink as the dainty pink-cheeked girl whose brown curls they was wreathed about. these are the flowers phil baronet put on your hair out in the west draw by the big cottonwood one april evenin' durin' the war; the flowers jean pahusca kissed an' throwed away. but i saved 'em because i love you, marjie." she shivered and bent her head. "oh, not like thim two ornery tramps who had these blossoms 'fore i got 'em, but like i'd love a sister, if i had one; like father le claire loves me. d'ye see?" "you are a dear, good brother, o'mie," marjie murmured, without lifting her head. "oh, yis, i'm all av that an' more. marjie, i'm goin' to kape these flowers till--well, now, marjie, shall i tell you whin?" "yes, o'mie," marjie said faintly. "well, till i see the pretty white veil lifted fur friends to kiss the bride an' i catch the scent av orange blossoms in thim soft little waves." he put his hand gently on her bowed head. "i'll get to do it, too," he went on, "not right away, but not fur off, nather; an' it won't be a little man, ner a rid-headed irishman, ner a sharp-nosed school-teacher; but--heaven bless an' kape him to-night!--it'll be a big, broad-shouldered, handsome rascal, whose heart has niver changed an' niver can change toward you, little sister, 'cause he's his father's own son--lovin', constant, white an' clane through an' through. be patient. it's goin' to be all right for you two." he closed the book and put it back in its place. "but i mustn't stay here. i've got to tag lettie some more. her an' some others. that's what my tin days' vacation's fur, mostly." and o'mie leaped through the bushes and was gone. the twilight was deepening when marjie at last roused herself. "i'll go down and see if he did get my letter," she murmured, taking her way down the rough stair. there was no letter in the crevice where she had placed it securely two nights before. lifting her face upward she clasped her hands in sorrow. "he took it away, but he did not come to me. he knows i love him." then remembering herself, "i would not let him speak. but he said he hated 'rockport.' oh, what can it all mean? how could he be so good to me and then deceive me so? shall i believe lettie, or o'mie?" kneeling there in the deep shadows of the cliff-side with the neosho gurgling darkly below her, and the long shafts of pink radiance from the hidden sunset illumining the sky above her, marjie prayed for strength to bear her burden, for courage to meet whatever must come to her, and for the assurance of divine love although now her lover, as well as her father, was lost to her. the simple pleading cry of a grief-stricken heart it was. heaven heard that prayer, and marjie went down the hill with womanly grace and courage and faith to face whatever must befall her in the new life opening before her. in the days that followed my little girl was more than ever the idol of springvale. her sweet, sunny nature now had a new beauty. her sorrow she hid away so completely there were few who guessed what her thoughts were. lettie conlow was not deceived, for jealousy has sharp eyes. o'mie understood, for o'mie had carried a sad, hungry heart underneath his happy-go-lucky carelessness all the years of his life. aunt candace was a woman who had overcome a grief of her own, and had been cheery and bright down the years. she knew the mark of conquest in the face. and lastly, my father, through his innate power to read human nature, watched marjie as if she were his own child. quietly, too, so quietly that nobody noticed it, he became a guardian over her. where she went and what she did he knew as well as jean pahusca, watching in the lilac clump, long ago. for fourteen years he had come and gone to our house on cliff street up and down the gentler slope two blocks to the west of whately's. nobody knew, until it had become habitual, when he changed his daily walk homeward up the steeper climb that led him by marjie's house farther down the street. nobody realized, until it was too common for comment, how much a part of all the social life of springvale my father had become. he had come to kansas a widower, but gossip long ago gave up trying to do anything with him. and now, as always, he was a welcome factor everywhere, a genial, courteous gentleman, whose dignity of character matched his stern uprightness and courage in civic matters. among all the things for which i bless his memory, not the least of them was this strong, unostentatious guardianship of a girl when her need for protection was greatest, as that winter that followed proved. i knew nothing of all this then. i only knew my loved one had turned against me. of course i knew that rachel was the cause, but i could not understand why marjie would listen to no explanation, why she should turn completely from me when i had told her everything in the letter i wrote the night of the party at anderson's. and now i was many miles from springvale, and the very thought of the past was like a knife-thrust. all my future now looked to the westward. i longed for action, for the opportunity to do something, and they came swiftly, the opportunity and the action. chapter xvi beginning again it matters not what fruit the hand may gather, if god approves, and says, "this is the best." it matters not how far the feet may wander, if he says, "go, and leave to me the rest." --albert macy. i stood in the august twilight by the railway station in the little frontier town of salina, where the union pacific train had abandoned me to my fate. turning toward the unmapped, limitless northwest, i suddenly realized that i was at the edge of the earth now. behind me were civilization and safety. beyond me was only a waste of gray nothingness. yet this was the world i had come hither to conquer. here were the spaces wherein i should find peace. i set my face with grim determination to work now, out of the thing before me, a purpose that controlled me. morton's claim was a far day's journey up the saline valley. it would be nearly a week before i could find a man to drive me thither; so i secured careful directions, and the next morning i left the town on foot and alone. i did not mind the labor of it. i was as vigorous as a young giant, fear of personal peril i had never known, and the love of adventure was singing its siren's song to me. i was clad in the strong, coarse garments, suited to the plains. i was armed with two heavy revolvers and a small pistol. hidden inside of my belt as a last defence was the short, sharp knife bearing jean le claire's name in script lettering. i shall never forget the moment when a low bluff beyond a bend in the saline river shut off the distant town from my view and i stood utterly alone in a wide, silent world, left just as god had made it. humility and uplift mingle in the soul in such a time and place. one question ran back and forth across my mind: what conquering power can ever bring the warmth of glad welcome to the still, hostile, impenetrable beauty of these boundless plains? "the air is full of spirits out here," i said to myself. "there is no living thing in sight, and yet the land seems inhabited, just as that old haunted cabin down on the neosho seemed last june." and then with the thought of that june day memory began to play her tricks on me and i cried out, "oh, perdition take that stone cabin and the whole neosho valley if that will make me forget it all!" i strode forward along the silent, sunshiny way, with a thousand things on my mind's surface and only one thought in its inner deeps. the sun swung up the sky, and the thin august air even in its heat was light and invigorating. the river banks were low and soft where the stream cuts through the alluvial soil a channel many feet below the level of the plains. the day was long, but full of interest to me, who took its sight as a child takes a new picture-book, albeit a certain sense of peril lurked in the shadowing corners of my thought. the august sun was low in the west when i climbed up the grassy slope to morton's little square stone cabin. it stood on a bold height overlooking the saline river. far away in every direction the land billows lay fold on fold. treeless and wide they stretched out to the horizon, with here and there a low elevation, and here and there the faint black markings of scrubby bushes clinging to the bank of a stream. the stream itself, now only a shallow spread of water, bore witness to the fierce thirst of the summer sun. up and down the saline valley only a few scattered homesteads were to be seen, and a few fields of slender, stunted corn told the story of the first struggle for conquest in a beautiful but lonely and unfriendly land. morton was standing at the door of his cabin looking out on that sweep of plains with thoughtful eyes. he did not see me until i was fairly up the hill, and when he did he made no motion towards me, but stood and waited for my coming. in those few moments as i swung forward leisurely--for i was very tired now--i think we read each other's character and formed our estimates more accurately than many men have done after years of close business association. he was a small man beside me, as i have said, and his quiet manner, and retiring disposition, half dignity, half modesty, gave the casual acquaintance no true estimate of his innate force. three things, however, had attracted me to him in our brief meeting at topeka: his voice, though low, had a thrill of power in it; his hand-clasp was firm and full of meaning; and when i looked into his blue eyes i recalled the words which the earl of kent said to king lear: "you have that in your countenance which i would fain call master." and when king lear asked, "what's that?" kent replied, "authority." [illustration: every movement of ours had been watched by indian scouts] it was in morton's face. although he was not more than a dozen years my senior, i instinctively looked upon him as a leader of men, and he became then and has always since been one of my manhood's ideals. "i'm glad to see you, baronet. come in." he grasped my hand firmly and led the way into the house. i sat down wearily in the chair he offered me. it was well that i had walked the last stage of my journey. had i been twenty-four hours later i should have missed him, and this one story of the west might never have been told. the inside of the cabin was what one would expect to find in a plainsman's home who had no one but himself to consider. while i rested he prepared our supper. disappointment in love does not always show itself in the appetite, and i was as hungry as a coyote. all day new sights and experiences had been crowding in upon me. the exhilaration of the wild plains was beginning to pulse in my veins. i had come into a strange, untried world. the past, with its broken ties and its pain and loss, must be only a memory that at my leisure i might call back; but here was a different life, under new skies, with new people. the sunset lights, the gray evening shadows, and the dip and swell of the purple distances brought their heartache; but now i was hungry, and morton was making johnny cakes and frying bacon; wild plums were simmering on the fire, and coffee was filling the room with the rarest of all good odors vouchsafed to mortal sense. at the supper table my host went directly to my case by asking, "have you come out here to prospect or to take hold?" "to take hold," i answered. "are you tired after your journey?" he queried. "i? no. a night's sleep will fix me." i looked down at my strong arms, and stalwart limbs. "you sleep well?" his questions were brief. "i never missed but one night in twenty-one years, except when i sat up with a sick boy one summer," i replied. "when was that one night?" "oh, during the war when the border ruffians and copperheads terrorized our town." "you are like your father, i see." he did not say in what particular; and i added, "i hope i am." we finished the meal in silence. then we sat down by the west doorway and saw the whole saline valley shimmer through the soft glow of twilight and lose itself at length in the darkness that folded down about it. a gentle breeze swept along from somewhere in the far southwest, a thousand insects chirped in the grasses. down by the river a few faint sounds of night birds could be heard, and then loneliness and homesickness had their time, denied during every other hour of the twenty-four. after a time my host turned toward me in the gloom and looked steadily into my eyes. "he's taking my measure," i thought. "well," i said, "will i do?" "yes," he answered. "your father told me once in the army that his boy could ride like a comanche, and turn his back to a mark and hit it over his shoulder." he smiled. "that's because one evening i shot the head off a scarecrow he had put up in the cherry tree when i was hiding around a corner to keep out of his sight. all the springvale boys learned how to ride and shoot and to do both at once, although we never had any shooting to do that really counted." "baronet"--there was a tone in morton's voice that gripped and held me--"you have come here in a good time. we need you now. men of your build and endurance and skill are what this west's got to have." "well, i'm here," i answered seriously. "i shall leave for fort harker to-morrow with a crowd of men from the valley to join a company sheridan has called for," he went on. "you know about the indian raid the first of this month. the cheyennes came across here, and up on spillman creek and over on the solomon they killed a dozen or more people. they burned every farm-house, and outraged every woman, and butchered every man and child they could lay hands on. you heard about it at topeka." "hasn't that indian massacre been avenged yet?" i cried. clearly in my memory came the two women of my dream of long ago. how deeply that dream had impressed itself upon my mind! and then there flashed across my brain the image of marjie, as she looked the night when she stood in the doorway with the lamplight on her brown curls, and it became clear to me that she was safe at home. oh, the joy of that moment! the unutterable thankfulness that filled my soul was matched in intensity only by the horror that fills it even now when i think of a white woman in indian slave-bonds. and while i was thinking of this i was listening to morton's more minute account of what had been taking place about him, and why he and his neighbors were to start on the next day for fort harker down on the smoky hill river. early in that memorable august of a band of forty cheyenne braves, under their chief black kettle, came riding up from their far-away villages in the southwest, bent on a merciless murdering raid upon the unguarded frontier settlements. they were a dirty, ragged, sullen crew as ever rode out of the wilderness. down on the washita river their own squaws and papooses were safe in their tepees too far from civilization for any retaliatory measure to reach them. when black kettle's band came to fort hays, after the indian custom they made the claim of being "good indians." "black kettle loves his white soldier brothers, and his heart feels glad when he meets them," the chief declared. "we would be like white soldiers, but we cannot, for we are indians; but we can all be brothers. it is a long way that we have come to see you. six moons have come and gone, and there has been no rain; the wind blows hot from the south all day and all night; the ground is hot and cracked; the grass is burned up; the buffalo wallows are dry; the streams are dry; the game is scarce; black kettle is poor, and his band is hungry. he asks the white soldiers for food for his braves and their squaws and papooses. all other indians may take the war-trail, but black kettle will forever keep friendship with his white brothers." such were his honeyed words. the commander of the fort issued to each brave a bountiful supply of flour and bacon and beans and coffee. beyond the shadow of the fort they feasted that night. the next morning they had disappeared, these loving-hearted, loyal indians, over whom the home missionary used to weep copious tears of pity. they had gone--but whither? black kettle and his noble braves were not hurrying southward toward their squaws and papooses with the liberal supplies issued to them by the government. crossing to the saline valley, not good indians, but a band of human fiends, they swept down on the unsuspecting settlements. a homestead unprotected by the husband and father was their supreme joy. then before the eyes of the mother, little children were tortured to death, while the mother herself--god pity her--was not only tortured, but what was more cruel, was kept alive. across the saline valley, over the divide, and up the solomon river valley this band of demons pushed their way. behind them were hot ashes where homes had been, and putrid, unburied bodies of murdered men and children, mutilated beyond recognition. on their ponies, bound hand and foot, were wretched, terror-stricken women. the smiling plains lay swathed in the august sunshine, and the richness of purple twilights, and of rose-hued day dawns, and the pitiless noontime skies of brass only mocked them in their misery. did a merciful god forget the plains in those days of prairie conquest? no force rose up to turn black kettle and his murderous horde back from the imperilled settlements until loaded with plunder, their savage souls sated with cruelty, with helpless captives for promise of further fiendish sport, they headed southward and escaped untouched to their far-away village in the pleasant, grassy lands that border the washita river. not all their captives went with them, however. with these "good indians," recipients of the fort hays bounty, were two women, mothers of a few months, not equal to the awful tax of human endurance. these, bound hand and foot, they staked out on the solitary plains under the blazing august skies, while their tormentors rode gayly away to join their fat, lazy squaws awaiting them in the southland by the winding washita. this was the story morton was telling to me as we sat in the dusk by his cabin door. this was the condition of those fair kansas river valleys, for the cheyennes under black kettle were not the only foes here. other cheyenne bands, with the sioux, the brules, and the dog indians from every tribe were making every plains trail a warpath. "the captives are probably all dead by this time; but the crimes are not avenged, and the settlers are no safer than they were before the raid," morton was saying. "governor crawford and the governor of colorado have urged the authorities at washington to protect our frontier, but they have done nothing. now general sheridan has decided to act anyhow. he has given orders to colonel george a. forsyth of the u. s. cavalry, to make up a company of picked men to go after the cheyennes at once. there are some two hundred of them hiding somewhere out in the solomon or the republican river country. it is business now. no foolishness. a lot of us around here are going down to harker to enlist. will you go with us, baronet? it's no boys' play. the safety of our homes is matched against the cunning savagery of the redskins. we paid fifteen million dollars for this country west of the mississippi. if these indians aren't driven out and made to suffer, and these women's wrongs avenged, we'd better sell the country back to france for fifteen cents. but it's no easy piece of work. those cheyennes know these plains as well as you know the streets of springvale. they are built like giants, and they fight like demons. don't underestimate the size of the contract. i know john baronet well enough to know that if his boy begins, he won't quit till the battle is done. i want you to go into this with your eyes open. whoever fights the indians must make his will before the battle begins. forsyth's company will be made up of soldiers from the late war, frontiersmen, and scouts. you're not any one of these, but--" he hesitated a little--"when i heard your speech at topeka i knew you had the right metal. your spirit is in this thing. you are willing to pay the price demanded here for the hearthstones of the west." my spirit! my blood was racing through every artery in leaps and bounds. here was a man calmly setting forth the action that had been my very dream of heroism, and here was a call to duty, where duty and ideal blend into one. and then i was young, and thought myself at the beginning of a new life; pain of body was unknown to me; the lure of the plains was calling to me--daring adventure, the need for courage, the patriotism that fires the young man's heart, and, at the final analysis, my loyalty to the defenceless, my secret notions of the value of the american home, my horror of indian captivity, a horror i had known when my mind was most impressible--all these were motives driving me on. i wondered that my companion could be so calm, sitting there in the dim twilight explaining carefully what lay before me; and yet i felt the power of that calmness building up a surer strength in me. i did not dream of home that night. i chased indians until i wakened with a scream. "what's the matter, baronet?" morton asked. "i thought the cheyennes had me," i answered sleepily. "don't waste time in dreaming it. better go to sleep and let 'em alone," he advised; and i obeyed. the next morning we were joined by half a dozen settlers of that scattered community, and together we rode across the plains toward fort harker. i had expected to find a fortified stronghold at the end of our ride. something in imposing stone on a commanding height. something of frowning, impenetrable strength. out on the open plain by the lazy, slow-crawling smoky hill river were low buildings forming a quadrangle about a parade ground. officers' quarters, soldiers' barracks, and stables for the cavalry horses and government mules, there were, but no fortifications were there anywhere. yet the fort was ample for the needs of the plains. the indian puts up only a defensive fight in the region of federal power. it is out in the wide blank lands where distance mocks at retreat that he leads out in open hostility against the white man. here general sheridan had given colonel forsyth commission to organize a company of plainsmen. and this company was to drive out or annihilate the roving bands of redskins who menaced every home along the westward-creeping kansas frontier in the years that followed the civil war. it was to offer themselves to this cause that the men from morton's community, whom i had joined, rode across the divide from the saline valley on that august day, and came in the early twilight to the solitary unpretentious federal post on the smoky hill. it is only to a military man in the present time that this picture of fort harker would be interesting, and there is nothing now in all that peaceful land to suggest the frontier military station which i saw on that summer day, now nearly four decades ago. but everything was interesting to me then, and my greatest study was the men gathered there for a grim and urgent purpose. my impression of frontiersmen had been shaped by the loud threats, the swagger, and much profanity of the border people of the territorial and civil war days. here were quiet men who made no boasts. strong, wiry men they were, tanned by the sun of the plains, their hands hardened, their eyes keen. they were military men who rode like centaurs, scouts who shot with marvellous accuracy, and the sturdy settlers, builders of empire in this stubborn west. had i been older i would have felt my own lack of training among them. my hands, beside theirs, were soft and white, and while i was accounted a good marksman in springvale i was a novice here. but since the night long ago when jean pahusca frightened marjie by peering through our schoolroom window i had felt myself in duty bound to drive back the indians. i had a giant's strength, and no baronet was ever seriously called a coward. the hours at fort barker were busy ones for colonel forsyth and lieutenant fred beecher, first in command under him. their task of selecting men for the expedition was quickly performed. my heart beat fast when my own turn came. forsyth's young lieutenant was one of the lord's anointed. soft-voiced, modest, handsome, with a nature so lovable, i find it hard to-day to think of him in the military ranks where war and bloodshed are the ultimate business. but young beecher was a soldier of the highest order, fearless and resourceful. i cannot say how much it lay in morton's recommendation, and how much in the lieutenant's kind heart that i was able to pass muster and be written into that little company of less than threescore picked men. the available material at fort harker was quickly exhausted, and the men chosen were hurried by trains to fort hays, where the remainder of the company was made up. dawned then that morning in late summer when we moved out from the fort and fronted the wilderness. on the night before we started i wrote a brief letter to aunt candace, telling her what i was about to do. "if i never come back, auntie," i added, "tell the little girl down on the side of the hill that i tried to do for kansas what her father did for the nation, that i gave up my life to establish peace. and tell her, too, if i really do fall out by the way, that i'll be lonely even in heaven till she comes." but with the morning all my sentiment vanished and i was eager for the thing before me. two hundred indians we were told we should find and every man of us was accounted good for at least five redskins. at sunrise on the twenty-ninth day of august in the year of our lord , colonel forsyth's little company started on its expedition of defence for the frontier settlements, and for just vengeance on the cheyennes of the plains and their allied forces from kindred bands. fort hays was the very outpost of occupation. to the north and west lay a silent, pathless country which the finger of the white man had not touched. we knew we were bidding good-bye to civilization as we marched out that morning, were turning our backs on safety and comfort and all that makes life fine. before us was the wilderness, with its perils and lonely desolation and mysteries. but the wilderness has a siren's power over the anglo-saxon always. the strange savage land was splendid even in its silent level sweep of distance. when i was a boy i used to think that the big cottonwood beyond the west draw was the limit of human exploration. it marked the world's western bound for me. here were miles on miles of landscape opening wide to more stretches of leagues and leagues of far boundless plains, and all of it was weird, unconquerable, and very beautiful. the earth was spread with a carpet of gold splashed with bronze and scarlet and purple, with here and there a shimmer of green showing through the yellow, or streaking the shallow waterways. far and wide there was not a tree to give the eye a point of attachment; neither orchard nor forest nor lonely sentinel to show that nature had ever cherished the land for the white man's home and joy. the buffalo herd paid little heed to our brave company marching out like the true knights of old to defend the weak and oppressed. the gray wolf skulked along in the shadows of the draws behind us and at night the coyotes barked harshly at the invading band. but there was no mark of civilized habitation, no friendly hint that aught but the unknown and unconquerable lay before us. i was learning quickly in those days of marching and nights of dreamless sleep under sweet, health-giving skies. after all, harvard had done me much service; for the university training, no less than the boyhood on the territorial border, had its part in giving me mental discipline for my duties now. camp life came easy to me, and i fell into the soldier way of thinking, more readily than i had ever hoped to do. on we went, northward to the saline valley, and beyond that to where the solomon river winds down through a region of summer splendor, its rippling waves of sod a-tint with all the green and gold and russet and crimson hues of the virgin plains, while overhead there arched the sky, tenderly blue in the morning, brazen at noonday, and pink and gray and purple in the evening lights. but we found no indians, though we followed trail on trail. beyond the solomon we turned to the southwest, and the early days of september found us resting briefly at fort wallace, near the western bound of kansas. the real power that subdues the wilderness may be, nay, is, the spirit of the missionary, but the mark of military occupation is a tremendous convincer of truth. the shotgun and the bible worked side by side in the conquest of the plains; the smell of powder was often the only incense on the altars, and human blood was sprinkled for holy water. fort wallace, with the stars and stripes afloat, looked good to me after that ten days in the trackless solitude. and yet i was disappointed, for i thought our quest might end here with nothing to show in results for our pains. i did not know forsyth and his band, as the next twenty days were to show me. while we were resting at the fort, scouts brought in the news of an indian attack on a wagon train a score of miles eastward, and soon we were away again, this time equipped for the thing in hand, splendidly equipped, it seemed, for what we should really need to do. we were all well mounted, and each of us carried a blanket, saddle, bridle, picket-pin, and lariat; each had a haversack, a canteen, a butcher knife, a tin plate and tin cup. we had spencer rifles and colt's revolvers, with rounds of ammunition for both; and each of us carried seven days' rations. besides this equipment the pack mules bore a large additional store of ammunition, together with rations and hospital supplies. northward again we pushed, alert for every faint sign of indians. those keen-eyed scouts were a marvel to me. they read the ground, the streams, the sagebrush, and the horizon as a primer set in fat black type. leader of them, and official guide, was a man named grover, who could tell by the hither side of a bluff what was on the farther side. but for five days the trails were illusive, finally vanishing in a spread of faint footprints radiating from a centre telling us that the indians had broken up and scattered over separate ways. and so again we seemed to have been deceived in this unmapped land. we were beyond the republican river now, in the very northwest corner of kansas, and the thought of turning back toward civilization had come to some of us, when a fresh trail told us we were still in the indian country. we headed our horses toward the southwest, following the trail that hugged the republican river. it did not fade out as the others had done, but grew plainer each mile. the whole command was in a fever of expectancy. forsyth's face was bright and eager with the anticipation of coming danger. lieutenant beecher was serious and silent, while the guide, sharp grover, was alert and cool. a tenseness had made itself felt throughout the command. i learned early not to ask questions; but as we came one noon upon a broad path leading up to the main trail where from this union we looked out on a wide, well-beaten way, i turned an inquiring face toward morton, who rode beside me. there was strength in the answer his eyes gave mine. he had what the latter-day students of psychology call "poise," a grip on himself. it is by such men that the plains have been won from a desert demesne to fruitful fields. "i gave you warning it was no boy's play," he said simply. i nodded and we rode on in silence. we pressed westward to where the smaller streams combine to form the republican river. the trail here led us up the arickaree fork, a shallow stream at this season of the year, full of sand-bars and gravelly shoals. here the waters lost themselves for many feet in the underflow so common in this land of aimless, uncertain waterways. on the afternoon of the sixteenth of september the trail led to a little gorge through which the arickaree passes in a narrower channel. beyond it the valley opened out with a level space reaching back to low hills on the north, while an undulating plain spread away to the south. the grass was tall and rank in this open space, which closed in with a bluff a mile or more to the west. although it was hardly beyond midafternoon, colonel forsyth halted the company, and we went into camp. we were almost out of rations. our horses having no food now, were carefully picketed out to graze at the end of their lariats. a general sense of impending calamity pervaded the camp. but the plainsmen were accustomed to this kind of thing, and the civil war soldiers had learned their lesson at gettysburg and chickamauga and malvern hill. i was the green hand, and i dare say my anxiety was greater than that of any other one there. but i had a double reason for apprehension. as we had come through the little gorge that afternoon, i was riding some distance in the rear of the line. beside me was a boy of eighteen, fair-haired, blue-eyed, his cheek as smooth as a girl's. his trim little figure, clad in picturesque buckskin, suggested a pretty actor in a wild west play. and yet this boy, jack stillwell, was a scout of the uttermost daring and shrewdness. he always made me think of bud anderson. i even missed bud's lisp when he spoke. "stillwell," i said in a low tone as we rode along, "tell me what you think of this. aren't we pretty near the edge? i've felt for three days as if an indian was riding beside me and i couldn't see him. it's not the mirage, and i'm not locoed. did you ever feel as if you were near somebody you couldn't see?" the boy turned his fair, smooth face toward mine and looked steadily at me. "you mustn't get to seein' things," he murmured. "this country turns itself upside down for the fellow who does that. and in heaven's name we need every man in his right senses now. what do i think? good god, baronet! i think we are marching straight into hell's jaws. sandy knows it"--"sandy" was forsyth's military pet name--"but he's too set to back out now. besides, who wants to back out? or what's to be gained by it? we've come out here to fight the cheyennes. we're gettin' to 'em, that's all. only there's too damned many of 'em. this trail's like the old santa fé trail, wide enough for a mormon church to move along. and as to feelin' like somebody's near you, it's more 'n feelin'; it's fact. there's injuns on track of this squad every minute. i'm only eighteen, but i've been in the saddle six years, and i know a few things without seein' 'em. sharp grover knows, too. he's the doggondest scout that ever rode over these plains. he knows the trap we've got into. but he's like sandy, come out to fight, and he'll do it. all we've got to do is to keep our opinions to ourselves. they don't want to be told nothin'; they know." the remainder of the company was almost out of sight as we rounded the shoulder of the gorge. the afternoon sunlight dazzled me. lifting my eyes just then i saw a strange vision. what i had thought to be only a piece of brown rock, above and beyond me, slowly rose to almost a sitting posture before my blinking eyes, and a man, no, two men, seemed to gaze a moment after our retreating line of blue-coats. it was but an instant, yet i caught sight of two faces. stillwell was glancing backward at that moment and did not see anything. at the sound of our horses' feet on the gravel the two figures changed to brown rock again. in the moment my eye had caught the merest glint of sunlight on an artillery bugle, a gleam, and nothing more. "what's the matter, baronet? you're white as a ghost. are you scared or sick?" stillwell spoke in a low voice. we didn't do any shouting in those trying days. "neither one," i answered, but i had cause to wonder whether i was insane or not. as i live, and hope to keep my record clear, the two figures i had seen were not strangers to me. the smaller of the two had the narrow forehead and secretive countenance of the reverend mr. dodd. in his hand was an artillery bugle. beyond him, though he wore an indian dress, rose the broad shoulders and square, black-shadowed forehead of father le claire. "it is the hallucination of this mirage-girt land," i told myself. "the plains life is affecting my vision, and then the sun has blinded me. i'm not delirious, but this marching is telling on me. oh, it is at a fearful price that the frontier creeps westward, that homes are planted, and peace, blood-stained, abides with them." so i meditated as i watched the sun go down on that september night on the far colorado plains by the grassy slopes and yellow sands and thin, slow-moving currents of the arickaree. chapter xvii in the valley of the arickaree a blush as of roses where rose never grew! great drops on the bunch grass. but not of the dew! a taint in the sweet air for wild bees to shun! a stain that shall never bleach out in the sun! --whittier. stillwell was right. sharp grover knew, as well as the boy knew, that we were trapped, that before us now were the awful chances of unequal plains warfare. a mere handful of us had been hurrying after a host, whose numbers the broad beaten road told us was legion. there was no mirth in that little camp that night in mid-september, and i thought of other things besides my strange vision at the gorge. the camp was the only mark of human habitation in all that wide and utterly desolate land. for days we had noted even the absence of all game--strong evidence that a host had driven it away before us. everywhere, save about that winking camp fire was silence. the sunset was gorgeous, in the barbaric sublimity of its seas of gold and crimson atmosphere. and then came the rich coloring of that purple twilight. it is no wonder they call it regal. out on the plains that night it swathed the landscape with a rarer hue than i have ever seen anywhere else, although i have watched the sun go down into the atlantic off the rockport coast, and have seen it lost over the edge of the west prairie beyond the big cottonwood above the farther draw. as i watched the evening shadows deepen, i remembered what morton had told me in the little cabin back in the saline country, "who ever fights the indians must make his will before the battle begins." now that i was face to face with the real issue, life became very sweet to me. how grand over war and hate were the thoughts of peace and love! and yet every foot of this beautiful land must be bought with a price. no matter where the great blame lies, nor who sinned first in getting formal possession, the real occupation is won only by sacrifice. and i was confronted with my part of the offering. strange thoughts come in such an hour. sitting there in the twilight, i asked myself why i should want to live; and i realized how strong, after all, was the tie that bound me to springvale; how under all my pretence of beginning a new life i had not really faced the future separated from the girl i loved. and then i remembered that it would mean nothing serious to her how this campaign ended. oh! i was in the crucible now. i must prove myself the thing i always meant to be. god knew the heroic spirit i needed that lonely september night. as i sat looking out toward the west the years of my boyhood came back to me, and then i remembered o'mie's words when he told me of his struggle: "it was to save a woman, phil. he could only kill me. he wouldn't have been that good to her. you'd have done the same to save any woman, aven a stranger to you. wait an' see." i thought of the two women in the solomon valley, whom black kettle's band had dragged from their homes, tortured inhumanly, and at last staked out hand and foot on the prairie to die in agony under pitiless skies. "when the day av choosin' comes," o'mie said, "we can't do no more 'n to take our places. we all do it. when you git face to face with a thing like that, somehow the everlastin' arms dr. hemingway preaches about is strong underneath you." oh, blessed o'mie! had he told me that to give me courage in my hour of shrinking? wherever he was to-night i knew his heart was with me, who so little deserved the love he gave me. at last i rolled myself snugly in my blanket, for the september evenings are cold in colorado. the simple prayers of childhood came back to me, and i repeated the "now i lay me" i used to say every night at aunt candace's knee. it had a wonderful meaning to me to-night. and once more i thought of o'mie and how his thin hand gripped mine when he said: "most av all, don't niver forgit it, phil, when the thing comes to you, aven in your strength. most av all, above all sufferin', and natural longin' to live, there comes the reality av them words aunt candace taught us: 'though i walk through the valley av the shadow av death, i will fear no evil.'" "it may be that's the arickaree valley for me," i said to myself. "if it is, i will fear no evil." and i stretched out on the brown grasses and fell asleep. about midnight i wakened suddenly. a light was gleaming near. some one stood beside me, and presently i saw colonel forsyth looking down into my face with kindly eyes. i raised myself on my elbow and watched him passing among the slumbering soldiers. even now i can see jack stillwell's fair girl-face with the dim light on it as he slept beside me. what a picture that face would make if my pen were an artist's brush! at three in the morning i wakened again. it was very dark, but i knew some one was near me, and i judged instinctively it was forsyth. it was sixty hours before i slept again. for five days every movement of ours had been watched by indian scouts. night and day they had hung on our borders, just out of sight, waiting their time to strike. had we made a full march on that sixteenth day of september, instead of halting to rest and graze our horses, we should have gone, as stillwell predicted, straight into hell's jaws. as it was, hell rose up and crept stealthily toward us. for while our little band slept, and while our commander passed restlessly among us on that night, the redskins moved upon our borders. morning was gray in the east and the little valley was full of shadows, when suddenly the sentinel's cry of "indians! indians!" aroused the sleeping force. the shouts of our guards, the clatter of ponies' hoofs, the rattling of dry skins, the swinging of blankets, the fierce yells of the invading foe made a scene of tragic confusion, as a horde of redskins swept down upon us like a whirlwind. in this mad attempt to stampede our stock nothing but discipline saved us. a few of the mules and horses not properly picketed, broke loose and galloped off before the attacking force, the remaining animals held as the indians fled away before the sharp fire of our soldiers. "well, we licked them, anyhow," i said to myself exultantly as we obeyed the instant orders to get into the saddle. the first crimson line of morning was streaking the east and i lifted my face triumphantly to the new day. sharp grover stood just before me; his hand was on forsyth's shoulder. suddenly he uttered a low exclamation. "oh, heavens! general, look at the indians." this was no vision of brown rock and sun-blinded eyes. from every direction, over the bluff, out from the tall grass, across the slope on the south, came indians, hundreds on hundreds. they seemed to spring from the sod like roderick dhu's highland scots, and people every curve and hollow. swift as the wind, savage as hate, cruel as hell, they bore down upon us from every way the wind blows. the thrill of that moment is in my blood as i write this. it was then i first understood the tie between the commanding officer and his men. it is easy to laud the file of privates on dress parade, but the man who directs the file in the hour of battle is the real power. in that instant of peril i turned to forsyth with that trust that the little child gives to its father. how cool he was, and yet how lightning-swift in thought and action. in all the valley there was no refuge where we might hide, nor height on which we might defend ourselves. the indians had counted on our making a dash to the eastward, and had left that way open for us. they had not reckoned well on colonel forsyth. he knew intuitively that the gorge at the lower end of the valley was even then filled with a hidden foe, and not a man of us would ever have passed through it alive. to advance meant death, and there was no retreat possible. out in the middle of the arickaree, hardly three feet above the river-bed, lay a little island. in the years to be when the history of the west shall be fully told, it may become one of the nation's shrines. but now in this dim morning light it showed only an insignificant elevation. its sandy surface was grown over with tall sage grasses and weeds. a few wild plums and alder bushes, a clump of low willow shrubs, and a small cottonwood tree completed its vegetation. "how about that island, grover?" i heard forsyth ask. "it's all we can do," the scout answered; and the command: "reach the island! hitch the horses!" rang through the camp. it takes long to tell it, this dash for the island. the execution of the order was like the passing of a hurricane. horses, mules, men, all dashed toward the place, but in the rush the hospital supplies and rations were lost. the indians had not counted on the island, and they raged in fury at their oversight. there were a thousand savage warriors attacking half a hundred soldiers, and they had gloated over the fifty scalps to be taken in the little gorge to the east. the break in their plans confused them but momentarily, however. on the island we tied our horses in the bushes and quickly formed a circle. the soil was all soft sand. we cut the thin sod with our butcher knives and began throwing up a low defence, working like fiends with our hands and elbows and toes, scooping out the sand with our tin plates, making the commencement of shallow pits. we were stationed in couples, and i was beside morton when the onslaught came. up from the undulating south, and down over the north bluff swept the furious horde. on they came with terrific speed, their blood-curdling yells of hate mingling with the wild songs, and cries and taunts of hundreds of squaws and children that crowded the heights out of range of danger, watching the charge and urging their braves to battle. over the slopes to the very banks of the creek, into the sandy bed of the stream, and up to the island they hurled their forces, while bullets crashed murderously, and arrows whizzed with deadly swiftness into our little sand-built defence. in the midst of the charge, twice above the din, i caught the clear notes of an artillery bugle. it was dim daylight now. rifle-smoke and clouds of dust and gray mist shot through with flashes of powder, and the awful rage, as if all the demons of hell were crying vengeance, are all in that picture burned into my memory with a white-hot brand. and above all these there come back to me the faces of that little band of resolute men biding the moment when the command to charge should be given. such determination and such splendid heroism, not twice in a lifetime is it vouchsafed to many to behold. we held our fire until the enemy was almost upon us. at the right instant our rifles poured out a perfect billow of death. painted bodies reeled and fell; horses sank down, or rushed mad with pain, upon their fallen riders; shrieks of agony mingled with the unearthly yells; while above all this, the steady roar of our guns--not a wasted bullet in all the line--carried death waves out from the island thicket. to me that first defence of ours was more tragic than anything in the days and nights that followed it. the first hour's struggle seasoned me for the siege. the fury of the indian warriors and of the watching squaws is indescribable. the foe deflected to left and right, vainly seeking to carry their dead from the field with them. the effort cost many indian lives. the long grass on either side of the stream was full of sharpshooters. the morning was bright now, and we durst not lift our heads above our low entrenchment. our position was in the centre of a space open to attack from every arc of the circle. caution counted more than courage here. whoever stood upright was offering his life to his enemy. our horses suffered first. by the end of an hour every one of them was dead. my own mount, a fine sorrel cavalry horse, given to me at fort hays, was the last sacrifice. he was standing near me in the brown bushes. i could see his superb head and chest as, with nostrils wide, and flashing eyes, he saw and felt the battle charge. subconsciously i felt that so long as he was unhurt i had a sure way of escape. subconsciously, too, i blessed the day that bud anderson taught o'mie and me to drop on the side of tell mapleson's pony and ride like a plains indian. but even as i looked up over my little sand ridge a bullet crashed into his broad chest. he plunged forward toward us, breaking his tether. he staggered to his knees, rose again with a lunge, and turning half way round reared his fore feet in agony and seemed about to fall into our pit. at that instant i heard a laugh just beyond the bushes, and a voice, not indian, but english, cried exultingly, "there goes the last damned horse, anyhow." it was the same voice that i had heard up on "rockport" one evening, promising marjie in pleading tones to be a "good indian." the same hard, cold voice i had heard in the same place saying to me, as a promise before high heaven: "i will go. but i shall see you there. when we meet again my hand will be on your throat and--i don't care whose son you are." well, we were about to meet. the wounded animal was just above our pit. morton rose up with lifted carbine to drive him back when from the same gun that had done for my horse came a bullet full into the man's face. it ploughed through his left eye and lodged in the bones beyond it. he uttered no cry, but dropped into the pit beside me, his blood, streaming from the wound, splashed hot on my forehead as he fell. i was stunned by his disaster, but he never faltered. taking his handkerchief from his pocket, he bound it tightly about his head and set his rifle ready for the next charge. after that, nothing counted with me. i no longer shrank in dread of what might happen. all fear of life, or death, of pain, or indians, or fiends from hades fell away from me, and never again did my hand tremble, nor my heart-beat quicken in the presence of peril. by the warm blood of the brave man beside me i was baptized a soldier. the force drew back from this first attempt to take the island, but the fire of the hidden enemy did not cease. in this brief breathing spell we dug deeper into our pits, making our defences stronger where we lay. disaster was heavy upon us. the sun beat down pitilessly on the hot, dry earth where we burrowed. out in the open the indians were crawling like serpents through the tall grasses toward our poor house of sand, hoping to fall upon us unseen. they had every advantage, for we did not dare to let our bodies be exposed above the low breastworks, and we could not see their advance. nearly one-half of our own men were dead or wounded. each man counted for so much on that battle-girt island that day. our surgeon had been struck in the first round and through all the rest of his living hours he was in a delirium. forsyth himself, grievously wounded in both lower limbs, could only drag his body about by his arms. a rifle ball had grazed his scalp and fractured his skull. the pain from this wound was almost unbearable. but he did not loosen his grip on the military power delegated to him. from a hastily scooped-out pit where we laid him he directed the whole battle. and now we girded on our armor for the supreme ordeal. the unbounded wrath of the indians at their unlooked-for failure in their first attack told us what to expect. our own guns were ready for instant use. the arms of our dead and wounded comrades were placed beside our own. no time was there in those awful hours to listen to the groans of the stricken ones nor to close the dying eyes. not a soul of us in those sand-pits had any thought that we should ever see another sunset. all we could do was to put the highest price upon our lives. it was ten o'clock in the forenoon. the firing about the island had almost ceased, and the silence was more ominous than the noise of bullets. over on the bluff the powers were gathering. the sunlight glinted on their arms and lighted up their fantastic equipments of war. they formed in battle array. and then there came a sight the plains will never see again, a sight that history records not once in a century. there were hundreds of these warriors, the flower of the fierce cheyenne tribe, drawn up in military order, mounted on great horses, riding bareback, their rifles held aloft in their right hands, the left hand grasping the flowing mane, their naked bodies hideously adorned with paint, their long scalp-locks braided and trimmed with plumes and quills. they were the very acme of grandeur in a warfare as splendid as it was barbaric. and i, who live to write these lines, account myself most fortunate that i saw it all. they were arrayed in battle lines riding sixty abreast. it was a man of genius who formed that military movement that day. on they came in orderly ranks but with terrific speed, straight down the slope, across the level, and on to the island, as if by their huge weight and terrible momentum they would trample it into the very level dust of the earth, that the winds of heaven might scatter it broadcast on the arickaree waters. till the day of my death i shall hear the hoof-beats of that cavalry charge. down through the centuries the great commanders have left us their stories of prowess, and we have kept their portraits to adorn our stately halls of fame; and in our historic shrines we have preserved their records--cyrus, alexander, leonidas at thermopylæ, hannibal crossing the alps, charles martel at tours, the white-plumed henry of navarre leading his soldiers in the battle of ivry, cromwell with his ironsides--godly men who chanted hymns while they fought--napoleon's grand finale at waterloo, with his three thousand steeds mingling the sound of hoof-beats with the clang of cuirasses and the clash of sabres; pickett's grand sweep at gettysburg, and hooker's charge up lookout mountain. but who shall paint the picture of that terrific struggle on that september day, or write the tale of that swirl of indian warriors, a thousand strong, as they swept down in their barbaric fury upon the handful of anglo-saxon soldiers crouching there in the sand-pits awaiting their onslaught? it was the old, old story retold that day on the colorado plains by the sunlit waters of the arickaree--the white man's civilization against the untamed life of the wilderness. and for that struggle there is only one outcome. before the advancing foe, in front of the very centre of the foremost line, was their leader, roman nose, chief warrior of the cheyennes. he was riding a great, clean-limbed horse, his left hand grasping its mane. his right hand was raised aloft, directing his forces. if ever the moulds of nature turned out physical perfection, she realized her ideal in that superb cheyenne. he stood six feet and three inches in his moccasins. he was built like a giant, with a muscular symmetry that was artistically beautiful. about his naked body was a broad, blood-red silken sash, the ends of which floated in the wind. his war bonnet, with its two short, curved, black buffalo horns, above his brow, was a magnificent thing crowning his head and falling behind him in a sweep of heron plumes and eagle feathers. the plains never saw a grander warrior, nor did savage tribe ever claim a more daring and able commander. he was by inherent right a ruler. in him was the culmination of the intelligent prowess and courage and physical supremacy of the free life of the broad, unfettered west. on they rushed that mount of eager warriors. the hills behind them swarmed with squaws and children. their shrieks of grief and anger and encouragement filled the air. they were beholding the action that down to the last of the tribe would be recounted a victory to be chanted in all future years over the graves of their dead, and sung in heroic strain when their braves went forth to conquest. and so, with all the power of heart and voice, they cried out from the low hill-tops. just at the brink of the stream the leader, roman nose, turned his face a moment toward the watching women. lifting high his right hand he waved them a proud salute. the gesture was so regal, and the man himself so like a king of men, that i involuntarily held my breath. but the set blood-stained face of the wounded man beside me told what that kingship meant. as he faced the island again, roman nose rose up to his full height and shook his clenched fist toward our entrenchment. then suddenly lifting his eyes toward the blue sky above him, he uttered a war-cry, unlike any other cry i have ever heard. it was so strong, so vehement, so full of pleading, and yet so dominant in its certainty, as if he were invoking the gods of all the tribes for their aid, yet sure in his defiant soul that victory was his by right of might. the unearthly, blood-chilling cry was caught up by all his command and reëchoed by the watchers on the hills till, away and away over the undulating plains it rolled, dying out in weird cadences in the far-off spaces of the haze-wreathed horizon. then came the dash for our island entrenchment. as the indians entered the stream i caught the sound of a bugle note, the same i had heard twice before. on the edge of the island through a rift in the dust-cloud, i saw in the front line on the end nearest me a horse a little smaller than the others, making its rider a trifle lower than his comrades. and then i caught one glimpse of the rider's face. it was the man whose bullet had wounded morton--jean pahusca. we held back our fire again, as in the first attack, until the foe was almost upon us. with forsyth's order, "now! now!" our part of the drama began. i marvel yet at the power of that return charge. steady, constant, true to the last shot, we swept back each advancing wave of warriors, maddened now to maniac fury. in the very moment of victory, defeat was breaking the forces, mowing down the strongest, and spreading confusion everywhere. a thousand wild beasts on the hills, frenzied with torture, could not have raged more than those frantic indian women and shrieking children watching the fray. with us it was the last stand. we wasted no strength in this grim crisis; each turn of the hand counted. while fearless as though he bore a charmed life, the gallant savage commander dared death at our hands, heeding no more our rain of rifle balls than if they had been the drops of a summer shower. right on he pressed regardless of his fallen braves. how grandly he towered above them in his great strength and superb physique, a very prince of prowess, the type of leader in a land where the battle is always to the strong. and no shot of our men was able to reach him until our finish seemed certain, and the time-limit closing in. but down in the thick weeds, under a flimsy rampart of soft sand, crouched a slender fair-haired boy. trim and pink-cheeked as a girl, young stillwell was matching his cool nerve and steady marksmanship against the exultant dominance of a savage giant. it was david and goliath played out in the plains warfare of the western continent. at the crucial moment the scout's bullet went home with unerring aim, and the one man whose power counted as a thousand warriors among his own people received his mortal wound. backward he reeled, and dead, or dying, he was taken from the field. like one of the anointed he was mourned by his people, for he had never known fear, and on his banners victory had constantly perched. in the confusion over the loss of their leader the indians again divided about the island and fell back out of range of our fire. as the tide of battle ebbed out, colonel forsyth, helpless in his sand pit, watching the attack, called to his guide. "can they do better than that, grover?" "i've been on the plains since i was a boy and i never saw such a charge as that. i think they have done their level best," the scout replied. "all right, then, we are good for them." how cheery the colonel's voice was! it thrilled my spirits with its courage. and we needed courage, for just then, lieutenant beecher was stretching himself wearily before his superior officer, saying briefly: "i have my death-wound; good-night." and like a brave man who had done his best he pillowed his head face downward on his arms, and spoke not any more on earth forever. it has all been told in history how that day went by. when evening fell upon that eternity-long time, our outlook was full of gloom. hardly one-half of our company was able to bear arms. our horses had all been killed, our supplies and hospital appliances were lost. our wounds were undressed; our surgeon was slowly dying; our commander was helpless, and his lieutenant dead. we had been all day without food or water. we were prisoners on this island, and every man of us had half a hundred jailers, each one a fiend in the high art of human torture. i learned here how brave and resourceful men can be in the face of disaster. one of our number had already begun to dig a shallow well. it was a muddy drink, but, god be praised, it was water! our supper was a steak cut from a slaughtered horse, but we did not complain. we gathered round our wounded commander and did what we could for each other, and no man thought of himself first. our dead were laid in shallow graves, without a prayer. there was no time here for the ceremonies of peace; and some of the men, before they went out into the unknown that night, sent their last messages to their friends, if we should ever be able to reach home again. at nightfall came a gentle shower. we held out our hands to it, and bathed our fevered faces. it was very dark and we must make the most of every hour. the indians do not fight by night, but the morrow might bring its tale of battles. so we digged, and shaped our stronghold, and told over our resources, and planned our defences, and all the time hunger and suffering and sorrow and peril stalked about with us. all night the indians gathered up their dead, and all night they chanted their weird, blood-chilling death-songs, while the lamentations of the squaws through that dreadful night filled all the long hours with hideous mourning unlike any other earthly discord. but the darkness folded us in, and the blessed rain fell softly on all alike, on skilful guide, and busy soldier, on the wounded lying helpless in their beds of sand, on the newly made graves of those for whom life's fitful fever was ended. and above all, the loving father, whose arm is never shortened that he cannot save, gave his angels charge over us to keep us in all our ways. chapter xviii the sunlight on old glory the little green tent is made of sod, and it is not long, and it is not broad, but the soldiers have lots of room. and the sod is a part of the land they saved, when the flag of the enemy darkly waved, a symbol of dole and gloom. --walt mason. "baronet, we must have that spade we left over there this morning. are you the man to get it?" sharp grover said to me just after dusk. "we've got to have water or die, and burke here can't dig a well with his toe nails, though he can come about as near to it as anybody." burke was an industrious irishman who had already found water for us. "and then we must take care of these." he motioned toward a still form at my feet, and his tone was reverent. "over there" was the camp ground of the night before. it had been trampled by hundreds of feet. our camp was small, and finding the spade by day might be easy enough. to grope in the dark and danger was another matter. twenty-four hours before, i would not have dared to try. nothing counted with me now. i had just risen from the stiffening body of a comrade whom i had been trying to compose for his final rest. i had no more sentiment for myself than i had for him. my time might come at any moment. "yes, sir, i'll go," i answered the scout, and i felt of my revolvers; my own and the one i had taken from the man who lay at my feet. "well, take no foolish chances. come back if the way is blocked, but get the spade if you can. take your time. you'd better wait an hour than be dead in a minute," and he turned to the next work before him. he was guide, commander, and lieutenant all in one, and his duties were many. i slipped out in the danger-filled shadows toward our camping place of the night before. every step was full of peril. the indians had no notion of letting us slip through their fingers in the dark. added to their day's defeats, we had slain their greatest warrior, and they would have perished by inches rather than let us escape now. so our island was guarded on every side. the black shadowed plains were crossed and re-crossed by the braves silently gathering in their lost ones for burial. my scalp would have been a joy to them who had as yet no human trophy to gloat over. surely a spade was never so valuable before. my sense of direction is fair and to my great relief i found that precious implement marvellously soon, but the creek lay between me and the island. just at its bank i was compelled to drop into a clump of weeds as three forms crept near me and straightened themselves up in the gloom. they were speaking in low tones, and as they stood upright i caught their words. "you made that bugle talk, anyhow, dodd." so dodd was the renegade whom i had heard three times in the conflict. my vision at the gorge was not the insanity of the plains, after all. i was listening ravenously now. the man who had spoken stood nearest me. there was a certain softness of accent and a familiar tone in his speech. as he turned toward the other two, even in the dim light, the outline of his form and the set of his uncovered head i knew. "that's le claire, as true as heaven, all but the voice," i said to myself. "but i'll never believe that metallic ring is the priest's. it is le claire turned renegade, too, or it's a man on a pattern so like him, they couldn't tell themselves apart." i recalled all the gentleness and manliness of the father. never an act of his was cruel, or selfish, or deceptive. true to his principles, he had warned us again and again not to trust jean. and yet he had always seemed to protect the boy, always knew his comings and goings, and the two had grown yearly to resemble each other more and more in face and form and gesture. was le claire a villain in holy guise? i did not meditate long, for the third man spoke. oh, the "good indian"! never could he conceal his voice from me. "now, what i want you to do is to tell them all which one he is. i've just been clear around their hole in the sand. i could have hit my choice of the lot. but he wasn't there." no, i had just stepped out after the spade. "if he had been, i'd have shot him right then, no matter what come next. but i don't want him shot. he's mine. now tell every brave to leave him to me, the big one, nearly as big as roman nose, whiter than the others, because he's not been out here long. but he's no coward. the one with thick dark curly hair; it would make a beautiful scalp. but i want him." "what will you do with him?" the man nearest to me queried. "round the bend below the gorge the arickaree runs over a little strip of gravel with a ripple that sounds just like the neosho above the deep hole. i'll stake him out there where he can hear it and think of home until he dies. and before i leave him i've got a letter to read to him. it'll help to keep springvale in his mind if the water fails. i've promised him what to expect when he comes into my country." "do it," the smallest of the three spoke up. "do it. it'll pay him for setting bud anderson on me and nearly killing me in the alley back of the courthouse the night we were going to burn up springvale. i was making for the courthouse to get the papers to burn sure. i'd got the key and could have got them easy--and there's some needed burning specially--when that lispin' tow-head caught my arm and gave my head such a cut that i'll always carry the scar, and twisted my wrist so i've never been able to lift anything heavier than an artillery bugle since. nobody ever knew it back there but mapleson and conlow and judson. funny nobody ever guessed judson's part in that thing except his wife, and she kept it to herself and broke her heart and died. everybody else said he was water-bound away from home. he wasn't twenty feet from his own house when the whately girl come out. he was helpin' jean then. thought her mother'd be killed, and whately'd never get home alive--as he didn't--and he'd get the whole store; greediest man on earth for money. he's got the store anyhow, now, and he's going to marry the girl he was helpin' jean to take out of his way. that store never would have been burnt that night. i wish jean had got her, though. then i'd turned things against tell mapleson and run him out of town instead of his driving me from springvale. tell played a double game damned well. i'm outlawed and he's gettin' richer every day at home." so spoke the rev. mr. dodd, pastor of the methodist church south. it may be i needed the discipline of that day's fighting to hold me motionless and silent in the clump of grass beside these three men. "well, let's get up there and watch the fool women cry for their men." it was none other than father le claire's form before me, but this man's voice was never that soft french tone of the good man's--low and musical, matching his kindly eyes and sweet smile. as the three slipped away i did the only foolish act of mine in the whole campaign: i rose from my hiding place, shouldered that spade, and stalked straight down the bank, across the creek, and up to our works in the centre of the island as upright and free as if i were walking up cliff street to judge baronet's front door. jean's words had put into me just what i needed--not acceptance of the inevitable, but a power of resistance, the indomitable spirit that overcomes. history is stranger than fiction, and the story of the kansas frontier is more tragical than all the wild west yellow-backed novels ever turned off the press. to me this campaign of the arickaree has always read like a piece of bloody drama, so terrible in its reality, it puts the imagination out of service. we had only one chance for deliverance, we must get the tidings of our dreadful plight to fort wallace, a hundred miles away. jack stillwell and another brave scout were chosen for the dangerous task. at midnight they left us, moving cautiously away into the black blank space toward the southwest, and making a wide detour from their real line of direction. the indians were on the alert, and a man must walk as noiselessly as a panther to slip between their guards. the scouts wore blankets to resemble the indians more closely in the shadows of the night. they made moccasins out of boot tops, that their footprints might tell no story. in sandy places they even walked backward that they should leave no tell-tale trail out of the valley. dawn found them only three miles away from their starting place. a hollow bank overhung with long, dry grasses, and fronted with rank sunflowers, gave them a place of concealment through the daylight hours. again on the second night they hurried cautiously forward. the second morning they were near an indian village. their only retreat was in the tall growth of a low, marshy place. here they crouched through another long day. the unsuspecting squaws, hunting fuel, tramped the grasses dangerously near to them, but a merciful providence guarded their hiding-place. on the third night they pushed forward more boldly, hoping that the next day they need not waste the precious hours in concealment. in the early morning they saw coming down over the prairie the first guard of a cheyenne village moving southward across their path. the plains were flat and covertless. no tall grass, nor friendly bank, nor bush, nor hollow of ground was there to cover them from their enemies. but out before them lay the rotting carcass of an old buffalo. its hide still hung about its bones. and inside the narrow shelter of this carcass the two concealed themselves while a whole village passed near them trailing off toward the south. insufficient food, lack of sleep, and poisonous water from the buffalo wallows brought nausea and weakness to the faithful men making their way across the hostile land to bring help to us in our dire extremity. it is all recorded in history how these two men fared in that hazardous undertaking. no hundred miles of sandy plain were ever more fraught with peril; and yet these two pressed on with that fearless and indomitable courage that has characterized the saxon people on every field of conquest. meanwhile day crept over the eastern horizon, and the cold chill of the shadows gave place to the burning glare of the september sun. hot and withering it beat down upon us and upon the unburied dead that lay all about us. the braves that had fallen in the strife strewed the island's edges. their blood lay dark on the sandy shoals of the stream and stained to duller brown the trampled grasses. daylight brought the renewal of the treacherous sharpshooting. the enemy closed in about us and from their points of vantage their deadly arrows and bullets were hurled upon our low wall of defence. and so the unequal struggle continued. ours was henceforth an ambush fight. the redskins did not attack us in open charge again, and we durst not go out to meet them. and so the thing became a game of endurance with us, a slow wearing away of ammunition and food, a growing fever from weakness and loss of blood, a festering of wounds, the ebbing out of strength and hope; while putrid mule meat and muddy water, the sickening stench from naked bloated bodies under the blazing heat of day, the long, long hours of watching for deliverance that came not, and the certainty of the fate awaiting us at last if rescue failed us--these things marked the hours and made them all alike. as to the indians, the passing of roman nose had broken their fighting spirit; and now it was a mere matter of letting us run to the end of our tether and then--well, jean had hinted what would happen. on the third night two more scouts left us. it seemed an eternity since stillwell and his comrade had started from the camp. we felt sure that they must have fallen by the way, and the second attempt was doubly hazardous. the two who volunteered were quiet men. they knew what the task implied, and they bent to it like men who can pay on demand the price of sacrifice. their names were donovan and pliley, recorded in the military roster as private scouts, but the titles they bear in the memory of every man who sat in that grim council on that night, has a grander sound than the written records declare. "boys," forsyth said, lifting himself on his elbow where he lay in his sand bed, "this is the last chance. if you can get to the fort and send us help we can hold out a while. but it must come quickly. you know what it means for you to try, and for us, if you succeed." the two men nodded assent, then girding on their equipments, they gave us their last messages to be repeated if deliverance ever came to us and they were never heard of again. we were getting accustomed to this now, for death stalked beside us every hour. they said a brief good-bye and slipped out from us into the dangerous dark on their chosen task. then the chill of the night, with its uncertainty and gloom, with its ominous silences broken only by the howl of the gray wolves, who closed in about us and set up their hunger wails beyond the reach of our bullets; and the heat of the day with its peril of arrow and rifle-ball filled the long hours. hunger was a terror now. our meat was gone save a few decayed portions which we could barely swallow after we had sprinkled them over with gunpowder. for the stomach refused them even in starvation. dreams of banquets tortured our short, troubled sleep, and the waking was a horror. a luckless little coyote wandered one day too near our fold. we ate his flesh and boiled his bones for soup. and one day a daring soldier slipped out from our sand pit in search of food--anything--to eat in place of that rotting horseflesh. in the bushes at the end of the island, he found a few wild plums. oh, food for the gods was that portion of stewed plums carefully doled out to each of us. six days went by. i do not know on which one the sabbath fell, for god has no holy day in the plains warfare. six days, and no aid had come from fort wallace. that our scouts had failed, and our fate was decreed, was now the settled conclusion in every mind. on the evening of this sixth day our leader called us about him. how gray and drawn his face looked in the shadowy gray light, but his eyes were clear and his voice steady. "boys, we've got to the end of our rope, now. over there," pointing to the low hills, "the indian wolves are waiting for us. it's the hazard of war; that's all. but we needn't all be sacrificed. you, who aren't wounded, can't help us who are. you have nothing here to make our suffering less. to stay here means--you all know what. now the men who can go must leave us to what's coming. i feel sure now that you can get through together somehow, for the tribes are scattering. it is only the remnant left over there to burn us out at last. there is no reason why you should stay here and die. make your dash for escape together to-night, and save your lives if you can. and"--his voice was brave and full of cheer--"i believe you can." then a silence fell. there were two dozen of us gaunt, hungry men, haggard from lack of sleep and the fearful tax on mind and body that tested human endurance to the limit--two dozen, to whom escape was not impossible now, though every foot of the way was dangerous. life is sweet, and hope is imperishable. we looked into one another's face grimly, for the crisis of a lifetime was upon us. beside me lay morton. the handkerchief he had bound about his head in the first hour of battle had not once been removed. there was no other handkerchief to take its place. "go, baronet," he said to me. "tell your father, if you see him again, that i remembered whately and how he went down at chattanooga." his voice was low and firm and yet he knew what was awaiting him. oh! men walked on red-hot ploughshares in the days of the winning of the west. sharp grover was sitting beside forsyth. in the silence of the council the guide turned his eyes toward each of us. then, clenching his gaunt, knotted hands with a grip of steel, he said in a low, measured voice: "it's no use asking us, general. we have fought together, and, by heaven, we'll die together." in the great crises of life the only joy is the joy of self-sacrifice. every man of us breathed freer, and we were happier now than we had been at any time since the conflict began. and so another twenty-four hours, and still another twenty-four went by. the sun came up and the sun went down, and day and night were the same as one. and any evil chance seemed better than this slow dragging out of misery-laden time. "nature meant me to defend the weak and helpless. the west needs me," i had said to my father. and now i had given it my best. a slow fever was creeping upon me, and weariness of body was greater than pain and hunger. death would be a welcome thing now that hope seemed dead. i thought of o'mie, bound hand and foot in the hermit's cave, and like him, i wished that i might go quickly if i must go. for back of my stolid mental state was a frenzied desire to outwit jean pahusca, who was biding his time, and keeping a surer watch on our poor battle-wrecked, starving force than any other indian in the horde that kept us imprisoned. the sunrise of the twenty-fifth of september was a dream of beauty on the colorado plains. i sat with my face to the eastward and saw the whole pageantry of morning sweep up in a splendor of color through stretches of far limitless distances. oh! it was gorgeous, with a glory fresh from the hand of the infinite god, whose is the earth and the seas. mechanically i thought of the sunrise beyond the neosho valley, but nothing there could be half so magnificent as this. and as i looked, the thought grew firmer that this sublimity had been poured out for me for the last time, and i gazed at the face of the morning as we look at the face awaiting the coffin lid. and even as the thought clinched itself upon me came the sentinel's cry of "indians! indians!" we grasped our weapons at the shrill warning. it was the death-grip now. we knew as surely as we stood there that we could not resist this last attack. the redskins must have saved themselves for this final blow, when resistance on our part was a feeble mockery. the hills to the northward were black with the approaching force, but we were determined to make our last stand heroically, and to sell our lives as dearly as possible. as with a grim last measure of courage we waited, sharp grover, who stood motionless, alert, with arms ready, suddenly threw his rifle high in air, and with a shout that rose to heaven, he cried in an ecstasy of joy: "by the god above us, it's an ambulance!" to us for whom the frenzied shrieks of the squaws, the fiendish yells of the savage warriors, and the weird, unearthly wailing for the dead were the only cries that had resounded above the plains these many days, this shout from grover was like the music of heaven. a darkness came before me, and my strength seemed momentarily to go from me. it was but a moment, and then i opened my eyes to the sublimest sight it is given to the anglo-american to look upon. down from the low bluffs there poured a broad surge of cavalry, in perfect order, riding like the wind, the swift, steady hoof-beats of their horses marking a rhythmic measure that trembled along the ground in musical vibration, while overhead--oh, the grandeur of god's gracious dawn fell never on a thing more beautiful--swept out by the free winds of heaven to its full length, and gleaming in the sunlight, old glory rose and fell in rippling waves of splendor. on they came, the approaching force, in a mad rush to reach us. and we who had waited for the superb charge of roman nose and his savage warriors, as we wait for death, saw now this coming in of life, and the regiment of the unconquerable people. we threw restraint to the winds and shouted and danced and hugged each other, while we laughed and cried in a very transport of joy. it was colonel carpenter and his colored cavalry who had made a dash across the country rushing to our rescue. beside the colonel at their head, rode donovan the scout, whom we had accounted as dead. it was his unerring eye that had guided this command, never varying from the straight line toward our danger-girt entrenchment on the arickaree. before carpenter's approaching cavalry the indians fled for their lives, and they who a few hours hence would have been swinging bloody tomahawks above our heads were now scurrying to their hiding-places far away. [illustration: like the passing of a hurricane, horses, mules, men, all dashed toward the place] never tenderer hands cared for the wounded, and never were bath and bandage and food and drink more welcome. our command was shifted to a clean spot where no stench of putrid flesh could reach us. rest and care, such as a camp on the plains can offer, was ours luxuriously; and hardtack and coffee, food for the angels, we had that day, to our intense satisfaction. life was ours once more, and hope, and home, and civilization. oh, could it be true, we asked ourselves, so long had we stood face to face with death. the import of this struggle on the arickaree was far greater than we dreamed of then. we had gone out to meet a few foemen. what we really had to battle with was the fighting strength of the northern cheyenne and sioux tribes. long afterwards it came to us what this victory meant. the broad trail we had eagerly followed up the arickaree fork of the republican river had been made by bands on bands of plains indians mobilizing only a little to the westward, gathering for a deadly purpose. at the full of the moon the whole fighting force, two thousand strong, was to make a terrible raid, spreading out on either side of the republican river, reaching southward as far as the saline valley and northward to the platte, and pushing eastward till the older settlements turned them back. they were determined to leave nothing behind them but death and desolation. their numbers and leadership, with the defenceless condition of the plains settlers, give broad suggestion of what that raid would have done for kansas. our victory on the arickaree broke up that combination of indian forces, for all future time. it was for such an unknown purpose, and against such unguessed odds, that fifty of us led by the god of all battle lines, had gone out to fight. we had met and vanquished a foe two hundred times our number, aye, crippled its power for all future years. we were lifting the fetters from the frontier; we were planting the standards westward, westward. in the history of the plains warfare this fight on the arickaree, though not the last stroke, was one of the decisive struggles in breaking the savage sovereignty, a sovereignty whose wilderness demesne to-day is a land of fruit and meadow and waving grain, of peaceful homes and wealth and honor. it was impossible for our wounded comrades to begin the journey to fort wallace on that day. when evening came, the camp settled down to quiet and security: the horses fed at their rope tethers, the fires smouldered away to gray ashes, the sun swung down behind the horizon bar, the gold and scarlet of evening changed to deeper hues and the long, purple twilight was on the silent colorado plains. over by the arickaree the cavalry men lounged lazily in groups. as the shades of evening gathered, the soldiers began to sing. softly at first, but richer, fuller, sweeter their voices rose and fell with that cadence and melody only the negro voice can compass. and their song, pulsing out across the undulating valley wrapped in the twilight peace, made a harmony so wonderfully tender that we who had dared danger for days unflinchingly now turned our faces to the shadows to hide our tears. we are tenting to-night on the old camp ground. give us a song to cheer our weary hearts, a song of home and friends we love so dear. many are the hearts that are weary to-night, wishing for this war to cease, many are the hearts looking for the right to see the dawn of peace. so the cavalry men sang, and we listened to their singing with hearts stirred to their depths. and then with prayers of thankfulness for our deliverance, we went to sleep. and over on the little island, under the shallow sands, the men who had fallen beside us lay with patient, folded hands waiting beside the arickaree waters till the last reveille shall sound for them and they enter the kingdom of eternal peace. chapter xix a man's business mankind was my business; the common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence were all my business; the dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business. --dickens. every little community has its customs peculiar to itself. with the people of springvale the general visiting-time was on sunday between the afternoon sabbath-school and the evening service. the dishes that were prepared on saturday for the next day's supper excelled the warm sunday dinner. we come to know the heart and soul of the folks that fill up a little town, and when we get into the larger city we miss them oftener than we have the courage to say. unselfishness and integrity and stalwart principles of right are not confined to the higher circles of society. a man may be hungry for friends on the crest of his popularity; he may long for the strong right hand of christian fellowship in the centre of a brotherhood of churchmen. cam gentry and his good wife are among those whom in all my busy years of wide acquaintance with people of all ranks i account as genuine stuff. they were only common clay, generous, unselfish, clean of thought and act. uneducated, with no high ideals, they gauged their way by the golden rule, and made the most of their time. a journey to topeka was their "trip abroad"; beyond the newspapers they read little except the bible; and they built their faith on the presbyterian church and the republican party. but the cosy lighted tavern on winter nights, and its clean, cool halls and resting-places in the summer heat, are still a green spot in the memory of many a traveller. transients and regulars at the cambridge house delighted in this sabbath evening spread. "land knows," dollie gentry used to declare, "if ever a body feels lonesome it's on sunday afternoon between sunday-school and evenin' service. why, the blues can get you then, when they'd stan' no show ary other day er hour in the week. an' it stan's to reason a man, er woman, either, is livin' in a hotel because they ain't got no home ner nobody to make 'em feel glad to see 'em. if they're goin' to patronize the cambridge house they're goin' to get the best that's comin' to 'em right then." so the old dining-room was a joy at this time of the week, with all that a good cook can make attractive to the appetite. mary gentry, sweet-tempered and credulous as in her childhood, grew up into a home-lover. we all wondered why john anderson, who was studying medicine, should fancy mary, plain good girl that she was. john had been a bashful boy and a hard student whom the girls failed to interest. but the home mary made for him later, and her two sons that grew up in it, are justification of his choice of wife. the two boys are men now, one in seattle, and one in new york city. both in high places of trust and financial importance. one october sabbath afternoon, o'mie fell into step beside marjie on the way from sabbath-school. since his terrible experience in the hermit's cave five years before, he had never been strong. we became so accustomed to his little hacking cough we did not notice it until there came a day to all of us when we looked back and wondered how we could have been so inattentive to the thing growing up before our eyes. o'mie was never anything but a good-hearted irishman, and yet he had a keener insight into character and trend of events than any other boy or man i ever knew. i've always thought that if his life had been spared to mature manhood--but it wasn't. "marjie, i'm commissioned to invite you to the cambridge house for lunch," o'mie said. "mary wants to see you. she's got a lame arm, fell off a step ladder in the pantry. the papers on the top shelves had been on there fifteen minutes, and aunt dollie thought they'd better put up clean ones. that's the how. dr. john anderson's most sure to call professionally this evening, and bill mead's going to bring bess over for tea, and there's still others on the outskirts, but you're specially wanted, as usual. bud will be there, too. says he wants to see all the andersons once more before he leaves town, and he knows it's his last chance; for john's forever at the tavern, and bill mead is monopolizing bess at home; and you know, star-face, how clayton divides himself around among the whatelys and grays over at red range and a girl he's got up at lawrence." "all this when i'm starving for one of aunt dollie's good lunches. offer some other inducement, o'mie," marjie replied laughingly. "oh, well, tillhurst'll be there, and one or two of the new folks, all eligible." "what makes you call me 'star-face'? that's what jean pahusca used to call me." she shivered. "oh, it fits you; but if you object, i can make it, 'moon-face,' or 'sun-up.'" "or 'skylight,' or 'big dipper'; so you can keep to the blue firmament. where's bud going?" out of the tail of his eye o'mie caught sight of judson falling in behind them here and he answered carelessly: "oh, i don't know where bud is going exactly. kansas city or st. louis, or somewhere else. you'll come of course?" "yes, of course," marjie answered, just as judson in his pompous little manner called to her: "marjory, i have invited myself up to your mother's for tea." "why, there's nobody at home, mr. judson," the girl said kindly; "i'm going down to mary gentry's, and mother went up to judge baronet's with aunt candace for lunch." nobody called my father's sister by any other name. to marjie, who had played about her knee, aunt candace was a part of the day's life in springvale. but the name of baronet was a red rag to judson's temper. he was growing more certain of his cause every day; but any allusion to our family was especially annoying, and this remark of marjie's fired him to hasten to something definite in his case of courtship. "when she's my wife," he had boasted to tell mapleson, "i'll put a stop to all this baronet friendship. i won't even let her go there. marjie's a fine girl, but a wife must understand and obey her lord and master. that's it; a wife must obey, or your home's ruined." nobody had ever accused tell mapleson's wife of ruining a home on that basis; for she had been one of the crushed-down, washed-out women who never have two ideas above their dish-pan. she had been dead some years, and tell was alone. people said he was too selfish to marry again. certainly matrimony was not much in his thoughts. the talk at the tavern table that evening ran on merrily among the young people. albeit, the sabbath hour was not too frivolous, for we were pretty stanch in our presbyterianism there. i think our love for dr. hemingway in itself would have kept the sabbath sacred. he never found fault with our sunday visiting. all days were holy to him, and his evening sermons taught us that frivolity, and idle gossip, and scandal are as unforgivable on week days as on the sabbath day. somewhere in the wide courts of heaven there must be reserved an abode of inconceivable joy and peace for such men as he, men who preach the word faithfully through the years, whose hand-clasp means fellowship, and in whose tongue is the law of kindness. "say, clate, where's bud going?" somebody called across the table. bud was beside marjie, whose company was always at a premium in any gathering. "let him tell; it's his secret," clayton answered. "i'll be glad when he's gone"--he was speaking across to marjie now--"then i'll get some show, maybe." "i'm going to hunt a wife," bud sang out. "can't find a thoul here who'll thtay with me long enough to get acquainted. i'm going out wetht thomewhere." "i'd stay with you a blamed sight longer if i wasn't acquainted with you than if i was," bill mead broke in. "it's because they do get acquainted that they don't stay, bud; and anyhow, they can run faster out there than here, the girls can; they have to, to keep away from the indians. and there's no tepee ring for the ponies to stumble over. marjie, do you remember the time jean pahusca nearly got you? i remember it, for when i came to after the shock, i was standing square on my head with both feet in the air. all i could see was bud dragging jean's pony out of the muss. i thought he was upside down at first and the horses were walking like flies on the ceiling." marjie's memories of that moment were keen. so were o'mie's. "well, what ever did become of that jean, anyhow? anybody here seen him for five years?" the company looked at one another. bud's face was as innocent as a baby's. lettie conlow at the foot of the table encountered o'mie's eyes and her face flamed. dr. john anderson was explaining the happening to tillhurst and some newcomers in springvale to whom the story was interesting, and the whole table began to recall old times and old escapades of jean's. "wasn't afraid of anything on earth," bill mead declared. "yeth he wath, brother," bud broke in, while bess anderson blushed deeply at bud's teasing name. bill and bess were far along the happy way of youth and love. "why, what did he fear?" judson asked dave mead at the head of the table. "phil baronet. he never would fight phil. he didn't dare. he couldn't bear to be licked." and then the conversation turned on me, and my virtues and shortcomings were reviewed in friendly gossip. only judson's face wore a sneer. "i don't wonder this jean was afraid of him," a recent-comer to the town declared. "oh, if he was afraid of this young man, this boy," judson declared, "he would have feared something else; that's it, he'd been afraid of other things." "he was," o'mie spoke up. "well, what was it, o'mie?" dr. john queried. "ghosts," o'mie replied gravely. "oh, i know," he declared, as the crowd laughed. "i can prove it to you and tell you all about it. i'll do it some day, but i'll need the schoolhouse and some lantern slides to make it effective. i may charge a small admission fee and give a benefit to defray bud's expenses home from this trip." "would you really do that, o'mie?" mary gentry asked him. but the query, "where's phil, now?" was going the rounds, and the answers were many. my doings had not been reported in the town, and gossip still was active concerning me. "up at topeka," "gone to st. louis," "back in massachusetts." these were followed by dave mead's declaration: "the best boy that ever went out of springvale. just his father over again. he'll make some place prouder than it would have been without him." nobody knew who started the story just then, but it grew rapidly from tillhurst's side of the table that i had gone to rockport, massachusetts, to settle in my father's old home-town. "stands to reason a boy who can live in kansas would go back to massachusetts, doesn't it?" dr. john declared scornfully. "but phil's to be married soon, to that stylish miss melrose. she's got the money, and phil would become a fortune. besides, she was perfectly infatuated with him." "well," somebody else asserted, "if he does marry her, he can bring her back here to live. my! but judge baronet's home will be a grand place to go to then. it was always good enough." amid all this clatter marjie was as indifferent and self-possessed as if my name were a stranger's. those who had always known her did not dream of what lay back of that sweet girl-face. she was the belle of springvale, and she had too many admirers for any suspicion of the truth to find a place. while the story ran on bud turned to her and said in a low voice, "marjie, i'm going to phil. he needth me now." nobody except bud noticed how white the girl was, as the company rising from the table swept her away from him. that night dr. hemingway's prayer was fervent with love. the boys were always on his heart, and he called us all by name. he prayed for the young men of springvale, who had grown up to the life here and on whom the cares of citizenship, and the town's good name were soon to rest; and for the young men who would not be with us again: for tell mapleson, that the snares of a great city like st. louis might not entrap him; for james conlow, whose lines had led him away from us; for david mead, going soon to the far-away lands where the sierras dip down the golden slope to the pacific seas; for august anderson, also about to go away from us, that life and health might be his; and last of all for philip baronet. a deeper hush fell upon the company bowed in prayer. "for philip baronet, the strong, manly boy whom we all love, the brave-hearted hero who has gone out from among us, and as his father did before him for the homes of a nation, so now the son has gone to fight the battles of the prairie domain, and to build up a wall of safety before the homes and hearthstones of our frontier." and then he offered thanksgiving to a merciful father that, "in the awful conflict which philip, with a little handful of heroes, has helped to wage against the savage red man, a struggle in which so many lives have gone out, our philip has been spared." his voice broke here, and he controlled it by an effort, as in calm, low tones he finished his simple prayer with the earnest petition, "keep thou these our boys; and though they may walk through the valley of the shadow of death, may they fear no evil, for thou art with them. amen." it was the first intimation the town had had of what i was doing. springvale was not without a regard for me who had loved it always, and then the thought of danger to a fellow citizen is not without its appeal. i have been told that judge baronet and aunt candace could not get down the aisle after service until after ten o'clock that night and that the tears of men as well as women fell fast as my father gave the words of the message sent to him by governor crawford on the evening before. even chris mead, always a quiet, stern man, sat with head bowed on the railing of the pew before him during the recital. it was noted afterwards that judson did not remain, but took lettie conlow home as soon as the doxology was ended. the next day my stock in springvale was at a premium; for a genuine love, beside which fame and popularity are ashes and dust, was in the heart of that plain, good little kansas town. bud called to say good-bye to marjie, before he left home. "are you going out west to stay?" marjie asked. "i'm going to try it out there. clate'th got all the law here a young man can get; he'th gobbled up dave and phil'th share of the thing. john will be the coming m. d. of the town, and bill mead already taketh to the bank like a duck to water. i'm going to try the wetht. what word may i take to phil for you?" "there's nothing to say," marjie answered. to his words, "i hoped there might be," she only said gayly, "good-bye, bud. be a good boy, and be sure not to forget springvale, for we'll always love your memory." and so he left her. he was a good boy, nor did he forget the town where his memory is green still in the hearts of all who knew him. his last thought was of springvale, and he babbled of the neosho, and fancied himself in the shallows down by the deep hole. he clung to me, as in his childhood, and begged me to carry him on my shoulders when waters of death were rolling over him. i held his hand to the last, and when the silence fell, i stretched myself on the brown curly mesquite beside him and thanked god that he had let me know this boy. ever more my life will be richer for the remembrance it holds of him. bud left springvale in one of those dripping, chilly, wet days our kansas octobers sometimes mix in with their opal-hued hours of indian summer. that evening tell mapleson dropped into judson's store and o'mie was let off early. the little irishman ran up the street at once to the whately home. mrs. whately had retired. eight o'clock was bed time for middle-aged people in our town. marjie sat alone by the fire. how many times that summer we had talked of the long winter evenings we should spend together by that fireplace in marjie's cosy sitting-room. and now she was beside the hearth, and i was far away. i might have been forgiven without a word had i walked in that evening and found her, as o'mie did, alone with her sad thoughts. marjie never tried to hide anything from o'mie. she knew he could see through any pretence of hers. she knew, too, that he would keep sacred anything he saw. "marjie, i'm lonesome to-night." marjie gave him a seat beside the fire. "what makes you lonesome, o'mie?" she asked gravely. "the wrongs av the world bear heavily upon me." marjory looked at him curiously to see if he was joking. "what i need to do is to shrive myself, i guess, and then get up an inquisition, with myself as chief inquisitor." marjie, studying the pictures in the burning coals, said nothing. o'mie also sat silent for a time. "marjie," he said at length, "when you see things goin' all wrong end to, and you know what's behind 'em, drivin' 'em wrong, what's your rale presbyterian duty then? let 'em go? or tend to somethin' else besides your own business? honest, now, what's what?" "i don't know what you're up to, o'mie." she was looking dreamily into the grate, the firelight on her young face and thoughtful brown eyes making a picture tenderly sweet and fair. in her mind was the image of judge baronet as he looked the night before, when he lifted his head after dr. hemingway's prayer for his son. and then maybe a picture of the graceless son himself came unbidden, and his eyes were full of love as when they looked down into hers on the day rachel melrose came into judge baronet's office demanding his attention. "what's the matter, o'mie? is uncle cam being imposed on? you'd never stand that, i know." "no, little girl, cambridge gentry can still take care of cam's interest and do a kind act to more folks off-hand better than any other man i know. marjie, it's phil baronet." marjie gave a start, but she made no effort to hide her interest. "little girl, he's been wronged, and lied about, and misunderstood, by a crowd av us who have knowed him day in and day out since he was a little boy. marjory whately, did anybody iver catch him in a lie? did he iver turn coward in a place where courage was needed? did he iver do a cruelty to a helpless thing, or fight a smaller boy? did he iver decaive? honestly, now, was there iver anything in all the years we run together that wasn't square and clane and fearless and lovin'?" marjie sat with bowed head before the flickering fire. when o'mie spoke again his voice was husky. "little girl, when i was tied hand and foot, and left to die in that dark hermit's cave, it was phil baronet who brought in the sunlight and a face radiant with love. when jean pahusca, drunk as a fury, was after you out on the prairie with that cruel knife ready, the knife i've seen him kill many a helpless thing with when he was drunk, when this jean was ridin' like a fiend after you, phil turned to me that day and his white agonized face i'll never forget. now, marjie, it's to right his wrong, and the wrongs of some he loves that i'm studyin' about. the week phil came home from the rally i took a vacation. shall i tell you why?" marjie nodded. "well, star-face, it was laid on me conscience heavy to pay a part av the debt i owe to the boy who saved me life. i ain't got eyes fur nothin', and i see the clouds gatherin' black about that boy's head. back of 'em was jealousy, that was a girl; hate, that was a man whose cruel, ugly deeds phil had knocked down and trampled on and prevented from comin' to a harvest of sufferin'; and revenge, that was a rebel-hearted scoundrel who'd have destroyed this town but for phil; and last, a selfish, money-lovin' son of a horse-thief who was grabbing for riches and pulling hard at the covers to hide some sins he'd never want to come to the light, being a deacon in the presbyterian church. all thim in one cloud makes a hurricane, and with 'em comes a shallow, selfish, pretty girl. oh, it was a sight, marjie. if i can do somethin' to keep shipwreck not only from them the storm's aimed at, but them that's pilin' up trouble fur themselves, too, i'm goin' to do it." marjie made no reply. "so i took a vacation and wint off on a visit to me rich relatives in westport." marjie could not help smiling now. o'mie had not a soul to call his next of kin. "oh, yis, i wint," he continued, "on tin days' holiday. the actual start to it was on the evenin' phil got home from topeka. the night of the party at anderson's lettie conlow comes into the store just at closin'. i was behind a pile of ginghams fixin' some papers and cord below the counter. and judson, being a fool by inheritance and choice of profession, takes no more notice of me than if i was a dog; says things he oughtn't to when he knows i'm 'round. but he forgits me in the pride of his stuck-uppityness. and i heard judson say to her low, 'now be sure to go right after dark and look in there again. you're sure you know just which crevice of the rock it is?' lettie laughed and said, she'd watched it too long not to know. and so they arranged it, and i arranged my wrappin'-cord, and when i straightened up (i'm little, ye know), they didn't see my rid head by the pile of ginghams; and so she went away. when i got ready i wint, too. i trailed round after dark until i found meself under that point av rock by the bushes in the steep bend up-street. i was in a little corner full of crevices, when along comes lettie. she seemed to be tryin' to get somethin' out of 'em, and her short fat arm couldn't reach it. blamed inconvanient bein' little and short! she tried and tried and thin she said some ugly words only a boy has a right to say when he's cussin' somethin'. just thin somethin' made a noise between her and the steps, and she made a rush for 'em and was gone. my eyes was gettin' catty and used to the dark now, and i could make out pretty sure it was phil who sails up nixt, aisy, like he knowed the premises, and in his hand goes and he got out somethin' sayin' to himself--and me: "'well, marjie tucked it in good and safe. i didn't know that hole was so deep.' "marjie, maybe if that hole's too deep for lettie to reach clear in, there might be somethin' she's missed. i dunno'. but niver moind. i took me vacation, went sailin' out with dever fur a rale splurge to kansas city. across the neosho dever turns the stage aside, u. s. mail and all, and lands me siven miles up the river and ferries me on this side again. dever can keep the stillest of any livin' stage-driver whose business is to drive stage on the side and gossip on the main line. he never cheeped a chirp. i come back that same day and put in tin days studyin' things. i just turned myself into a holy inquisition for tin mortial days. now, what i know has a value to phil's good name, who has been accused of doing more diviltry than the thief on the cross. marjie, i'm goin' to proceed now and turn on screws till the heretics squeal. it's not exactly my business; but--well, yes, it's the lord's business to right the wrongs, and we must do his work now and then, 'unworthy though we be,' as grandpa mead says, in prayer meetin'." "o'mie, you heard dr. hemingway's prayer last night?" marjie asked, in a voice that quivered with tears. "oh, good god! marjie, the men that's fighting the battles on the frontier, the fire-guards around them prairie homes, they are the salt of the earth." he dropped his head between his hands and groaned. presently he rose to say good-night. "shall i do it, little sister? see to what's not my business at all, at all, and start a fire in this town big enough to light the skies clear to where phil is this rainy night, and he can read a welcome home in it?" "they said last night that he's going to be married soon to that massachusetts girl. maybe he wouldn't want to come if he did see it," marjie murmured, turning her face away. "oh, maybe not, maybe not. niver did want to get back when he was away. but, say, marjie star-face, fort wallace away out on the plains ain't rockport; and rich men's homes and all that gabble they was desecratin' the sabbath with at supper last night--" o'mie broke off and took the girl's trembling hand in his. "oh! i can look after that rascal's good name, but i don't dare to fix things up for you two, no matter what i know." so ran his thoughts. the rain blew in a bitter gust as he opened the door. "good-night, marjie. it's an ugly night. any old waterproof cloak to lend me, girlie?" he asked, but marjie did not smile. she held the light as in the olden time she had shown us the dripping path, and watched the little irishman trotting away in the darkness. the indian summer of in kansas was as short as it was glorious. the next day was gorgeous after the rain, and the warm sunshine and light breeze drove all the dampness and chill away. in the middle of the afternoon judson left the store to o'mie and went up to mrs. whately's for an important business conference. these conferences were growing frequent now, and dear mrs. whately's usually serene face wore a deeply anxious look after each one. marjie had no place in them. it was not a part of judson's plan to have her understand the business. fortune favored o'mie's inquisition scheme. judson had hardly left the store when lettie conlow walked in. evidently judson's company on the sunday evening before had given her a purpose in coming. in our play as children lettie was the first to "get mad and call names." in her young womanhood she was vindictive and passionate. "good-afternoon, lettie. nice day after the rain," o'mie said, pleasantly. she did not respond to his greeting, but stood before him with flashing eyes. she had often been called pretty, and her type is always considered handsome, for her coloring was brilliant, and her form attractive. this year she was the best dressed girl in town, although her father was not especially prosperous. whether transplanting in a finer soil with higher culture might have changed her i cannot say, for the conlow breed ran low and the stamp of the common grade was on lettie. i've seen the same on a millionaire's wife; so it is in the blood, and not in the rank. no other girl in town broke the law as lettie did, and kept her good name, but we had always known her. the boys befriended her more than the girls did, partly because we knew more of her escapades, and partly because she would sometimes listen to us. a pretty, dashing, wilful, untutored, and ill-principled girl, she was sowing the grain of a certain harvest. "o'mie," she began angrily, "you've been talking about me, and you've been spying on me long enough; and i'm going to settle you now. you are a contemptible spy, and you're the biggest rascal in this town. that's what you are." "not by the steelyards, i ain't," o'mie replied. passing from behind the counter and courteously offering her a chair. then jumping upon the counter beside her he sat swinging his heels against it, fingering the yard-stick beside the pile of calicoes. "not by the steelyards, i ain't the biggest. tell mapleson's lots longer, and james conlow, blacksmith, and cam gentry, and cris mead are all bigger. but if you want to settle me, i'm ready. who says i've been talking about you?" "amos judson, and he knows. he's told me all about you." o'mie's irrepressible smile spread over his face. "all about me? i didn't give him credit for that much insight." "i'm not joking, and you must listen to me. i want to know why you tag after me every place i go. no gentleman would do that." "maybe not, nor a lady nather," o'mie interposed. lettie's face burned angrily. "and you've been saying things about me. you've got to quit it. only a dirty coward would talk about a girl as you do." she stamped her foot and her pudgy hands were clenched into hard little knots. it was a cheap kind of fury, a flimsy bit of drama, but tragedies have grown out of even a lesser degree of unbridled temper. o'mie was a monkey to whom the ludicrous side of life forever appealed, and the sight of lettie as an accusing vengeance was too much for him. the twinkle in his eye only angered her the more. "oh, you needn't laugh, you and marjie whately. how i hate her! but i've fixed her. you two have always been against me, i know. i've heard what you say. she's a liar, and a mean flirt, always trying to take everybody away from me; and as good as a pauper if judson didn't just keep her and her mother." "marjie'd never try to get judson away from lettie," o'mie thought, but all sense of humor had left his face now. "lettie conlow," he said, leaning toward her and speaking calmly, "you may call me what you please--lord, it couldn't hurt me--but you, nor nobody else, man or woman, praist or pirate, is comin' into this store while i'm alone in controllin' it, and call marjie whately nor any other dacent woman by any evil names. if you've come here to settle me, settle away, and when you get through my turn's comin' to settle; but if you say another word against marjie or any other woman, by the holy joe spooner, and all the other saints, you'll walk right out that door, or i'll throw you out as i'd do anybody else in the same case, no matter if they was masculine, feminine, or neuter gender. now you understand me. if you have anything more to say, say it quick." lettie was furious now, but the conlow blood is not courageous, and she only ground her teeth and muttered: "always the same. nobody dares to say a word against her. what makes some folks so precious, i wonder? there's phil baronet, now,--the biggest swindle in this town. oh, i could tell you a lot about him. i'll do it some day, too. it'll take more money to keep me still than baronet's bank notes." "lettie," said o'mie in an even voice, "i'm waitin' here to be settled." "then let me alone. i'm not goin' to be forever tracked 'round like a thief. i'll fix you so you'll keep still. who are you, anyhow? a nobody, poor as sin, living off of this town all these years; never knowing who your father nor mother is, nor nobody to care for you; the very trash of the earth, somebody's doorstep foundling, to set yourself up over me! you'd ought to 'a been run out of town long ago." "i was, back in ' , an' half the town came after me, had to drag me back with ropes, they was so zealous to get me. i wasn't worth it, all the love and kindness the town's give me. now, lettie, what else?" "nothing except this. after what dr. hemingway said last night springvale's gone crazy about phil again. just crazy, and he's sure to come back here. if he does"--she broke off a moment--"well, you know what you've been up to for four months, trackin' me, and tellin' things you don't know. are you goin' to quit it? that's all." "the evidence bein' in an' the plaintiff restin'," o'mie said gravely, "it's time for the defence in the case to begin. "you saved me a trip, my lady, for i was comin' over this very evenin' to settle with you. but never mind, we can do it now. judson's havin' one of his m. e. quarterly conferences up at the whately house and we are free to talk this out. you say i'm a contemptible spy. lettie, we're a pair of 'em, so we'll lave off the adjective or adverb, which ever it is, that does that for names of 'persons, places, and things that can be known or mentioned.' some of 'em that can be known, can't aven be mentioned, though. where were you, lettie, whin i was spyin' and what were you doin' at the time yoursilf?" "i guess i had a right to be there. it's a free country, and it was my own business, not somebody else's," the girl retorted angrily, as the situation dawned on her. "exactly," o'mie went on. "it's a free country and we both have a right to tend to our own business. nobody has a right to tend to a business of sin and evil-doin' toward his neighbor, though, my girl. if i've tagged you and spied, and played the dirty coward, and ain't no gintleman, it was to save a good name, and to keep from exposure a name--maybe it's a girl's, none too good, i'm afraid--but it would niver come to the gossips through me. you know that." lettie did know it. o'mie and she had made mud pies together in the days when they still talked in baby words. it was because he was true and kind, because he was a friend to every man, woman, and child there, that springvale loves his memory to-day. "second, i wish to heaven i could make things right, but i can't. i wish you could, but some of 'em you won't and, lettie, some of 'em you can't now. "third, you've heard what i said about you. why, child, i've said the worst to you. no words comin' straight nor crooked to you, have i said of you i'd not say to yoursilf, face to face. "and again now, girlie, you've talked plain here; came pretty near callin' me names, in fact. i can stand it, and i guess i deserve some of 'em. i am something of a rascal, and a consummate liar, i admit; but when you talk about a lot of scandal up your sleeve, more 'n bank notes can pay by blackmail, and your chance of fixin' phil baronet's character, lettie, you just can't do it. you are too mad to be anything but foolish to-day, but i'm glad you did come to me; it may save more 'n phil's name. your own is in the worst jeopardy right now. you said, in conclusion, that i was trackin' you, and you ask, am i goin' to quit it? the defendant admits the charge, pleads guilty on that count, and throws himself on the mercy av the coort. but as to the question, am i goin' to quit it, i answer yes. whin? whin there's no more need fur it, and not one minute sooner. i may be the very trash av the earth, with no father nor mother nor annybody to care for me" (i can see, even now, the pathetic look that came sometimes into his laughing gray eyes. it must have been in them at that moment); "but i have sometimes been 'round when things i could do needed doin', and i'm goin' to be prisent now, and in the future, to put my hand up against wrong-doin' if i can." o'mie paused, while that little dry cough that brought a red spot to each cheek had its way. "now, lettie, you've had your say with me, and your mind's relieved. it's my time to say a few things, and you must listen." lettie sat looking at the floor. "i don't know why i have to listen," she spoke defiantly. "nor do i know why i had to listen to what you said. you don't need to, but i would if i was you. it may be all the better for you in a year if you do. you spake av bein' tagged wherever you go. who begun it? i'll tell you. back in the summer one day, two people drove out to the stone cabin, the haunted one, by the river in the draw below the big cottonwood. somebody made his home there, somebody who didn't dare to show his face in springvale by day, 'cause his hand's been lifted to murder his fellow man. but he hangs 'round here, skulkin' in by night to see the men he does business with, and meetin' foolish girls who ought never to trust him a minute. this man's waiting his chance to commit murder again, or worse. i know, fur i've laid fur him too many times. there's no cruel-hearted savage on the plains more dangerous to the settlers on the frontier; not one av 'em 'ud burn a house, and kill men and children, and torture and carry off women, quicker than this miserable dog that a girl who should value her good name has been counsellin' with time and again, this summer, partly on account of jealousy, and partly because of a silly notion of bein' romantic. back in june she made a trip to the cabin double quick to warn the varmint roostin' there. in her haste she dropped a bow of purple ribbon which with some other finery a certain little store-keeper gives her to do his spyin' fur him. it's a blamed lovely cabal in this town. i know 'em all by name. "spakin' of bein' paupers and bein' kept by judson, lettie--who is payin' the wages of sin, in money and fine clothes, right now? it's on the books, and i kape the books. but, my dear girl,"--o'mie looked straight into her black eyes--"they's books bein' kept of the purpose, price av the goods, and money. and you and him may answer for that. i can swear in coort only to what judson spends on you; you know what for." lettie cowered down before her inquisitor, and her anger was mingled with fear and shame. "this purple bow was found, identified. aven uncle cam, short-sighted as he is, remembered who wore it that day; aven see her gallopin' into town and noticed she'd lost it. this same girl hung around the cliff till she found a secret place where two people put their letters. she comes in here and tells me i've no business taggin' her. what business had she robbin' folks of letters, stealin' 'em out, and givin' 'em into wicked hands? lettie, you know whose letter you took when you could reach far enough to git it out, and you know where you put it. "you said you could ruin phil. it's aisy for a woman to do that, i admit. no matter how hard the church may be on 'em, and how much other women may cut 'em dead for doin' wrong things, a woman can go into a coort-room and swear a man's character away, an' the jury'll give her judgment every time. the law's a lot aisier with the women than the crowd you associate with is." o'mie's speech was broken off by his cough. "now to review this case a bit. the night av the anderson's party you tried to get the letter marjie'd put up for phil. you didn't do it." "i never tried," lettie declared. "how come the rid flowers stuck with the little burrs on your dress? they don't grow anywhere round here only on that cliff side. i pulled off one bunch, and i saw phil pull off another when your skirts caught on a nail in the door. but i saw more 'n that. i stood beside you when you tried to get the letter, and i heard you tell judson you had failed. i can't help my ears; the almighty made 'em to hear with, and as you've said, i am a contemptible spy. "you have given hints, mean ugly little hints, of what you could tell about phil on that night. he took you home, as he was asked to do. but what took you to the top of the cliff at midnight? it was to meet jean pahusca, the dog the gallows is yappin' for now. you waited while he tried to kill phil. he'd done it, too, if phil hadn't been too strong to be killed by such as him. and then you and jean were on your way out to his cabin whin the boys found you. you know bill and bud was goin' to red range, that night in the carriage when they overtook you. it was moonlight, you remember; and ridin' on the back seat was cris mead, silent as he always is, but he heard every word that was said. bud come all the way back with you to keep your good name a little while longer; took chances on his own to save a girl's. it's phil baronet put that kind of loyalty into the boys av this town. no wonder they love him. bud's affidavit's on file ready, when needed; and bill is here to testify; and cris mead's name's good on paper, or in coort, or prayer meetin'. lettie, you have sold yourself to two of the worst men ever set foot in this town." "amos judson is my best friend; i'll tell him you said he's one of the two worst men in this town," lettie cried. "it's a waste av time; he knows it himself. now, a girl who visits in lonely cabins at dead hours av the night, with men she knows is dangerous, oughtn't to ask why some folks are so precious. it's because they keep their bodies and souls sacred before almighty god, and don't sell aither. you've accused me of tryin' to protect phil, and of keepin' marjie's name out of everything, and that i've been spyin' on you. good god! lettie, it's to keep you more 'n them. i was out after my own business, after things other folks ought to a' looked after and didn't, things strictly belongin' to me, whin i run across you everywhere, and see your wicked plan to ruin good names and break hearts and get money by blackmail. lettie, it's not too late to turn back now. you've done wrong; we all do. but, little girl, we've knowed each other since the days i used to tie your apron strings when your short little fat arms couldn't reach to tie 'em, and i know you now. what have you done with marjie's letter that you stole before it got to phil?" his voice was kind, even tender. "i'll never tell you!" lettie blazed up like a fire brand. "aren't you willing to right the wrongs you've done, and save yourself, too?" his voice did not change. "i'm going to leave here when i get ready. i'm going away, but not till i am ready, and--" she had almost yielded, but evil desire is a strong master. the spirit of her low-browed father gained control again, and she raised a stormy face to him who would have befriended her. "i'm going to do what i please, and go where i please; and i'll fix some precious saints so they'll never want to come back to this town; and some others'll wish they could leave it." "all right, then," o'mie replied, as lettie flung herself out of the door, "if you find me among those prisent when you turn some corner suddenly don't be surprised. i wonder," he went on, "who got that letter the last night the miserable melrose girl was here, or the night after. i wonder how she could reach it when she couldn't get the other one. maybe the hole had something in it, one of phil's letters to marjie, who knows? and that was why that letter did not get far enough back from her thievin' fingers. oh, i'm mighty glad kathleen morrison give me the mitten for jess gray, one of them red range boys. how can a man as good and holy as i am manage the obstreperous girls? but," he added seriously, "this is too near to sin and disgrace to joke about now." chapter xx the cleft in the rock and yet i know past all doubting truly, a knowledge greater than grief can dim, i know as he loved, he will love me duly, yea, better, e'en better, than i love him. --jean ingelow. while o'mie and lettie were acting out their little drama in the store that afternoon, judson was up in mrs. whately's parlor driving home matters of business with a hasty and masterful hand. marjie had slipped away at his coming, and for the second time since i had left springvale she took the steep way up to our "rockport." had she known what was going on at home she might have stayed there in spite of her prejudices. "it's just this way, mrs. whately," judson declared, when he had formally opened the conference, "it's just this way. with all my efforts in your behalf, your business interest in the store has been eaten up by your expenditures. of course i know you have always lived up to a certain kind of style whether you had the money or not; and i can understand, bein' a commercialist, how easy those things go. but that don't alter the fact that you'll have no more income from the store in a very few months. i'm planning extensive changes in the winter for next spring, and it'll take all the income. do you see now?" "partly," mrs. whately replied faintly. she was a sweet-spirited, gentle woman. she had been reared in a home of luxury. her own home had been guarded by a noble, loving husband, and her powers of resource had never been called out. of all the women i have ever known, she was least fitted to match her sense of honor, her faith in mankind, and her inexperience and lack of business knowledge against such an unprincipled, avaricious man as the one who domineered over her affairs. judson had been tricky and grasping in the day of his straightened circumstances, but he might never have developed into the scoundrel he became, had prosperity not fallen upon him by chance. sometimes it is poverty, and sometimes it is wealth that plays havoc with a man's character and leads an erring nature into consummate villainy. "well, now, if you can see what i'm tellin' you, that you are just about penniless (you will be in a few months; that's it, you will be soon), then you can see how magnanimous a man can be, even a busy merchant, a--a commercialist, if i must use the word again. you'll not only be poor with nobody to support you, but you'll be worse, my dear woman, you'll be disgraced. that's it, just disgraced. i've kept stavin' it off for you, but it's comin'--ugly disgrace for you and marjory." mrs. whately looked steadily at him with a face so blanched with grief only a hard-hearted wretch like judson could have gone on. "i've been gettin' you ready for this for months, have laid my plans carefully, and i've been gradually puttin' the warnin' of it in your mind." this was true. judson had been most skilfully paving the way, else mrs. whately would not have had that troubled face and burdened spirit after each conference. the intimation of disaster had grown gradually to dreaded expectation with her. "do tell me what it is, amos. anything is better than this suspense. i'll do anything to save marjie from disgrace." "now, that's what i've been a-waitin' for. just a-waitin' till you was ready to say you'd do what's got to be done anyhow. well, it's this. whately, your deceased first husband"--judson always used the numeral when speaking of a married man or woman who had passed away--"whately, he made a will before he went to the war. judge baronet drawed it up, and i witnessed it. now that will listed and disposed of an amount of property, enough to keep you and marjie in finery long as you lived. that will and some other valuable papers was lost durin' the war (some says just when they was taken, but they don't know), and can't nowhere be found. havin' entire care of the business in his absence, and bein' obliged to assoom control on his said demise at chattanoogy, i naturally found out all about his affairs. to be short, mrs. whately, he never had the property he said he had. nobody could find the money. there was an awful shortage. you can't understand, but in a word, he was a disgraced, dishonest man--a thief--that's it." mrs. whately buried her face in her hands and groaned aloud. "now, mrs. whately, you mustn't take on and you must forget the past. it's the present day we're livin' in, and the future that's a-comin'. nobody can control what's comin', but me." he rose up to his five feet and three inches, and swelled to the extent of his power. "me." he tapped his small chest. "i'll come straight to the end of this thing. phil baronet's been quite a friend here, quite a friend. i've explained to you all about him. now you know he's left town to keep from bein' mixed up in some things. they's some business of his father's he was runnin' crooked. you know they say, i heard it out at fingal's creek, that he left here on account of a girl he wanted to get rid of. and if they'd talk that way about one girl, they'll say marjie was doin' wrong to go with him. you've all been friends of the baronets. i never could see why; but now--well, you know phil left. now, it rests with me"--more tapping on that little quart-measure chest--"with me to keep things quiet and save his name from further talk, and save marjie, too. many a man, a business man, now, wouldn't have done as i'm doin'. i'll marry marjie. that saves you from poverty. it saves irving whately's name from lastin' disgrace, and it saves baronet's boy. i can control the men that's against baronet, in the business matter--some land case--and i know the girl that the talk's all about; and it saves marjory's name bein' mixed up with this boy of judge baronet's." had judson been before aunt candace, she would have thrust him from the door with one lifting of her strong, shapely hand. dollie gentry would have cracked his head with her rolling pin before she let him go. cris mead's wife would have chased him clear to the neosho; she was bill mead's own mother when it came to whooping things; but poor, gentle mrs. whately sat dumb and dazed in a grief-stricken silence. "give me your consent, and the thing's done. marjie's only twenty. she'll come to me for safety soon as she knows what you do. she'll have to, to save them that's dearest to her. you and her father and her friendship for the baronets ought to do somethin'; besides, marjie needs somebody to look after her. she's a pretty girl and everybody runs after her. she'd be spoiled. and she's fond of me, always was fond of me. i don't know what it is about some men makes girls act so; but now, there's lettie conlow, she's just real fond of me." (oh, the popinjay!) "you'll say yes, and say it now." there was a ring of authority in his last words, to which mrs. whately had insensibly come to yield. she sat for a long time trying to see a way out of all this tangled web of her days. at last, she said slowly: "marjie isn't twenty-one, but she's old for her years. i won't command her. if she will consent, so will i, and i'll do all i can." judson was jubilant. he clapped his hands and giggled hysterically. "good enough, good enough! i'll let it be quietly understood we are engaged, and i'll manage the rest. you must use all the influence you can with her. leave nothing undid that you can do. oh, joy! you'll excuse my pleasure, mrs. whately. the prize is as good as mine right now, though it may take a few months even to get it all completely settled. i'll go slow and quiet and careful. but i've won." could mrs. whately have seen clear into the man's cruel, cunning little mind, she would have been unutterably shocked at the ugly motives contending there. but she couldn't see. she was made for sunshine and quiet ways. she could never fathom the gloom. it was from her father that marjie inherited all that strong will and courage and power to walk as bravely in the shadows as in the light, trusting and surefooted always. judson waited only until some minor affairs had been considered, and then he rose to go. "i'm so sure of the outcome now," he said gleefully, "i'll put a crimp in some stories right away; and i'll just let it be known quietly at once that the matter's settled, then marjie can't change it," he added mentally. "and you're to use all your influence. good-evening, my dear mrs. w. it'll soon be another name i may have for you." meanwhile, marjie sat up on "rockport," looking out over the landscape, wrapped in the autumn peace. every inch of the cliff-side was sacred to her. the remembrance of happy childhood and the sweet and tender memories of love's young dream had hallowed all the ground and made the view of the whole valley a part of the life of the days gone by. the woodland along the neosho was yellow and bronze and purple in the afternoon sunshine, the waters swept along by verdant banks, for the fall rains had given life to the brown grasses of august. far up the river, the shapely old cottonwood stood in the pride of its autumn gold, outlined against a clear blue sky, while all the prairie lay in seas of golden haze about it. on the gray, jagged rocks of the cliff, the blood-red leaves of the vines made a rich warmth of color. for a long time marjie sat looking out over the valley. its beauty appealed to her now as it had done in the gladsome days, only the appeal touched other depths of her nature and fitted her sadder mood. at last the thought of what might have been filled her eyes with tears. "i'll go down to our post-office, as o'mie suggested," she declared to herself. "oh, anything to break away from this hungry longing for what can never be!" the little hidden cleft was vine-covered now, and the scarlet leaves clung in a lacework about the gray stone under which the crevice ran back clean and dry for an arm's length. it was a reflex action, and not a choice of will, that led marjie to thrust her hand in as she had done so often before. only cold stone received her touch. she recalled o'mie's picture of lettie, short-necked, stubby lettie, down there in the dark trying to stretch her fat arm to the limit of the crevice, and as she thought, marjie slipped her own arm to its full length, down the cleft. something touched her hand. she turned it in her fingers. it was paper--a letter--and she drew it out. a letter--my letter--the long, loving message i had penned to her on the night of the party at anderson's. clear and white, as when i put it there that moonlit midsummer night, when i thrust it in too far for my little girl to find without an effort. marjie carried it up to "rockport" and sat down. she had no notion of when it was put there. she only knew it was from my pen. "it's his good-bye for old times' sake," she mused. and then she read it, slowly at first, as one would drink a last cup of water on the edge of a desert, for this was a voice from the old happy life she had put all away now. i had done better than i dreamed of doing in that writing. here was rachel melrose set in her true light, the possibility of a visit, and the possibility of her words and actions, just as direct as a prophecy of what had really happened. oh! it cleared away every reason for doubt. even the rockport of rachel's rapturous memory, i declared i detested because only our "rockport" meant anything to me. and then she read of her father's dying message. it was the first time she had known of that, and the letter in her trembling hands pulsed visibly with her strong heart-throbs. then came the closing words: "good-night, my dear, dear girl, my wife that is to be, and know now and always there is for me only one love. in sunny ways or shadow-checkered paths, whatever may come, i cannot think other than as i do now. you are life of my life; and so again, good-night." the sun was getting low in the west when marjie with shining face came slowly down cliff street toward her home. near the gate she met my father. his keen eyes caught something of the marjie he had loved to see. something must have happened, he knew, and his heartbeats quickened at the thought. down the street he had met judson with head erect walking with a cocksure step. the next day the word was brought directly to him that amos judson and marjory whately were engaged to be married. * * * * * in george eliot's story of "the mill on the floss," the author gives to one chapter the title, "how a hen takes to stratagem." the two cases are not parallel; and yet i always think of this chapter-heading when i recall what followed amos judson's admonition to mrs. whately, to use her influence in his behalf. when marjie's mother had had time to think over what had come about, her conscience upbraided her. away from the little widower and with marjie innocent of all the trouble--free-spirited, self-dependent marjie--the question of influence did not seem so easy. and yet, she knew amos judson well enough to know that he was already far along in fulfilling his plans for the future. for once in her life mrs. whately resolved to act on her own judgment, and to show that she had been true to her promise to use all her influence. "daughter, judge baronet wants to see you this afternoon. i'm going down to his office now on a little matter of business. will you go over and see how mary gentry's arm is, and come up to the courthouse in about half an hour?" mrs. whately's face was beaming, for she felt somehow that my father could help her out of any tangle, and if he should advise marjie to this step, it would surely be the right thing for her to do. "all right, mother, i'll be there," marjie answered. the hours since she found that precious letter had been alternately full of joy and sadness. there was no question in her mind about the message in the letter. but now that she was the wrong-doer in her own estimation, she did not spare herself. she had driven me away. she had refused to hear any explanation from me, she had returned my last note unopened. oh, she deserved all that had come to her. and bitterest of all was the thought that her own letter that should have righted everything with me, i must have taken from the rock. how could i ever care for a girl so mean-spirited and cruel as she had been to me? lettie couldn't get letters out, o'mie had said; and in the face of what she had written, she had still refused to see me, had shown how jealous-hearted and narrow-minded she could be. what could i do but leave town? so ran the little girl's sad thoughts; and then hope had its way again, for hers was always a sunny spirit. "i can only wait and see what will come. phil is proud and strong, and everybody loves him. he will make new friends and forget me." and then the words of my letter, "in sunny ways, or shadow-checkered paths, i cannot think of you other than as i do now. you are life of my life," she read over and over. and so with shining eyes and a buoyant step, she went to do her mother's bidding that afternoon. judge baronet had had a hard day. coupled with unusual business cares was the story being quietly circulated regarding judson's engagement. he had not thought how much his son's happiness could mean to him. "and yet, i let him go to discipline him. oh, we are never wise enough to be fathers. it is only a mother who can understand," and the memory of the woman glorified to him now, the one love of all his years, came back to him. it was in this mood that mrs. whately found him. "judge baronet, i've come to get you to help me." she went straight to her errand as soon as she was seated in the private office. "marjie will be here soon, and i want you to counsel her to do what i've promised to help to bring about. she loves you next to her own father, and you can have great influence with her." and then directly and frankly came the whole story of judson's plan. mrs. whately did not try to keep anything back, not even the effort to shield my reputation, and she ended with the assurance that it must be best for everybody for this wedding to take place, and amos judson hoped it might be soon to save irving's name. "i've not seen marjie so happy in weeks as she was last night," she added. "you know mr. tillhurst has been paying her so much attention this fall, and so has clayton anderson. and amos has been going to conlow's to see lettie quite frequently lately. i guess maybe that has helped to bring marjie around a little, when she found he could go with others. it's the way with a girl, you know. you'll do what you can to make marjie see the right if she seems unwilling to do what i've agreed she may do. for after all," mrs. whately said thoughtfully, "i can't feel sure she's willing, because she never did encourage amos any. but you'll promise, won't you, for the sake of my husband? oh, could he do wrong! i don't believe he did, but he can't defend himself now, and i must protect marjie's name from any dishonor." it was a hard moment for the man before her, the keen discriminating intelligent master of human nature. the picture of the battle field at missionary ridge came before his eyes, the rush and roar of the conflict was in his ears, and irving whately was dying there. "i hope they will love each other. if they do, give them my blessing." clearly came the words again as they sounded on that day. and here was irving whately's wife, marjie's mother, in the innocence of her soul, asking that he should help to give his friend's daughter to a man whom he was about to call to judgment for heinous offences. and maybe,--oh, god forbid it,--maybe the girl herself was not unwilling, since it was meant for the family's welfare. what else could that look on her face last night have meant? oh, he had been a foolish father, over-fond, maybe, of a foolish boy; but somehow he had hoped that sweet smile and the light in marjie's eyes might have meant word from fort wallace. what he might have said to the mother, he never knew, for marjie herself came in at that moment, and mrs. whately took her leave at once. marjie was never so fair and womanly as now. the brisk walk in the october air had put a pink bloom on her cheeks. her hair lay in soft fluffy little waves about her head, and her big brown eyes, clear honest eyes, were full of a radiant light. my father brought my face and form back to her as he always did, and the last hand-clasp in that very room, the last glance from eyes full of love; and the memory was sweet to her. "mother said you wanted to see me," she said, "so i came in." my father put her in his big easy-chair and sat down near her. his back was toward the window, and his face was shadowed, while his visitor's face was full in the light. "yes, marjie, your mother has asked me to talk with you." i wonder at the man's self-control. "she is planning, or consenting to plans for your future, and she wants me to tell you i approve them. you seem very happy to-day." a blush swept over the girl's face, and then the blood ebbed back leaving it white as marble. men may abound in wisdom, but the wisest of them may not always interpret the swift bloom that lights the face of a girl and fades away as swiftly as it comes. "she is consenting," my father assumed. "if you are satisfied with the present arrangement, i do not need to say anything. i do not want to, anyhow. i only do it for the sake of your mother, for the sake of the wife of my best friend. for his sake too, god bless his memory!" marjie's confusion deepened. the words of my letter telling of her father's wishes were burning in her brain. with the thought of them, this hesitancy on the part of judge baronet brought a chill that made her shiver. could it be that her mother was trying to influence my father in her favor? her good judgment and the knowledge of her mother's sense of propriety forbade that. so she only murmured, "i don't understand. i have no plans. i would do anything for my father, i don't know why i should be called to say anything," and then she broke down entirely and sat white and still with downcast eyes, her two shapely little hands clenched together. "marjie, this is very embarrassing for me," my father said kindly, "and as i say, it is only for irving's sake i speak at all. if you feel you can manage your own affairs, it is not right for anybody to interfere," how tender his tones were, "but, my dear girl, maybe years and experience can give me the right to say a word or two for the sake of the friendship that has always been between us, a friendship future relations will of necessity limit to a degree. but if you have your plans all settled, i wish to know it. it will change the whole course of some proceedings i have been preparing ever since the war; and i want to know, too, this much for the sake of the man who died in my arms. i want to know if you are perfectly satisfied to accept the life now opening to you." marjie had seen my father every day since i left home. every day he had spoken to her, and a silent sort of parental and filial love had grown up between the two. the sudden break in it had come to both now. women also may abound in wisdom but the wisest of them may not always interpret correctly. "he had planned for phil to marry rachel, had sent him east on purpose. he was so polite to her when she was here. i have broken up his plans and his friendship is to be limited." so ran the girl's thoughts. "but i have no plans. i don't know what he means. nothing new is opening to me." a new phase of womanhood began suddenly for her, a call for self-dependence, for a judgment of her own, not the acceptance of events. when she spoke again, her sweet voice had a clear ring in it that startled the man before her. "judge baronet, i do not know what you are talking about. i do not know of any plans for the future. i do not know what mother said to you. if i am concerned in the plans you speak of, i have a right to know what they are. if you are asked to approve of my doing, i certainly ought to know of what you mean to approve." she had risen from her chair and was standing before him. oh, she was pretty, and with this grace of womanly self-control, her beauty and her dignity combined into a new charm. "sit down, marjie," my father said in kind command. "you know the purpose of amos judson's visit with your mother yesterday?" "business, i suppose," marjie answered carelessly, "i am not admitted to these conferences." she smiled. "you know i wanted to talk with you about some business affairs some time ago, but--" "yes, i know, i understand," my father assured her. they both remembered only too well what had happened in that room on her last visit. for she had not been inside of the courthouse since the day of rachel's sudden appearance there. "judge baronet thinks i have nothing to bring phil. i've heard everywhere how phil wants a rich wife, and yet the baronets have more property than anybody else here." so marjie concluded mentally and then she asked innocently: "how can amos judson's visit make this call here necessary?" at last the light broke in. "she doesn't know anything yet, that's certain. but, by heavens, she must know. it's her right to know," my father thought. "marjie, your mother, in the goodness of her heart, and because of some sad and bitter circumstances, came here to-day to ask me to talk with you. i do this for her sake. you must not misunderstand me." he laid his hand a moment on her arm, lying on the table. and then he told her all that her mother had told to him. told it without comment or coloring, sparing neither phil, nor himself nor her father in the recital. if ever a story was correctly reported in word and spirit, this one was. "she shall have judson's side straight from me first, and we'll depend on events for further statement," he declared to himself. "now, little girl, i'm asked to urge you for your own good name, for your mother's maintenance, and your own, for the sake of that boy of mine, and for my own good, as well, and most of all for the sake of your father's memory, revered here as no other man who ever lived in springvale--for all these reasons, i'm asked to urge you to take this man for your husband." he was standing before her now, strong, dignified, handsome, courteous. nature's moulds hold not many such as he. before him rose up marjie. her cloak had fallen from her shoulders, and lay over the arm of her chair. looking steadily into his face with eyes that never wavered in their gaze, she replied: "i may be poor, but i can work for mother and myself. i'm not afraid to work. you and your son may have done wrong. if you have, i cannot cover it by any act of mine, not even if i died for you. i don't believe you have done wrong. i do not believe one word of the stories about phil. he may want to marry a rich girl," her voice wavered here, "but that is his choice; it is no sin. and as to protecting my father's name, judge baronet, it needs no protection. before heaven, he never did a dishonest thing in all his life. there has been a tangling of his affairs by somebody, but that does not change the truth. the surest way to bring dishonor to his name is for me to marry a man i do not and could not love; a man i believe to be dishonest in money matters, and false to everybody. it is no disgrace to work for a living here in kansas. better girls than i am do it. but it is a disgrace here and through all eternity to sell my soul. as i hope to see my father again, i believe he would not welcome me to him if i did. good and just as you are, you are using your influence all in vain on me." judge baronet felt his soul expand with every word she uttered. passing round the table, he took both her cold hands in his strong, warm palms. "my daughter," neither he nor the girl misunderstood the use of the word here, "my dear, dear girl, you are worthy of the man who gave up his life on missionary ridge to save his country. god bless you for the true-hearted, noble woman that you are." he gently stroked the curly brown locks away from her forehead, and stooping kissed it, softly, as he would kiss the brow of a saint. marjie sank down in her seat, and as she did so my letter fell from the pocket of the cloak she had thrown aside. as judge baronet stooped to pick it up, he caught sight of my well-known handwriting on the envelope. he looked up quickly and their eyes met. the wild roses were in her cheeks now, and the dew of teardrops on her downcast lashes. he said not a word, but laid the letter face downward in her lap. she put it in her pocket and rose to go. "if you need me, marjie, i have a force to turn loose against your enemies, and ours. and you will need me. as a man in this community i can assure you of that. you never needed friends as you will in the days before you now. i am ready at your call. and let me assure you also, that in the final outcome, there is nothing to fear. good-bye." he looked down into her upturned face. something neither would have put into words came to both, and the same picture came before each mind. it was the picture of a young soldier out at fort wallace, gathering back the strength the crucial test of a plains campaign had cost him. "there'll be the devil to pay," my father said to himself, as he watched marjie passing down the leaf-strewn walk, "but not a hair of her head shall suffer. when the time comes, i'll send for judson, as i promised to do." and marjie, holding the letter in her hand thrust deep in her cloak pocket, felt strength and hope and courage pulsing in her veins, and a peace that she had not known for many days came with its blessing to her troubled soul. chapter xxi the call to service we go to rear a wall of men on freedom's southern line, and plant beside the cotton-tree the rugged northern pine! --whittier. "phil baronet, you thon of a horthe-thief, where have you been keeping yourthelf? we've been waiting here thinthe thummer before latht to meet you." that was bud anderson's greeting. pink-cheeked, sturdy, and stubby as a five-year-old, he was standing in my path as i slipped from my horse in front of old fort hays one october day a fortnight after the rescue of colonel forsyth's little company. "bud, you tow-headed infant, how the dickens and tomhill did you manage to break into good society out here?" i cried, as we clinched in each other's arms, for bud's appearance was food to my homesick hunger. "when you git through, i'm nixt into the barber's chair." i had not noticed o'mie leaning against a post beside the way, until that irish brogue announced him. "why, boys, what's all this delegation mean?" "aw," o'mie drawled. "you've been elected to congress and we're the proud committy av citizens in civilians' clothes, come to inform you av your elevation." "you mean you've come to get first promise of an office under me. sorry, but i know you too well to jeopardize the interest of the republican party and the good name of kansas by any rash promises. it's dinner time, and i'm hungry. i don't believe i'll ever get enough to eat again." oh, it was good to see them, albeit our separation had amounted to hardly sixty days. bud had been waiting for me almost a week; and o'mie, to bud's surprise, had come upon him unannounced that morning. the dining-room was crowded; and as soon as dinner was over we went outside and sat down together where we could visit our fill unmolested. they wanted to know about my doings, but i was too eager to hear all the home news to talk of myself. "everybody all right when i left," bud asserted. "i got off a few dayth before thith mitherable thon of erin. didn't know he'd tag me, or i'd have gone to canada." he gave o'mie an affectionate slap on the shoulder as he spoke. "your father and aunt candace are well, and glad you came out of the campaign you've been makin' a record av unfadin' glory in. judge baronet was the last man i saw when i left town," o'mie said. "why, where was uncle cam?" i asked. "oh, pretendin' to be busy somewheres. awful busy man, that cam gentry." o'mie smiled at the remembrance. he knew why tender-hearted cam had fled from a good-bye scene. "dave mead's goin' to start to california in a few days." he rattled on, "the church supper in october was the biggest they've had yet. dever's got a boil on the back of his neck, and jim conlow's drivin' stage for him. jim had a good job in topeka, but come back to springvale. can't keep the conlows corralled anywhere else. everybody else is doing fine except grandma mead. she's failin'. old town looked pretty good to me when i looked back at it from the east bluff of the neosho." it had looked good to each one of us at the same place when each started out to try the west alone. somehow we did not care to talk, for a few minutes. "what brought you out here, bud?" i asked to break the spell. "oh, three or four thingth. i wanted to thee you," bud answered. "you never paid me that fifteen thenth you borrowed before you went to college." "and then," he continued, "the old town on the neosho'th too thmall for me. our family ith related to the daniel boone tribe of indianth, and can't have too big a crowd around. three children of the family are at home, and i wanted to come out here anyhow. i'd like to live alwayth on the plainth and have a quiet grave at the end of the trail where the wind blowth thteady over me day after day." we were lounging against the side of the low building now in the warm afternoon sunshine, and bud's eyes were gazing absently out across the wide plains. although i had been away from home only two months, i felt twenty years older than this fair-haired, chubby boy, sitting there so full of blooming life and vigor. i shivered at the picture his words suggested. "don't joke, bud. there's a grave at the end of most of the trails out here. the trails aren't very long, some of 'em. the wind sweeps over 'em lonely and sad day after day. they're quiet enough, heaven knows. the wrangle and noise are all on the edge of 'em, just as you're getting ready to get in." "i'm not joking, phil. all my life i have wanted to get out here. it'th a fever in the blood." we talked a while of the frontier, of the chances of war, and of the indian raids with their trail of destruction, death, torture and captivity of unspeakable horror. the closing years of the decade of the sixties in american history saw the closing events of the long and bitter, but hopeless struggle of a savage race against a superior civilized force. from the southern bound of british america to the northern bound of old mexico the plains warfare was waged. the western tribes, the cheyenne and arapahoe, and kiowa, and brule, and sioux and comanche were forced to quarter themselves on their reservations again and again with rations and clothing and equipments for all their needs. with fair, soft promises in return from their chief men these tribes settled purringly in their allotted places. through each fall and winter season they were "good indians," wards of the nation; their "untutored mind saw god in clouds, or heard him in the wind." eastern churches had an "indian fund" in their contribution boxes, and very pathetic and beautifully idyllic was the story the sentimentalists told, the story of the indian as he looked in books and spoke on paper. but the plains had another record, and the light called history is pitiless. when the last true story is written out, it has no favoring shadows for sentimentalists who feel more than they know. each winter the "good indians" were mild and gentle. but with the warmth of spring and the fruitfulness of summer, with the green grasses of the plains for their ponies, with wild game in the open, and the labor of the industrious settler of the unprotected frontier as a stake for the effort, the "good indian" came forth from his reservation. like the rattlesnake from its crevice, he uncoiled in the warm sunshine, grew and flourished on what lay in his pathway, and full of deadly venom he made a trail of terror and death. this sort of thing went on year after year until, in the late summer of , the crimes of the savages culminated in those terrible raids through western kansas, whose full particulars even the official war records deem unfit to print. such were the times the three of us from springvale were discussing on the south side of the walls of old fort hays in the warm sunshine of an october afternoon. we were new to the plains and we did not dream of the tragedies that were taking place not many miles away from the shadow of the fort on that october afternoon, tragedies whose crimes we three would soon be called forth to help to avenge. for even as we lounged idly there in the soft sunshine, and looked away through shimmering seas of autumn haze toward the still land where bud was to find his quiet grave at the end of the trail--as we talked of the frontier and its needs, up in the saline valley, a band of indians was creeping stealthily upon a cornfield where a young man was gathering corn. in his little home just out of sight was a pretty, golden-haired girl, the young settler's bride of a few months. through the window she caught sight of her husband's horse racing wildly toward the house. she did not know that her husband, wounded and helpless, lay by the river bank, pierced by indian arrows. only one thought was hers, the thought that her husband had been hurt--maybe killed--in a runaway. what else could this terrified horse with its flying harness ends mean? she rushed from the house and started toward the field. a shout of fiendish glee fell on her ears. she was surrounded by painted savage men, human devils, who caught her by the arms, dragged her about by her long silky, golden hair, beat her brutally in her struggles to free herself, bound her at last, and thrusting her on a pony, rode as only indians ride, away toward the sunset. and their captive, the sweet girl-wife of gentle birth and gentle rearing, the happy-hearted young home-maker on the prairie frontier, singing about her work an hour before, dreaming of the long, bright years with her loved one--god pity her! for her the gates of a living hell had swung wide open, and she, helpless and horror-stricken, was being dragged through them into a perdition no pen can picture. and so they rode away toward the sunset. on and on they went through days and days of unutterable blackness, of suffering and despair. on, until direction and space were lost to measure. for her a new, pitiless, far-off heaven looked down on a new agonized earth. the days ran into months, and no day had in it a ray of hope, a line of anything but misery. and again beyond the saline, where the little streams turn toward the republican river, in another household the same tragedy of the times was being played, with all its settings of terror and suffering. here the grown-up daughter of the home, a girl of eighteen years, was wrenched from arms that clung to her, and, bound on a pony's back, was hurried three hundred miles away into an unknown land. for her began the life of a slave. she was the victim of brute lust, the object of the vengeful jealousy of the squaws. the starved, half-naked, wretched girl, whose eighteen years had been protected in the shelter of a happy christian home, was now the captive laborer whose tasks strong men would stagger under. god's providence seemed far away in those days of the winning of the prairie. fate, by and by, threw these two women together. their one ray of comfort was the sight of one another. and for both the days dragged heavily by, the two women of my boyhood's dreams. women of whose fate i knew nothing as we sat by the south side of old fort hays that afternoon forty years ago. "did you know, boys, that general sheridan is not going to let those tribes settle down to a quiet winter as they've been allowed to do every year since they were put on their reservations?" i asked o'mie and bud. "i've been here long enough to find out that these men out here won't stand for it any longer," i went on. "they're men on these plains, who are doing this homesteading up and down these river valleys, and you write every letter of the word with a capital." "what'th going to be done?" bud queried. "sheridan's going to carry a campaign down into their own country and lick these tribes into behaving themselves right now, before another summer and another outbreak like that one two months ago." "what's these kansas men with their capital letters got to do with it?" put in o'mie. "governor crawford has issued a call at sheridan's command, for a kansas regiment to go into service for six months, and help to do this thing up right. it means more to these settlers on the boundary out here than to anybody else. and you just see if that regiment isn't made up in a hurry." i was full of my theme. my two months beyond the soft, sheltered life of home had taught me much; and then i was young and thought i knew much, anyhow. "what are you going to do, phil?" o'mie asked. "i? i'm going to stay by this thing for a while. the baronets were always military folks. i'm the last of the line, and i'm going to give my fighting strength, what little i have, to buy these prairies for homes and civilization. i'm going to see the indian rule broken here, or crawl into the lonely grave bud talks about and pull the curly mesquite over me for a coverlet. i go to topeka to-morrow to answer governor crawford's call for volunteers for a cavalry company to go out on a winter campaign against the rascally redskins. they're going to get what they need. if you mix up with custer, you'll see." "and when the campaign's over," queried o'mie, "will you stay in the army?" "no, o'mie, i'll find a place. the world is wide. but look here, boy. you haven't told me how you got pried loose and kicked out yet. bud's an exception. the rest of us boys had a reason for leaving the best town on earth." "you're just right, begorra!" o'mie replied with warmth. "i was kicked out av town by his majesty, the prophet amos, only you've got to spell it with an 'f' instead av a 'ph.'" "now, o'mie, confess the whole sin at once, please." o'mie looked up with that sunshiny face that never stayed clouded long, and chuckled softly. "judson's on the crest right now. oh, let him ride. he's doomed, so let him have his little strut. he comes to me a few days backward into the gone on, and says, says he, important and commercial like, 'o'mie, i shall not need you any more. i've got a person to take your place.' 'all right,' i responds, respectful, 'just as you please. when shall i lave off?' 'to-morrow mornin',' he answers, an' looks at me as if to say, 'nothin' left for you but the poor-house.' and indade, a clerk under judson don't make no such bank account as he made under irving whately. i ain't ready to retire yet." "and do you mean to say that because amos judson turned you off and cut you out of his will, you had to come out to this forsaken land? i thought better of the town," i declared. "oh, don't you mind! cris mead offered me a place in the bank. dr. hemingway was fur havin' me fill his pulpit off an' on. he's gettin' old. an' judge baronet was all but ready to adopt me in the place av a son he'd lost. but i knowed the boy'd soon be back." o'mie gave me a sidelong glance, but i gave no hint of any feeling. "no, i was like bud, ready to try the frontier," he added more seriously. "i'm goin' down with you to join this kansas regiment." "now what the deuce can you do in the army, o'mie?" i could not think of him anywhere but in springvale. "i want to live out av doors till i get rid av this cough," he answered. "and ye know i can do a stunt in the band. don't take giants to fiddle and fife. little runts can do that. who do you reckon come to springvale last month?" "give it up," i answered. "father le claire." "oh, the good man!" bud exclaimed. "where has he been? and where was he going?" i asked coldly. o'mie looked at me curiously. he was shrewder than bud, and he caught the tone i had meant to conceal. "where? just now he's gone to st. louis. he's in a hospital there. he's been sick. i never saw him so white and thin as whin he left. he told me he expected to be with the osages this winter." "i'm glad of that," i remarked. "why?" o'mie spoke quickly. "oh, i was afraid he might go out west. it's hard on priests in the west." o'mie looked steadily at me, but said nothing. "who taketh your plathe, o'mie?" bud asked. "that's the beauty av it. it's a lady," o'mie answered. somehow my heart grew sick. could it be marjie, i wondered. i knew money matters were a problem with the whatelys, but i had hoped for better fortune through my father's help. maybe, though, they would have none of him now any more than of myself. when marjie and i were engaged i did not care for her future, for it was to be with me, and my burden was my joy then. not that earning a living meant any disgrace to the girl. we all learned better than that early in the west. "well, who be thaid lady?" bud questioned. "miss letitia conlow," o'mie answered with a grave face. "oh, well, don't grieve, o'mie; it might be worse. cheer up!" i said gayly. "it couldn't be, by george! it just couldn't be no worse." o'mie was more than grave, he was sad now. "not for me, bedad! i'm glad." he breathed deeply of the sweet, pure air of the plains. "i can live out here foine, but there's goin' to be the divil to pay in the town av springvale in the nixt six months. i'm glad to be away." the next day i left the fort for topeka. my determination to stay in the struggle was not merely a young man's love of adventure, nor was my declaration of what would be done to the indian tribes an idle boast. the tragic days of kansas were not all in its time of territorial strife and border ruffianism. the story of the western plains--the short grass country we call it now--in the decade following the civil war is a tragedy of unparalleled suffering and danger and heroism. in the cold calculation of the official reports the half-year i had entered on has its tabulated record of one hundred and fifty-eight men murdered, sixteen wounded, forty-one scalped, fourteen women tortured, four women and twenty-four children carried into captivity. and nearly all this record was made in the saline and solomon and republican river valleys in kansas. the summer of the preceding year a battalion of soldiers called the eighteenth kansas cavalry spent four months on the plains. here they met and fought two deadly foes, the indians and the asiatic cholera. theirs was a record of bravery and endurance; and their commander, major horace l. moore, keeps always a place in my own private hall of fame. winter had made good indians out of the savage wretches, as usual; but the summer of brought that official count of tragedy with all the unwritten horror that history cannot burden itself to carry. only one thing seemed feasible now, to bear the war straight into the heart of the indian country in a winter campaign, to deal an effectual blow to the scourge of the plains, this awful menace to the frontier homes. general sheridan had asked kansas to furnish a cavalry regiment for united states military service for six months. the capital city was a wide-awake place that october. the call for twelve hundred men was being answered by the veterans of the plains and by the young men of kansas. the latter took up the work as many a volunteer in the civil war began it--in a sort of heyday of excitement and achievement. they gave little serious thought to the cost, or the history their record was to make. but in the test that followed they stood, as the soldiers of the nation had stood before them, courageous, unflinching to the last. little notion had those rollicking young fellows of what lay before them--a winter campaign in a strange country infested by a fierce and cunning foe who observed no etiquette of civilized warfare. at the teft house, where bud and o'mie and i stopped, i met richard tillhurst. we greeted each other cordially enough. "so you're here to enlist, too," he said. "i thought maybe you were on your way home. i am going to enlist myself and give up teaching altogether if i can pass muster." he was hardly of the physical build for a soldier. "have you heard the news?" he went on. "judson and marjory are engaged. marjie doesn't speak of it, of course, but judson told dr. hemingway and asked him to officiate when the time comes. mrs. whately says it's between the young people, and that means she has given her consent. judson spends half his time at whately's, whether marjie's there or not. there's something in the air down there this fall that's got everybody keyed up one way or another. tell mapleson's been like a boy at a circus, he's so pleased over something; and conlow has a grin on his face all the time. everybody seems just unsettled and anxious, except judge baronet. honestly, i don't see how that town could keep balanced without him. he sails along serene and self-possessed. always knows more than he tells." "i guess springvale is safe with him, and we can go out and save the frontier," i said carelessly. "for goodness' sake, who goes there?" tillhurst pushed me aside and made a rush out of doors, as a lady passed before the windows. i followed and caught a glimpse of the black hair and handsome form of rachel melrose. at the same moment she saw me. her greeting lacked a little of its former warmth, but her utter disregard of anything unpleasant having been between us was positively admirable. her most coquettish smiles, however, were for tillhurst, but that didn't trouble me. our interview was cut short by the arrival of the stage from the south just then, and i turned from tillhurst to find myself in my father's embrace. what followed makes one of the sacred memories a man does not often put into print. we wanted to be alone, so we left the noisy hotel and strolled out toward the higher level beyond the town. there was only brown prairie then stretching to the westward and dipping down with curve and ravine to the kaw river on the one side and the crooked little shunganunga creek on the other. away in the southwest the graceful curve of burnett's mound, a low height like a tiny mountain-peak, stood out purple and hazy in the october sunlight. a handful of sturdy young people were taking their way to lincoln college, the little stone structure that was to be dignified a month later by a new title, washburn college, in honor of its great benefactor, ichabod washburn. "why did the powers put the state capitol and the college so far from town, i wonder," i said as we loitered about the walls of the former. "for the same reason that the shortsighted colonists of the revolution put washington away off up the potomac, west of the thirteen states," my father answered. "we can't picture a city here now, but it will be built in your day if not in mine." and then we walked on until before us stood that graceful little locust tree, the landmark of the prairie. its leaves were falling in golden showers now, save as here and there a more protected branch still held its summer green foliage. "what a beautiful, sturdy little pioneer!" my father exclaimed. "it has earned a first settler's right to the soil. i hope it will be given the chance to live, the chance most of the settlers have had to fight for, as it has had to stand up against the winds and hold its own against the drouth. any enterprising city official who would some day cut it down should be dealt with by the state." we sat down by the tree and talked of many things, but my father carefully avoided the mention of marjie's name. when he gave the little girl the letter that had fallen from her cloak pocket he read her story in her face, but he had no right or inclination to read it aloud to me. i tried by all adroit means to lead him to tell me of the whatelys. it was all to no purpose. on any other topic i would have quitted the game, but--oh, well, i was just the same foolish-hearted boy that put the pink blossoms on a little girl's brown curls and kissed her out in the purple shadows of the west draw one april evening long ago. and now i was about to begin a dangerous campaign where the hazard of war meant a nameless grave for a hundred, where it brought after years of peace and honor to one. i must hear something of marjie. the love-light in her brown eyes as she gave me one affectionate glance when i presented her to rachel melrose in my father's office--that pledge of her heart, i pictured over and over in my memory. "father, tillhurst says he has heard that amos judson and marjie are engaged. are they?" i put the question squarely. my father was stripping the gold leaves one by one off a locust spray. "yes, i have heard it, too," he replied, and to save my life i could not have judged by word or manner whether he cared one whit or not. he was studying me, if toying with a locust branch and whistling softly and gazing off at burnett's mound are marks of study. he had nothing of himself to reveal. "i have heard it several times," he went on. "judson has made the announcement quietly, but generally." he threw away the locust branch, shook down his cuff and settled it in his sleeve, lifted his hat from his forehead and reset it on his head, and then added as a final conclusion, "i don't believe it." he had always managed me most skilfully when he wanted to find out anything; and when the time came that i began in turn to manage him, being of his own blood, the game was interesting. but before i knew it, we had drifted far away from the subject, and i had no opportunity to come back to it. my father had found out all he wanted to know. "phil, i must leave on the train for kansas city this evening," he said as we rose to go back to town. "i'm to meet morton there, and we may go on east together. he will have the best surgeons look after that wound of his, governor crawford tells me." then laying his hand affectionately on my shoulder he said, "i congratulate you on the result of your first campaign. i had hoped it would be your last; but you are a man, and must choose for yourself. yet, if you mean to give yourself to your state now, if you choose a man's work, do it like a man, not like a schoolboy on a picnic excursion. the history of kansas is made as much by the privates down in the ranks as by the men whose names and faces adorn its record. you are making that record now. make it strong and clean. let the glory side go, only do your part well. when you have finished this six months and are mustered out, i want you to come home at once. there are some business matters and family matters demanding it. but i must go to kansas city, and from there to new york on important business. and since nobody has a lease on life, i may as well say now that if you get back and i'm not there, o'mie left his will with me before he went away." "his will? now what had he to leave? and who is his beneficiary?" "that's all in the will," my father said, smiling, "but it is a matter that must not be overlooked. in the nature of things the boy will go before i do. he's marked, i take it; never has gotten over the hardships of his earliest years and that fever in ' . le claire came back to see him and me in september." "he did? where did he come from?" my father looked at me quickly. "why do you ask?" he queried. "i'll tell you when we have more time. just now i'm engaged to fight the cheyennes, the arapahoes, the comanches, and the kiowas, in which last tribe my friend jean pahusca has pack right. he was in that gang of devils that fought us out on the arickaree." for once i thought i knew more than my father, but he replied quietly, "yes, i knew he was there. his tether may be long, but its limit will be reached some day." "who told you he was there, father?" i asked. "le claire said so," he answered. "where was he at that time?" i was getting excited now. "he spent the week in the little stone cabin out by the big cottonwood. took cold and had to go to st. louis to a hospital for a week or two." "he was in the haunted cabin the third week in september," i repeated slowly; "then i don't know black from white any more." my father smiled at me. "they call that being 'locoed' out on the plains, don't they?" he said with a twinkle in his eye. "you have a delusion mixed up in your gray matter somewhere. one thing more," he added as an unimportant afterthought, "i see miss melrose is still in topeka." "yes," i answered. "and tillhurst, too," he went on. "well, there has been quite a little story going around conlow's shop and the post-office and fingal's creek and other social centres about you two; and now when tillhurst gets back (he'll never make the cavalry), he's square, but a little vain and thin-skinned, and he may add something of color and interest to the story. let it go. just now it may be better so." i thought his words were indefinite, for one whose purposes were always definite, and in the wisdom of my youth i wondered whether he really wanted me to follow rachel's leading, or whether he was, after all, inclined to believe judson's assertion about his engagement, and family pride had a little part to play with him. it was unlike john baronet to stoop to a thing like that. "father," i said, "i'm going away, too. i may never come back, and for my own sake i want to assure you of one thing: no matter what tillhurst may say, if rachel melrose were ten times more handsome, if she had in her own name a fortune such as i can never hope to acquire myself, she would mean nothing to me. i care nothing for the stories now"--a hopelessness would come into my voice--"but i do not care for her either. i never did, and i never could." my eyes were away on burnett's mound, and the sweet remembrance of marjie's last affectionate look made a blur before them. we stood in silence for some time. "phil," said john baronet in a deep, fervent tone, "i have a matter i meant to take up later, but this is a good time. let the young folks go now. this is a family matter. years ago a friend of the older baronets died in the east leaving some property that should sooner or later come to me to keep in trust for you. this time was to be at the death of the man and his wife who had the property for their lifetime. philip, you have been accused by the conlow-judson crowd of wanting a rich wife. i also am called grasping by tell mapleson's class. and," he smiled a little, "indeed, iago's advice to roderigo, 'put money in thy purse,' was sound philosophy if the putting be honestly done. but this little property in the east that should come to you is in the hands of a man who is now ill, probably in his last sickness. he has one child that will have nothing else left to her. shall we take this money at her father's death?" "why, father, no. i don't want it. do you want it?" i knew him too well to ask the question. had i not seen the unselfish, kindly, generous spirit that had marked all his business career? springvale never called him grasping, save as his prosperity grated on men of mapleson's type. "will you sign a relinquishment to your claim, and trust to me that it is the best for us to do?" he asked. "just as soon as we get to an inkstand," i answered. nor did i ever hold that such a relinquishment is anything but christian opportunity. that evening i said good-bye to my father, and when i saw him again it was after i had gone through the greatest crisis of these sixty years. on the same train that bore my father to the east were his friend morton and his political and professional antagonist, tell mapleson. the next day i enlisted in troop a of the nineteenth kansas cavalry, and was quartered temporarily in the state house, north of fifth street, on kansas avenue. tillhurst was not admitted to the regiment, as my father had predicted. neither was jim conlow, who had come up to topeka for that purpose. good-natured, shallow-pated "possum," no matter where he found work to do, he sooner or later drifted back to springvale to his father's forge. he did not realize that no conlow of the missouri breed ought ever to try anything above a horse's hoofs, in cavalry matters. the lord made some men to shoe horses, and some to ride them. the conlows weren't riders, and jim's line was turned again to his father's smithy. tillhurst took his failure the more grievously that rachel, who had been most gracious to him at first, transferred her attentions to me. and i, being only a man and built of common clay, with my lifetime hope destroyed, gave him good reason to believe in my superior influence with the beautiful massachusetts girl. i had a game to play with rachel, for topeka was full of pretty girls, and i made the most of my time. i knew somewhat of the gayety the winter on the plains was about to offer. as long as i could i held to the pleasures of the civilized homes and sheltered lives. and with all and all, one sweet girl-face, enshrined in my heart's holy of holies, held me back from idle deception and turned me from temptation. chapter xxii the nineteenth kansas cavalry "the regiments of kansas have glorified our state on a hundred battle fields, but none served her more faithfully, or endured more in her cause than the nineteenth kansas cavalry." --horace l. moore. when camp crawford was opened, northeast of town, between the kaw river and the shunganunga creek, i went into training for regular cavalry service, thinking less of pretty girls and more of good horses with the passing days. i had plenty of material for both themes. not only were there handsome young ladies in the capital city, but this call for military supplies had brought in superb cavalry mounts. every day the camp increased its borders. the first to find places were the men of the eighteenth kansas regiment, veterans of the exalted order of the wardens of civilization. endurance was their mark of distinction, and loyalty their watchword. it was the grief of this regiment, and especially of the men directly under his leadership, that captain henry lindsey was not made a major for the nineteenth. no more capable or more popular officer than lindsey ever followed an indian trail across the plains. it was from the veterans of this eighteenth cavalry, men whom lindsey had led, that we younger soldiers learned our best lessons in the months that followed. those were my years of hero-worship. i had gone into this service with an ideal, and the influence of such men as morton and forsyth, the skill of grover, and the daring of donovan and stillwell were an inspiration to me. and now my captain was the same pliley, who with donovan had made that hundred-mile dash to fort wallace to start a force to the rescue of our beleaguered few in that island citadel of sand. the men who made up pliley's troop were, for the most part, older than myself, and they are coming now to the venerable years; but deep in the heart of each surviving soldier of that company is admiration and affection for the fearless, adroit, resourceful captain, the modest, generous-hearted soldier. on the last evening of our stay in topeka there was a gay gathering of young people, where, as usual, the soldier boys were the lions. brass buttons bearing the american eagle and the magic inscription "u. s." have ever their social sway. rachel had been assigned to my care by the powers that were. after tillhurst's departure i had found my companions mainly elsewhere, and i would have chosen elsewhere on this night had i done the choosing. on the way to her aunt's home rachel was more charming than i had ever found her before. it was still early, and we strolled leisurely on our way and talked of many things. at the gate she suddenly exclaimed: "philip, you leave to-morrow. maybe i shall never see you again; but i'm not going to think that." her voice was sweet, and her manner sincere. "may i ask you one favor?" "yes, a dozen," i said, rashly. "let's take one more walk out to our locust tree." "oh, blame the locust tree! what did it ever grow for?" that was my thought but i assented with a show of pleasure, as conventionality demands. it was a balmy night in early november, not uncommon in this glorious climate. the moon was one quarter large, and the dim light was pleasant. many young people were abroad that evening. when we reached the swell where the tree threw its lacy shadows on its fallen yellow leaves, my companion grew silent. "cheer up, rachel," i said. "we'll soon be gone and you'll be free from the soldier nuisance. and dick tillhurst is sure to run up here again soon. besides, you have all massachusetts waiting to be conquered." she put her little gloved hand on my arm. "philip baronet, i'm going to ask you something. you may hate me if you want to." "but i don't want to," i assured her. "i had a letter from mr. tillhurst to-day. he does want to come up," she went on; "he says also that the girl you introduced to me in your father's office, what's her name?--i've forgotten it." "so have i. go on!" "he says she is to be married at christmas to somebody in springvale. you used to like her. tell me, do you care for her still? you could like somebody else just as well, couldn't you, phil?" i put my hand gently over her hand resting on my arm, and said nothing. "could you, phil? she doesn't want you any more. how long will you care for her?" "till death us do part," i answered, in a low voice. she dropped my arm, and even in the shadows i could see her eyes flash. "i hate you," she cried, passionately. "i don't blame you," i answered like a cold-blooded brute. "but, rachel, this is the last time we shall be together. let's be frank, now. you don't care for me. it is for the lack of one more scalp to dangle at your door that you grieve. you want me to do all the caring. you could forget me before we get home." then the tears came, a woman's sure weapon, and i hated myself more than she hated me. "i can only wound your feelings, i always make you wretched. now, rachel, let's say good-bye to-night as the best of enemies and the worst of friends. i haven't made your stay in kansas happy. you will forget me and remember only the pleasant people here." when she bade me good-bye at her aunt's door, there was a harshness in her voice i had not noted before. "if she really did care for me she wouldn't change so quickly. by heaven, i believe there is something back of all this love-making. charming a dog as he is, phil baronet in himself hasn't that much attraction for her," i concluded, and i breathed freer for the thought. when i came long afterwards to know the truth about her, i understood this sudden change, as i understood the charming pretensions to admiration and affection that preceded it. the next day our command started on its campaign against the unknown dangers and hardships and suffering of the winter plains. it was an imposing cavalcade that rode down the broad avenue of the capital city that november day when we began our march. up from camp crawford we passed in regular order, mounted on our splendid horses, riding in platoon formation. at fourth street we swung south on kansas avenue. at the head of the column twenty-one buglers rode abreast, bud anderson and o'mie among them. our lieutenant-colonel, horace l. moore, and his staff followed in order behind the buglers. then came the cavalry, troop after troop, a thousand strong, in dignified military array, while from door and window, side-walk and side-street, the citizens watched our movements and cheered us as we passed. six months later the remnants of that well-appointed regiment straggled into topeka like stray dogs, and no demonstration was given over their return. but they had done their work, and in god's good time will come the day "to glean up their scattered ashes into history's golden urn." a few miles out from topeka we were overtaken by governor crawford. he had resigned the office of chief executive of kansas to take command of our regiment. the lustre of the military pageantry began to fade by the time we had crossed the wakarusa divide, and the capital city, nestling in its hill-girt valley by the side of the kaw, was lost to our view. ours was to be a campaign of endurance, of dogged patience, of slow, grinding inactivity, the kind of campaign that calls for every resource of courage and persistence from the soldier, giving him in return little of the inspiration that stimulates to conquest on battle fields. the years have come and gone, and what the nineteenth kansas men were called to do and to endure is only now coming into historical recognition. our introduction to what should befall us later came in the rainy weather, bitter winds, insufficient clothing, and limited rations of our journey before we reached fort beecher, on the arkansas river. to-day, the beautiful city of wichita marks the spot where the miserable little group of tents and low huts, called fort beecher, stood then. fifty miles east of this fort we had passed the last house we were to see for half a year. the arkansas runs bottomside up across the plains. its waters are mainly under its bed, and it seems to wander aimlessly among the flat, lonely sand-bars, trying helplessly to get right again. beyond this river we looked off into the unknown. somewhere back of the horizon in that shadowy illimitable southwest general sheridan had established a garrison on the canadian river, and here general custer and his seventh united states cavalry were waiting for us. they had forage for our horses and food and clothing for ourselves. we had left topeka with limited supplies expecting sufficient reinforcement of food and grain at fort beecher to carry us safely forward until we should reach camp supply, sheridan's stopping-place, wherever in the southwest that might be. then the two regiments, custer's seventh and the kansas nineteenth, were together to fall upon the lawless wild tribes and force them into submission. such was the prearranged plan of campaign, but disaster lay between us and this military force on the canadian river. neither the nineteenth cavalry commanders, the scouts, nor the soldiers knew a foot of that pathless mystery-shrouded, desolate land stretching away to the southward beyond the arkansas river. we had only a meagre measure of rations, less of grain in proportion, and there was no military depot to which we could resort. the maps were all wrong, and in the trackless wastes and silent sand-dunes of the cimarron country gaunt starvation was waiting to clutch our vitals with its gnarled claws; while with all our nakedness and famine and peril, the winter blizzard, swirling its myriad whips of stinging cold came raging across the land and caught us in its icy grip. i had learned on the arickaree how men can face danger and defy death; i had only begun to learn how they can endure hardship. it was mid-november when our regiment, led by colonel crawford, crossed the arkansas river and struck out resolutely toward the southwest. our orders were to join custer's command at sheridan's camp in the indian territory, possibly one hundred and fifty miles away. we must obey orders. it is the military man's creed. that we lacked rations, forage, clothing, and camp equipment must not deter us, albeit we had not guides, correct maps, or any knowledge of the land we were invading. my first lesson in this campaign was the lesson of comradeship. my father had put me on a horse and i had felt at home when i was so short and fat my legs spread out on its back as if i were sitting on a floor. i was accounted a fair rider in springvale. i had loved at first sight that beautiful sorrel creature whose bones were bleaching on the little island in colorado, whose flesh a gnawing hunger had forced me to eat. but my real lessons in horsemanship began in camp crawford, with four jolly fellows whom i came to know and love in a way i shall never know or love other men--my comrades. somebody struck home to the soldier heart ever more when he wrote: there's many a bond in this world of ours, ties of friendship, and wreaths of flowers, and true-lover's knots, i ween; the boy and girl are sealed with a kiss; but there's never a bond, old friend, like this,-- we have drunk from the same canteen. such a bond is mine for these four comrades. reed and pete, hadley and john mac were their camp names, and i always think of them together. these four made a real cavalry man of me. it may be the mark of old age upon me now, for even to-day the handsome automobile and the great railway engine can command my admiration and awe; but the splendid thoroughbred, intelligent, and quivering with power, i can command and love. the bond between the cavalry man and his mount is a strong one, and the spirit of the war-horse is as varied and sensitive as that of his rider. when our regiment had crossed the arkansas river and was pushing its way grimly into the heart of the silent stretches of desolation, our horses grew nervous, and a restless homesickness possessed them. troop a were great riders, and we were quick to note this uneasiness. "what's the matter with these critters, phil?" reed, who rode next to me, asked as we settled into line one november morning. "i don't know, reed," i replied. "this one is a dead match for the horse i rode with forsyth. the man that killed him laughed and said, 'there goes the last damned horse, anyhow.'" "just so it ain't the first's all i'm caring for. you'll be in luck if you have the last," the rider next to reed declared. "what makes you think so, john?" i inquired. "oh, that's john mac for you," reed said laughing. "he's homesick." "no, it's the horses that's homesick," john mac answered. "they've got horse sense and that's what some of us ain't got. they know they'll never get across the arkansas river again." "cheerful prospect," i declared. "that means we'll never get across either, doesn't it?" "oh, yes," john answered grimly, "we'll get back all right. don't know as this lot'd be any special ornament to kingdom come, anyhow; but we'll go through hell on the way comin' or goin'; now, mark me, reed, and stop your idiotic grinning." whatever may have given this nervousness to the horses, so like a presentiment of coming ill, they were all possessed with the same spirit, and we remembered it afterwards when their bones were bleaching on the high flat lands long leagues beyond the limits of civilization. the plains had no welcoming smile for us. the november skies were clouded over, and a steady rain soaked the land with all its appurtenances, including a straggling command of a thousand men floundering along day after day among the crooked canyons and gloomy sandhills of the cimarron country. in vain we tried to find a trail that should lead us to sheridan's headquarters at camp supply, on the canadian river. then the blizzard had its turn with us. suddenly, as is the blizzard's habit, it came upon us, sheathing our rain-sodden clothing in ice. like a cloudburst of summer was this winter cloudburst of snow, burying every trail and covering every landmark with a mocking smoothness. then the mercury fell, and a bitter wind swept the open plains. we had left fort beecher with five days' rations and three days' forage. seven days later we went into bivouac on a crooked little stream that empties its salty waters into the cimarron. it was a moonless, freezing night. fires were impossible, for there was no wood, and the buffalo chips soaked with rain were frozen now and buried under the snow. a furious wind threshed the earth; the mercury hovered about the zero mark. alkali and salt waters fill the streams of that land, and our food supply was a memory two days old. how precious a horse can become, the plains have taught us. the man on foot out there is doomed. all through this black night of perishing cold we clung to our frightened, freezing, starving horses. we had put our own blankets about them, and all night long we led them up and down. the roar of the storm, the confusion from the darkness, the frenzy from hunger drove them frantic. a stampede among them there would have meant instant death to many of us, and untold suffering to the dismounted remainder. how slowly the cold, bitter hours went by! i had thought the burning heat of the colorado september unendurable. i wondered in that time of freezing torment if i should ever again call the heat a burden. there were five of us tramping together in one little circle that night--reed and john mac, and pete and hadley, with myself. in all the garrison i came to know these four men best. they were near my own age; their happy-go-lucky spirit and their cheery laughter were food and drink. they proved to me over and over how kind-hearted a soldier can be, and how hard it is to conquer a man who wills himself unconquerable. without these four i think i should never have gotten through that night. morning broke on our wretched camp at last, and we took up the day's march, battling with cold and hunger over every foot of ground. on the tenth day after we crossed the arkansas river the crisis came. our army clothes were waiting for us at camp supply. rain and ice and the rough usage of camp life had made us ragged already, and our shoes were worn out. and still the cold and storm stayed with us. we wrapped pieces of buffalo hide about our bare feet and bound the horses' nose-bags on them in lieu of cavalry boots. our blankets we had donated to our mounts, and we had only dog tents, well adapted to ventilation, but a very mockery at sheltering. our provisions were sometimes reduced to a few little cubes of sugar doled out to each from the officers' stores. the buffalo, by which we had augmented our food supply, were gone now to any shelter whither instinct led them. it was rare that even a lone forsaken old bull of the herd could be found in some more sheltered spot. at last with hungry men and frenzied horses, with all sense of direction lost, with a deep covering of snow enshrouding the earth, and a merciless cold cutting straight to the life centres, we went into camp on the tenth night in a little ravine running into sand creek, another cimarron tributary, in the indian territory. we were unable to move any farther. for ten days we had been on the firing line, with hunger and cold for our unconquerable foes. we could have fought indians even to the death. but the demand on us was for endurance. it is a woman's province to suffer and wait and bear. we were men, fighting men, but ours was the struggle of resisting, not attacking, and the tenth night found us vanquished. somebody must come to our rescue now. we could not save ourselves. in the dangerous dark and cold, to an unknown place, over an unknown way, somebody must go for us, somebody must be the sacrifice, or we must all perish. the man who went out from the camp on sand creek that night was one of the two men i had seen rise up from the sand-pits of the arickaree island and start out in the blackness and the peril to carry our cry to fort wallace--pliley, whose name our state must sometime set large in her well-founded, well-written story. with fifty picked men and horses he went for our sakes, and more, aye, more than he ever would claim for himself. he was carrying rescue to homes yet to be, he was winning the frontier from peril, he was paying the price for the prairie kingdom whose throne and altar are the hearthstone. "camp starvation," we christened our miserable, snow-besieged stopping-place. we had fire but we were starving for food. our horses were like wild beasts in their ravenous hunger, tearing the clothing from the men who came too carelessly near to their rope tethers. that splendid group of mounts that had pranced proudly down kansas avenue less than a month before, moving on now nearly seven days without food, dying of cruel starvation, made a feature of this tragical winter campaign that still puts an ache into my soul. long ago i lost most of the sentiment out of my life, but i have never seen a hungry horse since that winter of ' that i let go unfed if it lay within my power to bring it food. the camp was well named. it was hadley and reed and pete and john mac, that good-natured quartet, who stood sponsors for that title. we were a pitiful lot of fellows in this garrison. we mixed the handful of flour given to us with snow water, and, wrapping the unsalted dough around a sagebrush spike, we cooked it in the flames, and ate it from the stick, as a dog would gnaw a bone. the officers put a guard around the few little hackberry trees to keep the men from eating the berries and the bark. not a scrap of the few buffalo we found was wasted. even the entrails cleansed in the snow and eaten raw gives hint of how hungry we were. at last in our dire extremity it was decided to choose five hundred of the strongest men and horses to start under the command of lieutenant-colonel horace l. moore, without food or tents, through the snow toward the beulah land of camp supply. pliley had been gone for three days. we had no means of knowing whether his little company had found sheridan's camp or were lost in the pathless snows of a featureless land, and we could not hold out much longer. i was among the company of the fittest chosen to make this journey. i was not yet twenty-two, built broad and firm, and with all the heritage of the strength and endurance of the baronet blood, i had a power of resistance and recoil from conditions that was marvellous to the veterans in our regiment. it was mid-forenoon of the fifth of november when the nineteenth kansas moved out of camp crawford by the shunganunga and marched proudly down the main thoroughfare of topeka at the auspicious beginning of its campaign. twenty days later, lieutenant-colonel moore again headed a marching column, this time, moving out of camp starvation on sand creek--five hundred ragged, hungry men with famishing horses, bearing no supplies, going, they could only guess whither, and unable even to surmise how many days and nights the going would consume. it was well for me that i had an ideal. i should have gone mad otherwise, for i was never meant for the roving chance life of a plains scout. when our division made its tentless bivouac with the sky for a covering on the first night out beyond the cimarron river from camp starvation, the mercury was twenty degrees below zero. even a heart that could pump blood like mine could hardly keep the fires of the body from going out. there was a full moon somewhere up in the cold, desolate heavens lighting up a frozen desolate land. i shiver even now at the picture my memory calls up. in the midst of that night's bitter chill came a dream of home, of the warm waters of the neosho on august afternoons, of the sunny draw, and--marjie. her arms were about my neck, her curly head was nestling against my shoulder, the little ringlets about her temples touched my cheek. i lifted her face to kiss her, but a soft shadowy darkness crept between us, and i seemed to be sinking into it deeper and deeper. it grew so black i longed to give up and let it engulf me. it was so easy a thing to do. then in a blind stupidity i began to hear a voice in my ears, and to find myself lunging back and forth and stumbling lamely on my left foot. the right foot had no feeling, no power of motion, and i forgot that i had it. "what are you doing, pete?" i asked, when i recognized who it was that was holding me. pete was like an elder brother, always doing me a kind service. "trying to keep you from freezing to death," he replied. "oh, let me go. it's so easy," i answered back drowsily. "by golly, i've a notion to do it." pete's laugh was a tonic in itself. "here you and your horse are both down, and you can't stand on one of your feet. i'll bet it's froze, and you about to go over the river; and when a fellow tries to pull you back you say, 'oh, let me go!' you darned renegade! you ought to go." he was doing his best for me all the time, and he had begun none too soon, for death had swooped down near me, and i was ready to give up the struggle. the warmth of the horse's body had saved one foot, but as to the other--the little limp i shall always have had its beginning in that night's work. the next day was thanksgiving, although we did not know it. there are no holy days or gala days to men who are famishing. that day the command had no food except the few hackberries we found and the bark of the trees we gnawed upon. it was the hardest day of all the march. pete, who had pulled me back from the valley of the shadow the night before, in his search for food that day, found a luckless little wild-cat. and that cat without sauce or dressing became his thanksgiving turkey. the second night was bitterly cold, and then came a third day of struggling through deep snows on hilly prairies, and across canyon-guarded bridgeless streams. the milestones of our way were the poor bodies of our troop horses that had given up the struggle, while their riders pushed resolutely forward. on the fourth day out from camp starvation we came at sundown to the edge of a low bluff, beyond which lay a fertile valley. if paradise at life's eventide shall look as good to me, it will be worth all the cares of the journey to make an abundant entrance therein. out of the bitter cold and dreary snow fields, trackless and treeless, whereon we had wandered starving and uncertain, we looked down on a broad wooded valley sheltering everything within it. two converging streams glistening in the evening light lay like great bands of silver down this valley's length. below us gleamed the white tents of sheridan's garrison, while high above them the stars and stripes in silent dignity floated lightly in the gentle breeze of sunset. that night i slept under a snug tent on a soft bed of hay. and again i dreamed as i had dreamed long ago of the two strange women whom i was struggling to free from a great peril. general sheridan had expected the kansas regiment to make the journey from fort beecher on the arkansas to his station on the canadian river in four or five days. our detachment of five hundred men had covered it in fourteen days, but we had done it on five days' rations, and three days' forage. small wonder that our fine horses had fallen by the way. it is only the human organism backed by a soul, that can suffer and endure. pliley and his fifty men who had left us the night we went into camp on sand creek had reached sheridan three days in advance of us, and already relief was on its way to those whom we had left beyond the snow-beleaguered canyons of the cimarron. the whole of our regiment was soon brought in and this part of the journey and its hardships became but a memory. official war reports account only for things done. no record is kept of the cost of effort. the glory is all for the battle lists of the killed or wounded, and yet i account it the one heroic thing of my life that i was a nineteenth kansas cavalry man through that november of on the plains. chapter xxiii in jean's land all these regiments made history and left records of unfading glory. while the kansas volunteers had been floundering in the snow-heaped sand-dunes of the cimarron country, general sheridan's anxiety for our safety grew to gravest fears. general custer's feeling was that of impatience mingled with anxiety. he knew the tribes were getting farther away with every twenty-four hours' delay, and he shaped his forces for a speedy movement southward. the young general's military genius was as strong in minute detail as in general scope. his command was well directed. enlisted under him were a daring company of osage scouts, led by hard rope and little beaver, two of the best of this ever loyal tribe. forty sharpshooters under colonel cook, and a company of citizen scouts recruited by their commanding officer, pepoon, were added to the regular soldiery of the seventh cavalry. these citizen scouts had been gathered from the kansas river valleys. they knew why they had come hither. each man had his own tragic picture of the plains. they were a silent determined force which any enemy might dread, for they had a purpose to accomplish--even the redemption of the prairie from its awful peril. the november days had slipped by without our regiment's appearance. the finding of an indian trail toward the southwest caused sheridan to loose custer from further delay. eagerly then he led forth his willing command out of camp supply and down the trail toward the washita valley, determined to begin at once on the winter's work. the blizzard that had swept across the land had caught the indian tribes on their way to the coverts of the wichita mountains, and forced them into winter quarters. the villages of the cheyenne, the kiowa, and the arapahoe extended up and down the sheltering valley of the washita for many miles. here were black kettle and his band of cheyenne braves--they of the loving heart at fort hays, they who had filled all the fair northern prairie lands with terror, whose hands reeked with the hot blood of the white brothers they professed to love. in their snug tepees were their squaws, fat and warm, well clothed and well fed. dangling from the lodge poles were scalps with the soft golden curls of babyhood. no comfort of savage life was lacking to the papooses here. and yet, in the same blizzards wherein we had struggled and starved, half a score of little white children torn from their mothers' clinging arms, these indians had allowed to freeze to death out on the plains, while the tribes were hurrying through the storm to the valley. the fathers of some of these lost children were in that silent company under pepoon, marching now with the seventh cavalry down upon the snow-draped tepees of black kettle and his tribe. oh, the cost of it all! the price paid out for a beautiful land and sheltered homes, and school privileges and sabbath blessings! it was for these that men fought and starved and dared, and at last died, leaving only a long-faded ripple in the prairie sod where an unmarked grave holds human dust returned to the dust of the earth. in the shelter of the washita valley on that twenty-seventh day of november, god's vengeance came to these indians at the hands of general custer. he had approached their village undiscovered. as the indians had swooped down on forsyth's sleeping force; as the yells of black kettle's braves had startled the sleeping settlers at dawn on spillman creek, the daybreak now marked the beginning of retribution. while the seventh cavalry band played "garry owen" as a signal for closing in, custer's soldiery, having surrounded the village, fell upon it and utterly destroyed it. black kettle and many of his braves were slain, the tepees were burned, the indians' ponies were slaughtered, and the squaws and children made captives. news of this engagement reached sheridan's garrison on the day after our arrival, with the word also that custer, unable to cope with the tribes swarming down the washita river, was returning to camp supply with his spoils of battle. "did you know, phil," bud anderson said, "that cuthter'th to have a grand review before the general and hith thtaff when he geth here to-morrow, and that'th all we'll thee of the thircuth. my! but i wish we could have been in that fight; don't you?" "i don't know, bud, i'd hate to come down here for nothing, after all we've gone through; but don't you worry about that; there'll be plenty to be done before the whole cheyenne gang is finished." "it'll be a sight worth seein' anyhow, this parade," o'mie declared. "do you remember the day judge baronet took his squad out av springvale, phil? what a careless set av young idiots we were then?" did i remember? could i be the same boy that watched that line of blue-coats file out of springvale and across the rocky ford of the neosho that summer day? it seemed so long ago; and this snow-clad valley seemed the earth's end from that warm sunny village. but custer's review was to come, and i should see it. it was years ago that this review was made, and i who write of it have had many things crowded into the memory of each year. and yet, i recall as if it were but yesterday that parade of a plains military review. it was a magnificent sunlit day. the canadian valley, smooth and white with snow, rose gently toward the hills of the southwest. across this slope of gleaming whiteness came custer's command, and we who watched it saw one of those bits of dramatic display rare even among the stirring incidents of war. down across the swell, led by hard rope and little beaver, came the osage scouts tricked out in all the fantastic gear of indian war coloring, riding hard, as indians ride, cutting circles in the snow, firing shots into the air, and chanting their battle songs of victory. behind them came pepoon's citizen scouts. men with whom i had marched and fought on the arickaree were in that stern, silent company, and my heart thumped hard as i watched them swinging down the line. and then that splendid cavalry band swept down the slope riding abreast, their instruments glistening in the sunlight, and their horses stepping proudly to the music as the strains of "garry owen to glory" filled the valley. behind the band were the prisoners of war, the cheyenne widows and orphans of black kettle's village riding on their own ponies in an irregular huddle, their bright blankets and indian trinkets of dress making a division in that parade, the mark of the untrained and uncivilized. after these were the sharpshooters led by their commander, cook, and then--we had been holding our breath for this--then rode by column after column in perfect order, dressed to the last point of military discipline, that magnificent seventh cavalry, the flower of the nation's soldiery, sent out to subdue the plains. at their head was their commander, a slender young man of twenty-nine summers, lacking much the fine physique one pictures in a leader of soldiers. but his face, from which a tangle of long yellow curls fell back, had in it the mark of a master. this parade was not without its effect on us, to whom the ways of war were new. well has george eliot declared "there have been no great nations without processions." the unwritten influence of that thrilling act of dramatic display somehow put a stir in the blood and loyalty and patriotism took stronger hold on us. we had come out to break the red man's power by a winter invasion. camp supply was abandoned, and the whole body made its way southward to fort cobb. to me ours seemed a tremendous force. we were two thousand soldiers, with commanders, camp officials, and servants. our wagon train had four hundred big government wagons, each drawn by six mules. we trailed across the plains leaving a wide and well marked path where twenty-five hundred cavalry horses, with as many mules, tramped the snow. the december of the year was a terror on the plains. no fiercer blizzard ever blew out of the home of blizzards than the storms that fell upon us on the southward march. down in the washita valley we came to the scene of custer's late encounter. beyond it was a string of recently abandoned villages clustering down the river in the sheltering groves where had dwelt kiowa, arapahoe, and comanche, from whose return fire custer saved himself by his speedy retreat northward after his battle with black kettle's band. a little company of us were detailed to investigate these deserted quarters. the battle field had a few frozen bodies of indians who had been left by the tribe in their flight before the attack of the seventh cavalry. there were also naked forms of white soldiers who had met death here. in the villages farther on were heaps of belongings of every description, showing how hasty the exodus had been. in one of these villages i dragged the covering from a fallen snow-covered tepee. crouched down in its lowest place was the body of a man, dead, with a knife wound in the back. "poor coward! he tried hard to get away," bud exclaimed. "some bigger coward tried to make a shield out of him, i'll guess," i replied, lifting the stiff form with more carefulness than sentiment. as i turned the body about, i caught sight of the face, which even in death was marked with craven terror. it was the face of the rev. mr. dodd, pastor of the springvale methodist church south. in his clenched dead hands he still held a torn and twisted blanket. it was red, with a circle of white in the centre. on the desolate wind-swept edge of a kiowa village bud and i came upon the frozen body of a young white woman. near her lay her two-year-old baby boy. with her little one, she had been murdered to prevent her rescue, on the morning of custer's attack on the cheyennes, murdered with the music of the cavalry band sounding down the valley, and with the shouts and shots of her own people, ringing a promise of life and hope to her. bud hadn't been with forsyth, and he was not quite ready for this. he stooped and stroked the woman's hair tenderly and then lifted a white face up toward me. "it would have happened to marjie, phil, long ago, but for o'mie. they were kiowath, too," he said in a low voice. after that moment there was no more doubt for me. i knew why i had been spared in colorado, and i consecrated myself to the fighting duty of an american citizen, "through famine and fire and frost," i vowed to myself, "i give my strength to this work, even unto death if god wills it." tenderly, for soldiers can be tender, the body of the mother and her baby were wrapped in a blanket and placed in one of the wagons, to be carried many miles and to wait many days before they were laid to rest at last in the shadow of fort arbuckle. i saw much of o'mie. in the army as in springvale, he was everybody's friend. but the bitter winter did not alleviate that little hacking cough of his. instead of the mild vigor of the sunny plains, that we had looked for was the icy blast with its penetrating cold, as sudden in its approach as it was terrible in its violence. sometimes even now on winter nights when the storms sweep across the west prairie and i hear them hurl their wrathful strength against this stanch stone house with its rounded turret-like corners, i remember how the wind blew over our bivouacs, and how we burrowed like prairie dogs in the river bank, where the battle with the storm had only one parallel in all this campaign. that other battle comes later. but with all and all we could live and laugh, and i still bless the men, reed and hadley and john mac and pete, whose storm cave was near mine. without the loud, cheery laugh from their nest i should have died. but nobody said "die." troop a had the courage of its convictions and a breezy sense of the ludicrous. i think i could turn back at heaven's gate to wait for the men who went across the plains together in that year of indian warfare. this is only one man's story. it is not an official report. the books of history tell minutely how the scattered tribes submitted. overwhelmed by the capture of their chief men, on our march to fort cobb, induced partly by threatened danger to these captive chiefs, but mostly by bewilderment at the presence of such a large force in their country in midwinter, after much stratagem and time-gaining delays they came at last to the white commander's terms, and pitched their tepees just beyond our camp. only one tribe remained unsubdued: the cheyennes, who with trick and lie, had managed to elude all the forces and escape to the southwest. we did not stay long at fort cobb. the first week of the new year found us in a pleasanter place, on the present site of fort sill. it was not until after the garrison was settled here that i saw much of these indian tribes, whom custer's victory on the washita, and diplomatic handling of affairs afterwards, had brought into villages under the guns of our cantonment. i knew that satanta and lone wolf, chief men of the kiowas, were held as hostages, but i had not been near them. satanta was the brute for whom the dead woman with her little one had been captured. her form was mouldering back to earth in her grave at fort arbuckle, while he, well clothed and well fed, was a gentleman prisoner of war in a comfortable lodge in our midst. the east knew little of the plains before the railroads crossed them. eastern religious papers and church mission secretaries lauded satanta as a hero, and black kettle, whom custer had slain, as a martyr; while they urged that the extreme penalty of the civil law be meted out to custer and sheridan in particular, and to the rest of us at wholesale. one evening i was sent by an officer on some small errand to satanta's tent. the chief had just risen from his skin couch, and a long band of black fur lay across his head. in the dim light it gave his receding forehead a sort of square-cut effect. he threw it off as i entered, but the impression it made i could not at once throw off. the face of the chief was for the moment as suggestive of jean pahusca's face as ever father le claire's had been. "if jean is a kiowa," i said to myself, "then this scoundrel here must be his mother's brother." i had only a few words with the man, but a certain play of light on his cunning countenance kept jean in my mind continually. when i turned to go, the tent flap was pulled back for me from the outside and i stepped forth and stood face to face with jean pahusca himself, standing stolidly before me wrapped in a bright new red blanket. we looked at each other steadily. "you are in my land now. this isn't springvale." there was still that french softness in his voice that made it musical, but the face was cruel with a still relentless, deadly cruelty that i had never seen before even in his worst moods. the baronets are not cowardly by nature, but something in jean always made me even more fearless. to his taunting words, "this isn't springvale," i replied evenly, "no, but this is phil baronet still." he gave me a swift searching look, and turning, disappeared in the shadows beyond the tents. "i owe him a score for his arickaree plans," i said to myself, "and his scalp ought to come off to o'mie for his attempt to murder the boy in the hermit's cave. oh, it's a grim game this. i hope it will end here soon." as i turned away i fell against hard rope, chief of the osage scouts. i had seen little of him before, but from this time on he shadowed my pathway with a persistence i had occasion to remember when the soldier life was forgotten. the beginning of the end was nearer than i had wished for. all about fort sill the bluffy heights looked down on pleasant little valleys. white oak timber and green grass made these little parks a delight to the eye. the soldiers penetrated all the shelving cliffs about them in search of game and time-killing leisure. the great lack of the soldier's day is seclusion. the mess life and tent life and field life may develop comradeship, but it cannot develop individuality. the loneliness of the soldier is in the barracks, not in the brief time he may be by himself. beyond a little brook bud and i had by merest chance found a small cove in the low cliff looking out on one of these valleys, a secluded nook entered by a steep, short climb. we kept the place a secret and called it our sanctuary. here on the winter afternoons we sat in the warm sunshine sheltered from the winds by the rocky shelf, and talked of home and the past; and sometimes, but not often, of the future. on the day after i saw jean at the door of satanta's tent, bud stole my cap and made off to our sanctuary. i had adorned it with turkey quills, and made a fantastic head-gear out of it. soldiers do anything to kill time; and jokes and pranks and child's play, stale and silly enough in civil life, pass for fun in lieu of better things in camp. it was a warm afternoon in february, and the soldiers were scattered about the valley hunting, killing rattlesnakes that the sunshine had tempted out on the rocks before their cave hiding-places, or tramping up and down about the river banks. hearing my name called, i looked out, only to see bud disappearing and john mac, who had mistaken him for me, calling after him. john mac, leading the other three, hadley and reed and pete, each with his hands on the shoulders of the one before him, were marching in locked step across the open space. "the rascal's heading for the sanctuary," i said to myself. "i'll follow and surprise him." i had nearly reached the foot of the low bluff when a pistol shot, clear and sharp, sounded out; and i thought i heard a smothered cry in the direction bud had taken. "somebody hunting turkey or killing snakes," was my mental comment. rifles and revolvers were popping here and there, telling that the boys were out on a hunting bout or at target practice. as i rounded a huge bowlder, beyond which the little climb to our cove began, i saw bud staggering toward me. at the same time half a dozen of the boys, pete and reed and john mac among them, came hurrying around the angle of another projecting rock shelf. bud's face was pallid, and his blue eyes were full of pathos. i leaped toward him, and he fell into my arms. a hole in his coat above his heart told the story,--a bullet and internal bleeding. i stretched him out on the grassy bank and the soldiers gathered around him. "somebody's made an awful mistake," john mac said bitterly. "the boys are hunting over on the other side of the bluff. we heard them shooting turkey, and then we heard one shot and a scream. the boys don't know what they've done." "i'm glad they don't," i murmured. "we were back there; you can't get down in front," reed said. they did not know of our little nest on the front side of the bluff. "i'm all right, phil," bud said, and smiled up at me and reached for my hand. "i'm glad you didn't come. i told o'mie latht night where to find it." and then his mind wandered, and he began to talk of home. "run for the surgeon, somebody," one of the boys urged; and john mac was off at the word. "it ain't no use," pete declared, kneeling beside the wounded boy. "he's got no need for a surgeon." and i knew he was right. i had seen the same thing before on reeking sands under a blazing september sky. i took the boy's head in my lap and held his hand and stroked that shock of yellow hair. he thought he was at springvale and we were in the deep hole below the hermit's cave. he gripped my hand tightly and begged me not to let him go down. it did not last long. he soon looked up and smiled. "i'm thafe," he lisped. "your turn, now, phil." the soldiers had fallen back and left us two together. john mac and reed had hastened to the cantonment for help, but pete knew best. it was useless. even now, after the lapse of nearly forty years, the sorrow of that day lies heavy on me. "accidental death" the official record was made, and there was no need to change it, when we knew better. that evening o'mie and i sat together in the shadowy twilight. there was just a hint of spring in the balmy air, and we breathed deeply, realizing, as never before, how easy a thing it is to cut off the breath of life. we talked of bud in gentle tones, and then o'mie said: "lem me tell you somethin', phil. i was over among the arapahoes this afternoon, an' i saw a man, just a glimpse was all; but you never see a face so like father le claire's in your life. it couldn't be nobody else but that praist; and yet, it couldn't be him, nather." "why, o'mie?" i asked. "it was an evil-soaked face. and yet it was fine-lookin'. it was just like father le claire turned bad." "maybe it was father le claire himself turned bad," i said. "i saw the same man up on the arickaree, voice and all. men sometimes lead double lives. i never thought that of him. but who is this shadow of jean pahusca's--a priest in civilization, a renegade on the plains? not only the face and voice of the man i saw, but his gait, the set of his shoulders, all were le claire to a wrinkle." "phil, it couldn't have been him in september. the praist was at springvale then, and he went out on dever's stage white and sick, hurrying to kansas city. oh, begorra, there's a few extry folks more 'n i can use in this world, annyhow." we sat in silence a few minutes, the shadow of the bowlder concealing us. i was just about to rise when two men came soft-footed out of the darkness from beyond the cliff. passing near us they made their way along the little stream toward the river. they were talking in low tones and we caught only a sentence or two. "when are you going to leave?" it was jean pahusca's voice. "not till i get ready." the tone had that rich softness i heard so often when father le claire chatted with our gang of boys in springvale, but there was an insolence in it impossible to the priest. o'mie squeezed my hand in the dark and rising quickly he followed them down the stream. the boy never did know what fear meant. they were soon lost in the darkness and i waited for o'mie's return. he came presently, running swiftly and careless of the noise he made. beyond, i heard the feet of a horse in a gallop, a sound the bluff soon shut off. "come, phil, let's get into camp double quick for the love av all the saints." inside the cantonment we stopped for breath, and as soon as we could be alone, o'mie explained. "whoiver that man with jean was, he's a 'was' now for good. jean fixed him." "tell me, o'mie, what's he done?" i asked eagerly. "they seemed to be quarrellin'. i heard jean say, 'you can't get off too quick; satanta has got men hired to scalp you; now take my word.' an' the le claire one laughed, oh, hateful as anything could be, and says, 'i'm not afraid of satanta. he's a prisoner.' bedad! but his voice is like the praist's. they're too much alike to be two and too different somehow to be one. but phil, d'ye know that in the rumpus av custer's wid black kittle, jean stole old satanta's youngest wife and made off wid her, and wid his customary cussedness let her freeze to death in them awful storms. now he's layin' the crime on this praist-renegade and trying to git the kiowas to scalp the holy villain. that's the row as i made it out between 'em. they quarrelled wid each other quite fierce, and the imitation says, 'you are satanta's tool yourself'; and jean said somethin' i couldn't hear. then the imitation struck at him. it was dark, but i heard a groan and something like the big man went plunk into the river. then jean made a dash by me, and he's on a horse now, and a mile beyont the south pole by this time. 'tain't no pony, i bet you, but a big cavalry horse he's stole. he put a knife into what went into the river, so it won't come out. that imitation isn't le claire, but nather is he anybody else now. phil, d'ye reckon this will iver be a dacent civilized country? d'ye reckon these valleys will iver have orchards and cornfields and church steeples and schoolhouses in 'em, and little homes, wid children playin' round 'em not afraid av their lives?" "i don't know," i answered, "but orchards and cornfields and church steeples and schoolhouses and little homes with children unafraid, have been creeping across america for a hundred years and more." "so they have; but oh, the cost av it all! the government puts the land at a dollar and a quarter an acre, wid your courage and fightin' strength and quickest wits, and by and by your heart's blood and a grave wid no top cover, like a fruit tart, sometimes, let alone a tomb-stone, as the total cost av the prairie sod. it's a great story now, aven if nobody should care to read it in a gineration or so." so o'mie philosophized and i sat listening, whittling the while a piece of soft pine, the broken end of a cracker box. "now, phil, where did you get that knife?" o'mie asked suddenly. "that's the knife i found in the hermit's cave one may day nearly six years ago, when i went down there after a lazy red-headed irishman. i found it to-day down in my saratoga trunk. see the name?" i pointed to the script lettering, spelling out slowly--"jean le claire." "well, give it to me. i got it away from the 'good injun' first." o'mie deftly wrenched it out of my hand. "let me kape it, phil. i've a sort of fore-warnin' i may nade it soon." "keep it if you want to, you grasping son of erin," i replied carelessly. we were talking idly now, to hide the heaviness of our sorrow as we thought of bud down under the clods, whose going had left us two so lonely and homesick. two days later when i found time to slip away to our sanctuary and be alone for a little while, my eye fell upon my feather-decked hat, crushed and shapeless as if it had been trampled on, lying just at the corner where i came into the nook. i turned it listlessly in my hands and stood wrapped in sorrowful thought. a low chuckle broke the spell, and at the same moment a lariat whizzed through the air and encircled my body. a jerk and i was thrown to the ground, my arms held to my sides. almost before i could begin to struggle the coils of the rope were deftly bound about me and i was helpless as a mummy. then jean pahusca, deliberate, cruel, mocking, sat down beside me. the gray afternoon was growing late, and the sun was showing through the thin clouds in the west. down below us was a beautiful little park with its grove of white-oak trees, and beyond was the river. i could see it all as i lay on the sloping shelf of stone--the sky, and the grove and the bit of river with the arapahoe and kiowa tepees under the shadow of the fort, and the flag floating lazily above the garrison's tents. it was a peaceful scene, but near me was an enemy cutting me off from all this serenity and safety. in his own time he spoke deliberately. he had sat long preparing his thought. "phil baronet, you may know now you are at the end of your game. i have waited long. an indian learns to wait. i have waited ever since the night you put the pink flowers on her head--star-face's. you are strong, you are not afraid, you are quick and cunning, you are lucky. but you are in my land now. you have no more strength, and your cunning and courage and luck are useless. they don't know where you are. they don't know about this place." he pointed toward the tents as he spoke. "when they do find you, you won't do them any good." he laughed mockingly but not unmusically. "they'll say, 'accidental death by hunters,' as they said of bud. bah! i was fooled by his hat. i thought he was you. but he deserved it, anyhow." so that was what had cut him off. innocent bud! wantonly slain, by one the law might never reach. the thought hurt worse than the thongs that bound me. "before i finish with you i'll let you have more time to think, and here is something to think about. it was given to me by a girl who loved you, or thought she did. she found it in a hole in the rock where star-face had put it. do you know the writing?" he held a letter before my eyes. in marjie's well known hand i read the inscription, "philip baronet, rockport, cliff street." "it's a letter star-face put in the place you two had for a long time. i never could find it, but lettie did. she gave it to me. there was another letter deeper in, but this was the only one she could get out. her arm was too short. star-face and amos judson were married christmas day. you didn't know that." how cruelly slow he was, but it was useless to say a word. he had no heart. no plea for mercy would move him to anything but fiendish joy that he could call it forth. at last he opened the letter and read aloud. he was a good reader. all his schooling had developed his power over the english language, but it gave him nothing else. slowly he read, giving me time to think between the sentences. it was the long loving letter marjie wrote to me on the afternoon that rachel and i went to the old stone cabin together. it told me all the stories she had heard, and it assured me that in spite of them all her faith in me was unshaken. "i know you, phil," she had written at the end, "and i know that you are all my own." i understood everything now. oh, if i must die, it was sweet to hear those words. she had not gotten my letter. she had heard all the misrepresentation, and she knew all the circumstances entangling everything. what had become of my letter made no difference; it was lost. but she loved me still. and i who should have read this letter out on "rockport" in the august sunset, i was listening to it now out on this gray rock in a lonely land as i lay bound for the death awaiting me. but the reading brought joy. jean watching my face saw his mistake and he cursed me in his anger. "you care so much for another man's wife? so! i can drive away your happiness as easily as i brought it to you," he argued. "i go back to springvale. nobody knows when i go. bud's out of the way; o'mie won't be there. suddenly, silently, i steal upon star-face when she least thinks of me. i would have been good to her five years ago. i can get her away long and long before anybody will know it. tell mapleson will help me sure. now i sell her, on time, to one buck. when i get ready i redeem her, and sell her to another. you know that woman you and bud found in satanta's tepee on the washita? i killed her myself. the soldiers went by five minutes afterwards,--she was that near getting away. that's what star-face will come to by and by. satanta is my mother's brother. i can surpass him. i know your english ways also. when you die a little later, remember what star-face is coming to. when i get ready i will torture her to death. you couldn't escape me. no more can she. remember it!" the sun was low in the west now, and the pain of my bonds was hard to bear, but this slow torture of mind made them welcome. they helped me not to think. after a long silence jean turned his face full toward me. i had not spoken a word since his first quick binding of my limbs. "when the last pink is in the sky your time will come," he laughed. "and nobody will know. i'll leave you where the hunter accidentally shot you. watch that sunset and think of home." he shoved me rudely about that i might see the western sky and the level rays of the sun, as it sank lower and lower. i had faced death before. i must do it sometime, once for all. but life was very dear to me. home and marjie's love. oh, the burden of the days had been more grievous than i had dreamed, now that i understood. and all the time the sun was sinking. keeping well in the shadow that no eye from below might see him, jean walked toward the edge of the shelf. "it will be down in a minute more; look and see," he said, in that soft tone that veiled a fiend's purpose. then he turned away, and glancing out over the valley he made a gesture of defiance at the cantonment. his back was toward me. the red sun was on the horizon bar, half out of sight. "though i walk through the valley of the shadow of death, i will fear no evil." the arm of the all father was round about me then, and i put my trust in him. as jean turned to face the west the glow of the sinking ball of fire dazzled his eyes a moment. but that was long enough, for in that instant a step fell on the rock beside me. a leap of lightning swiftness put a form between my eyes and the dying day; the flash of a knife--jean le claire's short sharp knife--glittered here; my bonds were cut in a twinkling; o'mie, red-headed irish o'mie, lifted me to my feet, and i was free. chapter xxiv the cry of womanhood the women have no voice to speak, but none can check your pen-- turn for a moment from your strife and plead their cause, o men! --kipling. after all, it was not tillhurst, but jim conlow, who had a topeka story to tell when he went back to springvale; and it was lettie who edited and published her brother's story. lettie had taken on a new degree of social importance with her elevation to a clerkship in judson's store, and she was quick to take advantage of it. tillhurst, when he found his case, like my own, was hopeless with marjie, preferred that rachel's name and mine should not be linked together. also a degree of intimacy had developed suddenly between tell mapleson and the young teacher. the latter had nothing to add when lettie enlarged on rachel's preference for me and my devotion to her while the nineteenth kansas was mobilizing in topeka. "and everybody knows," lettie would declare, "that she's got the money, and phil will never marry a poor girl. no, sir! no baronet's going to do that." although it was only lettie who said it, yet the impression went about and fixed itself somehow, that i had given myself over to a life of luxury. i, who at this very time was starving of hunger and almost perishing of cold in a bleak wind-swept land. and to me for all this, there were neither riches nor glory, nor love. springvale was very gay that winter. two young lawyers from michigan, fresh from the universities, set up a new firm over judson's store where my father's office had been before "we planted him in the courthouse, where he belongs," as cam gentry used to declare. a real-estate and money-loaning firm brought three more young men to our town, while half a dozen families moved out to kansas from indiana and made a "hoosiers' nest" in our midst. and then fingal's creek and red range and all the fertile neosho lands were being taken by settlers. the country population augmented that of the town, nor was the social plane of springvale lowered by these farmers' sons and daughters, who also were of the salt of the earth. "for an engaged girl, marjory whately's about the most popular i ever see," dollie gentry said to cam one evening, when the cambridge house was all aglow with light and full of gay company. marjie, in a dainty white wool gown with a pink sash about her waist, and pink ribbons in her hair, had just gone from the kitchen with three or four admiring young fellows dancing attendance upon her. "how can anybody help lovin' her?" dollie went on. cam sighed, "o lordy! a girl like her to marry that there pole cat! how can the good bein' permit it?" "'tain't between her and her maker; it's all between mrs. whately and amos," dollie asserted. "now, cam, has anybody ever heard her say she was engaged? she goes with one and another. cris mead's wife says she always has more company'n she can make use of any ways. it's like too much canned fruit a'most. mis' mead loves marjie, and she's so proud of her. marjie don't wear no ring, neither, not a one, sence she took off phil baronet's." springvale had sharp eyes; and the best-hearted among us could tell just how many rings any girl did or didn't wear. "well, by hen!" cam declared, "i'm just goin' to ask herself myself." "no, you ain't, cam gentry," dollie said decisively. "now, dollie, don't you dictate to your lord and master no more. i won't stand it." cam squinted up at her from his chair in a ludicrous attempt to frown. "worst hen-pecked man in town, by golly." "i ain't goin' to dictate to no fool, cam. if you want to be one, i can't help it. i must go and set bread now." and dollie pattered off singing "come thou fount," in a soft little old-fashioned tune. * * * * * "marjie, girl, i knowed you when you was in bib aperns, and i knowed your father long ago. best man ever went out to fight and never got back. they's as good a one comin' back, though, some day," he added softly, and smiled as the pink bloom on marjie's cheeks deepened. "marjie, don't git mad at an old man like your uncle cam. i mean no harm." it was the morning after the party. marjie, who had been helping mary gentry "straighten up," was resting now by the cosy fireplace, while dollie and mary prepared lunch. "go ahead, uncle cam," the girl said, smiling. "i couldn't get mad at you, because you never would do anything unkind." "well, little sweetheart, honest now, and i won't tell, and it's none of my doggoned business neither; but be you goin' to marry amos judson?" there was no resentment in the girl's face when she heard his halting question, but the pink color left it, and her white cheeks and big brown eyes gave her a stateliness cam had never seen in her before. "no, uncle cam. it makes no difference what comes to me, i could not marry such a man. i never will." "oh, lord bless you, marjie!" cam closed his eyes a moment. "they's a long happy road ahead of you. i can see it with my good inside eyes that sees further'n these things i use to run the cambridge house with. 'tain't my business, i'm a gossipin' inquisitive old pokeyer-nose, but i've always been so proud of you, little blossom. yes, we're comin', dollie, if you've got a thing a dyspeptic can eat." he held the door for marjie to pass before him to the dining-room. cam was not one of the too-familiar men. there was a gentleman's heart under the old spotted velvet "weskit," as he called his vest, and with all his bad grammar, a quaint dignity and purity of manner and speech to women. but for all this declaration of marjie's, judson was planning each day for the great event with an assurance that was remarkable. "she'll be so tangled up in this, she'll have to come to terms. there ain't no way out, if she wants to save old whately's name from dishonor and keep herself out of the hired-girl class," he said to tell mapleson. "and besides, there's the durned baronet tribe that all the whatelys have been so devoted to. that's it, just devoted to 'em. now they'll come in for a full share of disgrace, too." the little man had made a god of money so long he could not understand how poverty and freedom may bring infinitely more of blessing than wealth and bonds. so many years, too, he had won his way by trickery and deception, he felt himself a man of destiny in all he under-took. but one thing he never could know--i wonder if men ever do know--a woman's heart. he had not counted on having to reckon with marjie, having made sure of her mother. it was not in his character to understand an abiding love. there was another type of woman whom he misjudged--that of lettie conlow. in his dictatorial little spirit, he did not give a second thought beyond the use he could make of her in his greedy swooping in of money. "o'mie knows too much," judson informed his friend. "he's better out of this town. and lettie, now, i can just do anything with lettie. you know, mapleson, a widower's really more attractive to a girl than a young man; and as for me, well, it's just in me, that's all. lettie likes me." whatever tell thought, he counselled care. "you can't be too careful, judson. girls are the unsafest cattle on this green earth. my boy fancied conlow's girl once. i sent him away. he's married now, and doing well. runs on a steamboat from st. louis to new orleans. i'd go a little slow about gettin' a girl like lettie in here." "oh, i can manage any girl on earth. old maids and young things'll come flockin' round a man with money. beats all." this much o'mie had overheard as the two talked together in tones none too low, in judson's little cage of an office, forgetting the clerk arranging the goods for the night. [illustration: they came slowly toward us, the two captive women for whom we waited] when judson had found out how mrs. whately had tried to help his cause by appealing to my father, his anger was a fury. poor mrs. whately, who had meant only for the best, beset with the terror of disgrace to marjie through the dishonorable acts of her father, tried helplessly to pacify him. between her daughter and herself a great gulf opened whenever judson's name was mentioned; but in everything else the bond between them was stronger than ever. "she is such a loving, kind daughter, amos," mrs. whately said to the anxious suitor. "she fills the house with sunshine, and she is so strong and self-reliant. when i spoke to her about our coming poverty, she only laughed and held up her little hands, and said, 'they 're equal to it.' the very day i spoke to her she began to do something. she found three music pupils right away. she's been giving lessons all this fall, and has all she can give the time to. and when i hinted about her father's name being disgraced, she kissed his picture and put it on the bible and said, 'he was true as truth. i won't disgrace myself by ever thinking anything else.' and last of all, because she did so love phil once" (poor mrs. whately was the worst of strategists here), "when i tried to put his case she said indifferently, 'if he did wrong, let him right it. but he didn't.' now, amos, you must talk to her yourself. i don't know what john baronet advised her to do." talking to marjie was the thing amos could not do, and the mention of john baronet was worse than the recollection of that callow stripling, phil. the widower stormed and scolded and threatened, until mrs. whately turned to him at last and said quietly: "amos, i think we will drop the matter now. go home and think it over." he knew he had gone too far, and angry as he was, he had the prudence to hold his tongue. but his purpose was undaunted. his temper was not settled, however, when mapleson called on him later in the day. lettie was busy marking down prices on a counter full of small articles and the two men did not know how easily they could be overheard. judson had no reason to control himself with tell, and his wrath exploded then and there. neither did mapleson have need for temperance, and their angry tones rose to a pitch they did not note at the time. "i tell you, amos," lettie heard tell saying, "you've got to get rid of this conlow girl, or you're done for. phil's lost that melrose case entirely; and he's out where a certain kiowa brave we know is creepin' on his trail night and day. he'll never come back. if his disappearance is ever checked up to jean, i'll clear the injun. you can't do a thing to the baronets. if this thing gets up to judge john, you're done for. i'll never stand by it a minute. you can't depend on me. now, let her go." "i tell you i'm going to marry marjie, lettie or no lettie. good lord, man! i 've got to, or be ruined. it's too late now. i can get rid of this girl when i want to, but i'll keep her a while." lettie dropped her pencil and crept nearer to the glass partition over the top of which the angry words were coming to her ears. her black eyes dilated and her heart beat fast, as she listened to the two men in angry wrangle. "he's going to marry marjie. he'll be ruined if he doesn't. and he says that after all he has promised me all this fall and winter! oh!" she wrung her hands in bitterness of soul. judson had not counted on having to reckon with lettie, any more than with marjie. that night at prayer meeting, a few more prominent people were quietly let into the secret of the coming event, and the assurance with which the matter was put left little room for doubt. * * * * * john baronet sat in his office looking out on the leafless trees of the courthouse yard and down the street to where the neosho was glittering coldly. it was a gray day, and the sharp chill in the air gave hint of coming rough weather. down the street came cris mead on his way to the bank, silent cris, whose business sense and moral worth helped to make springvale. he saw my father at the window, and each waved the other a military salute. presently father le claire, almost a stranger to springvale now, came up the street with dr. hemingway, but neither of them looked toward the courthouse. other folks went up and down unnoted, until marjie passed by with her music roll under her arm. her dark blue coat and scarlet cap made a rich bit of color on the gray street, and her fair face with the bloom of health on her cheek, her springing step, and her quiet grace, made her a picture good to see. john baronet rose and stood at the window watching her. she lifted her eyes and smiled a pleasant good-morning greeting and went on her way. some one entered the room, and with the picture of marjie still in his eyes, he turned to see lettie conlow. she was flashily dressed, and a handsome new fur cape was clasped about her shoulders. self-possession, the lifetime habit of the lawyer and judge, kept his countenance impassive. he bade her a courteous good-morning and gave her a chair, but the story he had already read in her face made him sick at heart. he knew the ways of the world, of civil courts, of men, and of some women; so he waited to see what turn affairs would take. his manner, however, had that habitual dignified kindliness that bound people to him, and made them trust him even when he was pitted with all his strength against their cause. lettie had boasted much of what she could do. she had refused all of o'mie's well-meant counsel, and she had been friends with envy and hatred so long that they had become her masters. it must have been a strange combination of events that could take her now to the man upon whom she would so willingly have brought sorrow and disgrace. but a passionate, wilful nature such as hers knows little of consistency or control. "judge baronet," lettie began in a voice not like the bold belligerent lettie of other days, "i've come to you for help." he sat down opposite her, with his back to the window. "what can i do for you, lettie?" "i don't know," the girl answered confusedly. "i don't know--how much to tell you." john baronet looked steadily at her a moment. then he drew a deep breath of relief. he was a shrewd student of human nature, and he could sometimes read the minds of men and women better than they read themselves. "she has not come to accuse, but to get my help," was his conclusion. "tell me the truth, lettie, and as much of it as i need to know," he said kindly. "otherwise, i cannot help you at all." lettie sat silent a little while. a struggle was going on within her, the strife of ill-will against submission and penitent humiliation. some men might not have been able to turn the struggle, but my father understood. the girl looked up at length with a pleading glance. she had helped to put misery in two lives dear to the man before her. she had even tried to drag down to disgrace the son on whom his being centred. in no way could she interest him, for his ideals of life were all at variance with hers. small wonder, if distrust and an unforgiving spirit should be his that day. but as this man of wide experience and large ideals of right and justice looked at this poor erring girl, he put away everything but the determination to help her. "lettie," he said in that deep strong voice that carried a magnetic power, "i know some things you do not want to tell. it is not what you have done, but what you are to do that you must consider now." "that's just it, mr. baronet," lettie cried. "i've done wrong, i know, but so have other people. i can't help some things i've done to some folks now. it's too late. and i hated 'em." the old sullen look was coming back, and her black brows were drawn in a frown. my father was quick to note the change. "never mind what can't be helped, lettie," he said gravely. "a good many things right themselves in spite of our misdoing. but let's keep now to what you can do, to what i can do for you." his voice was full of a stern kindness, the same voice that had made me walk the straight line of truth and honor many a time in my boyhood. "you can summon amos judson here and make him do as he has promised to do." lettie cried, the hot tears filling her eyes. "tell me his promise first," her counsel said. and lettie told him her story. as she went on from point to point, she threw reserve to the winds, and gave word to many thoughts she had meant to keep from him. when she had finished, john baronet sat with his eyes on the floor a little while. "lettie, you want help, and you need it; and you deserve it on one condition only," he said slowly. "what's that?" she asked eagerly. "that you also be just to others. that's fair, isn't it?" "yes, it is," she agreed. her soul was possessed with a selfish longing for her own welfare, but she was before a just and honorable judge now, in an atmosphere of right thinking. "you know my son phil, have known him many years. although he is my boy, i cannot shield him if he does wrong. sin carries its own penalty sooner or later. tell me the truth now, as you must answer for yourself sometime before the almighty and ever-living god, has philip baronet ever wronged you?" how deep and solemn his tones were. they drove the frivolous trifling spirit out of lettie, and a sense of awe and fear of lying suddenly possessed her. she dropped her eyes. the old trickery and evil plotting were of no avail here. she durst do nothing but tell the truth. "he never did mistreat me," she murmured, hardly above a whisper. "he took you home from the andersons' party the night dave mead was at red range?" queried my father. lettie nodded. "of his own choice?" she shook her head. "amos asked him to," she said. "and you told him good-bye at your own door?" another nod. "did you see him again that night?" "yes." lettie's cheeks were scarlet. "who took you home the second time?" a confusion of face, and then lettie put her head on the table before her. "tell me, lettie. it will open the way for me to help you. don't spare anybody except yourself. you need not be too hard on yourself. those who should befriend you can lay all the blame you can bear on your shoulders." he smiled kindly on her. "judge baronet, i was a bad girl. it was amos promising me jewelry and ribbons if i'd do what he wanted, making me think he would marry me if he could. i hated a girl because--" she stopped, and her cheeks flamed deeply. "never mind about the girl. tell me where you were, and with whom." "i was out on the west prairie, just a little way, not very far. i was coming home." "with phil?" my father did not comment on the imprudence of a girl out on the west prairie at this improper hour. "no, no. i--i came home with bud anderson." then, seeing only the kind strong pitying face of the man before her, she told him all he wanted to know. would have told him more, but he gently prevented her, sparing her all he could. when she had finished, he spoke, and his tones were full of feeling. "in no way, then, has philip ever done you any wrong? have you ever known him to deceive anybody? has he been a young man of double dealing, coarse and rude with some company and refined with others? a father cannot know all that his children do. james conlow has little notion of what you have told me of yourself. now don't spare my boy if you know anything." "oh, judge baronet, phil never did a thing but be a gentleman all his life. it made me mad to see how everybody liked him, and yet i don't know how they could help it." the tears were streaming down her cheeks now. and then the thought of her own troubles swept other things away, and she would again have begged my father to befriend her, but his kind face gave her comfort. "lettie, go back to the store now. i'll send a note to judson and call him here. if i need you, i will let you know. if i can do it, i will help you. i think i can. but most of all, you must help yourself. when you are free of this tangle, you must keep your heart with all diligence. good-bye, and take care, take care of every step. be a good woman, lettie, and the mistakes and wrong-doing of your girlhood will be forgotten." as lettie went slowly down the walk, to the street, my father looked steadily after her. "wronged, deceived, neglected, undisciplined," he murmured. "if i set her on her feet, she may only drop again. she's a conlow, but i'll do my best. i can't do otherwise. thank god for a son free from her net." chapter xxv judson summoned though the mills of the gods grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small. --friedrich von logan. half an hour later amos judson was hurrying toward the courthouse with a lively strut in his gait, answering a summons from judge baronet asking his immediate presence in the judge's office. the irony of wrong-doing lies much in the deception it practices on the wrong-doer, blunting his sense of danger while it blunts his conscience, leading him blindly to choose out for himself a way to destruction. the little widower was jubilant over the summons to the courthouse. "good-morning, baronet," he cried familiarly as soon as he was inside the door of the private office. "you sent for me, i see." my father returned his greeting and pointed to a chair. "yes, i sent for you. i told you i would when i wanted to see you," he said, sitting down across the table from the sleek little man. "yes, yes, i remember, so you did. that's it, you did. i've not been back since, knowing you'd send for me; and then, i'm a business man and can't be loafing. but now this means business. that's it, business; when a man like baronet calls for a man like me, it means something. after all, i'm right glad that the widow did speak to you. i was a little hard on her, maybe. but, confound it, a mother-in-law's like a wife, only worse. your wife's got to obey, anyhow. the preacher settles that, but you must up and make your mother-in-law obey. now ain't that right? you waited a good while; but i says, 'let him think. give him time.' that's it, 'give him time.' but to tell the truth i was getting a little nervous, because matters must be fixed up right away. i don't like to boast, but i've got the whip hand right now. funny how a man gets to the top in a town like this." oh, the poor little knave! whom the gods destroy they first make silly, at least. "and by the way, did you settle it with the widow, too? i hope you did. you'd be proud of me for a son, now phil's clear out of it. and you and mrs. whately'd make the second handsomest couple in this town." he giggled at his own joke. "but say now, baronet, it's took you an awful time to make up your mind. what's been the matter?" his familiarity and impudence were insufferable in themselves. "i hadn't all the evidence i needed," my father answered calmly. in spite of his gay spirits and lack of penetration that word "evidence" grated on judson a little. "don't call it 'evidence'; sounds too legal, and nobody understands the law, not even the lawyers." he giggled again. "let's get to business." a harsher tone in spite of himself was in his voice. "we will begin at once," my father declared. "when you were here last summer i was not ready to deal with you. the time has come for us to have an understanding. do you prefer any witness or counsel, or shall we settle this alone?" judson looked up nervously into my father's face, but he read nothing there. "i--well, i don't know quite what you mean. no, i don't want no witnesses, and i won't have 'em, confound it. this is between us as man to man; and don't you try to bring in no law on this, because you know law books. this is our own business and nobody else's. i'd knock my best friend out of the door if he come poking into my private matters. why, man alive! this is sacred. that's it--an affair of the heart. now be careful." his voice was high and angry and his self-control was slipping. "amos judson, i've listened patiently to your words. patiently, too, i have watched your line of action, for three years. ever since i came home from the war i have followed your business methods carefully." the little man before him was turning yellow in spite of his self-assurance and reliance on his twin gods, money and deception, to carry him through any vicissitude. he made one more effort to bring the matter to his own view. "now, don't be so serious, baronet. this is a little love affair of mine. if you're interested, all right; if not, let it go. that's it, let it go, and i'm through with you." he rose to his feet. "but i'm not through with you. sit down. i sent for you because i wanted to see you. i am not through with this interview. whether it's to be the last or not will depend on conditions." judson was very uncomfortable and blindly angry, but he sat as directed. "when i came home, i found you in possession of all the funds left by my friend, irving whately, to his wife and child. a friend's interest led me to investigate the business fallen to you. irving begged me, when his mortal hours were few, to befriend his loved ones. it didn't take long to discover how matters were shaping themselves. but understanding and belief are one thing, and legal evidence is another." "what was it your business?" judson stormed. my father rose and, going to his cabinet, he took from an inner drawer a folded yellow bit of paper torn from a note book. through the centre of it was a ragged little hole, the kind a bullet might have cut. "this," he said, "was in whately's notebook. we found it in his pocket. the bullet that killed him went through it, and was deadened a trifle by it, sparing his life a little longer. these words he had written in camp the night before that battle at missionary ridge: "'if i am killed in battle i want john baronet to take care of my wife and child.' it was witnessed by cris mead and howard morton. morton's in the hospital in the east now, but cris is down in the bank. both of their signatures are here." judson sat still and sullen. "this is why it was my business to find out, at least, if all was well with mrs. whately and her daughter. it wasn't well, and i set about making it well. i had no further personal interest than this then. later, when my son became interested in the whately family, i dropped the matter--first, because i could not go on without giving a wrong impression of my motives; and secondly, because i knew my boy could make up to marjie the loss of their money." "phil hasn't any property," the widower broke in, the ruling passion still controlling him. "none of whately's property, no," my father replied; "but he has a wage-earning capacity which is better than all the ill-begotten property anybody may fraudulently gather together. anyhow, i reasoned that if my boy and whately's girl cared for each other, i would not be connected with any of their property matters. i have, however, secured a widow's pension and some back-pay for mrs. whately, and not a minute too soon." he smiled a little. "oh, yes, tell mapleson went east on the same train i did in october. i just managed to outwit him in time, and all his affidavits and other documents were useless. he would have cut off that bit of assistance from a soldier's widow to help your cause. it would have added much value to your stock if irving whately's name should have been so dishonored at washington that his wife should receive no pension for his service and his last great sacrifice. but so long as phil and marjie were betrothed, i let your business alone." judson could not suppress a grin of satisfaction. "now that there is no bond other than friendship between the two families, and especially since marjie has begged me to take hold of it, i have probed this business of yours to the bottom. don't make any mistake," he added, as judson took on a sly look of disbelief. "you will be safer to accept that fact now. drop the notion that your tracks are covered. i've waited for some time, so that one sitting would answer." there was a halting between cowardly cringing and defiance, overlaid all with a perfect insanity of anger; for judson had lost all self-control. "you don't know one thing about my business, and you can't prove a word you say, you infernal, lying, old busybody, not one thing," he fairly hissed in his rage. john baronet rose to his full height, six feet and two inches. clasping his hands behind his back he looked steadily down at judson until the little man trembled. no bluster, nor blows, could have equalled the supremacy of that graceful motion and that penetrating look. "it takes cannon for the soldier, the rope for the assassin, the fist for the rowdy; but, by heaven! it's a ludicrous thing to squander gunpowder when insect powder will accomplish the same results. i told you, i had waited until i had the evidence," he said. "now you are going to listen while i speak." it isn't the fighter, but the man with the fighting strength, who wins the last battle. judson cowered down in his chair and dropped his eyes, while my father seated himself and went on. "before irving whately went to the war he had me draw up a will. you witnessed it. it listed his property--the merchandise, the real estate, the bank stock, the cash deposits, and the personal effects. one half of this was to become marjie's at the age of twenty (marjie was twenty on christmas day), and the whole of it in the event of her mother's death. he did not contemplate his wife's second marriage, you see. that will, with other valuable papers, was put into the vault here in the courthouse for safe keeping, and you carried the key. while most of the loyal, able-bodied men were fighting for their country's safety, you were steadily drawing on the bank account in the pretence of using it for the store. nobody can find from your bookkeeping how matters were in that business during those years. "on the night springvale was to be burned, you raided the courthouse, taking these and other papers away, because you thought the courthouse was to be burned that night. mapleson got mixed up in his instructions, you remember, and dodd nearly lost his good name in his effort to get these same papers out of the courthouse to burn them. you and tell didn't 'tote fair' with him, and he thought you were here in town. you wouldn't have treated the parson well, had your infamous scheme succeeded. but you were not in town. you left your sick baby and faithful wife to carry that will and that property-list out to the old stone cabin, where you hid them. you meant to go back and destroy them after you had examined them more carefully. but you never could find them again. they were taken from your hiding-place and put in another place. you thought you were alone out there; also you thought you had outwitted dodd. you could manage the methodist church south, but you failed to reckon with the roman catholics. while you were searching the draw to get back across the flood, father le claire, wet from having swum the neosho up above there, stopped to rest in the gray of the morning. you didn't see him, but he saw you." my father paused and, turning his back on the cowardly form in the chair, walked to the window. presently he sat down again. "mrs. whately was crushed with grief over her husband's death; she was trustful and utterly ignorant in business matters; and in these circumstances you secured her signature to a deed for the delivery of all her bank stock to you. she had no idea what all that paper meant. she only wanted to be alone with her overwhelming sorrow. i need not go through that whole story of how steadily, by fraud, and misuse, and downright lie, you have eaten away her property, getting everything into your own name, until now you would turn the torture screw and force a marriage to secure the remnant of the whately estate, you greedy, grasping villain! "but defrauding irving whately's heirs and getting possession of that store isn't the full limit of your 'business.' you and tell mapleson, after cutting dodd and conlow out of the game, using conlow only as a cat's paw, you two have been conducting a systematic commerce on commission with one jean pahusca, highway robber and cut-throat, who brings in money and small articles of value stolen in topeka and kansas city and even st. louis, with the plunder that could be gathered along the way, all stored in the old stone cabin loft and slipped in here after dark by as soft-footed a scoundrel as ever wore a moccasin. you and tell divide the plunder and promise jean help to do his foes to death--fostering his savage blood-thirsty spirit." "you can't prove that. jean's word's no good in law; and you never found it out through le claire. he's jean's father; dodd says so." judson was choking with rage. "the priest can answer that charge for himself," my father said calmly. "no, it was your head clerk, thomas o'meara, who took a ten days' vacation and stayed at night up in the old stone cabin for his health. you know he has weak lungs. he found out many things, even jean's fear of ghosts. that's the indian in jean. the redskin doesn't live that isn't afraid of a ghost, and o'mie makes a good one. this traffic has netted you and mapleson shamefully large amounts. "where's my evidence?" he asked, as judson was about to speak. "ever since o'mie went into the store, your books have been kept, and incidentally your patronage has increased. that irishman is shrewd and to the last penny accurate. all your goods delivered by dever's stage, or other freight, with receipts for the same are recorded. all the goods brought in through jean's agency have been carefully tabulated. this record, sworn to before old joseph mead, cris's father, as notary, and witnessed by cam gentry, cris mead, and dr. hemingway, lies sealed and safe in the bank vault. "one piece of your trickery has a double bearing; here, and in another line. your books show that gold rings, a watch chain, sundry articles of a woman's finery charged to marjory whately, taken from her mother's income, were given as presents to another girl. among them are a handsome fur collar which lettie conlow had on this very morning, and some beautiful purple ribbon, a large bow of which fastened with a valuable pin set with brilliants i have here." he opened a drawer of his desk and lifted out the big bow of purple ribbon which lettie lost on the day marjie and i went out to the haunted cabin. "in your stupid self-conceit you refused to grant a measure of good common sense and powers of observation to those about you. i have seen your kind before; but not often, thank god!" my father paused, and the two sat in silence for a few moments. judson evidently fancied his case closed and he was beginning to hunt for a way out, when his accuser spoke again. "your business transactions, however, rank as they are, cannot equal your graver deeds. human nature is selfish, and a love of money has filled many a man's soul with moth and rust. you are not the only man who, to get a fortune, turned the trick so often that when an opportunity came to steal, he was ready and eager for the chance. some men never get caught, or being known, are never brought to the bar of account; but you have been found out as a thief and worse than a thief; you have tried to destroy a good man's reputation. with words that were false, absolutely false, you persuaded a defenceless woman that her noble husband--wearing now the martyr's crown of victory--you persuaded her, i say, that this man had done the things you yourself have done in his name--that he was a business failure, a trickster, and an embezzler. with tell mapleson and james conlow and some of that confederate gang from fingal's creek, swearing to false affidavits, you made mrs. whately believe that his name was about to be dishonored for wrongs done in his business and for fraudulent dealing which you, after three years of careful sheltering, would no longer hide unless she gave her daughter to you in marriage. for these days of wearing grief to mrs. whately you can never atone. you and tell, as i said a while ago, almost succeeded in your scheme at washington. to my view this is infinitely worse than taking irving whately's property. "all this has been impersonal to me, except as the wrongs and sorrows of a friend can hurt. but i come now to my own personal interest. and where that is concerned a man may always express himself." judson broke out at this point unable to restrain himself further. "baronet, you needn't mind. you and me have nothing in the world in common." my father held back a smile of assent to this. "all i ever did was to suggest a good way for you to help mrs. whately, best way in the world you could help her if you really feel so bad about her. but you wouldn't do it. i just urged it as good for all parties. that's it, just good for all of us; and it would have been, but i didn't command you to it, just opened the way to help you." my father did not repress the smile this time, for the thought of judson commanding him was too much to bear unsmilingly. the humor faded in a moment, however, and the stern man of justice went on with his charge. "you tried to bring dishonor upon my son by plans that almost won, did win with some people. you adroitly set on foot a tale of disgraceful action, and so well was your work done that only providence prevented the fulfilling of your plans." "he is a fast young man; i have the evidence," judson cried defiantly. "he's been followed and watched by them that know. i guess if you take jean pahusca's word about the goods you'll have to about the doings of phil baronet." "no doubt about phil being followed and watched, but as to taking jean pahusca's word, i wouldn't take it on oath about anything, not a whit more than i would take yours. when a man stands up in my court and swears to tell the truth the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, he must first understand what truth is before his oath is of any effect. neither jean nor you have that understanding. let me tell you a story: you asked phil to escort lettie conlow home one night in august. about one o'clock in the morning phil went from his home down to the edge of the cliff where the bushes grow thick. what took him there is his own business. it is all written in a letter that i can get possession of at any time that i need it, lettie was there. why, i do not know. she asked him to go home with her, but he refused to do so." judson would have spoken but my father would not permit it here. "she started out to that cabin at that hour of the night to meet you, started with jean pahusca, as you had commanded her to do, and you know he is a dangerous, villainous brute. he had some stolen goods at the cabin, and you wanted lettie to see them, you said. if she could not entrap phil that night, jean must bring her out to this lonely haunted house. you led the prayer meeting that week for dr. hemingway. amos judson, so long as such men as you live, there is still need for guardian angels. one came to this poor wilful erring girl that night in the person of bud anderson, who not only made her tell where she was going, but persuaded her to turn back, and he saw her safe within her own home." "it's phil that's deceived her and been her downfall. i can prove it by lettie herself. she's a very warm friend and admirer of mine." "she told me in this room not two hours ago that phil had never done her wrong. it was she who asked to have you summoned here this morning, although i was ready for you anyhow." the end of judson's rope was in sight now. he collapsed in his chair into a little heap of whining fear and self-abasement. "your worst crime, judson, is against this girl. you have used her for your tool, your accomplice, and your villainously base purposes. you bribed her, with gifts she coveted, to do your bidding. you lived a double life, filling her ears with promises you meant only to break. even your pretended engagement to marjie you kept from her, and when she found it out, you declared it was false. and more, when with her own ears she heard you assert it as a fact, you sought to pacify her with promises of pleasures bought with sin. you are a property thief, a receiver of stolen goods, a defamer of character. your hand was on the torch to burn this town. you juggled with the official records in the courthouse. you would basely deceive and marry a girl whose consent could be given only to save her father's memory from stain, and her mother from a broken heart. and greatest and blackest of all, you would utterly destroy the life and degrade the soul of one whose erring feet we owe it to ourselves to lead back to straight paths. on these charges i have summoned you to this account. every charge i have evidence to prove beyond any shadow of question. i could call you before the civil courts at once. that i have not done it has not been for my son's sake, nor for marjie's, nor her mother's, but for the sake of the one i have no personal cause to protect, the worst one connected with this business outside of yourself and that scoundrel mapleson--for the sake of a woman. it is a man's business to shield her, not to drag her down to perdition. i said i would send for you when it was time for you to come again, when i was ready for you. i have sent for you. now you must answer me." judson, sitting in a crumpled-up heap in the big armchair in john baronet's private office, tried vainly for a time to collect his forces. at last he turned to the one resource we all seek in our misdoing: he tried to justify himself by blaming others. "judge baronet," his high thin voice always turned to a whine when he lowered it. "judge baronet, i don't see why i'm the only one you call to account. there's tell mapleson and jim conlow and the rev. dodd and a lot more done and planned to do what i'd never 'a dreamed of. now, why do i have to bear all of it?" "you have only your part to bear, no more; and as to tell mapleson, his time is coming." "i think i might have some help. you know all the law, and i don't know any law." my father did not smile at the evident truth of the last clause. "you can have all the law, evidence, and witnesses you choose. you may carry your case up to the highest court. law is my business; but i'll be fair and say to you that a man's case is sometimes safer settled out of court, if mercy is to play any part. i've no cause to shield you, but i'm willing you should know this." "i don't want to go to court. tell's told me over and over i'd never have a ghost of a show"--he was talking blindly now--"i want somebody to shake you loose from me. that's it, i want to get rid of you." "how much time will it require to get your counsel and come here again?" if a man sells his soul for wealth, the hardest trial of his life comes when he first gets face to face with the need of what money cannot buy; that is, loyalty. such a trial came to judson at this moment. mapleson had warned him about baronet, but in his puny egotistic narrowness he thought himself the equal of the best. now he knew that neither mapleson nor any other of the crew with whom he had been a law-breaker would befriend him. "they ain't one of 'em 'll stand by a fellow when he's down, not a one," the little man declared. "no, they never do; remember that," john baronet replied. "well, what is it you want?" he whined. "what are you going to do? settle this in court or out of it?" "out of it, out of it," judson fairly shrieked. "i'd be put out of the presbyterian church if this gets into the courts. i've got a bank account i'm not ashamed of. how much is it going to take to settle it? what's the least will satisfy you?" "settle it? satisfy me? great heavens! can a career like this be atoned for with a bank check and interest at eight per cent?" my father's disgust knew no bounds. "you are going to turn over to the account of marjory whately an amount equal to one-half the value of whately's estate at the time of his death, with a legal rate of interest, which according to his will she was to receive at the age of twenty. the will," my father went on, as he read a certain look in judson's face, "is safe in the vault of the courthouse, and there are no keys available to the box that holds it. also, you are going to pay in money the value of all the articles charged to marjory whately's account and given to other people, mostly young ladies, and especially to lettie conlow. your irregular business methods in the management of that store since o'mie began to keep your records you are going to make straight and honest by giving all that is overdue to your senior partner, mrs. irving whately. furthermore, you are going to give an account for the bank stock fraudulently secured in the days of mrs. whately's deep sorrow. this much for your property transactions. you can give it at once or stand suit for embezzlement. i have the amounts all listed here. i know your bank account and property possession. will you sign the papers now?" "but--but," judson began. "i can't. it'll take more than half, yes, all but two-thirds, i've got to my name. i can't do it. i'll have to hire to somebody if i do." "you miserable cur, the pity is you can't make up all that you owe but that cannot be proved by any available record. only one thing keeps me back from demanding a full return for all your years of thieving stewardship." "isn't that all?" judson asked. "not yet. you cannot make returns for some things. if it were all a money proposition it would be simple. the other thing you are going to do, now mark me, i've left you the third of your gains for it. you are going to make good your promise to lettie conlow, and you will do it now. you will give her your name, the title of wife. your property under the kansas law becomes hers also; her children become the heirs to your estate. these, with an honest life following, are the only conditions that can save you from the penitentiary, as an embezzler, a receiver of stolen goods, a robber of county records, a defamer of innocent men, an accomplice in helping an indian to steal a white girl, and a libertine. "i shall not release the evidence, nor withdraw the power to bring you down the minute you break over the restrictions. amos judson," (there was a terrible sternness in my father's voice, as he stood before the wretched little man), "there is an assize at which you will be tried, there is a bar whose judge knows the heart as well as the deed, and for both you must answer to him, not only for the things in which i give you now the chance to redeem yourself, but for those crimes for which the law may not now punish you. there is here one door open beside the one of iron bars, and that is the door to an honest life. redeem your past by the future." for the person who could have seen john baronet that day, who could have heard his deep strong voice and felt the power of his magnetic personality, who could have been lifted up by the very strength of his nobility so as to realize what a manhood such as his can mean--for one who could have known all this it were easy to see to how hard a task i have set my pen in trying to picture it here. "no man's life is an utter failure until he votes it so himself." my father did not relax his hold for a moment. "you must square yours by a truer line and lift up to your own plane the girl you have promised to marry, and prosperity and happiness such as you could never know otherwise will come to you. on this condition only will you escape the full penalty of the law." the little widower stood up at last. it had been a terrible grilling, but his mind and body, cramped together, seemed now to expand. "i'll do it, judge baronet. will you help me?" he put out his hand hesitatingly. my father took it in his own strong right hand. no man or woman, whether clothed upon with virtue or steeped in vice, ever reached forth a hand to john baronet and saw in his face any shadow of hesitancy to receive it. so supreme to him was the ultimate value of each human soul. he did not drop the hand at once, but standing there, as father to son he spoke: "i have been a husband. through all these long years i have walked alone and lonely, yearning ever for the human presence of my loved one lying these many years under the churchyard grasses back at old rockport. judson, be good to your wife. make her happy. you will be blessed yourself and you will make her a true good woman." * * * * * there was a quiet wedding at the presbyterian parsonage that evening. the name of only one witness appeared on the marriage certificate, the name in a bold hand of john baronet. chapter xxvi o'mie's inheritance in these cases we still have judgment here. --shakespeare. true to his word, tell mapleson's time followed hard on the finishing up of judson. my father did not make a step until he was sure of what the next one would be. that is why the supreme court never reversed his decisions. when at last he had perfected his plans, tell mapleson grew shy of pushing his claims. but tell was a shrewd pettifogger, and his was a different calibre of mind from judson's. it was not until my father was about to lay claim in his client's behalf to the valuable piece of land containing the big cottonwood and the haunted cabin, that tell came out of hiding. this happened on the afternoon following the morning scene with judson. and aside from the task of the morning, the news of bud anderson's untimely death had come that day. nobody could foretell what next this winter's campaign might hold for the springvale boys out on the far southwest plains, and my father's heart was heavy. tell mapleson was tall and slight. he was a southern man by birth, and he always retained something of the southern air in his manner. active, nervous, quick-witted, but not profound, he made a good impression generally, especially where political trickery or nice turns in the law count for coin. professionally he and my father were competitors; and he might have developed into a man of fine standing, had he not kept store, become postmaster, run for various offices, and diffused himself generally, while john baronet held steadily to his calling. in the early afternoon tell courteously informed my father that he desired an interview with the idea of adjusting differences between the two. his request was granted, and a battle royal was to mark the second half of the day. john baronet always called this day, which was friday, his black but good friday. "good-afternoon, mr. mapleson, have a chair." "good-afternoon, judge. pretty stiff winter weather for kansas." so the two greeted each other. "you wanted to see me?" my father queried. "yes, judge. we might as well get this matter between us settled here as over in the court-room, eh?" my father smiled. "yes, we can afford to do that," he said. "now, mapleson, you represent a certain client in claiming a piece of property known as the north half of section , range . i also represent a claim on the same property. you want this settled out of court. i have no reason to refuse settlement in this way. state your claim." mapleson adjusted himself in his chair. "judge, the half section of land lying upon the neosho, the one containing among other appurtenances the big cottonwood tree and the stone cabin, was set down in the land records as belonging to one patrick o'meara, the man who took up the land. he was a light-headed irishman; he ran off with a cheyenne squaw, and not long afterwards was killed by the comanches. this property, however, he gave over to a friend of his, a frenchman named le claire, connected in a business way with the big choteau fur-trading company in st. louis. this frenchman brought his wife and child here to live. i knew them, for they traded at the 'last chance' store. that was before your day here, baronet. le claire didn't live out in that cabin long, for his only child was stolen by the kiowas, and his wife, in a frenzy of grief drowned herself in the neosho. then le claire plunged off into the plains somewhere. later he was reported killed by the kiowas. now i have the evidence, the written statement signed by this irishman, of the turning of the property into le claire's hands. also the evidence that le claire was not killed by the indians. instead, he was legally married to a kiowa squaw, a sister of chief satanta, who is now a prisoner of war with general custer in the indian territory. by this union there was one child, a son, jean pahusca he is called. to this son this property now belongs. there can be no question about it. the records show who entered the land. here is the letter sworn to in my store by this same man, left by him to be given to le claire when he should come on from st. louis. the irishman was impatient to join these cheyennes he'd met on a fur-hunting trip way up on the platte, and with his affidavit before old judge fingal (he also was here before you) he left this piece of land to the frenchman." mapleson handed my father a torn greasy bit of paper, duly setting forth what he had claimed. "now, to go on," he resumed. "this kiowa marriage was a legal one, for the frenchman had a good catholic conscience. this marriage was all right. i have also here the affidavit of the rev. j. j. dodd, former pastor of the methodist church south in springvale. at the time of this marriage dodd, who was then stationed out near santa fé, new mexico, was on his way east with a wagon train. near pawnee rock le claire with a pretty squaw came to the train legally equipped and was legally married by dodd. as a wedding fee he gave this letter of land grant to dodd. 'take it,' he said, 'i'll never use it. keep it, or give it away.' dodd kept it." "until when?" my father asked. mapleson's hands twitched nervously. "until he signed it over to me," he replied. "i have everything secured," he added, smiling, and then he went on. "le claire soon got tired of the kiowas of course, and turned priest, repented of all his sins, renounced his wife and child, and all his worldly goods. it will be well for him to keep clear of old satanta in his missionary journeys to the heathen, however. you know this priest's son, jean pahusca. he got into some sort of trouble here during the war, and he never comes here any more. he has assigned to me all his right to this property, on a just consideration and i am now ready to claim my own, by force, if necessary, through the courts. but knowing your position, and that you also have a claim on the same property, i figured it could be adjusted between us. baronet, there isn't a ghost of a show for anybody else to get a hold on this property. every legal claimant is dead except this half-breed. i have papers for every step in the way to possession; and as a man whose reputation for justice has never been diminished, i don't believe you will pile up costs on your client, nor deal unfairly with him. have you any answer to my claim?" at that moment the door opened quietly and father le claire entered. he was embarrassed by his evident intrusion and would have retreated but my father called him in. "you come at a most opportune time, father le claire. mapleson here has been proving some things to me through your name. you can help us both." john baronet looked at both men keenly. mapleson's face had a look of pleasure as if he saw not only the opportunity to prove his cause, but the chance to grill the priest, whose gentle power had time and again led the indians from his "last chance" saloon on annuity days, when the peaceful osages and kaws came up for their supplies. the good father's face though serious, even apprehensive, had an undercurrent of serenity in its expression hard to reconcile with fear of accusation. "mr. mapleson, will you repeat to le claire what you have just told me and show him your affidavits and records?" john baronet asked. "certainly," tell replied, and glibly he again set forth his basis to a claim on the valuable property. "now, le claire," he added, "baronet and i have about agreed to arbitrate for ourselves. your name will never appear in this. the records are seldom referred to, and you are as safe with us as if you'd never married that squaw of old satanta's household. we are all men here, if one is a priest and one a judge and the other a land-owner." le claire's face never twitched a muscle. he turned his eyes upon the judge inquiringly, but unabashed. "will you help us out of this, le claire?" my father asked. "if you choose i will give you my claim first." "good," said mapleson. "let him hear us both, and his word will show us what to do." "well, gentlemen," my father began, "by the merest chance a few years ago i came upon the entry of the land in question. it was entered in the name of patrick o'meara. happening to recall that the little red-headed orphan chore-boy down at the cambridge house bore the same name, i made some inquiry of cam gentry about the boy's origin and found that he was an orphan from the osage mission, and had been brought up here by one of the priests who stopped here a day or two on his way from the osage to st. mary's, up on the kaw. cam and dollie were kind to the child, and he begged the priest to stay with them. the good man consented, and while the guardianship remained with the people of the mission, o'mie grew up here. it seemed not impossible that he might have some claim on this land. everything kept pointing the fact more and more clearly to me. then i was called to the war." tell mapleson's mobile face clouded up a bit at this. "but i had by this time become so convinced that i called in le claire here and held a council with him. he told me some of what he knew, not all, for reasons he did not explain" (my father's eyes were on the priest's face), "but if it is necessary he will tell." "now that sounds like a threat," mapleson urged. somehow, shrewd as he was, solid as his case appeared to himself, the man was growing uncomfortable. "i've known le claire's story for years. i never questioned him once. i had my papers from dodd. le claire long ago renounced the world. his life has proved it. the world includes the undivided north half of section , range . that's jean pahusca's. it's too late now for his father to try to get it away from him, baronet. you know the courts won't stand for it." adroit as he was, the southern blood was beginning to show in tell's nervous manner and flashing eyes. "when i came back from the war," my father went on, ignoring the interruption, "i found that the courthouse records had been juggled with. some of them, with some other papers, had been stolen. it happened on a night when for some reason o'mie, a harmless, uninfluential irish orphan, was hunted for everywhere in order to be murdered. why? he stood in the way of a land-claim, and human life was cheap that night." tell mapleson's face was ashy gray with anger; but no heed was given to him, as my father continued. "it happened that jean pahusca, who took him out of town by mistake and left him unconscious and half dead on the bank of fingal's creek, was ordered back by the ruffians to find his body, and if he was alive to finish him in any way the indian chose. that same night the courthouse was entered, and the record of this land-entry was taken." "i have papers showing o'meara's signing it over--" tell began; but my father waved his hand and proceeded. "briefly put, it was concealed in the old stone cabin by one amos judson. le claire here was a witness to the transaction." the priest nodded assent. "but for reasons of his own he did not report the theft. he did, however, remove the papers from their careless hiding-place in an old chest to a more secure nook in the far corner of the dark loft. before i came home he had left springvale, and business matters called him to france. he has not been here since, until last september when he spent a few days out at the cabin. the lead box had been taken from the loft and concealed under the flat stone that forms the door step, possibly by some movers who camped there and did some little harm to the property. "i have the box in the bank vault now. le claire turned it over to me. there is no question as to the record. two points must be settled, however. first, did o'meara give up the land he entered? and second, is the young man we call o'mie heir to the same? le claire, you are just back from the osage mission?" the priest assented. "now, will you tell us what you know of this case?" a sudden fear seized tell mapleson. would this man lie now to please judge baronet? tell was a good reader of human nature, and he had thoroughly believed in the priest as a holy man, one who had renounced sin and whose life was one long atonement for a wild, tragic, and reckless youth. he disliked le claire, but he had never doubted the priest's sincerity. he could have given any sort of bribe had he deemed the frenchman purchasable. "just one word please, judge," he said suavely. "look here, le claire, baronet's a good lawyer, a rich man, and a popular man with a fine reputation; but by jiminy! if you try any tricks with me and vary one hair from the truth, i'll have you before the civil and church courts so quick you'll think the holy inquisition's no joke. if you'll just tell the truth nobody's going to know through me anything about your former wives, nor how many half-breed papooses claim you. and i know baronet here well enough to know he never gossips." le claire turned his dark face toward mapleson, and his piercing black eyes seemed to look through the restless lawyer fidgeting in his chair. in the old days of the "last chance" saloon the two had played a quiet game, each trying to outwit the other--the priest for the spiritual and financial welfare of the indian pensioners, mapleson for his own financial gain. yet no harsh word had ever passed between them. not even after le claire had sent his ultimatum to the proprietor of the "last chance," "sell jean pahusca another drink of whiskey and you'll be removed from the indian agency by order from the secretary of indian affairs at washington." "mr. mapleson, i hope the truth will do you no harm. it is the only thing that will avail now, even the truth i have for years kept back. i am no longer a young man, and my severe illness in october forced me to get this business settled. indeed, i in part helped to bring matters to an issue to-day." mapleson was disarmed at once by the priest's frankness. he had waited long to even up scores with the roman catholic who had kept many a dollar from his till. "you are right, gentlemen, in believing that i hold the key to this situation. the judge has asked two questions: 'did patrick o'meara ever give up his title to the land?' and 'is o'mie his heir, and therefore the rightful owner?' let me tell you first what i know of o'mie. "his mother was a dear little irish woman who had come, a stranger, to new york city and was married to patrick o'meara when she was quite young. they were poor, and after o'mie was born, his father decided to try the west. fate threw him into the way of a frenchman who sent him to st. louis to the employment of a fur-trading company in the upper missouri river country. o'meara knew that the west held large possibilities for a poor man. he hoped in a short time to send for his wife and child to join him." the priest paused, and his brow darkened. "this frenchman, although he was of noble birth, had all the evil traits and none of the good ones of all the generations, and withal he was a wild, restless, romantic dreamer and adventurer. you two do not know what heartlessness means. this man had no heart, and yet," the holy man's voice trembled, "his people loved him--will always love his memory, for he could be irresistibly charming and affectionate when he chose. to make this painful story short, he fell in love--madly as only he could love--with this pretty little auburn-haired irish woman. he had a wife in france, but mrs. o'meara pleased him for the time; and he was that kind of a beast. "o'meara came to springvale, and finding here a chance to get hold of a good claim, he bought it. he built a little cabin and sent money to new york for his wife and child to join him here. mails were slow in preterritorial days. the next letter o'meara had from new york was from this frenchman telling him that his wife and child were dead. meanwhile the villain played the kind friend and brother to the little woman and helped her to prepare for her journey to the west. he had business himself in st. louis. he would precede her there and accompany her to her husband's new home. oh, he knew how to deceive, and he was as charming in manner as he was dominant in spirit. no king ever walked the earth with a prouder step. you have seen jean pahusca stride down the streets of springvale, and you know his regal bearing. such was this frenchman. "in truth," the priest went on, "he had cause to leave new york. word had come to him that his deserted french wife was on her way to america. this french woman was quick-tempered and jealous, and her anger was something to flee from. "it is a story of utter baseness. from st. louis to springvale mrs. o'meara's escort was more like a lover than a friend and business director of her affairs. this land was an osage reservation then. o'meara's half-section claim was west of here. the home he built was that little stone cabin near where the draw breaks through the bluff up the river, this side of the big cottonwood." le claire paused and sat in silence for a while. "much as i have dealt with all sorts of people," he continued, "i never could understand this frenchman's nature. fickle and heartless he was to the very core. the wild frontier life attracted him, and he, who could have adorned the court of france or been a power in new york's high circles, plunged into this wilderness. when they reached the cabin the cause for his devoted attentions was made plain. o'meara was not there, had indeed been gone for weeks. letters left at springvale directed to this frenchman read: "'i'm gone for good. a pretty cheyenne squaw away up on the platte is too much for me. tell kathleen i'm never coming back. so she is free to do what she wants to. you may have this ground i have preëmpted, for your trouble. good-bye.' "this letter, scrawled on a greasy bit of paper, was so unlike anything patrick o'meara had ever said, its spirit was so unlike his genial true-hearted nature that his wife might have doubted it. but she was young and inexperienced, alone and penniless with her baby boy in a harsh wilderness. the message broke her heart. and then this man used all the force of his power to win her. he showed her how helpless she was, how the community here would look upon her as his wife, and now since she was deserted by her husband, the father of her child, her only refuge lay with him, her true lover. "the woman's heart was broken, but her fidelity and honor were founded on a rock. she scorned the villain before her and drove him from her door. that night she and o'mie were alone in that lonely little cabin. the cruel dominant nature of the man was aroused now, and he determined to crush the spirit of the only woman who had ever resisted him. two days later a band of kiowas was passing peaceably across the plains. here the frenchman saw his chance for revenge by conniving with the indians to seize little o'mie playing on the prairie beyond the cabin. "the women out in western kansas have had the same agony of soul that kathleen o'meara suffered when she found her boy was stolen. in her despair she started after the tribe, wandering lost and starving many days on the prairie until a kind-hearted osage chief found her and took her to our blessed mission down the river. here a strange thing happened. before she had been there a week, her husband, thomas o'meara, came from a trapping tour on the arkansas river. with him was a little child he had rescued from the kiowas in a battle at pawnee rock. it was his own child, although he did not know it then. in this battle he was told that a frenchman had been killed. the name was the same as that of the frenchman he had known in new york. can you picture the joy of that reunion? you who have had a wife to love, a son to cherish?" my father's heart was full. all day his own boy's face had been before him, a face so like to the woman whose image he held evermore in sacred memory. "but their joy was short-lived, for mrs. o'meara never recovered from her hardships on the prairie; she died in a few weeks. her husband was killed by the comanches shortly after her death. his claim here he left to his son, over whom the mission assumed guardianship. o'mie was transferred to st. mary's for some reason, and the priest who started to take him there stopped here to find out about his father's land. but the records were not available. fingal, for whom fingal's creek was named, also known as judge fingal, held possession of all the records, and--how, i never knew--but in some way he prevented the priest from finding out anything. fingal was a southern man; he met a violent death that year. you know o'mie's story after that." le claire paused, and a sadness swept over his face. "but that doesn't finish the frenchman's story," he continued presently. "the night that o'mie's mother left her home in the draw, the french woman who had journeyed far to find her husband came to springvale. you know what she found. the belongings of another woman. it was she who slipped into the neosho that night. the frenchman was in the fight at pawnee rock. after that he disappeared. but he had entered a formal claim to the land as the husband of patrick o'meara's widow, heir to her property. you see he held a double grip. one through the letter--forged, of course--the other through the claim to a union that never existed." "seems to me you've a damned lot to answer for," tell mapleson hissed in rage. "if the church can make a holy man out of such a villain, i'm glad i'm a heretic." "i'm answering for it," the priest said meekly. only my father sat with face impassive and calm. "this half-section of land in question is the property of thomas o'meara, son and heir to patrick o'meara, as the records show. these stolen records i found where amos judson had hastily concealed them, as judge baronet has said. i put them in the dark loft for safer keeping, for i felt sure they were valuable. when i came to look for them, they had been moved again. i supposed the one who first took them had recovered them, and i let the matter go. meanwhile i was called home. when i came here last fall i found matters still unsettled, and o'mie still without his own. i spent several days in the stone cabin searching for the lost papers. the weather was bad, and you know of my severe attack of pneumonia. but i found the box. in the illness that followed i was kept from springvale longer than i wished. when i came again o'mie had gone." the priest paused and sat with eyes downcast, and a sorrowful face. "is this your story?" tell queried. "your proof of o'mie's claim you consider incontestable, but how about these affidavits from the rev. mr. dodd who married you to the kiowa squaw? how--" but le claire lifted his hand in commanding gesture. a sudden sternness of face and attitude of authority seemed to clothe him like a garment. "gentlemen, there is another story. a bitter, painful story. i have never told it, although it has sometimes almost driven me from the holy sanctuary because of my silence." it was a deeply impressive moment, for all three of the men realized the importance of the occasion. "my name," said the priest, "is pierre rousseau le claire. i am of a titled house of france. we have only the blood of the nobility in our veins. my father had two sons, twins--pierre the priest, and jean the renegade, outlawed even among the savages; for his scalp will hang from satanta's tepee pole if the chance ever comes. mapleson, here, has told you the truth about his being married to a sister of chief satanta. he also is the father of jean pahusca. you have noticed the boy's likeness to me. if he, being half indian, has such a strong resemblance to his family, you can imagine how much alike we are, my brother and myself. in form and gesture, everything--except--well, i have told you what his nature was, and--you have known me for many years. and yet, i have never ceased to pray for him, wicked as he is. we played together about the meadows and vine-clad hill slopes of old france, in our happy boyhood. we grew up and loved and might both have been happily wedded there,--but--i've told you his story. there is nothing of myself that can interest you. that letter of mapleson's, purporting to be from patrick o'meara, is a mere forgery. i have just come up from the mission. the records and letters of o'meara have all been kept there. this handwriting would not stand, in court, mapleson. the land was o'meara's. it is now o'mie's." mapleson sat with rigid countenance. for almost fifteen years he had matched swords with john baronet. he had felt so sure of his game, he had guarded every possible loophole where success might escape him, he had paved every step so carefully that his mind, grown to the habitual thought of winning, was stunned by the revelation. like judson in the morning, his only defence lay in putting blame on somebody else. "you are the most accomplished double-dealer i ever met," he declared to the priest. "you pretend to follow a holy calling, you profess a love for your brother, and yet you are trying to rob his child of his property. you are against jean pahusca, son of the man you love so much. is that the kind of a priest you are?" "the very kind--even worse," le claire responded. "i went back to france before my aged father died. my mother died of a broken heart over jean long ago. while our father yet lived i persuaded him to give all his estate--it was large--to the holy church. he did it. not a penny of it can ever be touched." mapleson caught his breath like a drowning man. "it spoiled a beautiful lawsuit, i know," le claire continued looking meaningly at him. "for that fortune in france, put into the hands of jean pahusca's attorneys here, would have been rich plucking. it can never be. i fixed that before our father's death. why?" "yes, you narrow, grasping robber of orphans, why?" tell shouted in his passion. "for the same reason that i stood between jean pahusca and this town until he was outlawed here. the half-breed cares nothing for property except as it can buy revenge and feed his appetites. he would sell himself for a drink of whiskey. you know how dangerous he is when drunk. every man in this town except judge baronet and myself has had to flee from him at some time or other. sober, he is a devil--half indian, half french, and wholly fiendish. neither he nor his father has any property. i used my influence to prevent it. i would do it again. jean le claire has forfeited all claims to inheritance. so have i. among the indians he is a renegade. i am only a missionary priest trying as i may to atone for my own sins and for the sins of my father's son, my twin brother. that, gentlemen, is all i can say." "we are grateful to you, le claire," john baronet said. "mapleson said before you began that your word would show us what to do. it has shown us. it is now time, when some deeds long past their due, must be requited." he turned to tell sitting defiantly there casting mentally in every direction for some legal hook, some cunning turn, by which to win victory away from defeat. "tell mapleson, the hour has come for us to settle more than a property claim between an irish orphan and a half-breed kiowa. and now, if it was wise to settle the other matter out of court, it will be a hundred times safer to settle this here this afternoon. you have grown prosperous in springvale. in so far as you have done it honestly, i rejoice. you know yourself that i have more than once proved my sincerity by turning business your way, that i could as easily have put elsewhere." tell did know, and with something of southern politeness, he nodded assent. "you are here now to settle with me or to go before my court for some counts you must meet. you have been the headpiece for all the evil-doing that has wrecked the welfare of springvale and that has injured reputation, brought lasting sorrow, even cost the life of many citizens. sooner or later the man who does that meets his own crimes face to face, and their ugly powers break loose on him." "what do you mean?" tell's voice was suppressed, and his face was livid. "i mean first: you with dick yeager and others, later in quantrill's band, in may of planned the destruction of this town by mob violence. the houses were to be burned, every union man was to be murdered with his wife and children, except such as the kiowa and comanche indians chose to spare. my own son was singled out as the choicest of your victims. little o'mie, for your own selfish ends, was not to be spared; and marjory whately, just blooming into womanhood, you gave to jean pahusca as his booty. your plan failed, partly through the efforts of this good man here, partly through the courage and quick action of the boys of the town, but mainly through the mercy of omnipotent god, who sent the floods to keep back the forces of satan. that marjory escaped even in the midst of it all is due to the shrewdness and sacrifice of the young man you have been trying to defraud--o'mie. "in the midst of this you connived with others to steal the records from the courthouse. you were a treble villain, for you set the rev. mr. dodd to a deed you afterwards held over him as a threat and drove him from the town for fear of exposure, forcing him to give you the papers he held against jean le claire's claims to the half-section on the neosho. not that his going was any loss to springvale. but dodd will never trouble you again. he cast his lot with the dog indians of the plains, and one of them used him for a shield in custer's battle with black kettle's band last december. he had not even indian burial. "those deeds against springvale belong to the days of the civil war, but your record since proves that the man who planned them cannot be trusted as a safe citizen in times of peace. into your civil office you carried your war-time methods, until the postmaster-general cannot deal longer with you. your term of office expires in six days. your successor's commission is already on its way here. this much was accomplished in the trip east last fall." my father spoke significantly. "it wasn't all that was accomplished, by heaven! there's a lawsuit coming; there's a will that's to be broken that can't stand when i get at it. you are mighty good and fine about money when other folks are getting it; but when it's coming to you, you're another man." tell's voice was pitched high now. "father le claire, let me tell you a story. baronet's a smooth rascal and nobody can find him out easily. but i know him. he has called me a thief. it takes that kind to catch a thief, maybe. anyhow, back at rockport the baronets were friends of the melrose family. one of them, ferdinand, was drowned at sea. he had some foolish delusion or other in his head, for he left a will bequeathing all his property to his brother james melrose during his lifetime. at his death all ferdinand's money was to go to john baronet in trust for his son phil. baronet, here, sent his boy back east to school in hopes that phil would marry rachel melrose, james's daughter, and so get the fortune of both ferdinand and james melrose. he went crazy over the girl; and, to be honest, for phil's a likable young fellow, the girl was awfully in love with him. baronet's had her come clear out here to visit them. but, you'll excuse me for saying it, judge, phil is a little fast. he got tangled up with a girl of shady reputation here, and rachel broke off the match. now, last october the judge goes east. you see, he's well fixed, but that nice little sum looks big to him, and he's bound phil shall have it, wife or no wife. but there's a good many turns in law. while baronet was at rockport before i could get there, being detained at washington" (my father smiled a faint little gleam of a smile in his eyes more than on his lip)--"before i could get to rockport, mr. melrose dies, leaving his wife and rachel alone in the world. now, i'm retained here as their attorney. tillhurst is going on to see to things for me. it's only a few thousand that baronet is after, but it's all rachel and her mother have. the melroses weren't near as rich as the people thought. that will of ferdinand's won't hold water, not even salt water. it'll go to pieces in court, but it'll show this pious judge, who calls his neighbors to account, what kind of a man he is. the money's been tied up in some investments and it will soon be released." le claire looked anxiously toward my father, whose face for the first time that day was pale. rising he opened his cabinet of private papers and selected a legal document. "this seems to be the day for digging up records," he said in a low voice. "here is one that may interest you and save time and money. what mapleson says about ferdinand melrose is true. we'll pass by the motives i had in sending phil east, and some other statements. when i became convinced that love played no part in phil's mind toward rachel melrose, i met him in topeka in october and gave him the opportunity of signing a relinquishment to all claims on the estate of ferdinand melrose. phil didn't care for the girl; and as to the money gotten in that way" (my father drew himself up to his full height), "the oxygen of kansas breeds a class of men out here who can make an honest fortune in spite of any inheritance, or the lack of it. i put my boy in that class." i was his only child, and a father may be pardoned for being proud of his own. "when i reached rockport," he continued, "mr. melrose was ill. i hurried to him with my message, and it may be his last hours were more peaceful because of my going. rachel will come into her full possessions in a short time, as you say. mapleson, will you renounce your retainer's fees in your interest in the orphaned?" it was tell's bad day, and he swore sulphureously in a low tone. "now i'll take up this matter where i left off," john baronet said. "while o'mie was taking a vacation in the heated days of august, he slept up in the stone cabin. jean pahusca, thief, highwayman, robber, and assassin, kept his stolen goods there. mapleson and his mercantile partner divided the spoils. o'mie's sense of humor is strong, and one night he played ghost for jean. you know the redskin's inherent fear of ghosts. it put jean out of the commission goods business. no persuasion of mapleson's or his partner's could induce jean to go back after night to the cabin after this reappearance of the long quiet ghost of the drowned woman." le claire could not repress a smile. "i think i unconsciously played the same role in september out there, frightening a little man away one night. i was innocent of any harm intended." "it did the work," my father replied. "jean cut for the west at once, and joined the cheyennes for a time--and with a purpose." then as he looked straight at tell, his voice grew stern, and that mastery of men that his presence carried made itself felt. "jean has bought the right to the life of my son. his pay for the hundreds of dollars he has turned into the hands of this man was that mapleson should defame my son's good name and drive him from springvale, and that jean in his own time was to follow and assassinate him. mapleson here was in league to protect jean from the law if the deed should ever be traced to his door. with these conditions in addition, mapleson was to receive the undivided one-half of section , range . "tell mapleson, i pass by the crime of forging lies against the name of irving whately; i pass by the plotted crimes against this town in ' ; i ignore the systematic thievery of your dealings with the half-breed jean pahusca; but, by the god in heaven, my boy is my own. for the crime of seeking to lay stain upon his name, the crime of trying to entangle him hopelessly in a scandal and a legal prosecution with a sinful erring girl, the crime of lending your hand to hold the coat of the man who should stone him to death,--for these things, i, the father of philip baronet, give you now twenty-four hours to leave springvale and the state. if at the end of that time you are within the limits of kansas, you must answer to me in the court-room over there; and, tell mapleson, you know what's before you. i came to the west to help build it up. i cannot render my state a greater service than by driving you from its borders; and so long as i live i shall bar your entrance to a land that, in spite of all it has to bear, grows a larger crop of honest men with the conquest of each acre of the prairie soil." chapter xxvii sunset by the sweetwater and we count men brave who on land and wave fear not to die; but still, still first on the rolls of the world's great souls are the men who have feared to kill. --edmund vance cooke. jean pahusca turned at the sound of o'mie's step on the stone. the red sun had blinded his eyes and he could not see clearly at first. when he did see, o'mie's presence and the captive unbound and staggering to his feet, surprised the indian and held him a moment longer. the confusion at the change in war's grim front passed quickly, however,--he was only half indian,--and he was himself again. he darted toward us, swift as a serpent. clutching o'mie by the throat and lifting him clear of the rock shelf the indian threw him headlong down the side of the bluff, crashing the bushes as he fell. the knife that had cut the cords that bound me, the same knife that would have scalped marjie and taken the boy's life in the hermit's cave, was flung from o'mie's hand. it rang on the stone and slid down in the darkness below. then the half-breed hurled himself upon me and we clinched there by the cliff's edge for our last conflict. i was in jean's land now. i had come to my final hour with him. the baronets were never cowardly. was it inherited courage, or was it the spirit of power in that letter, marjie's message of love to me, that gave me grace there? followed then a battle royal, brute strength against brute strength. all the long score of defeated effort, all the jealousy and hate of years, all the fury of final conflict, all the mad frenzy of the instinct of self-preservation, all the savage lust for blood (most terrible in the human tiger), were united in jean. he combined a giant's strength and an indian's skill with the dominant courage and coolness of a son of france. against these things i put my strength in that strange struggle on the rocky ledge in the gathering twilight of that february day. the little cove on the bluff-side, was not more than fifteen feet across at its widest place. the shelf of sloping stone made a fairly even floor. in this little retreat i had been bound and unable to move for an hour. my muscles were tense at first. i was dazed, too, by a sudden deliverance from the slow torture that had seemed inevitable for me. the issue, however, was no less awful than swift. i had just cause for wreaking vengeance on my foeman. twice he had attempted to take o'mie's life. the boy might be dead from the headlong fall at this very minute, for all i knew. the clods were only two days old on bud anderson's grave. nothing but the skill and sacrifice of o'mie had saved marjie from this brute's lust six years before. while he lived, my own life was never for one moment safe. and more than everything else was the possibility of a fate for marjie too horrible for me to dwell upon. all these things swept through my mind like a lightning flash. if ever the lord in the moment of supreme peril gave courage and self-control, these good and perfect gifts were mine in that evening's strife. with the first plunge he had thrown me, and he was struggling to free his hand from my grasp to get at my throat; his knee was on my chest. "you're in my land now," he hissed in my ear. "yes, but this is phil baronet still," i answered with a calmness so dominant, it stayed the struggle for a moment. i was playing on him the same trick by which he had so often deceived us,--the pretended relaxation of all effort, and indifference to further strife. in that moment's pause i gained my lost vantage. quick as thought i freed my other hand, and, holding still his murderous grip from my throat, i caught him by the neck, and pushing his head upward, i gave him such a thrust that his hold on me loosened a bit. a bit only, but that was enough, for when he tightened it again, i was on my feet and the strife was renewed--renewed with the fierceness of maddened brutes, lashed into fury. life for one of us meant death for the other, and i lost every humane instinct in that terrible struggle except the instinct to save marjie first, and my own life after hers. civilization slips away in such a battle, and the fighter is only a jungle beast, knowing no law but the unquenchable thirst for blood. the hand that holds this pen is clean to-day, clean and strong and gentle. it was a tiger's claw that night, and jean's hot blood following my terrific blow full in his face only thrilled me with savage courage. i hurled him full length on the stone, my heavy cavalry boot was on his neck, and i would have stamped the life out of him in an instant. but with the motion of a serpent he wriggled himself upward; then, catching me by the leg, he had me on one knee, and his long arms, like the tentacles of a devil-fish, tightened about me. then we rolled together over and under, under and over. his hard white teeth were sunk in my shoulder to cut my life artery. i had him by the long soft hair, my fingers tangled in the handfuls i had torn from his head. and every minute i was possessed with a burning frenzy to strangle him. every desire had left my being now, save the eagerness to conquer, and the consciousness of my power to fight until that end should come. we were at the cliff's edge now, my head hanging over; the blood was rushing toward my clogging brain; the sharp rock's rim, like a stone knife, was cutting my neck. jean loosened his teeth from my shoulder, and his murderous hand was on my throat. in that supreme crisis i summoned the very last atom of energy, the very limit of physical prowess, the quickness and cunning which can be called forth only by the conflict with the swift approach of death. nature had given me a muscular strength far beyond that of most men. and all my powers had been trained to swift obedience and almost unlimited endurance. with this was a nervous system that matched the years of a young man's greatest vigor. strong drink and tobacco had never had the chance to play havoc with my steady hand or to sap the vitality of my reserve forces. even as jean lifted me by the throat to crush my head backward over that sharp stone ledge, i put forth this burst of power in a fierceness so irresistible that it hurled him from me, and the struggle was still unended. we were on our feet again in a rage to reach the finish. i had almost ceased to care to live. i wanted only to choke the breath from the creature before me. i wanted only to save from his hellish power the victims who would become his prey if he were allowed to live. instinct led me to wrestle with my assailant across the ledge toward the wall that shut in about the sanctuary, just as, a half-year before, on our "rockport" fighting ground, i strove to drag him through the bushes toward cliff street, while he tried to fling me off the projecting rock. and so we locked limb and limb in the horrible contortion of this savage strife. every muscle had been so wrenched, no pain or wound reported itself fairly to the congested brain. i had nearly reached the wall, and i was making a frantic effort to fling the indian against it. i had his shoulder almost upon the rocky side, and my grip was tight about him, when he turned on me the same trick i had played in the early part of this awful game. a sudden relaxation threw me off my guard. the blood was streaming from a wound on my forehead, and i loosed my hold to throw back my long hair from my face and wipe the trickling drops from my eyes. in that fatal moment my mind went blank, whether from loss of blood or a sudden blow from jean, i do not know. when i did know myself, i seemed to have fallen through leagues of space, to be falling still, until a pain, so sharp that it was a blessing, brought me to my senses. the light was very dim, but my right hand was free. i aimed one blow at jean's shoulder, and he fell by the cliff's edge, dragging me with him, my weight on his body. his left hand hung over the cliff-side. i should have finished with him then, but that the fallen hand, down in the black shadows, had closed over a knife sticking in the crevice just below the edge of the bluff--jean le claire's knife, that had been flung from o'mie's grip as he fell. i caught its gleam as the half-breed flashed it upward in a swift stab at my heart and my breath hung back. i leaped from him in time to save my life, but not quickly enough to keep the villainous thing from cutting a long jagged track across my thigh, from which spurted a crimson flood. there could be only one thing evermore for us two. a redoubled fury seized me, and then there swept up in me a power for which i cannot account, unless it may be that the angel of life, who guards all the passes of the valley of the shadow, sometimes turns back the tide for us. a sudden calmness filled me, a cool courage contrasting with jean's frenzy, and i set my teeth together with the grip of a bulldog. jean had leaped to his feet as i sprang back from his knife-thrust, and for the first time since the fight began we stood apart for half a minute. "i may die, but i'll never be cut to death. it must be an equal fight, and when i go, jean pahusca, you are going with me. i'll have that knife first and then i'll kill you with my own hands, if my breath goes out at that same instant." there must have been something terrible in my voice for it was the voice of a strong man going down to death, firm of purpose, and unafraid. the feel of the weapon gave the indian renewed energy. he sprang at me with a maniac's might. he was a maniac henceforth. three times we raged across the narrow fighting ground. three times i struck that murderous blade aside, but not without a loss of my own blood for each thrust, until at last by sheer virtue of muscle against muscle, i wrenched it from jean's hand, dripping with my red life-tide. and even as i seized it, it slipped from me and fell, this time to the ledges far below. then hell broke all bounds for us, and what followed there in that shadowy twilight, i care not to recall much less to set it down here. i do not know how long we battled there, nor whose blood most stained the stone of that sanctuary, nor how many times i was underneath, nor how often on top of my assailant. not all the struggles of my sixty years combined, and i have known many, could equal that fight for life. there came a night in later time when for what seemed an age to me, i matched my physical power and endurance against the terrible weight of broken timbers of a burning bridge that was crushing out human lives, in a railroad wreck. and every second of that eternity-long time, i faced the awful menace of death by fire. the memory of that hour is a pleasure to me when contrasted with this hand to hand battle with a murderer. it ended at last--such strife is too costly to endure long--ended with a form stretched prone and helpless and whining for mercy before a conqueror, whose life had been well-nigh threshed out of him; but the fallen fighter was jean pahusca, and the man who towered over him was phil baronet. the half-breed deserved to die. life for him meant torturing death to whatever lay in his path. it meant untold agony for whomsoever his hand fell upon. and greater to me than these then was the murderous conflict just ended, in which i had by very miracle escaped death again and again. men do not fight such battles to weep forgiving tears on one another's necks when the end comes. when the spirit of mortal strife possesses a man's soul, the demons of hell control it. the moment for a long overdue retribution was come. as we had clinched and torn one another there jean's fury had driven him to a maniac's madness. the blessed heritage of self-control, my endowment from my father, had not deserted me. but now my hand was on his throat, my knee was planted on his chest, and by one twist i could end a record whose further writing would be in the blood of his victims. i lifted my eyes an instant to the western sky, out of which a clear, sweet air was softly fanning my hot blood-smeared face. the sun had set as o'mie cut my bonds. and now the long purple twilight of the southwest held the land in its soft hues. only one ray of iridescent light pointed the arch above me--the sun's good-night greeting to the plains. its glory held me by a strange power. god's mercy was in that radiant shaft of beauty reaching far up the sky, keeping me back from wilful murder. and then, because all pure, true human love is typical of god's eternal love for his children, then, all suddenly, the twilight scene slipped from me. i was in my father's office on an august day, and marjie was beside me. the love light in her dear brown eyes, as they looked steadily into mine, was thrilling my soul with joy. i felt again the touch of her hand as i felt it that day when i presented her to rachel melrose. her eyes were looking deep into my soul, her hand was in my hand, the hand that in a moment more would take the life of a human being no longer able to give me blow for blow. i loosed my clutch as from a leprous wound, and the indian gasped again for mercy. standing upright, i spurned the form grovelling now at my feet. lifting my bloody right hand high above me, i thanked god i had conquered in a greater battle. i had won the victory over my worser self. but i was too wise to think that jean should have his freedom. stepping to where the cut thongs that had bound me lay, i took the longest pieces and tied the half-breed securely. all this time i had fogotten o'mie. now it dawned upon me that he must be found. he might be alive still. the fall must have been broken somehow by the bushes. i peered over the edge of the bluff into the darkness of the valley below. "o'mie!" i called, "o'mie!" "present!" a voice behind me responded. i turned quickly. standing there in the dim light, with torn clothing, and tumbled red hair, and scratched face was the irish boy, bruised, but not seriously hurt. "i climbed down and round and up and got back as soon as i come too," he said, with that happy-go-lucky smile of his. "bedad! but you've been makin' some history, i see. git up, you miserable cur, and we'll march ye down to general custer. you take entirely too many liberties wid a springvale boy what's knowed you too darned long already." we lifted jean, and keeping him before us we hurried him into the presence of the fair-haired commander to whom we told our story, failing not to report on the incident witnessed by o'mie on the river bank two nights before, when jean sent his murdered father's body into the waters below him. "and so that french renegade is dead, is he," custer mused, never lifting his eyes from the ground. he had heard us through without query or comment, until now. "i knew him well. first as a missionary priest to the osages. he was a fine man then, but the plains made a devil of him; and he deserved what he got, no doubt. "now, as to this half-breed, why the devil didn't you kill him when you had the chance? dead indians tell no tales; but the holy church and the united states government listen to what the live ones tell. you could have saved me any amount of trouble, you infernal fool." i stood up before the general. there was as great a contrast in our appearance as in our rank. the slight, dapper little commander in full official dress and perfect military bearing looked sternly up at the huge, rough private with his torn, bloody clothing and lacerated hands. custer's yellow locks had just been neatly brushed. my own dark hair, uncut for months, hung in a curly mass thrown back from my scarred face. i gave him a courteous, military salute. then standing up to my full height, and looking steadily down at the slender, graceful man before me, i said: "i may be a fool, general, but i am a soldier, not a murderer." custer made no reply for a time. he sat down and, turning toward jean pahusca, he studied the young half-breed carefully. then he said briefly, "you may go now." we saluted and passed from his tent. outside we had gone only a few steps, when the general overtook us. "baronet," he said, "you did right. you are a soldier, the kind that will yet save the plains." he turned and entered his tent again. "golly!" o'mie whistled softly. "it's me that thinks jean pahusca, son av whoever his father may be, 's got to the last and worst piece av his journey. i'm glad you didn't kill him, phil. you're claner 'n ever in my eyes." we strolled away together in the soft evening shadows, silent for a time. "tell me, o'mie," i said at last, "how you happened to find me up there two hours ago?" "i was trailin' you to your hidin'-place. bud, heaven bless him, told me where your little sanctuary was, the night before he--went away." there were tears in o'mie's voice, but soldiers do not weep. "i had hard work to find the path. but it was better so maybe." "you were just in time, you red-headed angel. life is sweet." i breathed deeply of the pleasant air. "oh, why did bud have to give it up, i wonder." we sat down behind the big bowlder round which bud, wounded unto death, had staggered toward me only a few days before. "talk, o'mie; i can't," i said, stretching myself out at full length. "i was just in time to see jean spring his trap on you. i waited and swore, and swore and waited, for him to give me the chance to get betwane you and the pollutin' pup! it didn't come until the sun took his face full and square, and i see my chance to make two steps. he's so doggoned quick he'd have caught me, if it hadn't been for that blessed gleam in his eyes. he wa'n't takin' no chances. by the way," he added as an afterthought, "the general says we break camp soon. didn't say it to me, av course. good-night now. sleep sweet, and don't get too far from your chest protector,--that's me." he smiled good-bye with as light a heart as though the hours just past had been full of innocent play instead of grim tragedy. * * * * * february on the plains was slipping into march when the garrison at fort sill broke up for the final movement. this winter campaign, as war records run, had been marked by only one engagement, custer's attack on the cheyenne village on the washita river. but the hurling of so large a force as the fort sill garrison into the indian stronghold in the depth of winter carried to the savage mind and spirit a deeper conviction of our power than could have been carried by a score of victories on the green prairies of summer. for the indian stronghold, be it understood, consisted not in mountain fastnesses, cunning hiding-places, caves in the earth, and narrow passes guarded by impregnable cliffs. this was no repetition of the warfare of the celts among the rugged rocks of wales, nor of the greeks at thermopylæ, nor of the swiss on alpine footpaths. this savage stronghold was an open, desolate, boundless plain, fortified by distances and equipped with the slow sure weapons of starvation. that government was a terror to the indian mind whose soldiers dared to risk its perils and occupy the land at this season of the year. the withered grasses; the lack of fuel; the absence of game; the salty creeks, which mock at thirst; the dreary waves of wilderness sand; the barren earth under a wide bleak sky; the never-ending stretch of unbroken plain swept by the fierce winter blizzard, whose furious blast was followed by a bitter perishing weight of cold,--these were the foes we had had to fight in that winter campaign. our cavalry horses had fallen before them, dying on the way. only a few of those that reached fort sill had had the strength to survive even with food and care. john mac prophesied truly when he declared to us that our homesick horses would never cross the arkansas river again. not one of them ever came back, and we who had gone out mounted now found ourselves a helpless intantry. slowly the tribes had come to custer's terms. when delay and cunning device were no longer of any avail they submitted--all except the cheyennes, who had escaped to the southwest. spring was coming, and the indians and their ponies could live in comfort then. it was only in the winter that united states rations and tents were vital. with the summer they could scorn the white man's help, and more: they could raid again the white man's land, seize his property, burn his home, and brain him with their cruel tomahawks; while as to his wife and children, oh, the very fiends of hell could not devise an equal to their scheme of life for them. the escape of the cheyennes from custer's grasp was but an earnest of what kiowa, arapahoe and comanche could do later. these cheyennes were setting an example worthy of their emulation. not quite, to the cheyenne's lordly spirit, not quite had the cavalry conquered the plains. and now the cheyenne could well gloat over the failure of the army after all it had endured; for spring was not very far away, the barren staked plains, in which the soldier could but perish, were between them and the arm of the government, and our cavalrymen were now mere undisciplined foot-soldiers. it was to subdue this very spirit, to strike the one most effectual blow, the conquest of the cheyennes, that the last act of that winter campaign was undertaken. this, and one other purpose. i had been taught in childhood under christian culture that it is for the welfare of the home the government exists. bred in me through many generations of ancestry was the high ideal of a man's divine right to protect his roof-tree and to foster under it those virtues that are built into the nation's power and honor. i had had thrust upon me in the day of my young untried strength a heavy sense of responsibility. i had known the crushing anguish of feeling that one i loved had fallen a prey to a savage foe before whose mastery death is a joy. i was now to learn the truth of all the teaching along the way. i was to see in the days of that late winter the finest element of power the american flag can symbolize--the value set upon the american home, over which it is a token of protection. this, then, was that other purpose of this campaign--the rescue of two captive women, seized and dragged away on that afternoon when bud and o'mie and i leaned against the south wall of old fort hays in the october sunshine and talked of the hazard of plains warfare. but of this other purpose the privates knew nothing at all. the indian tribes, now full of fair promises, were allowed to take up their abode on their reservations without further guarding. general custer, with the seventh united states regiment, and colonel horace l. moore, in full command of the nineteenth kansas cavalry, were directed to reach the cheyenne tribe and reduce it to submission. a thousand men followed the twenty-one buglers on their handsome horses, in military order, down kansas avenue in topeka, on that november day in , when the kansas volunteers began this campaign. four months later, on a day in early march, custer's regiment with the nineteenth, now dismounted cavalry, filed out of fort sill and set their faces resolutely to the westward. infantry marching was new business for the kansas men, but they bent to their work like true soldiers. after four days a division came, and volunteers from both regiments were chosen to continue the movement. the remainder, for lack of marching strength, was sent up on the washita river to await our return in a camp established up there under colonel henry inman. reed, one of my topeka comrades, was of those who could not go farther. o'mie was not considered equal to the task. i fell into reed's place with hadley and john mac and pete, when we started out at last to conquer the cheyennes, who were slipping ever away from us somewhere beyond the horizon's rim. the days that followed, finishing up that winter campaign, bear a record of endurance unsurpassed in the annals of american warfare. i have read the fascinating story of coronado and his three hundred spanish knights in their long weary march over a silent desolate level waste day after day, pushing grimly to the northward in their fruitless search for gold. what did this band of a thousand weary men go seeking as they took the reverse route of coronado's to the southwest over these ceaslessly crawling sands? not the discoverer's fame, not the gold-seeker's treasure led them forth through gray interminable reaches of desolation. they were going now to put the indelible mark of conquest by a civilized government, on a crafty and dangerous foe, to plough a fire-guard of safety about the frontier homes. small heed we gave to this history-making, it is true, as we pressed silently onward through those dreary late winter days. it was a soldier's task we had accepted, and we were following the flag. and in spite of the sins committed in its name, of the evil deeds protected by its power, wherever it unfurls its radiant waves of light "the breath of heaven smells wooingly"; gentle peace, and rich prosperity, and holy love abide ever more under its caressing shadow. we were prepared with rations for a five days' expedition only. but weary, ragged, barefoot, hungry, sleepless, we pressed on through twenty-five days, following a trail sometimes dim, sometimes clearly written, through a region the indians never dreamed we could cross and live. the nights chilled our famishing bodies. the short hours of broken rest led only to another day of moving on. there were no breakfasts to hinder our early starting. the meagre bit of mule meat doled out sparingly when there was enough of this luxury to be given out, eaten now without salt, was our only food. our clothing tattered with wear and tear, hung on our gaunt frames. our lips did not close over our teeth; our eyes above hollow cheeks stared out like the eyes of dead men. the bloom of health had turned to a sickly yellow hue; but we were all alike, and nobody noted the change. as we passed from one deserted camp to another, it began to seem a will-o'-the-wisp business, an elusive dream, a long fruitless chasing after what would escape and leave us to perish at last in this desert. but the slender yellow-haired man at the head of the column had an indomitable spirit, and an endurance equalled only by his courage and his military cunning. under him was the equally indomitable kansas colonel, horace l. moore, tried and trained in plains warfare. behind them straggled a thousand soldiers. and still the march days dragged on. then the trails began to tell us that the indians were gathering in larger groups and the command was urged forward with more persistent purpose. we slept at night without covering under the open sky. we hardly dared to light fires. we had nothing to cook, and a fire would reveal our whereabouts to the indians we were pursuing. a thousand soldiers is a large number; but even a thousand men, starving day after day, taxing nerve and muscle, with all the reserve force of the body feeding on its own unfed store of energy; a thousand men destitute of supplies, cut off by leagues of desert sands from any base of reinforcement, might put up only a weak defence against the hundreds of savages in their own habitat. it was to prevent another arickaree that custer's forces kept step in straggling lines when rations had become only a taunting mockery of the memory. the map of that campaign is kept in the archives of war and its official tale is all told there, told as the commander saw it. i can tell it here only as a private down in the ranks. in the middle of a march afternoon, as we were silently swinging forward over the level plains, a low range of hills loomed up. beyond them lay the valley of the sweetwater, a tributary of the canadian river. here, secure in its tepees, was the cheyenne village, its inhabitants never dreaming of the white man's patience and endurance. fifteen hundred strong it numbered, arrogant, cunning, murderous. the sudden appearance of our army of skeleton men was not without its effect on the savage mind. men who had crossed the staked plains in this winter time, men who looked like death already, such men might be hard to kill. but lying and trickery still availed. there was only one mind in the file that day. we had come so far, we had suffered such horrors on the way, these men had been guilty of such atrocious crimes, we longed fiercely now to annihilate this band of wretches in punishment due for all it had cost the nation. i thought of the young mother and her baby boy on the frozen earth between the drifts of snow about satanta's tepee on the banks of the washita, as bud and i found her on the december day when we searched over custer's battle field. i pictured the still forms lying on their blankets, and the long line of soldiers passing reverently by, to see if by chance she might be known to any of us--this woman, murdered in the very hour of her release; and i gripped my arms in a frenzy. oh, satan takes fast hold on the heart of a man in such a time, and the christ dying on the cross up on calvary, praying "father forgive them for they know not what they do," seems only a fireside story of unreal things. in the midst of this opportunity for vengeance just, and long overdue, comes custer's lieutenant with military courtesy to colonel moore, and delivers the message, "the general sends his compliments, with the instructions not to fire on the indians." courtesy! compliments! refrain from any rudeness to the wards of the government! i was nearly twenty-two and i knew more than custer and sheridan and even president grant himself just then. i had a sense of obedience. john baronet put that into me back in springvale years ago. also i had extravagant notions of military discipline and honor. but for one brief moment i was the most lawless mutineer, the rankest anarchist that ever thirsted for human gore to satisfy a wrong. nor was i alone. beside me were those stanch fellows, pete and john mac, and hadley. and beyond was the whole line of kansas men with a cause of their own here. before my fury left me, however, we were all about face, and getting up the valley to a camping-place. i might have saved the strength the passion of fury costs. custer knew his business and mine also. down in that cheyenne village, closely guarded, were two captive women, the women of my boyhood dream, maybe. the same two women who had been carried from their homes up in the solomon river country in the early fall. what they had endured in these months of captivity even the war records that set down plain things do not deem fit to enter. one shot from our rifles that day on the sweetwater would have meant for them the same fate that befell the sacrifice on the washita, the dead woman on the deserted battle field. it was to save these two, then, that we had kept step heavily across the cold starved plains. for two women we had marched and suffered on day after day. who shall say, at the last analysis, that this young queen of nations, ruling a beautiful land under the stars and stripes, sets no value on the homes of its people, nor holds as priceless the life and safety even of two unknown women. very adroitly general custer visited, and exchanged compliments, and parleyed and waited, playing his game faultlessly till even the quick-witted cheyennes were caught by it. when the precise moment came the shrewd commander seized the chief men of the village and gave his ultimatum--a life for a life. the two white women safe from harm must be brought to him or these mighty men must become degraded captives. then followed an indian hurricane of wrath and prayers and trickery. it availed nothing except to prolong the hours, and hunger and cold filled another night in our desolate camp. day brought a renewal of demand, a renewal of excuse and delay and an attempt to outwit by promises. but a second command was more telling. the yellow-haired general's word now went forth: "if by sunset to-morrow night these two women are not returned to my possession, these chiefs will hang." so custer said, and the grim selection of the gallows and the preparation for fulfilment of his threat went swiftly forward. the chiefs were terror-stricken, and anxious messages were sent to their people. meanwhile the cheyenne forces were moving farther and farther away. the squaws and children were being taken to a safe distance, and a quick flight was in preparation. so another night of hunger and waiting fell upon us. then came the day of my dream long ago. the same people i knew first on the night after jean pahusca's attempt on marjie's life, when we were hunting our cows out on the west prairie, came now in reality before me. the sweetwater valley spread out under the late sunshine of a march day was rimmed about by low hills. beyond these, again, were the plains, the same monotony of earth beneath and sky above, the two meeting away and away in an amethyst fold of mist around the world's far bound. there were touches of green in the brown valley, but the hill slopes and all the spread of land about them were gray and splotched and dull against a blue-gray sickly sky. the hours went by slowly to each anxious soldier, for endurance was almost at its limit. more heavily still they must have dragged for the man on whom the burden of command rested. high noon, and then the afternoon interminably long and dull, and by and by came the sunset on the sweetwater valley, and a new heaven and a new earth were revealed to the sons of men. like a chariot of fire, the great sun rolled in all its gorgeous beauty down the west. the eastern sky grew radiant with a pink splendor, and every brown and mottled stretch of distant landscape was touched with golden light or deepened into richest purple, or set with a roseate bound of flame. somewhere far away, a feathery gray mist hung like a silvery veil toning down the earth from the noonday glare to the sunset glory. down in the very middle of all this was a band of a thousand men; their faded clothing, their uncertain step, their knotted hands, and their great hungry eyes told the price that had been paid for the drama this sunset hour was to bring. slowly the moments passed as when in our little sanctuary above the pleasant parks at fort sill i had watched the light measured out. and then the low hills began to rise up and shut out the crimson west as twilight crept toward the sweetwater valley. suddenly, for there had been nothing there a moment before, all suddenly, an indian scout was outlined on the top of the low bluff nearest us. motionless he sat on his pony a moment, then he waved a signal to the farther height beyond him. a second pony and a second indian scout appeared. another signal and then came a third indian on a third pony farther away. each indian seemed to call out another until a line of them had been signalled from the purple mist, out of which they appeared to be created. last of all and farthest away, was a pony on which two figures were faintly outlined. down in the valley we waited, all eyes looking toward the hills as these two drew nearer. up in a group on the bluff beyond the valley the indians halted. the two riders of the pony slipped to the ground. with their arms about each other, in close embrace, they came slowly toward us, the two captive women for whom we waited. it was a tragic scene, such as our history has rarely known, watched by a thousand men, mute and motionless, under its spell. even now, after the lapse of nearly four decades, the picture is as vivid as if it were but yesterday that i stood on the texas plains a soldier of twenty-two years, feeling my heart throbs quicken as that sunset scene is enacted before me. we had thought ourselves the victims of a hard fate in that winter of terrible suffering; but these two women, kansas girls, no older than marjie, home-loving, sheltered, womanly, a maiden and a bride of only a few months--shall i ever forget them as they walked into my life on that march day in the sunset hour by the sweetwater? their meagre clothing was of thin flour sacks with buckskin moccasins and leggins. their hair hung in braids indian fashion. their haggard faces and sad eyes told only the beginning of their story. they were coming now to freedom and protection. the shadow of old glory would be on them in a moment; a moment, and the life of an indian captive would be but a horror-seared memory. then it was that custer did a graceful thing. the subjection of the cheyennes could have been accomplished by soldiery from connecticut or south carolina, but it was for the rescue of these two, for the protection of kansas homes, that the nineteenth kansas cavalry had volunteered. stepping to our commander, colonel moore, custer asked that the kansas man should go forward to meet the captives. with a courtesy a queen might have coveted the colonel received them--two half-naked, wretched, fate-buffeted women. the officers nearest wrapped their great coats about them. then, as the two, escorted by colonel moore and his officers next of rank, moved forward toward general custer, who was standing apart on a little knoll waiting to receive them, a thousand men watching breathless with uncovered heads the while, the setting sun sent down athwart the valley its last rich rays of glory, the motionless air was full of an opalescent beauty; while softly, sweetly, like dream music never heard before in that lonely land of silence, the splendid seventh cavalry band was playing "home sweet home." chapter xxvii the heritage it is morning here in kansas, and the breakfast bell is rung! we are not yet fairly started on the work we mean to do; we have all the day before us, and the morning is but young, and there's hope in every zephyr, and the skies are bright and blue. --walt mason. it was over at last, the long painful marching; the fight with the winter's blizzard, the struggle with starvation, the sunrise and sunset and starlight on wilderness ways--all ended after a while. of the three boys who had gone out from springvale and joined in the sacrifice for the frontier, bud sleeps in that pleasant country at fort sill. the summer breezes ripple the grasses on his grave, the sunbeams caress it lovingly and the winter snows cover it softly over--the quiet grave he had wished for and found all too soon. dear bud, "not changed, but glorified," he holds his place in all our hearts. for o'mie, the winter campaign was the closing act of a comic tragedy, and i can never think sadly of the brave-hearted happy irishman. he was too full of the sunny joy of existence, his heart beat with too much of good-will toward men, to be remembered otherwise than as a bright-faced, sweet-spirited boy whose span of years was short. how he ever endured the hardships and reached springvale again is a miracle, and i wonder even now, how, waiting patiently for the inevitable, he could go peacefully through the hours, making us forget everything but his cheery laugh, his affectionate appreciation of the good things of the world, and his childlike trust in the saviour of men. his will was a simple thing, containing the bequest of all his possessions, including the half-section of land so long in litigation, and the requests regarding his funeral. the latter had three wishes: that marjie would sing "abide with me" at the burial service, that he might lie near to john baronet's last resting-place in the springvale cemetery, and that dave and bill mead, and the three andersons, with myself would be his pall bearers. dave was on the pacific slope then, and o'mie himself had helped to bear bud to his final earthly home. one of the red range boys and jim conlow filled these vacant places. reverently, as for one of the town's distinguished men, there walked beside us father le claire and judge baronet, cris mead and henry anderson, father of the anderson boys, cam gentry and dever. behind these came the whole of springvale. it was may time, a year after our southwest campaign, and the wild flowers of the prairie lined his grave and wreaths of the pink blossoms that grow out in the west draw were twined about his casket. he had no next of kin, there were no especial mourners. his battle was ended and we could not grieve for his abundant entrance into eternal peace. three of us had gone out with the nineteenth kansas cavalry, and i am the third. while we were creeping back to life at camp inman on the washita after that well-nigh fatal expedition across the staked plains to the sweetwater, i saw much of hard rope, chief man of the osage scouts. i had been accustomed to the osages all my years in kansas. neither this tribe, nor our nearer neighbors, the kaws, had ever given springvale any serious concern. sober, they were law-abiding enough, and drunk, they were no more dangerous than any drunken white man. bitter as my experience with the indian has been, i have always respected the loyal osage. but i never sought one of this or any other indian tribe for the sake of his company. race prejudice in me is still strong, even when i give admiration and justice free rein. indians had frequent business in the baronet law office in my earlier years, and after i was associated with my father there was much that brought them to us. possibly the fact that i did not dislike the osages is the reason i hardly gave them a thought at fort sill. it was not until afterwards that i recalled how often i had found the osage scouts there crossing my path unexpectedly. on the day before we broke camp at the fort, hard rope came to my tent and sat down beside the door. i did not notice him until he said slowly: "baronet?" "yes," i replied. "tobacco?" he asked. "no, hard rope," i answered, "i have every other mark of a great man except this. i don't smoke." "i want tobacco," he continued. what made me accommodating just then i do not know, but i suddenly remembered some tobacco that reed had left in my tent. "hard rope," i said, "here is some tobacco. i forgot i had it, because i don't care for it. take it all." the scout seized it with as much gratitude as an indian shows, but he did not go away at once. "something else now?" i questioned not unkindly. "you judge baronet's son?" i nodded and smiled. he came very close to me, putting both hands on my shoulders, and looking steadily into my eyes he said solemnly, "you will be safe. no evil come near you." "thank you, hard rope, but i will keep my powder dry just the same," i answered. all the time in the inman camp the scout shadowed me. on the evening before our start for fort hays to be mustered out of service he came to me as i sat alone beside the washita, breathing deeply the warm air of an april twilight. i had heard no word from home since i left topeka in october. marjie must be married, as jean had said. i had never known the half-breed to tell a lie. it was so long ago that that letter of hers to me had miscarried. she thought of course that i had taken it and even then refused to stay at home. oh, it was all a hopeless tangle, and now i might be dreaming of another man's wife. i had somehow grown utterly hopeless now. jean--oh, the thought was torture--i could not feel sure about him. he might be shadowing her night and day. custer did not tell me what had become of the indian, and i had seen on the sweetwater what such as he could do for a kansas girl. as i sat thus thinking, hard rope squatted beside me. "you go at sunrise?" pointing toward the east. i merely nodded. "i want to talk," he went on. "well, talk away, hard rope." i was glad to quit thinking. what he told me there by the rippling washita river i did not repeat for many months, but i wrung his hand when i said good-bye. of all the scouts with custer that we left behind when we started northward, none had so large a present of tobacco as hard rope. my father had demanded that i return to springvale as soon as our regiment was mustered out. morton was still in the east, and i had no foothold in the saline valley as i had hoped in the fall to have. nor was there any other place that opened its doors to me. and withal i was homesick--desperately, ravenously homesick. i wanted to see my father and aunt candace, to look once more on the peaceful neosho and the huge oak trees down in its fertile valley. for nearly half a year i had not seen a house, nor known a civilized luxury. no child ever yearned for home and mother as i longed for springvale. and most of all came an overwhelming eagerness to see marjie once more. she was probably mrs. judson now, unless jean--but hard rope had eased my mind a little there--and i had no right even to think of her. only i was young, and i had loved her so long. all that fierce battle with myself which i fought out on the west prairie on the night she refused to let me speak to her had to be fought over again. and this time, marching northward over the april plains toward fort hays, this time, i was hopelessly vanquished. i, philip baronet, who had fought with fifty against a thousand on the arickaree; who had gone with custer to the sweetwater in the dreary wastes of the texas desert; i who had a little limp now and then in my right foot, left out too long in the cold, too long made to keep step in weary ways on endlessly wearing marches; i who had lost the softness of the boy's physique and who was muscled like a man, with something of the military bearing hammered mercilessly upon me in the days of soldier life--i was still madly in love with a girl who had refused all my pleadings and was even now, maybe, another man's wife. oh, cold and terror and starvation were all bad enough, but this was unendurable. "i will go home as my father wishes," i said. "i do not need to stay there, but i will go now for a while and feel once more what civilization means. then--i will go to the plains, or somewhere else." so i argued as we came one april day into fort hays. letters from home were awaiting me, urging me to come at once; and i went, leaving o'mie to follow later when he should have rested at the fort a little. all kansas was in its maytime glory. from the freshly ploughed earth came up that sweet wholesome odor that like the scent of new-mown hay carries its own traditions of other days to each of us. the young orchards--there were not many orchards in kansas then--were all a blur of pink on the hill slopes. a thousand different blossoms gemmed the prairies, making a perfect kaleidoscope of brilliant hues, that blended with the shifting shades of green. along the waterways the cottonwood's silvery branches, tipped with tender young leaves fluttering in the soft wind, stood up proudly above the scrubby bronze and purple growths hardly yet in bud and leaf. from every gentle swell the landscape swept away to the vanishing line of distances in billowy seas of green and gold, while far overhead arched the deep-blue skies of may. fleecy clouds, white and soft as foam, drifted about in the limitless fields of ether. the glory of the new year, the fresh sweet air, the spirit of budding life, set the pulses a-tingle with the very joy of being. like a dream of paradise lay the neosho valley in its wooded beauty, with field and farm, the meadow, and the open unending prairie rolling away from it, wave on wave, in the maytime grace and grandeur. through this valley the river itself wound in and out, glistening like molten silver in the open spaces, and gliding still and shadowy by overhanging cliff and wooded covert. "dever," i said to the stage driver when we had reached the top of the divide and looked southward to where all this magnificence of nature was lavishly spread out, "dever, do you remember that passage in the bible about the making of the world long ago, 'and god saw that it was good'? well, here's where all that happened." dever laughed a crowing laugh of joy. he had hugged me when i took the stage, i didn't know why. when it came to doing the nice thing, dever had a sense of propriety sometimes that better-bred folk might have envied. and this journey home proved it. "i've got a errant up west. d'ye's lief come into town that way?" he asked me. would i? i was longing to slip into my home before i ran the gantlet of all the streets opening on the santa fé trail. i never did know what dever's "errant" was, that led him to swing some miles to the west, out of the way to the ford of the neosho above the old stone cabin where father le claire swam his horse in the may flood six years before. he gave no reason for the act that brought me over a road, every foot sacred to the happiest moments of my life. past the big cottonwood, down into the west draw where the pink blossoms called in sweet insistent tones to me to remember a day when i had crowned a little girl with blooms like these, a day when my life was in its maytime joy. on across the prairie we swung to the very borders of springvale, which was nestling by the river and stretching up the hillslope toward where the bluff breaks abruptly. i could see "rockport" gray and sun-flecked beyond its sheltering line of green bushes. just as we turned toward cliff street dever said carelessly, "lots of changes some ways sence i took you out of here last august. judson, he's married two months ago." the warm sunny glorious world turned drab and cold to me with the words. "what's the matter, baronet?--you're whiter'n a dead man!" "just a little faint. got that way in the army," i answered, which was a lie. "better now? as i was sayin', judson and lettie has been married two months now. kinder surprised folks by jinin' up sudden; but--oh, well, it's a lot better quick than not at all sometimes." i caught my breath. my "spell" contracted in the army was passing. and here were cliff street and the round turret-like corners of judge baronet's stone-built domicile. it was high noon, and my father had just gone into the house. i gave dever his fare and made the hall door at a leap. my father turned at the sound and--i was in his arms. then came aunt candace, older by more than ten months. oh, the women are the ones who suffer most. i had not thought until that moment what all this winter of absence meant to candace baronet. i held her in my strong arms and looked down into her love-hungry eyes. men are such stupid unfeeling brutes. i am, at least; for i had never read in this dear woman's face until that instant what must have been written there all these years,--the love that might have been given to a husband and children of her own, this lonely, childless woman had given to me. "aunty, i'll never leave you again," i declared, as she clung to me, and patted my cheeks and stroked my rough curly hair. we sat down together to the midday meal, and my father's blessing was like the benediction of heaven to my ears. springvale also had its measure of good breeding. my coming was the choicest news that dever had had to give out for many a day, and the circulation was amazing in its rapid transit. i had a host of friends here where i had grown to manhood, and the first impulse was to take cliff street by storm. it was cam gentry who counselled better methods. "now, by hen, let's have some sense," he urged, "the boy's jest got here. he's ben through life and death, er tarnation nigh akin to it. let's let him be with his own till to-morror. jest ac like we'd had a grain o' raisin' anyhow, and wait our turn. ef he shows hisself down on this 'er street we'll jest go out and turn the neoshy runnin' north for an hour and a half while we carry him around dry shod. but now, to-day, let him come out o' hidin', and we'll give him welcome; but ef he stays up there with candace, we'll be gentlemen fur oncet ef it does purty nigh kill some of us." "cam is right," cris mead urged. "if he comes down here he'll take his chances, but we'll hold our fire on the hill till to-morrow." "well, by cracky, the baronets never miss prayer meeting, i guess. springvale will turn out to-night some," grandpa mead declared. and so while i revelled in a home-coming, thankful to be alone with my own people, the best folks on earth were waiting and dodging about, but courteously abstaining from rushing in on our sacred home rights. in the middle of the afternoon cam gentry called to dollie to come to his aid. "jest tie the end of this rope good and fast around this piazzer post," he said. his wife obeyed before she noted that the other end was fastened around cam's right ankle. to her wondering look he responded: "ef i don't lariat myself to something, like a old hen wanting to steal off with her chickens, i'll be up to baronet's spite of my efforts, i'm that crazy to see phil once more." through the remainder of the may afternoon he sat on the veranda, or hopped the length of his tether to the side-walk and looked longingly up toward the high street, that faced the cliff, but his purpose did not change. springvale showed its sense of delicacy in more ways than this. marjie was the last to hear of my leaving when all suddenly i turned my back on the town nearly ten months before. and now, while almost every family had discussed my return--anything furnishes a little town a sensation--the whately family had had no notice served of the momentarily interesting topic. and so it was that marjie, innocent of the suppressed interest, went about her home, never dreaming of anything unusual in the town talk of that day. the may evening was delicious in its balmy air and the deepening purple of its twilight haze. the spirit of the springtime, wooing in its tone of softest music, voiced a message to the sons and daughters of men. marjie came out at sunset and slowly took her way through the sweetness of it all up to the "rockport" of our childhood, the trysting place of our days of love's young dream. her fair face had a womanly strength and tenderness now, and her form an added grace over the curves of girlhood. but her hair still rippled about her brow and coiled in the same soft folds of brown at the back of her head. her cheeks had still the pink of the wild rose bloom, and the dainty neatness in dress was as of old. she came to the rock beyond the bushes and sat down alone looking dreamily out over the neosho valley. "you'll go to prayer meeting, phil?" aunt candace asked at supper. "yes, but i believe i'll go down the street first. save a place for me. i want to see dr. hemingway next to you of all springvale." which was my second falsehood for that day. i needed prayer meeting. the sunset hour was more than i could withstand. all the afternoon i had been subconsciously saying that i must keep close to the realities. these were all that counted now. and yet when the evening came, all the past swept my soul and bore every resolve before it. i did not stop to ask myself any questions. i only knew that, lonely as it must be, i must go now to "rockport" as i had done so many times in the old happy past, a past i was already beginning numbly to feel was dead and gone forever. and yet my step was firm and my head erect, as with eager tread i came to the bushes guarding our old happy playground. i only wanted to see it once more, that was all. the limp had gone from my foot. it was intermittent in the earlier years. i was combed and groomed again for social appearing. aunt candace had hung about my tie and the set of my coat, and for my old army head-gear she had resurrected the jaunty cap i had worn home from massachusetts. with my hands in my pockets, whistling softly to abstract my thoughts, i slipped through the bushes and stood once more on "rockport." and there was marjie, still looking dreamily out over the valley. she had not heard my step, so far away were her thoughts. and the picture, as i stood a moment looking at her--will the world to come hold anything more fair, i wondered. it was years ago, i know, but so clearly i recall it now it could have been a dream of yesterday. before me were the gray rock, the dark-green valley, the gleaming waters of the neosho, the silvery mist on the farther bluff iridescent with the pink tints of sunset reflected on the eastern sky, the quiet loveliness of the may twilight, and marjie, beautiful with a girlish winsomeness, a woman's grace, a madonna's tenderness. "were you waiting for me, dearie? i am a little late, but i am here at last." i spoke softly, and she turned quickly at the sound of my voice. a look of dazed surprise as she leaped to her feet, and then the reality dawned upon her. "come, sweetheart," i said. "i have been away so long, i'm hungering for your welcome." i held out my hands to her. her face was very white as she made one step toward me, and then the love-light filled her brown eyes, the glorious beauty of the pink blossoms swept her cheek. i put my arms around her and drew her close to me, my own little girl, whom i had loved and thought i had lost forever. "oh, phil, phil, are you here again? are you--" she put her little hand against my hair curling rebelliously over my cap's brim. "are you mine once more?" "am i, marjie? six feet of me has come back; but, little girl, i have never been away. i have never let you go out of my life. it was only the mechanical action that went away. phil baronet stayed here! oh, i know it now--i was acting out there; i was really living here with you, my marjie, my own." i held her in my arms as i spoke, and we looked out at the sweet sunset prairie. the big cottonwood, shapely as ever, was outlined against the horizon, which was illumined now with all the gorgeous grandeur of the may evening. the level rays of golden light fell on us, as we stood there, baptizing us with its splendor. "oh, marjie, it was worth all the suffering and danger to have such a home-coming as this!" i kissed her lips and pushed back the little ringlets from her white forehead. "it is vouchsafed to a man sometimes to know a bit of heaven here on earth," father le claire had said to me out on this rock six years before. it was a bit of heaven that came down to me in the purple twilight of that may evening, and i lifted my face to the opal skies above me with a prayer of thankfulness for the love that was mine once more. in that hour of happiness we forgot that there was ever a storm cloud to darken the blue heavens, or ever a grief or a sin to mar the joy of living. we were young, and we were together. over the valley swept the sweet tones of the presbyterian church bell. marjie's face, radiant with light, was lifted to mine. "i must go to prayer meeting, phil. i shall see you again--to-morrow?" she put the question hesitatingly, even longingly. "yes, and to-night. let's go together. i haven't been to prayer meeting regularly. we lost out on that on the staked plains." "i must run home and comb my hair," she declared; and indeed it was a little tumbled. but from the night i first saw her, a little girl in her father's moving-wagon, with her pink sun-bonnet pushed back from her blowsy curls, her hair, however rebellious, was always a picture. "go ahead, little girl. i will run home, too. i forgot something. i will be down right away." going home, i may have walked on cliff street, but my head was in the clouds, and all the songs that the morning-stars sing together--all the music of the spheres--was playing itself out for me in the shadowy twilight as i went along. at the gate aunt candace and my father were waiting for me. "you needn't wait," i cried. "i will be there presently." "oh, joined the regular army this time," my father said, smiling. "sorry we can't keep you, phil." but i gave no heed to him. "aunt candace," i said in a low voice. "may i see you just a minute? i want to get something." "it's in the top drawer in my room, phil. the key is in the little tray on my dresser," aunt candace said quietly. she always understood me. when i reached the whately home, marjie was waiting for me at the gate. i took her little hand in my own strong big one. "will you wear it again for me, dearie?" i asked, holding up my mother's ring before her. "always and always, phil," she murmured. isn't it longfellow who speaks of "the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels," blossoming "in the infinite meadows of heaven"? they were all a-bloom that may night, and dewy and sweet lay the earth beneath them. we were a little late to prayer meeting. the choir was in its place and the audience was gathered in the pews. judge baronet always sat near the front, and my place was between him and aunt candace when i wasn't in the choir. bess anderson was just finishing a voluntary as we two went up the aisle together. i hadn't thought of making a sensation, i thought only of marjie. passing around the end of the chancel rail i gently led her by the arm up the three steps to the choir place, and turning, faced all the town as i went to my seat beside my father. i was as happy as a lover can be; but i didn't know how much of all this was written on my countenance, nor did i notice the intense hush that fell on the company. i had faced the oncoming of roman nose and his thousand cheyenne warriors; there was no reason why i should feel embarrassed in a prayer meeting in the presbyterian church at springvale. the service was short. i remember not one word of it except the scripture lesson. that was the twenty-third psalm: the lord is my shepherd; i shall not want. he maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters. he restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. yea, though i walk through the valley of the shadow of death, i will fear no evil; for thou art with me. these words had sounded in my ears on the night before the battle on the arickaree, and again in the little cove on the low bluff at fort sill, the night jean pahusca was taunting me through the few minutes he was allowing me to live. that psalm belonged to the days when i was doing my part toward the price paid out for the prairie homes and safety and peace. but never anybody read for me as dr. hemingway read it that evening. with the close of the service came a prayer of thanksgiving for my return. then for the first time i was self-conscious. what had i done to be so lovingly and reverently welcomed home? i bowed my head in deep humility, and the tears welled up. oh, i could look death calmly between the eyes as i had watched it creeping toward me on the heated plains of the arickaree, and among the cold starved sand dunes of the cimarron, but to be lauded as a hero here in springvale--the tears would come. where were custer, and moore, and forsyth, and pliley, and stillwell, and morton, if such as i be called a hero? cam gentry didn't lead the doxology that night, he chased it clear into the belfry and up into the very top of the steeple; and his closing burst of melody "praise father, son, and holy ghost," had, as bill mead declared afterwards, a regular "you-couldn't-have-done-it-better-lord-if-you-had-been-there-yourself" ring to it. then came the benediction, fervent, holy, gentle, with dr. hemingway's white face (crowned now with snowy hair) lifted up toward heaven. after that i never could remember, save that there was a hush, then a clamor, that was followed pretty soon by embraces from the older men and women, pounding thumps from the younger men and handshaking with the girls. and all the while, with a proprietary sense i had found myself near marjie, whom i kept close beside me now, her brown head just above my shoulder. more than once in the decades since then it has been my fortune to return to springvale and be met at the railway station and escorted home by the town band. sometimes for political service, sometimes for civic effort, and once because by physical strength and great daring and quick cool courage i saved three human lives in a terrible wreck; but never any ovation was like that prayer meeting in the presbyterian church nearly forty years ago. the days that followed my home-coming were busy ones, for my place in the office had been vacant. clayton anderson had devoted himself to the whately affairs, although nobody but those in the secret knew when judson gave up proprietorship and went on a clerk's pay again where he belonged. springvale was kind to judson, as it has always been to the man who tries honestly to make good in this life's struggle. it is in the kansas air, this broader charity, this estimation of character, redeemed or redeemable. my father did not tell me of his part in the whately business affairs at once, and i did not understand when, one evening, some time later, aunt candace said at the supper table: "dollie gentry tells me dr. john (so we called john anderson now), reports a twelve-pound boy over at judsons'. they are going to christen him 'john baronet judson.' aren't you proud of the name, john?" "i am of the judson part," my father answered, with that compression of the lips that sometimes kept back a smile, and sometimes marked a growing sternness. i met o'mie at topeka and brought him to springvale. it was not until in may of the next year that he went away from us and came not back any more, save in loving remembrance. in august tillhurst went east. somehow i was not at all surprised when the rockport, massachusetts, weekly newspaper, that had come to our house every tuesday while we had lived on cliff street, contained the notice of the marriage of richard tillhurst and rachel agnes melrose. the happy couple, the paper said, would reside in rockport. "they may reside at the bottom of the sea for all that i care," i said thoughtlessly, not understanding then the shadow that fell for the moment on my aunt's serene face. long afterwards when she slept beside my father in the quiet springvale cemetery on the bluff beyond fingal's creek, i found among her letters the romance of her life. i knew then for the first time that rachel's uncle, the ferdinand melrose whose life was lost at sea, was the one for whom this brave kind woman had mourned. loving as the baronets do, even unto death, she had gone down the lonely years, forgetting herself in the broad, beautiful, unselfish life she gave to those about her. it was late in the august of the following year, when the kansas prairies were brownest and the summer heat the fiercest, that i was met at the courthouse door one afternoon by a lithe, coppery osage indian boy, who handed me a bundle, saying, "from hard rope, for john baronet's son." "well, all right, sonny; only it's about time for the gentleman in there to be known as philip baronet's father. he never fought the cheyennes. he's just the father of the man who did. what's the tariff due on this junk?" the osage did not smile, but he answered mildly enough, "what you will pay." i was not cross with the world. i could afford to be generous, even at the risk of having the whole osage tribe trailing at my heels, and begging for tobacco and food and trinkets. i loaded that young buck to the guards with the things an indian prizes, and sent him away. then in my own office i undid the bundle. it was the old scarlet blanket with the white circular centre, the pattern jean pahusca always wore. this one was dirty and frayed and splotched. i turned from it with loathing. in the folds of the cloth a sealed letter was securely fastened. some soldier had written it for hard rope, and the penmanship and language were more than average fine. but the story it told i could not exult over, although a sense of lifted pressure in some corner of my mind came with the reading. briefly it recited that jean pahusca, kiowa renegade, was dead. custer's penalty for him had been to give him over to the kiowas as their captive. when the tribe left fort sill in march, satanta had had him brought bound to the kiowa village then on the lower washita. his crime, committed on the day of custer's fight with black kettle, was the heinous one of stealing his uncle satanta's youngest and favorite wife, and leaving her to perish miserably in the cold of that december month in which we also had suffered. his plan had been to escape from the kiowas and reach the cheyennes on the sweetwater before we did, to meet me there, and this time, to give no moment for my rescue. so hard rope's message ran. but this was not all. the punishment that fell on jean pahusca was in proportion to his crime, as an indian counts justice. he was sold as a slave to the apaches and carried captive to the mountains of old mexico. nor was he ever liberated again. up above the snow line, with the passes guarded (for jean was as dangerous to his mother's race as to his father's), he had fretted away his days, dying at last of cold and cruel neglect among the dreary rocks of the icy peaks. this much information hard rope's letter brought. i burned both the letter and the blanket, telling no one of them except my father. "this hard rope was for some reason very friendly to me on your account," i said. "he told me on the washita the night before we left camp inman that he had shadowed jean all the time he was at fort sill, and had more than once prevented the half-breed from making an attack on me. he promised to let me know what became of pahusca if he ever found out. he has kept his word." "i know hard rope," my father said. "i saved his life one annuity day long ago. tell mapleson had made jean pahusca drunk. you know what kind of a beast he was then. and tell had run this osage into jean's path, where he would be sure to lose his life, and tell would have the big pile of money hard rope carried. that's the kind of beast tell was. an indian has his own sense of obligation; and then it is a good asset to be humane all along the line anyhow, although i never dreamed i was saving the man who was to save my boy." "shall we tell le claire?" i asked. "only that both jean and his father are dead. we'll spare him the rest. le claire has gone to st. louis to a monastery. he will never be strong again. but he is one of the kings of the earth; he has given the best years of his manhood to build up a kingdom of peace between the white man and the savage. no record except the great book of human deeds will ever be able to show how much we owe to men like le claire whose influence has helped to make a loyal peaceful tribe like the osages. the brutal fiendishness of the plains indians is the heritage of spanish cruelty toward the ancestors of the apache and kiowa and arapahoe and comanche, and you can see why they differ from our tribes here in eastern kansas. le claire has done his part toward the purchase of the plains, and i am glad for the quiet years before him." * * * * * it was the custom in springvale for every girl to go up to topeka for the final purchases of her bridal belongings. we were to be married in october. in the late september days mrs. whately and her daughter spent a week at the capital city. i went up at the end of the visit to come home with them. since the death of irving whately nothing had ever roused his wife to the pleasure of living like this preparation for marjie's marriage, and mrs. whately, still a young and very pretty woman, bloomed into that mature comeliness that carries a grace of permanence the promise of youth may only hint at. she delighted in every detail of the coming event, and we two most concerned were willing to let anybody look after the details. we had other matters to think about. "come, little sweetheart," i said one night after supper at the teft house, "your mother is to spend the evening with a friend of hers. i want to take you for a walk." strange how beautiful topeka looked to me this september. it had all the making of a handsome city even then, although the year since i came up to the political rally had brought no great change except to extend the borders somewhat. like two happy young lovers we strolled out toward the southwest, past the hole in the ground that was to contain the foundation of the new wings for the state capitol, past washburn college, and on to where the slender little locust tree waved its dainty lacy branches in graceful welcome. "marjie, i want you to see this tree. it's not the first time i have been here. rachel--mrs. tillhurst--and i came here a few times." marjie's hand nestled softly against my arm. "i always made faces at it as soon as i got away from it; but it is a beautiful little tree, and i want to put you with it in my mind. it was here last fall that my father said he didn't believe that you were engaged to amos judson." "didn't believe," marjie cried; "why, phil, he knew i wasn't. i told him so when he was asked to urge me to marry amos." "he urge you to marry amos! now marjie, girl, i hate to be hard on the gentleman; but if he did that it's my duty to scalp him, and i will go home and do it." but marjie explained. we sat in the moonlight by the locust-tree just as rachel and i had done; only now topeka and the tree and the silvery prairie and the black-shadowed shunganunga creek, winding down toward the kaw through many devious turns, all seemed a fairy land which the moonbeams touched and glorified for us two. i can never think of topeka, even to-day, with its broad avenues and beautiful shaded parks and paved ways, its handsome homes and churches and colleges, with all these to make it a proud young city--i can never think of it and leave out that sturdy young locust, grown now to a handsome tree. and when i think of it i do not think of the beautiful black-haired eastern girl, with her rich dress and aristocratic manner. but always that sweet-faced, brown-eyed kansas girl is with me there. and the open prairie dipping down to the creek, and the purple tip of burnett's mound, make a setting for the picture. * * * * * one october day when the wooded valley of the neosho was in its autumn glory, when the creeping vines on the gray stone bluff were aflame with the frost's rich scarlet painting, and the west prairies were all one shimmering sea of gold flecked with emerald and purple; while above all these curved the wide magnificent skies of kansas, unclouded, fathomless, and tenderly blue; when the peace of god was in the air and his benediction of love was on all the land,--on such a day as this, the clear-toned old presbyterian church bell rang the wedding chimes for marjory whately and philip baronet. loving hands had made the church a bower of autumn coloring with the dainty relief of pink and white asters against the bronze richness of the season. bess anderson played the wedding march, as we two came up the aisle together and met dr. hemingway at the chancel rail. i was in my young manhood's zenith, and i walked the earth like a king. marjie wore my mother's wedding veil. her white gown was soft and filmy, a fabric of her mother's own choosing, and her brown wavy hair was crowned with orange blossoms. springvale talked of that wedding for many a moon, for there was not a feature of the whole beautiful service, even to the very least appointment, that was not perfect in its simplicity and harmonious in its blending with everything about it. among the guests in the baronet home, where everybody came to wish us happiness, was my father's friend and my own hero, morton of the saline valley. somehow i needed his presence that day. it kept me in touch with my days of greatest schooling. the quiet, forceful friend, who had taught me how to meet the realities of life like a man, put into my wedding a memory i shall always treasure. o'mie was still with us then. when his turn came to greet us he held marjie's hand a moment while he slyly showed her a poor little bunch of faded brown blossoms which he crumpled to dust in his fingers. "i told you i wouldn't keep them no longer'n till i caught the odor of them orange blooms. they are the little pink wreath two other fellows threw away out in the west draw long ago. the rale evidence of my good-will to you two is locked up in judge baronet's safe." we laughed, but we did not understand. not until the irish boy's will was read, more than half a year later, when the pink flowers were blooming again in the west draw, did we comprehend the measure of his good-will. for by his legal last wish all his possessions, including the land, with the big cottonwood and the old stone cabin, became the property of marjory whately and her heirs and assigns forever. out there in later years we built our country home. the breezes of summer are always cool there, and from every wide window we can see the landscape the old cottonwood still watches over. above the gateway to the winding road leading up from the west draw is inscribed the name we gave the place, o'mie-heim. sixty years, and a white-haired, young-hearted young man i am who write these lines. for many seasons i have sat on the judge's bench. law has been my business on the main line, with land dealings on the side, and love for my fellowmen all along the way. half a century of my life has run parallel with the story of kansas, whose beautiful prairies have been purchased not only with the coin of the country, but with the coin of courage and unparalleled endurance. to-day the rippling billows of yellow wheat, the walls on walls of black-green corn, the stretches of emerald alfalfa set with its gems of amethyst bloom; orchard and meadow, grove and grassy upland, where cattle pasture; populous cities and churches and stately college halls; the whirring factory wheels, the dust of the mines, the black oil derrick and the huge reservoirs of natural gas, with the slender steel pathways of the great trains of traffic binding these together; and above all, the sheltered happy homes, where little children play never dreaming of fear; where sweet-browed mothers think not of loneliness and anguish and peril--all these are the splendid heritage of a land whose law is for the whole people, a land whose god is the lord. slowly, through tribulation, and distress, and persecution, and famine, and nakedness, and peril, and sword; through fire and flood; through summer's drought and winter's blizzard; through loneliness, and fear, and heroism, and martyrdom too often at last, the brave-hearted, liberty-loving, indomitable people have come into their own, paying foot by foot, the price that won this prairie kingdom in the heart of the west. down through the years of busy cares, of struggle and achievement, of hopes deferred and victories counted, my days have run in shadow and sunshine, with more of practical fact than of poetic dreaming. and through them all, the call of the prairie has sounded in my soul, the voice of a beautiful land, singing evermore its old, old song of victory and peace. aye, and through it all, beside me, cheering each step, holding fast my hand, making life always fine and beautiful and gracious for me, has been my loved one, marjie, the bride of my young manhood, the mother of my sons and daughters, the light of my life. it is for such as she, for homes her kind have made, that men have fought and dared and died, fulfilling the high privilege of the american citizen, the privilege to safeguard the hearthstones of the land above which the flag floats a symbol of light and law and love. and i who write this know--for i have learned in the years whose story is here only a half-told thing under my halting pen--i know that however fiercely the storms may beat, however wildly the tempests may blow, however bitter the fighting hours of the day may be, beyond the heat and burden of it all will come the quiet eventide for me, and for all the sons and daughters of this prairie land i love. though the roar of battle fill all the noontime, in the blessed twilight will come the music of "_home, sweet home_." note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/ / -h.zip) chicken little jane on the big john [illustration: came half way across and held out his hand.] chicken little jane by lily munsell ritchie new york britton publishing company copyright, , by britton publishing company, inc. made in u. s. a. all rights reserved. contents chapter page i with huz and baby jill in the pasture ii harking back to centerville iii chicken little pays a visit iv a cherry penance v the guests arrive vi a hunting party vii pigs viii a party and a picnic ix bread and polliwogs x supper at the captain's xi calico and company xii dick and alice go on alone xiii chicken little and ernest xiv off to annapolis xv school xvi the prairie fire xvii the lost oyster supper xviii an april fool frolic xix sherm hears bad news xx the captain finds his own chapter i with huz and baby jill in the pasture "chicken little--chicken little!" mrs. morton's face was flushed with the heat. she was frying doughnuts over a hot stove and had been calling chicken little at intervals for the past ten minutes. providence did not seem to have designed mrs. morton for frying doughnuts. she was very sensitive to heat and had little taste for cooking. she had laid aside her silks and laces on coming to the ranch, but the poise and dignity that come from years of gentle living were still hers. her formal manner always seemed a trifle out of place in the old farm kitchen. on this particular morning she was both annoyed and indignant. "she is the most provoking child!" she exclaimed in exasperation as dr. morton stepped into the kitchen. "provoking--who?--chicken little? what's the matter now?" "that child is a perfect fly-away. i can no more lay my hands on her when i need her than i could on a flea. she is off to the pasture, or out watching the men plow, or trotting away, no one knows where, with the two pups. and the worst of it is you encourage her in it, father. you forget she is thirteen years old--almost a woman in size! she is too old to be such a tomboy. she should be spending her time on her music and sewing, or learning to cook--now that school's out for the summer." dr. morton laughed. "oh, let up on the music for a year or two, mother. chicken little's developing finely. she's a first rate little cook already. you couldn't have prepared a better breakfast yourself than she gave us that morning you were sick. you don't realize how much she does help you, and as to running about the farm, that will be the making of her. she is growing tall and strong and rosy. you don't want to make her into an old woman." "it is all very well to talk, father, but i intend to have my only daughter an accomplished lady, and i think you ought to help me. she is too old to be wasting her time this way. but have you any idea where she is? i want to send her over to benton's after eggs. i have used all mine up for settings, and i can't make the custard pies you are so fond of, till i get some." dr. morton laughed again. "yes, i have an exact idea where she is. set your kettle back on the stove a moment and come and see." mrs. morton followed him, leaving her doughnuts rather reluctantly. ranch life had proved full of hardships to her. the hardships had been intensified because it was almost impossible to secure competent servants, or, indeed, servants of any kind. the farmer's daughters were proud--too proud to work in a neighbor's kitchen even if they went shabby or, as often happened among the poorer ones, barefoot, for lack of the money they might easily have earned. mrs. morton was not a strong woman and the unaccustomed drudgery was telling on her health and spirits. dr. morton, on the other hand, enjoyed the open-air life and the freedom from conventional dress and other hampering niceties. mrs. morton followed her husband through the long dining room and little hall to the square parlor beyond. he stopped in the doorway and motioned her to come quietly. jane sat curled up in a big chair with two fat, limp collie pups fast asleep in her lap. she was so lost in a book that she scarcely seemed to breathe in the minute or two they stood and watched her. "well, i declare, why didn't she answer me when i called?" "chicken little," dr. morton called softly. chicken little read placidly on. "chicken little,"--a little louder. still no response. "chicken little," her father raised his voice. chicken little never batted an eyelash. one of the dogs looked up with an inquiring expression, but apparently satisfying himself that he was not to be disturbed, dozed off again. "chicken little--chick-en lit-tle!" "ye-es," the girl came to life enough to reply absently. dr. morton turned to his wife with a triumphant grin. "now, do you see why she didn't answer? she is several thousand miles and some hundreds of years away, and she can't get back in a hurry--blest be the concentration of childhood!" "what is it she's reading?" "kennilworth. amy robsart is probably waiting for leicester at this identical moment. why return to prosaic errands and eggs when you can revel in a world of romance so easily?" "father, you will ruin that child with your indulgence!" mrs. morton walked deliberately across the room and removed the book from her daughter's hands. jane came to herself with a start. "why, mother!" "how many times have i told you, little daughter, that there is to be no novel-reading until your work and your practising are both done? here i have been calling you for several minutes and you don't heed any more than if you were miles away. i shall put this book away till evening. come, i want you to go over to benton's and get me four dozen eggs." jane got up inwardly protesting, and in so doing, tumbled the two surprised and grumbling pups upon the floor. she didn't mind doing the errand. she was unusually willing to be helpful though often very heedless about noticing that help was needed. "can i go by the pasture, father? it's a lot shorter than round by the road." "yes, i think it's perfectly safe. there are only about thirty head of steers there now, and they won't pay any attention to you. well, i must be off. do you want anything from town, mother?" "yes, i have a list." "get it ready, will you, while i go across and see what marian's commissions are." "across" meant across the road to the white cottage where frank and marian and their beloved baby daughter, jill, lived. little jill was two and a half years old and everybody's pet, from jim bart, the hired man, to "anjen," which was jilly's rendering of auntie jane. even huz and buz, the two collie pups, followed her about adoringly, licking her hands and face when opportunity offered, to her great indignation. "do way, huz, do way, buz," was frequently heard, followed by a wail if their attentions persisted. the family watched dr. morton drive away in the spring wagon down the long tree-bordered lane. when he was out of sight, jane picked up the egg basket and started off toward the pasture gate. "where are you going, chicken little?" marian called after her. "to benton's for eggs." "to benton's? let me see, that's less than a quarter of a mile, isn't it? i wonder if you'd mind taking jilly along. she could walk that far if you'd go slow, and it's such a lovely day, i'd like to have her out in the sunshine--and i'm horribly busy this morning." "of course, i'll take her. come on, jilly, you lump of sweetness, we'll pick some pretty flowers. you aren't in a great hurry for the eggs, are you, mother?" "oh, if you get back by eleven it will be all right. i have to finish the doughnuts and do several other things before i will be ready for the pies." "that's a whole hour--we can get back easy in an hour--can't we, jilly-dilly?" marian in spite of her busy morning watched them till they entered the pasture, the sturdy little baby figure pattering along importantly beside the tall slim girl. "how fast they're both growing," she thought. "jane's always so sweet with jilly--i feel safe when she's with her." "o jane," she called a moment later, "i wouldn't take the pups along if you are going through the pasture. the cattle don't like small dogs." huz and buz, after lazily watching the children walk off, had apparently decided to join them, and were bringing up the rear a few yards behind. they were fat, rollicking pups, too young and clumsy to be very firm on their legs as yet. jane turned round and ordered the rascals home. marian called them back also, and after deliberating a moment uncertainly, they obeyed. they were encouraged to make a choice by a small stick chicken little hurled at them. "go on," said marian, "i'll see that they don't follow you." she coaxed the dogs round to the back of the house and saw them greedily lapping a saucer of milk before she went back to her work. buz settled down contentedly in the sunshine after the repast was over, but huz, who was more adventurous, hadn't forgotten that his beloved jane and jilly were starting off some place without him. he gave the saucer a parting lick around its outer edge to make sure he wasn't missing anything, then watched the kitchen door for some fifty seconds with ears perked up, to see whether any further refreshments or commands might be expected from that quarter. marian was singing gaily about her work in a remote part of the cottage, and huz presently trotted off round the corner of the house after the children. they had gone some distance into the pasture, but he tagged along as fast as his wobbling legs would carry him, whining occasionally because he was getting tired and felt lonesome so far behind. huz had never gone out into the world alone before. jane and jilly were enjoying themselves. it was late may and the prairies were billowy with soft waving grasses and gaily tinted with myriads of wild flowers. "aren't they lovely, jilly?" chicken little filled one tiny moist hand with bright blossoms. "and see, dear, here's a sensitive plant! look close and see what the baby leaves do when anjen touches them. see, they all lie down close to the mamma stem--isn't that funny?. now watch, after a little they'll all open up again. here's another. jilly, touch this one." jilly poked out one fat finger doubtfully, and after some coaxing, gave the pert green leaves a quick dab. they drooped and the child laughed gleefully. "do, mamma, 'eaves do, mamma!" she shouted. she insisted on touching every spray in sight. so absorbed were they in this pretty sport they did not notice that a group of steers off to the right had lifted their heads from their grazing and were looking in their direction. neither did they see a small black and white pup, whose pink ribbon of a tongue was lolling out of his mouth as he, panting from his unusual exertions, approached them. huz had been game. having set out to come, he had come, but huz was intuitive. he realized in his doggish consciousness that he wasn't wanted and he deemed it wise not to make his presence known. while chicken little and jilly loitered, he stretched himself out for a much-needed rest, keeping one eye on them and the other on the grazing steers, who stopped frequently to cast curious glances at the intruders. presently the children walked on and huz softly pattered along a few paces in the rear. all went well until they came abreast of the steers. chicken little was amazed to see the foremost one lift his head, then start slowly toward them. "oh, dear," she thought, "perhaps he thinks we've got salt for him." huz saw the movement, too, and some instinct of his shepherd blood asserted itself. he evidently considered the approach of the steer menacing and felt it his duty to interfere. with a sharp little staccato bark he dashed off in the direction of the herd as fast as his fat legs would carry him. his dash had much the effect of a pebble thrown into a pool, which gradually sets the whole surface of the water in motion. one by one the steers stopped grazing and faced in his direction, snuffing and hesitant. huz yapped and continued to approach them boldly. chicken little saw the culprit with a shiver of dismay. "o huz--you rascal! oh, dear, and cattle hate a little dog! come back here, huz--huz! huz--shut up, you scamp!" but huz, like many misguided human beings, thought he saw his duty and was doing it, regardless of possible consequences. he heeded chicken little to the extent of stopping in his tracks but persisted in his sharp yapping. the nearest steer began to move toward him, the others, one by one, gradually following. chicken little was frightened, though at first, only for poor foolish little huz. "oh, they'll kill him if he doesn't stop! he can't drive cattle, the silly goose! huz! huz! come here! hush up!" huz retreated slowly as the steers approached. the many pairs of hostile eyes and the long horns pointed in his direction were beginning to strike terror into his doggish heart, but his nerve was still good and he barked to the limit of his lungs. the steers came on faster. jane's breath grew quick and short as she watched them. the children were too far from either fence to escape the steers by flight. even if she were alone, she could not hope to outrun them, and with jilly, the case would be hopeless. there was only one thing to be done. she had seen enough of cattle during the past three years to know exactly what that was--she must drive them back. putting jilly behind her, she gathered up some loose stones and commenced to hurl them at the advancing steers. "hi there! hi, hi!" she yelled fiercely, starting toward them brandishing her arms. the cattle paused, wavered, might have turned, but huz, being thus reinforced, barked lustily again. the steers edged forward as if fascinated by this small, noisy object. "huz, huz, why can't you be still?" gathering up jilly in her arms and bidding her hold tight and be very quiet, chicken little started on the run to huz and speedily cuffed him into silence. but the steers were still curious and resentful. as she started to walk on, with huz slinking crestfallen at her heels, the cattle moved after them. "i'll have to get him out of sight!" she picked him up by the scruff of his neck and put him into jilly's chubby arms. "here, honey, you hold huz, and slap him hard if he barks. bad huz to bark!" jilly hugged the dog tight. "huz bark, jilly sap," she remarked complacently. the cattle stopped when the dog disappeared from the ground. chicken little started toward them carrying her double burden and yelling "hi, hi!" until they gave back a little. she persisted until she succeeded in heading them away from the road. then she started on across the pasture still carrying jilly and huz, afraid to set either of them down lest they should attract the cattle. but the herd's curiosity had been thoroughly aroused. they were uneasy, and by the time chicken little had walked a hundred yards further on, they had faced toward her again and stood with heads up and tails waving, watching her. she began to walk rapidly, not daring to run lest she should give out under the child's weight. another twenty yards and the steers were following slowly after her. she quickened her pace; the herd also came faster. chicken little knew cattle were often stampeded by mere trifles. jilly, seeing the bristling horns approaching, commenced to whimper. "do home, anjen, do home--jilly's 'faid!" jane soothed the child in a voice that was fast growing shaky with terror. "i mustn't get scared and lose my head," she argued with herself. "father says that's the worst thing you can do in danger. i must keep them back! marian trusted me with jilly--i must be brave!" turning resolutely she confronted the herd, yelling and waving till with great exertion she headed them about once more. this time she gained a couple of hundred yards before they followed. jilly, peeping fearfully over her shoulder, gave her warning. when she looked back and saw those thirty pair of sharp horns turned again in their direction, the girl gave a sob of despair. there was not another human being in sight. the soft, undulating green of the prairie seemed to sweep around them like a sea. jane looked up into the warm, blue sky overhead and prayed out loud. "o lord, please keep them back. i'm doing the best i can, god, but--but--it's so far to the fence! i truly am, lord, and jilly's so little!" "hi there, hi, hi! yes, jilly, yes, course anjen'll take care of you!" her panic-stricken tones were hardly reassuring, the child wailed louder, casting frightened glances at the steers, then burying her face on jane's shoulder. the cattle were approaching on the trot, their great bodies swinging and jostling beneath that thicket of horns as the animals in the rear pushed and crowded against the leaders. the steady thud of their hoofs seemed to shake the ground rhythmically. jilly could hear even when she couldn't see, and clung convulsively to anjen with one arm while the other squeezed tight the chastened huz. chicken little sent up a last petition, as gathering up her remaining shreds of courage, she charged once more. "o god, please, please, help a little!" she never knew exactly what happened after that. jilly was past all control. she was screaming steadily but her anguished howls were almost providential for they helped out jane's weakening shouts. again and again jane turned the steers, her voice growing fainter and hoarser. the cattle seemed to gather impetus with each rush--the distance between them was fast lessening and the beasts became more and more unruly about going back. but in some miraculous way she kept them off until mr. benton, plowing in a field near the fence, was attracted by jilly's screams and rushed to their rescue. driving away the steers, he lifted jilly and huz from chicken little's aching arms, and took them all in to his wife to be comforted. it was some little time before chicken little could give the benton's an intelligible account of what had excited the steers. mr. benton's astonishment was unbounded. "well, chicken little, i'll never say another word 'bout city folks being skeery. you ain't so bad for a tenderfoot. how'd you know enough to face them that way instead of running? if you'd run they'd trampled you all into mince meat! steers are the terablist critters!" chicken little was too shaky to answer with anything but a smile. mrs. benton refreshed them with milk and cookies and after the children had recovered from their fright, mr. benton drove them home. frank came to lift jilly from the buggy and mr. benton related their adventure with a relish. "clean grit, that sister of yours!" he ended. "she never even let go of that plaguey dog. the tears was a streamin' down her face and i low she'd pray one minute and let out a yell at them blasted steers the next." the tears stood in frank's eyes as he hugged both jane and jilly close after mr. benton drove away. "i'll never forget this, little sister." "why, frank, it was the only thing i could do. marian trusted jilly to me and i couldn't let poor little huz be killed!" huz evidently approved this last sentiment, for he gambolled around the group, doing his doggish best to please. chicken little's modesty, however, was destined to be short-lived. by the time her mother and marian and ernest had all praised and made much of her exploit, she felt herself a real heroine. she was a natural-born dreamer, and she spent the remainder of the day in misty visions of wondrous adventures in which she always played the leading part. chapter ii harking back to centerville mrs. morton was sitting by the dining room window one afternoon about a week later, busily knitting. "here comes father, jane. run out and get the mail. there should be a letter from alice telling about the wedding and when they are coming." "oh, i do hope there is!" chicken little flew out the door and down the path to the road where father was unloading bundles before he drove on to the stables. "from alice? yes, and one from katy and gertie, and three for marian. she's the popular lady this time." dr. morton handed out the treasures. "hurry, mother," chicken little fairly wriggled with eagerness as she tossed the letters into her mother's lap. "don't be so impatient, child! little ladies should cultivate repose of manner. where are my spectacles? i was sure i laid them on the desk." mrs. morton was peering around anxiously on desk and table and mantel, when chicken little suddenly began to laugh. "on your head, mumsey, on your head! hurry up and read the letter--i just can't wait." her mother carefully unfolded the sheets and read them to herself deliberately before satisfying jane's curiosity. "they are not coming until the last of june," she said finally. "dick has an important case set for the tenth and they would have to make a hurried trip if they came before that, so they have settled down in the old home till the law suit is over. then they are coming for a nice long visit. alice says if dick wins the case they are going clear to san francisco, but if he doesn't, they'll go only as far as denver. oh, here's a note for you, chicken little, from dick. and alice says, perhaps they'll bring katy and gertie with them, if it is convenient for us to entertain so many, and leave them here while they go on out west. dear me, i don't know! gertie hasn't been very well, it seems, and mrs. halford is anxious to have her go to the country somewhere. why, child----" jane had paused with dick's cherished note half-opened to skip and jump deliriously till she was almost breathless. "o mother, wouldn't that be glorious? you could put another bed in my room, and, maybe, they'd stay all summer. oh, goody-goody, goody, goody, goody!" dr. morton coming in, caught her in the midst of her war dance and gave her a resounding kiss. "here, mother, where did you get this teetotum? we might sell her for a mechanical top--warranted perpetual motion. when the legs give out, the tongue still wags." "i don't care, father, katy and gertie are coming. i just can't wait!" jane hugged her father and did her best to spin his two hundred pounds avoirdupois around with her. when she had sobered down a little she remarked doubtfully: "but, mother, katy and gertie didn't say a single word about coming, in their letter." "probably mrs. halford hasn't told them. she would naturally write to me first, to find out if it is perfectly convenient for us before she roused their expectations. i presume alice's letter is only a suggestion, and if i reply to it favorably, mrs. halford will write. i shall think it over." "think it over? why, mother, you're going to ask them to come, aren't you?" chicken little's eyes were big with pained surprise. "my dear, i think it likely that i shall invite them--it would be good for you to have companions of your own class once more. but it will mean a great deal of extra work, and unless i can get someone to help me, i do not see how i can manage it." "mother, i'll help, and katy and gertie won't mind washing dishes." "now, little daughter, we will let the matter rest for a day or two. don't you want to hear about alice's wedding?" "read it aloud, mother morton." it was marian speaking. she was standing in the door with jilly fresh and rosey from a long nap. mrs. morton looked up. "jilly doesn't seem any the worse for her bump this morning, does she?" "no, that's the blessed thing about children, they get over things so easily. by the way, father, frank told me to tell you that he had taken ernest with him over to the captain's after a load of hay. they'll probably have supper there and be late getting home--that is if captain clarke asks them to stay--he is such a queer old duck." "he doesn't seem very neighborly, according to reports. i've found him pleasant the few times i have met him," said dr. morton, "but let's have alice's letter." mrs. morton adjusted her spectacles and began to read. "dear, dear mrs. morton: "if we could only have had all the morton family, great and small, present, the harding-fletcher nuptials, as dick insists upon calling our wedding--he quotes from the cincinnati paper--would have been absolutely perfect. uncle joseph and aunt clara couldn't have done more for me if i had been their very own. aunt clara insisted upon having the big church wedding, which i fear your quiet taste would not approve, but it was very lovely. and i do think the atmosphere of a big church and the beautiful music are wonderfully impressive. dick says it's the proper thing to tie the bridal knot with all the kinks you can invent--it makes it more secure. he said it was miles from the vestry to the chancel and his knees got mighty wobbly before he arrived, but after thinking it over, he concluded i was worth the walk--the heathen! oh, i almost forgot to tell you that the sun shone on the bride most gloriously and the old church was a perfect bower of apple-blossoms and white lilacs. my wedding dress was white satin with a train. i wore aunt clara's wedding veil. it was real brussels lace and i was scared to death for fear something would happen to it. i warned dick off until he declared that the next time he got married the bride should either be out in the open, or have a mosquito net that wasn't perishable. i'm not going to tell you about my trousseau because i intend to bring it along to show you. i want you to be surprised, and oh! and ah! over every single thing, because it is so wonderful for alice fletcher to have such beautiful clothes. dick is looking over my shoulder and he says he thinks it's time i learned that my name is alice harding. he says he's going to have a half-dozen mottoes printed with---- 'my name is harding. on the cincinnati hills i lost the fletcher!' on them, and hang them about our happy home. tell chicken little i've saved a big chunk of bride's cake for her, and i'm dying to see her. it doesn't seem possible that she is almost as tall as marian." the letter ran on with much pleasant chatter of the new home, which was the same dear old one where alice had been born, and where the morton family had spent the two happy years that were already beginning to seem a long way off. alice had graduated the preceding year, but uncle joseph would not listen either to her plea that she should pay the money back from her little inheritance, or that she should carry out her plan of teaching. he said it would be bad enough to give her up to dick just as they had all learned to love her--she must stay with them as long as possible. dick's letter was as full of nonsense as dick himself. it was written with many flourishes to: "miss chicken little jane morton, big john creek, morris county, kansas. "dear miss morton, "i would respectfully inform you that your dear friend alice fletcher is no more--there ain't no such person. she made a noble end in white satin covered with sticky out things, and her stylish aunt's lace curtain. she looked very lovely, what i could see of her through the curtain. my dear miss morton, i beseech you when you get married, don't wear a window curtain. because if you do the groom and the sympathizing friends can't see how hard you are taking it. alice didn't look mournful when the plaguey thing was removed, but her aunt wept copiously at the train and took all the starch out of alice's fresh linen collar. and alice said it would be a sight, if i mussed it. i don't see the connection, do you? dear chicken little, i thought about you all the time i wasn't thinking about alice, because i remembered a certain other wedding where the dearest small girl in the world introduced me to the dearest big girl in the world. i thought also of the little partner who wrote a certain letter and of many other things--i didn't even forget the baby mice, chicken little! alice says she would like to have your name on her diploma along with the president's because--well, you know why. and they tell us you are chicken big now. thirteen going on, is a frightful age! the worst of it is you can never stop 'going on.' i suppose i need not expect to be asked to any doll parties, but, jane, wouldn't you--couldn't you, take me fishing when we come? i will promise to be as grown up as possible. "yours, "dick." "p. s. do you still read mary jane holmes?" "well, it is evident dick harding is the same old dick, all right. three years and getting married don't seem to have changed him a particle," laughed marian. "three years isn't a lifetime," retorted dr. morton, "if it does seem 'quite a spell' to young people. thank heaven, it has changed you, marian, from a fragile, pale invalid to a hearty, rosy woman! dr. allerton knew what he was about when he sent you to a farm to get well." "yes, i can't be thankful enough, father morton, and i don't forget how kind it was of you all to come out so far with us." "mother is the only one who deserves any thanks--the rest of us were crazy to come. we were tickled to death to have an excuse, eh, chicken little?" he tweaked her ear for emphasis. "oh, i love the farm, father, only i wish ernest could go away to school. he's awfully worried for fear you won't feel able to send him to college this fall. he studies every minute when he isn't too tired." dr. morton's face grew grave. "yes, it's time for the boy to have a better chance. i wanted him to go last year, but the drought and the low price of cattle made it impossible. and i don't quite know how it will be this fall yet." "there mustn't be any if about it this fall, father. ernest is working too hard here and now is the time for his education if he is ever to have one," mrs. morton spoke decidedly. "i know all that, mother, but college takes ready money, and money is mighty scarce these days. he's pretty well prepared for college. i've seen to that, if we do live on a kansas ranch." "it isn't just the studies, though, father morton," said marian. "ernest needs companionship. he doesn't take to most of the boys around here, and i don't blame him. they're a coarse lot, most of them. the mcbroom boys are all right, but they live so far off and are kept so busy with farm work, he never sees them except after church once a month or at the lyceums in winter." "marian's just right, father. the boy needs the right kind of associations; his manners and his english have both deteriorated here," added mrs. morton. "perhaps, mother, but the boy is sturdy and well and his eyes are strong once more, and he is going to make a more worth while man on account of this very farm life you despise. but he does need companions. i wonder if we couldn't get carol or sherm out here for the summer along with the rest." "father, do have some mercy on me. i can't care for such a family!" mrs. morton gasped at this further adding to her burdens. marian studied for a moment. "mother, if you want to ask him, i'll take sherm, and ernest, too, while dick and alice are here. i'd rather have sherm than carol, and mother said in her letter that the dart's were having a sad time this year. mr. dart has been ill for so long." chicken little had listened in tense silence to this conversation, but she couldn't keep still any longer. "you are going to ask katy and gertie, aren't you, mother?" mrs. morton smiled but made no reply. "you'll have to go to work and help mother if you want any favors, jane," her father admonished. the following week apparently wrought an amazing change in chicken little. she let novels severely alone--even her precious set of waverly beckoned in vain from the bookcase shelves. she waited upon her mother hand and foot. she set the table without being asked, and brought up the milk and butter from the spring house before mrs. morton was half ready for them. indeed, she was so unnecessarily prompt that the butter was usually soft and messy before the meal was ready. she even practiced five minutes over the hour every day for good measure, conscientiously informing her mother each time. "bet you can't hold out much longer, sis," scoffed ernest, amused at her efforts to be virtuous. "you're just doing it to coax mother into inviting katy and gertie." "i just bet i can, ernest morton. of course i want her to invite katy and gertie, but i'm no old cheat, i thank you, i'm going to help the best i can all summer if she asks 'em." "and if she doesn't?" "don't you dare hint such a thing--she's going to--i think you're real hateful! i just don't care whether you get to go to college or not." "maybe i don't want to." something in ernest's tone made jane glance up in surprise. "don't want to? why, you've been daffy about it--you haven't thought about anything else for a year!" "that's so, too, but i guess i can change my mind, can't i?" ernest lounged on the edge of the table and looked at his sister teasingly. he was almost six feet tall, slim and muscular, with the unruly lock of hair sticking up in defiance of all brushing as of old, and a skin that was still girlishly smooth though he shaved religiously every sunday morning to the family's secret amusement. the results of this rite were painfully meager. both chicken little and frank chaffed him unmercifully about it. jane loved to pass her hands over his chin and shriek fiendishly: "ernest, i believe i felt one. i think--really, i think you'll cut 'em by christmas!" a lively race usually followed this insult. frank was even meaner. he came into ernest's room one morning while he was shaving and gravely pretending to pick up a hog's stiff bristle from the carpet, held it out to him. "why ernest, you're really growing quite a beard!" but ernest was a man in many ways if he had but little need of a razor. seeing other boys so seldom and being thrown so much with men had made him rather old for his years and more than ordinarily capable and self-reliant. he loved horses and was clever in managing them, breaking in many a colt that had tried the patience and courage of his elders. but his day dream for the past twelve months had been college. he had confided all his hopes and fears to chicken little. the love between the two was very tender, the more so that they had so few companions of their own ages. so chicken little, knowing that he had fairly lived and breathed and slept and eaten college during many months, might be pardoned for her amazement at his mysterious words. "ernest, tell me--what's the matter?" "nothing's the matter--i've got a new idea, that's all." "what is it? where'd you get it?" "from the old captain. say, you just ought to see his place--it's the queerest lay-out. snug and neat as a pin. he's tried to arrange everything the way it is on shipboard. he's got a chinaman or a jap, i don't know which, for a servant. he is the first one i ever saw, though they say there are lots of them in kansas city. this chap can work all right. we had the best supper the evening frank and i went over for hay." "my, i wish i could see it. do you suppose father would take me over some time?" "i don't know. they say he hates women--won't have one around." "pshaw, you're making that up, but what's the idea? oh, you old hateful, you're just teasing--i can tell by your eyes!" "honest injun, i'm not any such thing, only you interrupt so you don't give me a chance. you know the captain has been at sea for twenty-five years--never'd quit only his asthma got so bad the doctor told him he'd have to go to a dry climate, and bundled him off here to kansas. well, he seemed to take a shine to me, and he asked me a lot of questions about what i was going to do. finally, he wanted to know why i didn't try to get into the naval academy instead of going to college. said if he had a son--and do you know, he turned kind of white when he said that, perhaps he's lost a boy or something--he'd send him there." "o ernest, and be an officer? i saw a picture of one at mrs. wilcox's--her nephew--and his uniform was perfectly grand." "just like a girl--always thinking of clothes! but i've been thinking perhaps i should like the life. i always like to read about naval fights, and our navy's always been some pumpkins, if it has been small. and the captain says a naval officer has a chance to go all over the world. think of your beloved brother, who has never been on a train but six times, sailing away for china or australia!" chicken little gave a gasp, "ernest morton, it wouldn't be a bit fair for you to go without me!" "don't worry, i don't suppose there's one chance in a hundred that i could get the appointment. father knows senator pratt, and the captain said he didn't think there was as much competition for annapolis out here as for west point. it's so far from the sea. but mind, jane, not a word to anybody till i think it over some more. i'm going to see the captain again." "o ernest, what if you should go clear round the world?" "'twouldn't hurt my feelings a bit. but mum's the word, sis." chapter iii chicken little pays a visit mrs. morton was sitting at her desk writing a letter. jane hovered about inquisitively. she was almost sure it was to mrs. halford. and if so, she must surely be inviting katie and gertie. if she could only be sure. she tried in vain to get a glimpse of the heading, but her mother's hand rested on the paper in such a way as to effectually conceal it. mrs. morton did not believe in encouraging curious young daughters. but opportunity was kind; some one called her mother away. she left the letter lying there partly finished. chicken little started joyfully across the room, but before she had reached the desk, something held her back. she had been most carefully trained as to what was honorable; sneaking was not tolerated in the morton family. "no," she said to herself regretfully, "i mustn't peep behind her back! i couldn't look anybody in the face if i did." she slowly turned away. when her mother returned, she glanced sharply at chicken little quietly reading on the opposite side of the room. the girl did not realize that her face proved her innocence. it was so sober that her mother felt sure she had not meddled with the letter. jane had not learned to conceal her emotions. dr. and mrs. morton were both going to town that day. mrs. morton drove away without satisfying chicken little's curiosity, which was probably largely responsible for what happened. jane felt injured. she thought her mother might tell her whether she could have the girls or not. ten days was enough time for anybody to make up her mind. frank and ernest were out in the fields harrowing; marian, busy sewing. chicken little soon finished the few tasks her mother had left for her and time began to hang heavy on her hands. she couldn't seem to fix her thought on a book because she kept wondering every minute if that letter was to mrs. halford. she wandered out into the june sunshine and wished she could have gone to town, too. presently she began to feel aggrieved because her parents hadn't taken her with them. across the fields she could see the men at work and could occasionally hear them calling to the horses. she wished she had a horse to ride. the pony that was called hers by courtesy was the mainstay for the herding and she could seldom use him at this season. finally, after digging her heels into some loose earth beside the path, she had an inspiration. she debated it a moment with herself, then slipped back into the house, combed her hair over carefully, tied it with her best ribbon, and arrayed herself in her new blue lawn which her mother had distinctly told her was to be her second best for the summer. she smoothed it down complacently--pale blue was becoming to her clear, rosy skin--but her conscience pricked. she succeeded in lulling this annoying mentor by reasoning that her mother wouldn't want her to go visiting in an old dress. she tried to ignore the fact that her mother hadn't given her permission to go visiting at all. slipping out the back way to avoid disturbing marian, in case she should be looking out her window or jilly should be on the watch, chicken little whistled softly to huz and buz. the puppies were three weeks older and stronger than when huz so nearly caused disaster, and trotted after jane on all her tramps. she was seldom lonesome when she had them rolling and tumbling along beside her. making a wide detour around the white cottage, she struck into a faint track skirting the upper fields. there was a nearer way through the lower fields along the slough, but frank had killed several big bull snakes there the preceding week. to be sure, these were usually harmless, but they were frightful enough to be unpleasant company. besides, frank or ernest might see her and ask her where she was going. but the fates speeded her undertaking. no one saw her save a few quail and nesting plover that whirred up at her approach and tried to lure her and the dogs away from their nests by pretending to be hurt and running a few paces ahead on the ground. chicken little had seen this bird ruse too often to be fooled by it, but huz and buz pursued each bird hopefully only to come sneaking back, when the mother bird suddenly soared off as soon as they had left the nest safely behind. "you sillies," jane admonished them each time. "won't you ever learn not to be fooled?" she found it delightful to loiter herself. the whole day was before her. the wild blackberry bushes along the fence still hid bunches of bloom among the half-formed berries. clumps of white elderberry blossoms spilled their fragrance, and the wind rustling through the long stems of the weeds and prairie grass droned monotonous tunes. she found tufts of crisp sour sheep sorrel which she liked to nibble, while she made ladies out of the flowers, and the pups snapped at the grasshoppers and butterflies. chicken little was taking her time for this expedition. she knew her parents would not return before evening, and if marian hunted her up, she would think she had gone down to eat her lunch with frank and ernest. it was almost noon before she entered the belt of timber along the creek at the southern boundary of their ranch. across the stream, she knew, lay the clarke ranch, and she had heard the house and stables were close to the timber. jane had resolved to call on the captain, and going on foot, had selected the shortest route. it was over two miles between houses by the road. further, chicken little, preferred that her visit should seem accidental--at least to the captain. she hardly expected to convince her family that she had wandered over there without intending to. but she felt sure the captain would receive her more kindly if he thought she were taking a walk and got lost. she would be very hot and tired when she arrived, and ask for a drink so politely that not even a woman-hater would have the heart to let her go on without asking her in and offering her some refreshment. she had never been in this part of the woods before. it was very different from the timber and groves near the ford where they often picnicked in summer or went nutting in the fall. there, the cattle and hogs had been allowed to range, at certain seasons of the year, until most of the thick undergrowth was nicely cleared away. but the wood, here, was dark and shadowy. dead branches and tree trunks lay where they had fallen or been torn down by storms. weeds and flowers had grown up among these, and the wild cucumber vines and clematis festooned the rotting logs with feathery green. it was a wood full of creepy noises--noises that made one keep still and listen. the coarse grass and herbage were so rank you could scarcely see the ground. it looked decidedly snaky, chicken little reflected dubiously. and water moccasins were abundant along the creek, and poisonous, as her father had often warned her. chicken little was usually plucky when she actually saw a snake, but the snakes she feared she might see always made her panicky. still she hated to give up anything she had undertaken. she stood staring into the thickets for some minutes. huz sat on his haunches beside her and stared too, whining occasionally as if he didn't quite like the prospect either. buz had found a gopher hole and was having a merry time trying to dig it out. she could hear the creek singing over the stones a few rods away. "it can't be so awfully far," she said aloud, "and i guess the dogs would scare away the snakes." something stirred among the weeds near her. chicken little gave a little scream. but it was only a squirrel, as huz immediately discovered. he barked loudly and started in pursuit, which sent mr. squirrel flying up a tree. jane set her lips together firmly and started forward. "there's no sense in being so scary!" she admonished huz. "snakes most always run away as fast as ever they can, anyway." nevertheless, she picked her way daintily and gave a cry of delight when after pushing a short distance into the thicket, she found an old rail fence apparently leading off in the direction she wished to go. she climbed it promptly and worked slowly along its zig zag course--a means of locomotion that was comfortingly safe, if somewhat slow. the pups complained over this desertion for they had to worm through the tangle of weeds and brambles below. they soon reached the creek only to be confronted by a new problem. there were neither stepping stones nor a fallen log to cross upon. chicken little had to hunt for a shallow place, strip off her shoes and stockings, and wade. she wore good old-fashioned high laced shoes and lacing up was a tedious process. the woods were a little more open beyond. she had no further need of the fence--it had indolently stopped at the creek anyhow. but, alas, she had gone but a short way farther when she came to the creek again. chicken little sputtered volubly to the dogs but the stream flowed placidly on. there was nothing for it, but to take off her shoes and stockings a second time, and wade. by the time she had laced them, she remembered having heard frank say that the creek was very winding here and kept doubling back on its tracks. she was in for it, now, she decided, and might as well go ahead. it was long past noon. she was getting hungry. she did hope the woman-hater would offer her something to eat. she felt a little doubtful about her looks. sitting down on the damp earth had left sundry grass stains and one long black streak on the dainty blue lawn, and her hair was wind blown, and mussed where some twigs had caught and pulled it. once more jane unlaced those exasperating shoes, drying her feet on a woefully limp and dirty handkerchief. this time she lazily wound the lacings around her ankles until she could be sure the creek was safely behind her. presently she heard the cackling of hens and the grunting of pigs that assured her she was nearing somebody's farmyard. "gee, but i'm glad!" she muttered thankfully. she sat down and laced her boots neatly, then smoothing her hair and ironing out her rumpled dress with nimble fingers, she struck off joyfully in the direction of the sounds. she was approaching the house from the rear and the barn and out-buildings were soon visible through the trees. she hurried forward joyfully only to be confronted by that horrible creek flowing once more between her and her goal. chicken little didn't often lose her temper completely, but this was the last straw. "darn," she exclaimed spitefully, "darn you, you old creek, i'd like to beat you. i won't take my shoes off again! i just won't!" she scanned the bank carefully to see if she could find any rock or log to help her out. nothing available could be seen, but help appeared from a most unlooked for quarter. a tall, severe-looking man rose from a rustic seat behind a tree which had hidden him. "can i be of any service, miss?" he asked courteously. with an awful sinking of the heart she realized this must be captain clarke himself. oh! and he must have heard her swear. chicken little turned the color of a very ripe strawberry and stared at him in horror. a faint flicker of amusement lighted the man's face. "just wait an instant and i will put a board over for you, if you wish to cross." jane distinctly did not wish to cross this particular moment. she wished to run home. "oh, i--i--please don't go to any trouble, i oughtn't to be here, and please i didn't mean to swear but--but--mother would be dreadfully ashamed of me if she knew." she was telling the whole truth most unexpectedly to herself. captain clarke surveyed her sharply but his voice seemed kind. "you must be dr. morton's daughter. did you get lost?" this was an embarrassing question. jane looked at him doubtfully before replying. if she said "yes" she would be telling a lie, and if she said "no," he would know she came on purpose. she compromised. "i wanted to see your house awfully," she faltered. "ernest said it was most like a ship and i've never seen a ship," a sudden remorseful thought crept into her mind. "but you mustn't blame mother; she didn't know i was coming." the captain's eyes lost their severe look--the suspicion of a twinkle lurked in their blue depths. "i see, you didn't wish to embarrass mother, so you came without leave. i am honored by your visit, miss----" "jane, but people don't call me miss, except dick harding, and he does it for a joke. i'm only thirteen." the captain was sliding a stout plank across a narrow part of the stream. this accomplished, he came half way across and held out his hand. "come, i'll help you over." chicken little didn't in the least need assistance. she was as sure-footed as a young goat, but she was too much overcome by this delicate attention to refuse. placing her hand gingerly in his, she let him lead her across, then followed meekly up to the low white house. it was a one-story structure, divided in the middle by a roofed gallery. the entire building was surrounded by a broad veranda, open to the sky, and enclosed by a rope railing run through stout oak posts. the captain gravely assisted her up the steps. "i call this my quarter-deck," he explained, seeing the question in her eyes. "i have been accustomed to pacing a deck for so many years that i didn't feel at home without a stretch of planking to walk on." "oh, isn't it nice? i've seen pictures of people on ships. my mother came from england on a sailing vessel. i'm sure i'd just love the ocean!" captain clarke smiled at her encouragingly but made no reply. chicken little rambled on nervously. she was decidedly in awe of her host but having begun to talk, it seemed easier to keep on than to stop. "i guess it must be wonderful out at sea when the sun is coming up. sometimes i get up early and go out on the prairie to watch it. it just keeps on getting lighter and lighter till finally the sun bobs up like a great smiling face. i always feel as if it were saying 'good morning, jane.' i suppose it's a lot grander at sea where you can't see a single thing but miles and miles of waves. why, i should think you'd feel as if there wasn't anybody in the world but you and god. i always feel a lot more religious outdoors than i do in church. but mother says that's just a notion. but, you know, the people are always so funny and solemn in church and the ministers most all talk through their noses or say 'hm-n' to fill in when they don't know what to say next. but, oh dear, i guess you'll think i'm dreadful! and please don't think i swear that way often. i haven't for ever so long before." the captain's face twitched, but he replied gravely: "don't worry about the 'darn,' child, i've heard worse oaths, though i believe young girls are not supposed to use strong language. i feel as you do about church and the outdoors. i find it irksome to be cooped up anywhere. but come in, and i will have wing fan give you some pigeon pot-pie. we had a famous one for dinner and you surely must be hungry. afterwards, i'll show you through the prairie maid as i sometimes call this craft." chicken little began to feel at home. "and to think ernest said he didn't like women and girls! pooh, i knew he was just fooling." wing fan found other things beside the pot-pie, and chicken little was soon feasting luxuriously with the chinaman waiting on her most deferentially. her host watched her with a keener interest, had she but known it, than he had shown in any human being for many months. he was a man of fifty odd. naturally reticent, his long voyages in command of merchant vessels had fostered an aloofness and love of solitude, which had later been intensified by a great grief. his stern bearing had repelled his country neighbors in the year he had lived on big john. he was satisfied that it should be so, yet he was intensely lonely. but chicken little knew nothing of all this. the thick sprinkling of white in his black hair and the deep lines in his face, made her entirely comfortable--they were just like father's. she was too curious to verify ernest's tales of the queer house, to give much attention to her host at first. she stared around her with wide eyes. yes, there were the funny little built-in cupboards and window seats, and the plate racks, and the shelves that let down with gilt chains. every single thing was painted white. "my, how lovely and clean it all looked!" and the blue chinese panels; she had never seen anything like them. and there were five pictures of ships. even the dishes were a marvel to her. jane had seen plenty of fine china but never any so curious as this old blue canton with its landscapes and quaint figures. the captain was pleased with her ingenuous admiration. when she had finished her dinner, he took her across the gallery to his library, a room seldom shown to the residents of the creek. even ernest and frank hadn't seen it, jane learned later. this apartment was quite as marvellous as the dining-room. a long, low room it was, with many lacquered and carved cabinets and tables. the wall space above these was pictureless, but two great ivory tusks were crossed over a doorway. above the fireplace rows of weapons were ranged--queer swords and daggers with gold and mother-of-pearl on their hilts, a ship's cutlass, several scimitars, and the strangest guns and pistols. chicken little was fascinated with the frightful array. a huge bearskin lay on the floor among strange, beautifully colored rugs, which reminded her of her mother's india shawl. rugs where queer stiff little men and animals that looked as if a child had drawn them, wandered about among curlicues and odd geometrical patterns. a tiger-skin, head and dangling claws distressingly lifelike, hung in the middle of one wall. she was spell-bound for a few minutes with the strangeness of it all. her host seemed to enjoy her wonder. he explained most patiently a great compass set on a tripod in one corner. after she had roamed and gazed to her heart's content, he opened the locked cabinets, and let her take miniature ebony elephants from siam into her hands. he had her look through a reading glass at intricate ivory carvings, so tiny, it did not seem that human fingers could ever have wrought them. there were boxes of sandalwood and ugly heathen idols with leering faces. the drawers were crowded with prints and embroideries. the captain pulled one out that had girl's things in it. she caught a glimpse of a spangled scarf, and fans and laces, even gay-colored beads. but he shut this drawer hastily. she did not have time to wonder much about this incident just then, but she thought about it a good deal afterwards. the things looked quite new as if they had never been used. chicken little had natural taste and had read more than most girls of her age. she handled the captain's curios reverently, drinking in eagerly his explanations and the strange tales of where he had found these wonders. so absorbed were they both, that the shadows were lengthening before captain clarke realized the afternoon was slipping away, and that home folk might be disturbed if he kept his young guest too long. chicken little was distressed too. "oh, i'm afraid father and mother will get home before i do. they'll be awfully worried!" "you mustn't try to go back through the woods. they are too dense to be a very safe route for a child, and it would be dark before you could reach home. i'll have one of the men hitch up, and i'll drive you over." chicken little commenced to fidget. it would not make her coming scolding any lighter, if her parents learned that the captain had felt in duty bound to bring her home. but she did not wish to be rude and it was a long walk by the road. captain clarke saw she was disturbed and began to laugh. her naïvete charmed him. "if my program doesn't suit you, won't you tell me what is wrong? i haven't enjoyed anything so much in years as your visit, my dear. i should like to pay my debt by doing whatever you would like." jane was radiant by the time he had finished. "didn't you truly mind my coming? you aren't just being polite?" "mind? child, if you ever come to be as lonesome and as old as i am, you will know what a comfort it has been to have anyone as young and sweet and fresh as you are, around. just a moment, i want to show you one thing more." he went into his bedroom and returned with an old photograph. it was a likeness of a two-year-old child. she took a good look at it, then turned to her host. "it is the picture of the little boy i--i--lost. he was my only one. he--he would be seventeen now." "why that's just ernest's age!" "your brother? the one who was here the other evening?" "yes, he was seventeen his last birthday. i'm so sorry you lost your little boy." chicken little slipped her hand into his to express her sympathy. the captain did not reply except with an answering pressure. she laid the picture down gently. "he was a beautiful baby--it almost seems to me i've seen someone who looks like him--especially the eyes. and that merry little twist to his mouth. i can't seem to think who it is." jane puckered her forehead and the captain observed her closely. "was it some boy?" he seemed interested in this resemblance. "yes, how silly of me not to remember. it's sherman dart, one of ernest's old friends back in centerville." "centerville? that is in illinois, is it not?" "yes, where we used to live. and the eyes are exactly like sherm's and sherm always twisted his mouth crooked like that when he smiled." "this boy, he wasn't an orphan, was he?" "oh no, mr. and mrs. dart are both living though mr. dart's been sick a long time." the captain seemed to have lost interest. "well, my dear, am i to have the pleasure of driving you home--i'm afraid your parents will be distressed about you." jane had a bright idea. "captain clarke," she spoke rather hesitatingly. "yes?" "would you mind--of course it sounds awful of me to ask you--but--it'd be so much easier for me with mother if you'd just tell her, oh, what you said about my being a comfort and not bothering." chicken little was both ashamed and eager. the captain threw back his head and laughed until the tears came into his eyes. "my dear, i'll make this call all right with your mother, never fear, for i want you to come again. i am going to ask her if you and ernest can't both honor me by coming to dinner next sunday." he was as good as his word but when chicken little went to bed her mother said sorrowfully: "chicken little, i shan't scold you because i promised captain clarke i would let you off this time--but i didn't think you would do such a thing--behind my back, too." and her mother had asked katy and gertie! she had told her after she came home that evening. chapter iv a cherry penance chicken little awoke the next morning with a bad taste in her mouth. she was ashamed to have grieved her mother by her escapade the day before, especially when mother was undertaking all this extra trouble for her happiness. but she just couldn't be sorry she had gone to the captain's! it would be something to remember all her life. she gave a skip of delight every time she thought of all the lovely things--and the captain's stories. no, she simply couldn't be sorry, but she knew mother expected her to be sorry. of course, she might have got acquainted with him some other way, but her father wouldn't promise ever to take her. "little girls have too much curiosity for their own good, humbug," was all she had been able to get from him. she could see at breakfast that mother expected an apology right away. she could feel disapproval in her good morning and in the way she kissed her. mother seemed to have the power to make her feel mean and guilty all over. but she wasn't sorry. while they were doing the dishes she told her mother all about the wonderful things she had seen. mrs. morton listened in silence. she was waiting. chicken little heaved a deep sigh and did her best. "i know it was wrong for me to go without permission, mother, and i won't ever do it again, and i think you're just beautiful to ask katy and gertie. i'll help every single bit i can; you see if i don't." "i am glad you realize you did very wrong, little daughter, is that all you have to say to me?" chicken little looked at her mother and fidgeted. her mother returned her look gravely. still she couldn't--it would be fibbing if she did. the silence became oppressive. "you may go and pick a couple of quarts of cherries, jane." mrs. morton handed her the tin lard pail, searching her face once more. it was a glorious june morning and jane enjoyed picking cherries. marian saw her and came too, establishing jilly comfortably at the foot of the tree with a rubber doll and the two pups as companions. jilly was usually a placid baby and she settled down contentedly to trimming up her doll with dandelions. buz, the indolent, curled himself at her feet and was asleep inside of five minutes, but huz looked up longingly into the tree at jane. he seemed to be racking his doggish brain as to the best method of reaching her. he kept making little futile leaps, whining impatiently. finally, he stood up on his hind legs, planted his fore paws against the tree trunk, and barked dolefully. jane bent down and mischievously dropped a cherry into his open mouth. huz choked, sputtered, and after a first rapturous crunch, hastily deposited the acid fruit upon the ground. he looked reproachfully at chicken little. "there now," said marian, "he'll never trust you again." marian raced chicken little with the cherry picking and the pails were filled far too soon. "jane," said marian as she started reluctantly back to the house, "if mother morton can spare you this morning to help me pick them, i believe i'll get some cherries to put up--there are loads ripe this morning." "i'd love to, marian, i'll take these in and find out if she'll let me." she came flying back in a jiffy with two big milk pails. "all right, mother says i may help you till noon." they had a merry morning. the cherry trees lined the lane which was also a public road, and several neighbors going by, stopped to exchange a few words. mr. benton had his joke, for he discovered jane swinging up in the topmost boughs and reaching still higher for certain unusually luscious ones that eluded her covetous fingers. "well, mrs. morton," he said, addressing marian and ignoring chicken little, "that's the largest variety of robin i've ever seen in these parts. i 'low you must have brought the seed from the east with you. you wouldn't mind if i took a shot at it, i 'spose. 'pears like birds of that size must be mighty destructive to cherries." "why mr. benton, we shouldn't like to have you kill our birds; we're attached to them. but you are mistaken, that isn't a robin, it's a jane bird--they're rare around here." mr. benton laughed and chicken little got even by hurling a big cluster of cherries at him. she aimed them at his lap, but they struck him full in the face to her great glee. "well now, them jane birds ain't so bad." mr. benton remarked eating the fruit with a relish. the morning sped by briskly. jilly created a diversion by getting her small self into trouble. marian noticed that she was picking something off the tree trunk and putting it into the pocket of her little ruffled apron. "what's jilly getting there? can you see, chicken little?" chicken little twisted and peered until she could take a good look. "why--marian, i do believe it's ants! the silly baby--they'll bite her!" marian hurried down the tree to rescue her offspring, but not before jilly set up a wail of anguish. "naughty sings bite jilly!" she moaned, as her mother picked the small tormentors off her arms and bare legs. but jilly was a sunny child, and as soon as the pain eased, found a smile and remarked complacently: "ants bite jilly, too bad, too bad!" jane braced herself firmly in a crotch where the red fruit was thickest and picked mechanically while she unburdened her mind of the previous day's doings. she chattered about her adventures till marian could have repeated every word of her conversation with the captain off by heart, and might have given a pretty accurate inventory of his possessions, or at least the portion of them that jane had seen. marian was genuinely interested and liked to hear chicken little tell it all, but she wondered what mrs. morton had thought about the junketing. "but what did your mother say, dear?" she asked finally. "she didn't like it." "you didn't suppose she would, did you?" "n-o-o, but----" "yes?" "i'd never have got to go if i'd waited for permission. and, marian," chicken little thought it was time to change the subject, "how do you make yourself be sorry, when you ought to be and aren't?" marian wanted to laugh but she saw her young sister had not intended to be funny. she half guessed the situation. "why jane, i hardly know, the old monks used to set themselves penances to atone for their sins." "did it make them really sorry? do you think?" "well, yes, i should think it must have or they would never have had the courage to persist in them. some of their penances were terribly severe such as beating themselves with knotted ropes, but i shouldn't advise anything of that kind for you. you might try to make up for your fault in some way. perhaps you might give up something you like very much." jane didn't say anything more, and it was a day or two later before marian learned the effect of her words. the cherry trees seemed full as ever after they had gathered all marian wanted, and in the evening mrs. morton sent chicken little out to gather more for her. marian offered to help her, and they were once more aloft in the trees when mr. benton returned from town. marian began to chuckle. "he'll think we have been here all day, jane. let's pretend we have." "dear me, mr. benton, back so soon. how fast the day has gone by. jane, you must be awfully hungry, i hadn't realized it was so late!" "well now, time does beat everything for speed, but i 'lowed it was only our ancestors as lived in trees all the time, mrs. morton. but then i've heard they're gettin' a lot of new-fangled ways down east. you're not calculatin' to take up your residence permanent like in them cherry trees, are you? in case you don't want the cottage any more, we might move it over to our place just by way of being neighborly." "thank you, mr. benton, i'll remember your kind offer if it ever gets in our way." it was not many days before the mail brought a grateful letter from mrs. halford, and ecstatic ones from the girls, in reply to mrs. morton's invitation. they would arrive with alice and dick and sherm--for sherm was coming, too--on the twentieth. "not quite two weeks. that means we must begin getting ready at once, and you mustn't think because we have a servant coming, that you won't need to help, jane. one girl can't do all the work for so many." chicken little had not yet said she was sorry and her mother was inclined to be severe with her in consequence. mrs. morton was rather worried, too, because she had seemed pale and listless for two or three days past. but when she asked if she were not feeling well, chicken little had replied carelessly: "why, i'm all right, mother." they were hurrying to get the cherry crop cared for before the guests arrived. there would be enough to do after they came to keep them all busy without preserving, mrs. morton declared. one day when they were seeding cherries, marian noticed that jane was eating only half ripe ones. "what on earth are you eating those green things for, child?" "oh, just for fun." "well, it won't be funny if you eat many of them. i don't know anything that'll make you sick quicker than green cherries. they're acid enough when they're ripe." in the hurry of preparing for the guests, marian thought nothing further about it. three nights later, dr. morton wakened them at midnight to know if they had any calomel. "the chicken's mighty sick," he said. "and i gave the last i had to mrs. benton for mary." "i haven't any calomel, father, but i've got some castor oil," marian announced after some rummaging. "that will go hard with jane, she loathes it. but she'll have to take it down i guess. i can't imagine what ails her, she's vomiting and has a high fever." a sudden recollection struck marian. "maybe she has been eating too many cherries." "ripe cherries oughtn't to hurt her and they have been plentiful so long, i shouldn't think she would overeat." "but i have seen her eating them when they weren't ripe. i believe that's what is the matter." "i hope so, i have been a little afraid of scarlet fever from her symptoms." dr. morton seemed relieved. when he had gone, marian turned to frank. she had been recalling several things and putting them together. "frank morton, i verily believe that sister of yours has been eating half-ripe cherries for a penance." "penance? penance for what?" "i don't exactly know, but it has something to do with her running off to the captain's." "well, if she's as big a fool as all that, she deserves to have a stomach ache. come, stop worrying." "but frank, i'm afraid i'm the guilty one who suggested the idea to her. goodness knows, i hadn't the slightest intention of doing so." marian related the whole story. "well, sis certainly gets queer notions into her head, but it may not be that at all. anyhow, you can't do anything to-night." a very pallid forlorn girl sat propped up in bed about noon the following day. the family, having discovered that it was nothing serious, and that she had probably brought it on by her own folly, were not sympathetic. "what in the dickens did you want to go and eat green cherries for, when there were pounds and pounds of ripe ones going to waste on the trees?" ernest's look of utter disgust was hard to bear. frank came over with a handful of minute green walnuts interspersed with a choice assortment of gooseberries and green plums. he handed them to her with a mocking bow. "in case you get hungry, jane dear, i thought you might like to have a supply of your favorite food on hand." chicken little thanked him spunkily, but when the door closed behind him, she buried her face in the pillow and mourned over her woes. "i'll never try to be good again, so there, and i think they're all just as mean as can be." her pillow was getting wetter and wetter and her spirits closer and closer to zero, when the door gently opened and her father came in. "why chicken little, crying? this won't do. come, tell father what's the matter. you aren't feeling worse, are you?" chicken little swallowed hard and did her best to choke back the tears, but the tears having been distinctly encouraged for the past ten minutes had too good a start to be easily checked. dr. morton gathered her into his arms and patted and soothed her till she was able to summon a moist smile. "hurry up and tell me now--a trouble shared is a trouble half cured, you know." but jane was beginning to be ashamed of herself. "'tisn't anything really, father, only i feel so miserable and the boys have been making fun of me." "making fun, what about?" "oh, just because." "because what, out with it!" "because i ate green cherries, i suppose." "how long have you been eating green cherries, jane?" jane considered. "most a week." "and don't you think you deserve to be laughed at, for doing anything so foolish?" "they didn't laugh at the monks--and they were grown-up men." "monks? what do you mean?" "well, i just guess they did things that made them sicker than eating green cherries, and i didn't intend to eat enough to make me sick, but i didn't seem to feel any sorrier and----" chicken little was stopped suddenly by the expression of her father's face. he tried to control himself but the laugh would come. when they had finally got the atmosphere cleared a bit, he inquired, still smiling: "well, are you sorry now you went to the captain's?" chicken little smiled back. "no, i'm just sorry i grieved mother." "then suppose we vote this penance idea a failure and don't try it again." the next few days were so full of the bustle of preparation that jane soon forgot she had ever been sick. further, there was a mystery on foot. she and ernest had not been permitted to accept the captain's invitation to dinner for reasons that mrs. morton explained with great care to that gentleman. but he had been invited over to dine with them. he was so reserved and silent on this occasion that both mrs. morton and marian wondered at jane's devotion. after dinner he had a long conversation with dr. morton and ernest, and no teasing on jane's part could extract the faintest hint from either as to what it had been about. "it was about your going to annapolis, i bet." "nope, you're a long way off. we didn't say anything more than what you and mother heard. father's written to the senator. captain clarke got him all enthused; the captain promised to write, too. but you'll never guess the other, and it has something to do with you." she had been obliged to give it up. ernest had at length reached an age where he could keep a secret. the exasperating part of it was that ernest was going over to captain clarke's every evening and she wasn't asked once. her pride was so hurt that she came near being sorry she had gone to see the captain. the evening before the fateful twentieth, mrs. morton and jane were putting the last touches on the guest room and on chicken little's own chamber, which katy and gertie were to share with her. the fresh fluted muslin curtains were looped back primly. the guest room had been freshly papered with a dainty floral design, in which corn flowers and wheat ears clustered with faint hued impossible blossoms, known only to designers. both rooms looked fresh and cool and summery, and the windows opening out upon the garden and orchard revealed also wide stretches of the prairie beyond. chicken little had re-arranged the furniture in her room at least six times in a resolute endeavor to get the best possible effect. marian had given her a picture of some long stemmed pink roses that exactly matched the buds in her paper, and she had begged an old japanese fan from her mother. this was decorated with a remarkably healthy pink sunset on a gray green ground, and she tacked it up as a finishing touch above the bed lounge, which was destined to be a bone of contention among the three little girls for the remainder of the summer. at first, not one of the three was willing to be cast upon this desert island of a bed, while the other two were whispering secrets in the big walnut four-poster. but as the weather grew hotter, the advantages of sleeping alone became more obvious, and they had to settle the matter by taking turns. chicken little did her very best to make her room look like the captain's, but except for her mother's concession of fresh white paint, a few books on a shelf, and the foreign fan, it was hard to detect any very marked resemblance. nevertheless, both jane and her mother gazed upon their handiwork with deep satisfaction. "if annie will only stay through the summer," sighed mrs. morton, "she is doing so beautifully i'm afraid she is too good to last. but i mustn't borrow trouble. if she deserts me, our guests will simply have to turn in and help, much as i should dislike to have them." ernest came in to supper so excited he could scarcely eat. and dr. morton seemed almost as interested as ernest. they were both provokingly mysterious during the entire meal, talking over jane's head in a way that was maddening. "does mother know?" she demanded finally. "yes, mother knows. i tell mother when i go over to the captain's." "come now, ernest, that's been harped on enough," said dr. morton, then turning to jane, "if you will hurry and get into your riding habit, you shall know the secret inside of an hour." it is needless to say that chicken little hurried. the black brilliantine skirt fairly flew over her head, the border of shot in its hem rapping her rudely as it slid to the floor with a thud. "oh dear, i don't see why girls have to wear such long, silly skirts and ride sidewise. it's so much easier to ride man fashion." chicken little had been permitted to ride man fashion since she had been on the ranch, for safety. but this year her mother had decided she was too big to be playing the boy any longer, and had made her a woman's habit, in spite of the doctor's protests. jane was proud of the smart basque with its long tails and glittering rows of steel buttons, but she loathed the skirt. hastily fastening the black velvet band with its dangling jet fringe below her stiff linen collar, she cast a parting glance at the oval mirror and skurried down the stairs, not stopping for such small matters as gloves or cap or even her beloved riding whip. ordinarily, she would not have budged without the whip. it had been a christmas present from ernest and was her special pride. her haste was in vain. after one look, her mother sent her back for cap and gloves. "i do not wish my daughter riding around bareheaded like some half wild thing. i don't mind on the ranch, but when you go abroad i wish you to look like a lady." jane reluctantly obeyed and did not forget the whip this time. she had a fresh rebuff when she reached the road. instead of the saddle horses she expected to see, dr. morton and ernest were awaiting her in the spring wagon. "why, father, i thought you said to put on my riding habit." "maybe i did. but never mind, jump in just as you are--it's getting a little late." chicken little tried to hide her disappointment. she maintained a dignified silence until they had crossed the ford and ernest turned the horses toward captain clarke's. "oh, it's at the captain's." her father nodded and began talking carelessly to ernest about putting the orchard in clover another year. she saw there was no information to be had, until he was good and ready. ernest took pity on her, however, just as they turned in the captain's gate. "in exactly six minutes you will see the surprise, even if you don't recognize it." chicken little strained her eyes half expecting to see katy or gertie appear miraculously from nowhere. but they drove into the door yard without seeing anything or anybody that could possibly interest her. the captain was evidently watching for them. he helped her down from the high wagon in his most courtly manner. "i am consumed with curiosity to know whether you have pried the secret from that brother of yours. i infer you have from your habit." "habit?" jane glanced swiftly from her host's quizzical face to her father and ernest. they were both smiling broadly. "oh, it has something to do with horses--but----" she never finished the sentence for at that moment one of the captain's hands appeared leading two indian ponies, one a red and white piebald with a red blanket and side saddle; the other a black, with a blue blanket and a mexican cowboy's equipment. she stared at the horses and she stared at the captain, not daring to even hope what had come into her mind. captain clarke took the bridle off the piebald and held down his hand for her foot. "up with you, i have persuaded your father to share his children with me to the extent of letting me add something to your pleasure and that of your guests this summer. ernest, however, has left me his debtor in advance, for he has not only finished breaking these in to the saddle but he has tamed the worst-tempered colt on the place as well." chicken little was surprised to see ernest flush up and stammer. "why i--i don't want any pay--i was glad to help out a neighbor." "that's exactly what i am going to ask you to do, my boy, to help me out by letting me feel that i can still give somebody pleasure. the ponies are part of a large herd i bought in texas and cost me very little. i have argued this all out with your father and he understands my feeling. won't you be as generous?" before ernest could answer, chicken little reached up both arms and gave the speaker a hug and a kiss that were warm enough to satisfy the loneliest heart. before she had released him, ernest had hold of his hand and was trying to make up by the vigor of his hand shake for the embarrassing dumbness which had seized him. dr. morton relieved the situation by remarking mischievously: "ask ernest who's surprised now, chicken little?" chapter v the guests arrive the morton family were up early the next morning. jane was in a state of prickly excitement between her delight over her wonderful pony, all her very own, and the expected pleasure of seeing katy and gertie. "if the others have grown as much as you kids, we shan't recognize them," said frank. "anyhow, we can tell which bunch to cut out by alice and dick," ernest answered. mrs. morton was horrified. "ernest, the idea of your talking about our friends as if they were cattle! i do trust you children will not mortify me before our guests by using such vulgar expressions." "never mind, mother," frank consoled her, "alice and dick will revel in these vulgar westernisms. see if they don't. why mother, it's by slang that a language is enriched, didn't you know that?" "that will do, frank. i should think you would try to help me keep up correct standards instead of hindering. you will feel very differently when jilly is a little older." the train was due at two-thirty at the neighboring town of garland--the neighboring town being some nine miles distant. they decided to have an early dinner at home, then dr. morton would drive the spring wagon in for the guests, frank would take the farm wagon for the trunks, while jane and ernest formed a sort of ornamental body guard on their new ponies. "my, but you present an imposing appearance!" laughed marian coming out to the road with jilly to see them off. "we do look rather patriarchal," said frank, glancing around at the impressive array. "if we only had you and mother mounted on donkeys, the reception committee would be complete. i will do my best to apologize for your absence." "if you are late, send jane on ahead, they can see her a mile off on that calico pony." "the piebald is conspicuous," said the doctor, "i guess captain clarke picked him out for the chicken so her mother could see her from afar." chicken little ignored this pleasantry. "thank you for saying calico, marian. i was just wondering what to call him and that will do beautifully." "oh, have some mercy on the poor beast," put in ernest. "think of his having to answer to the name of calico. why don't you call him gingham apron or something really choice?" "allee samee, his name's calico. if you want to call yours, star of the night or aladdin or something high falutin, you just can." jane set her lips firmly. she didn't specially care for calico but she wasn't going to be laughed out of it. "that will do, children, it's time to be off." dr. morton suited the action to the word by clucking to the team of bays he drove, and the procession started. they reached the station in good time. both ernest and chicken little wanted to stay on their mounts and dash up beside the train, but their father forbade it. "those ponies have never been properly introduced to an engine, and i don't wish to take you back in baskets. you can show off sufficiently going home." so the ponies were left with the teams at a safe distance from the railroad. the train was twenty minutes late and it seemed an age to chicken little. "i don't see why you always have to wait for nice things, while the unpleasant ones come along without ever being asked," she complained. "what about the ponies? do you class them with the unpleasant things?" queried her father. "but here comes the train." jane watched it puff in with a roar and a rattle and sundry bangs, her eyes strained for the first glimpse of katy and gertie, alice and dick. she really didn't know which one she wanted to see worst. "bet sherm will be the first one out," said ernest. "bet you katy will!" but it was dick who hailed them first, before he turned to help down the little girls. alice came next, with sherm who was still rather bashful, bringing up the rear loaded down with satchels and lunch baskets. katy and gertie fell upon chicken little instantly and alice had to embrace the whole bunch, because they kept on hugging and kissing jane, laughing hysterically. "here, where do i come in?" dick rescued jane from her friends and gave her a resounding smack himself. after which he held up his hands and exclaimed: "say, doctor morton, what do you feed these infants on to make them grow so fast? jane's a half head taller than either katie or gertie and we thought sherm would surely top ernest. in fact, we had our money on him to beat any of your mushroom kansas effects, but holy smoke, i have to look up to ernest myself." alice and katie and gertie were looking at jane's riding habit, gertie in considerable alarm. "we don't have to ride to the ranch on horseback, do we?" before the doctor could reassure them, frank replied gravely: "of course, what did you expect in kansas? we've brought six horses and we thought two of the girls could ride in front of dick and myself. it's only nine miles and the horses don't gallop all the way." the girls looked panic-stricken, even alice seemed a little dazed, frank was so very plausible. dick helped him on delightfully. "i told you, alice, you'd better put your riding habit in your satchel. i suppose the horses are gentle, frank." "oh, they don't often throw anyone that's used to them. naturally, they're a little gayer in summer when they're in the pasture so much." ernest could not resist adding his bit. "i was thrown three times last week, would you like to try my pony, katy?" this revealed the game to alice. "you awful fibbers, don't you believe a word they say, girls." "honest injun," said ernest, "i was." "it's the truth," frank confirmed. poor little gertie, who was already beginning to realize that she was very far from home and in a strange land besides, commenced to cry. dr. morton came promptly to the rescue. "that'll do, boys. save your joking till our guests are rested from their journey at least. frank, you and dick look up the trunks while ernest and sherm help me bring up the wagons. it's all right, dear," he put his arm reassuringly around gertie, "you shall ride in one of the most comfortable of vehicles if we haven't a carriage to offer you. you mustn't pay any attention to their teasing." after the first two miles of their homeward journey, chicken little gave up her pony to sherm and climbed in with the girls. ernest offered to change saddles, but sherm declared he didn't mind the side saddle and cheerfully bore all the jokes the party cut at his expense. dr. morton watched him approvingly. "good stuff," he said to himself, as sherm returned the sallies without wincing. the boy's long legs dangling from the side saddle were a comical sight. sherm, if not quite so tall as ernest, was rather better proportioned and delightfully supple and muscular. he was the same matter-of-fact, straight-forward boy he had always been, but his father's long illness had sobered him, though he could be hilarious, as he was proving now. "say, sherm," katy prodded, "why don't you borrow jane's riding skirt too?" "yes, sherm, go the lengths--you'd make a beautiful girl," teased alice. sherm laughed. "chicken little may have something to say to that!" "i thought you'd be making excuses." sherm was not to be bluffed. "not much, hand it over, chicken little." "you never can get into it, sherm." "what'll you bet?" "it'll be too small around the waist." dr. morton stopped and jane hastily slipped off the skirt, presenting rather a funny appearance herself with her habit basque and the blue lawn dress showing beneath. sherm dismounted, turning calico over to ernest to hold. the entire party shouted when jane reached up on tiptoe to throw the clumsy skirt over his head. sherm neglected to hold it, and the shot in the hem promptly dropped it to the ground. "gee," exclaimed sherm, "the cranky thing seems to have a mind of its own." "i don't know what the girls want to wear the pesky things for," grumbled ernest. "they don't want to wear them--but their pernickety brothers and fathers and husbands consider them modest," alice hit back promptly. "i consider them very dangerous," said dr. morton. while this bantering was going on, chicken little was vainly endeavoring to fasten the band around sherm's waist. "you'll just have to squeeze in, sherm. i can never make it meet," she giggled. "i'm squeezing in, i tell you." with a triumphant pull, jane got the band buttoned and sherm heaved a sigh of relief--a disastrous sigh--it sent the button flying and the weighted skirt once more slid to the ground. "drat it!" sherm groaned. "now, you said you'd wear it. don't let him back out, chicken little," katy urged. "who said anything about backing out?" "you'll have to get a string, jane. haven't you a piece in your pocket, frank?" frank produced the string and by dint of using it generously, the skirt was finally secured and sherm still allowed some breathing room. but the girls were not yet satisfied. katy insisted upon lending him her leghorn hat and alice contributed a veil. gertie offered a hair ribbon which chicken little slyly pinned to the collar of sherm's coat. he was a sight for the gods when he finally remounted. but he carried it off with a dash, assuming various kittenish airs and coquetries, even waving saucily at two cowboys who passed them and turned to stare in bewilderment at his bizarre costume. the ride home passed quickly with all this fun. gertie cheered up and enjoyed the prairie sights as much as the others. gertie seemed the same little girl of three years before except for her added inches, but katy had many little grown-up airs and graces and evidently felt the importance of her fourteen years. "almost fifteen," she answered dr. morton when he inquired her age. the two girls were dressed alike still, but katy managed in some subtle way to give her clothes a different air from gertie's. "i don't know just what the difference is," marian remarked to alice a day or two after their coming, "but katy is stylish and gertie demurely sweet in the self-same dress." "personality will out, even in children," alice replied. "they are both unusually bright and well brought up, but katy is ambitious and likes to cut a bit of a dash, and gertie doesn't. she is a home and mother girl. i am amazed that she screwed up her courage to come so far without her mother. i fear she is already a trifle homesick, though she is enjoying every minute, and is enchanted with the chickens and pups and all this outdoor life." chicken little found out these things more gradually. on the long ride home from the station they chattered busily. all three felt a little shy for the first minutes but there was so much to tell. katy had finished her freshman year in the high school and spun great tales of their doings. carol had graduated the week before. "he is awfully handsome, chicken little. all the girls are mashed on him." "are what, katy?" demanded alice who had been listening to dick and dr. morton with one ear open for the girl's confidences. she felt rather responsible to mrs. halford for katy and gertie. katy colored. "i don't care, alice, that's what all the girls say, and i can't be goody-goody and proper all the time." "all right, katy, if you think mother likes that kind of slang, i don't mind." katy didn't say anything further to alice, but when she resumed her story to jane, she said: "well, i don't care what you call it, but they all are! and he just smiles in that lazy way of his and doesn't put himself out for anybody. he didn't even take a girl to the senior party, and lots of the senior girls had to go in a bunch because they didn't have an escort." "but he had awfully good marks," added gertie, "and prof. slocum said he could have been valedictorian just as well as not if he had tried a little harder." "that's the trouble--he's too lazy to try. i guess if he goes to the naval academy as he wants to, he'll have to get over being lazy." katy evidently wasted no sympathy on carol. the mention of the naval academy fired jane. she shouted the news to ernest who was some distance ahead with sherm. "yes, sherm's just told me," he called back, "wouldn't it be scrumptious if we both got to go?" "oh, is ernest going?" katy and alice and dick all exclaimed nearly in unison. chicken little told them all about ernest's plans and about the captain. katy wished to call on this fascinating individual immediately. but dr. morton suggested that he thought they would all be tired enough to rest for the remainder of the day by the time they arrived at the ranch. they were, but not too tired to enjoy mrs. morton's hearty country supper. dick ate hot biscuit and creamed potatoes and fried chicken till alice declared she shouldn't have the face to stay a month, if he gorged like that all the time. "you'll stop keeping tab on his appetite before you have been here many days, alice. you'll be busy satisfying your own. you will find country air a marvellous tonic," dr. morton assured her. they were all amused to see katy looking in shocked amazement at gertie who had just been persuaded to have a second heaping saucer of raspberries and cream. to be sure, katy herself had had two drumsticks and a breast. but she considered being served twice to dessert away from home highly improper. "i wish it were a little later in the season so ernest could bring us in quail for you," said mrs. morton. "quail?" dick's face lighted. "is the hunting still good around here?" "excellent for quail and prairie chicken, and the plover are plentiful at certain seasons," dr. morton replied. "they found two deer on the creek last winter," added ernest. "yes, there are a few strays left but the day for them has practically gone by." "dick, if you go hunting you've got to take me." alice put her hands on her husband's shoulders and rested her chin on his hair. "barkus is willing if you can stand the tramp." "we don't tramp, we drive. it's a trifle too early for hunting, but by the latter part of next week, you might try it. you can take the boys and spring wagon and have an all-day picnic. i can spare them, and ernest for a guide." "can we all go?" katy started up excitedly. "of course, i can shoot a little," chicken little sounded patronizing. "yes, chicken little can shoot but she never hits anything--she always shuts her eyes before she pulls the trigger," ernest called her down promptly. "it's no such thing, ernest morton, i killed a quail once, didn't i, father?" "dick, if you'll come and unrope our trunks, i think we'd better be getting our things out," said alice an hour later. "yours to command, captain. i am perishing to have chicken little see my present." "yes, jane, what do you think? dick had to go and pick you out a gift all by himself--he wasn't satisfied with my efforts. and he has the impudence to insist that you will like his best." "we've got a package for you, too, but i don't know what's in it. mother wouldn't let us see. let's go unpack quick, gertie, and find out." "and i want to show my trousseau! shall i get it out to-night, mrs. morton, or wait till morning?" "to-night, alice," spoke up marian, "i want to see it and i'll be busy in the morning. i am pining to see some pretty clothes." dick had already vanished into the upper regions and he called down airily: "doors open, ladies. world renowned aggregation of feminine wearing apparel, including one pair of the very latest hoops and the youngest thing in bustles, now on exhibition." mrs. morton looked shocked, and marian and alice tried to control their amusement. "the heathen, i warned him to be good." alice laughed in spite of herself with an apologetic glance at mrs. morton. the girls had bolted upstairs at the first words of dick's invitation. "come on, mother, don't mind dick's nonsense," said marian, linking her arm in hers and gently drawing her up. "it will do you good to see alice's pretty things." dick held the door open for them with a deep salaam. alice held up a finger warningly with an imperceptible gesture in mrs. morton's direction. he shrugged his shoulders repentantly. "now, alice, if you'll just dig out my particular parcel i'll vamoose. women complain that men never take an interest in their affairs and then if a misguided chap tries to act intelligent, he is snubbed." dick's tone sounded injured. alice kissed the tip of his ear and shoved him out of the way. "you're so big, dick, there's never room for anyone else when you're around." alice deftly opened trays and lids, pulling out protecting papers; she handed dick a large flat parcel. dick received it with his hand on his heart, then striking an oratorical attitude, addressed jane in the formal tone he used in court. "ladies, miss chicken little jane morton, i have the great honor on this suspicious occasion to present to you on behalf of my unworthy self, a slight testimonial of my deep respect and undying affection--alice, stop winking at marian--mrs. morton, is it fitting for a wife to stop the flow of her husband's eloquence by winking? i wish you'd take alice in hand. i think she needs some lessons in the proprieties. as i was saying, i wish to present this trifle to you, and the only expression of gratitude i desire in return, is thirty kisses to be delivered one daily, on or before the twelfth hour of each day, to which witness my seal and hand." with another bow, he resigned the parcel to chicken little. she promptly tendered one kiss in advance. then stripped off the papers with eager fingers. a charming white leghorn hat appeared. it was faced with pale blue and trimmed with knots of apple blossoms and black velvet ribbon. "how charming!" exclaimed mrs. morton. "dick, i didn't suppose you had such good taste!" added marian. "try it on quick, chicken little." chicken little's shining eyes and clear, fair skin fitted like a charm under the pale blue. dick was jubilant. "i saw that hat in a shop window and i thought it looked exactly like chicken little. who says a man can't pick out a hat?" he departed without waiting for any disparaging remarks. alice's present came next, a charming muslin with sash and hair ribbons the exact shade of the blue hat facing. "if it only fits, jane. i left some to let out in the hem, but you are bigger every way than i thought. i tried it on katie." "changing it a little at the waist will make it perfect," marian reassured her. "oh, i am so glad it is snug, and just the right length, alice. mother--" chicken little stopped suddenly, she couldn't be criticising mother before company. "you see i grow so dreadfully fast that mother has to make everything too big so it'll last a while." marian supplemented this explanation later to alice. "poor child, mother morton does make her clothes too big! and it doesn't do a bit of good for they hang on her the whole season and by the next they're either worn or faded--and she generally manages to out-grow them, in spite of their bigness." the girl's parcel was found to contain candy and a duck of a fan. but alice's wedding things soon put everything else in the shade. the dainty sets of underwear with their complicated puffs and insertings, frilled petticoats, silk and muslin and poplin gowns, hats and parasols, lay in a rainbow colored heap on the bed and chairs. "alice," said marian, caressing some of the dainty lingerie, "who is going to iron all these puffs and ruffles? it would take hours to do them right, especially the petticoats." "i know, marian--i asked aunt clara the same question. and do you know what i have done?" her audience looked interested. "i just went down town the minute i got to centerville and got some nice strong muslin and i've been making it up perfectly plain except for a tiny edge. they are heaps more comfortable--and i wear these others for best. why, i couldn't keep a maid and hurl all that stuff at her every week!" "are they wearing hoops pretty generally?" mrs. morton inquired as alice laughingly held a pair up for inspection. "yes, and bustles too. see this buff poplin with the panniers just has to have a bustle. thank goodness they're young yet, as dick says, but i suppose they'll keep on getting bigger." "oh, i should think they'd be so hot and horrid." "they are, but the hoops are delightfully cool, only you have to be on your guard with the treacherous things or they swing up in front when you sit down, in a most mortifying fashion." "i have a pair to wear with my muslin dresses--it makes them stand out beautifully," said katy complacently. "but mother wouldn't let gertie have any. she said she was too young." "i didn't want the old things," gertie protested. "and you wouldn't have got yours if you hadn't teased perfectly awful, and i heard mother say she guessed you'd soon be sick enough of them." "i agree entirely with your mother, gertie, i consider them unsuitable for little girls. but they do set off a handsome dress to advantage. i remember during the war we used to wear such large ones we could hardly get through a door with them." "mother morton, i bet you were a lot more frivolous than we are now." marian put her hand lovingly on the wrinkled one that was smoothing the folds of a rich silk. mrs. morton smiled. "well, we had our pretty things. alice's dresses are lovely, but she hasn't anything more elegant than my second day dress. it was a brown and silver silk brocade with thread lace chemisette and under sleeves. and my next best was apple green and pink changeable, trimmed in yards and yards of narrow black velvet ribbon all sewed on by hand." "how i should love to have seen them!" alice smiled wistfully. "you know i didn't have any of my mother's things." "come on, girls, it's getting late, let's help alice put her treasures away. they couldn't be nicer, alice, and i think you are going to be a very happy woman to make up for that desolate girlhood of yours." marian was already folding the garments. they were soon laid away snugly in trunk and closet and drawers, and the whole family packed off to bed to be ready for the early farm breakfast on the morrow. chapter vi a hunting party the day following the arrival of the guests was spent in resting and seeing the ranch. katy and gertie had never been on a large farm before, and the thousand acres of field and prairie and woodland, seemed as marvellous as the tales they had read of the big english estates. alice and dick were also fascinated by all this space and freedom, but they saw deeper than the little girls. "it's a wonderful place," said dick, "and i don't wonder the doctor is proud of it. but he is too well along in years to handle such a big undertaking. i doubt if the ranch pays for ten years to come, and it means hard work and a lonely life for all of them. it's all right for frank and marian, but i'm sorry for the rest of the family." "mrs. morton is growing old fast with all this unaccustomed drudgery, and she is worried about the children's education, i can see," replied alice. "yes, there are two sides to it. i guess we'll stick to the law and little old centerville; we may not die rich, but we'll be a lot more comfortable as we go along." sherm took to the farm like the proverbial duck to the pond. he donned overalls that first morning and was off with frank and ernest to the fields before the little girls were out of bed. after breakfast jane took katie and gertie to see the sights of the ranch. first to the spring under the old oak where the cold, clear water gushed from the rocks into a little basin, and then tumbled down a rocky channel under the springhouse and on for some hundred of yards farther before it widened out into the pond. "we can go swimming in the pond but there is a nicer place in the creek above the ford." "oh, i'd love to learn to swim but we haven't any bathing suits." "pooh, that doesn't matter, we just take some old dresses--there isn't anybody to see you, especially down at the creek. you know it's private ground and the trees hang over the pool all around so the sun only comes in a little bit. we'll get marian to go with us." "i should think you could skate, too." "we do. i had a great time once last winter--father told me the ice was too thin, but i saw a yearling calf go over all right and i thought the ice would bear me. but i guess calfie had more sense about the weak places. at any rate, i went through, near the middle. the water was up to my shoulders. gee, it was cold and the ice kept breaking when i tried to climb out--and the men were all away. i most froze before i got to the bank, and then my skate straps were so wet i couldn't loosen them, besides my fingers were too numb to bend. i had to walk on the skates all the way to the house. my teeth chattered till they almost played tunes by the time i got to the door." chicken little shivered at the recollection. "what's the cunning little stone house for?" gertie's attention was caught by a tiny hut without windows on the edge of the pond. "oh, that's the smokehouse. we're so far from town that we put away a lot of meat every winter. the hams and sides of bacon are smoked there." "and that wooden building over yonder?" "the granary--for the wheat and rye. those open log houses are the corn cribs." "my, it takes a lot of buildings to make a ranch." katy was impressed in spite of herself. "we haven't been to the barns and corrals yet. i love the hay mow." chicken little had not forgotten lumps of sugar for calico and caliph. ernest had given his pony a high-sounding name. the intelligent beast was proud and dainty enough to deserve it. he was shy about coming for his lump, but when he once got the taste, he nosed around chicken little for more. they ended the morning's wanderings in jane's own particular bower, known to the family as the weeping willows because she had once retired there to cry out her troubles, and had been discovered in a very moist state by frank, who was a merciless tease. there were two rows of the old willows. they formed a long leafy room on the edge of one of the orchards, out of sight both of the house and road. chicken little had been known to flee thither on more than one occasion when she did not wish to be disturbed in the thrilling place in a novel. for you really couldn't hear any one calling from the house in this leafy fastness. ernest had made her two or three rustic seats, and a little cupboard where she could keep her treasures sheltered from the sun and rain. katy and gertie were charmed with this retreat. "if there was only a table, i could write all my letters home out here. wouldn't it be romantic?" katy loved the unusual. "it's lovely, jane, let's stay out here lots." gertie settled down on one of the seats with a little sigh. "i wish i had my old doll here; it would make such a dandy playhouse." "gertie halford, the idea of a great, big girl like you wanting to play with dolls." "i get victoria out sometimes and dress her up," confessed jane. "it isn't much fun all alone, but i like to see her sometimes. if you'd like to, gertie, we'll have a doll sewing bee this afternoon and you can be victoria's mother and katie and i will be dressmaker's though i never could sew decently. mother's about given me up in despair." chicken little had noticed a little far-away look in gertie's eyes ever since she came. marian had warned her the night before that she had better keep gertie pretty busy for a day or two, or she would be homesick. unfortunately, chicken little's kindness precipitated the catastrophe she was trying to avoid. she was so motherly she reminded gertie afresh of the dear little mother she had left so many miles behind and the tears came in spite of her. chicken little coaxed and comforted, and katy coaxed and scolded, but gertie's tears were apparently turned on for keeps and the weeping willows was earning its name again. gertie cried till she got all shivery, declaring solemnly whenever she could command her voice sufficiently to talk, that there wasn't a thing the matter--only--only--she--was a little bit homesick. she wouldn't hear to jane's going to fetch alice or mrs. morton or marian. "she'd be all right in a minute, if they'd just let her alone." but the minutes went by and she still cried, and in spite of the warm june sunshine, her hands felt cold and her shoulders shook as if with an ague. chicken little and katy were both getting worried when help came in the shape of marian and jilly. marian understood at a glance, and dropping to the ground beside her, drew her into her lap and chafed the cold hands while she bade jilly hug poor gertie. jilly was a born comforter and she half smothered the patient with her energetic hugs and moist, warm kisses. "too bad, too bad--ants bite gertie, too bad! jilly fine 'em." jilly had not forgotten her own sad experience with the ants and not seeing any visible cause for gertie's woes, evidently thought they were the guilty ones again. jilly was irresistible. gertie had to laugh, even if the tears running down her face, did leave a salty taste in her mouth. she hugged the small comforter. jilly, however, was not to be turned from her hunt. she insisted upon pulling down gertie's stockings and making a minute search for the culprits. her little tickling fingers and earnest air completed gertie's cure, and jilly adopted her as her own particular property from that day on, seeming to consider her in need of protection. marian declared they must all come and have dinner with her. ernest and sherm were already there and they had a merry meal in the little cottage, for marian made them all help--even the big boys. she tied a blue apron around sherm and set him to stirring gravy while ernest watched four cherry pies almost ready to come out of the oven. she had despatched katy and jane to the springhouse after milk and butter. gertie, assisted by jilly, set the table. sherm had burned a nice fiery red during his morning's plowing. he was immensely proud of his efforts. "i tell you sherm's some farmer for a tenderfoot," said ernest, telling about the number of corn rows he had done. "better come stay with us, sherm." "haven't i come--i love the ranch. but i suppose i've got four years of college ahead of me." "you'll have time enough after that, sherm," said frank, "but if you should want to try ranching, you'd better come out this way." "no ranching for me." ernest thumped the table with his fork emphatically. "you can have my berth, sherm, and welcome. the only thing i care for here, is the hunting. by the way, frank, are you and marian going hunting with us?" "i'd like to. what do you say, marian?" "why, if there's room for so many." "i wish we could ask captain clarke," chicken little spoke up. "my, you are daffy about the captain, jane. he wouldn't go--you couldn't hire him to if he knew alice and i were to be of the party. queer he is so charming with jane, and with the men and boys, and so very reserved and stiff with women." "he probably has some reason for disliking your sex. perhaps, if we'd let him go with the children and the boys, he might be persuaded to come. he'd only see you at luncheon time. what's the matter, katie?" "i'm not a child," said katy with dignity. "all right, you may come with us grown-ups and let the captain have the children and the boys." "you'd better find out whether the captain is willing before you plan so definitely, frank." "we'll send chicken little and sherm over on the ponies as a special deputation to invite him. you must coax your prettiest, sis." "i'd love to. i just know i can get him to come. will you go with me, sherm?" "nothing i'd like better," responded sherm heartily. the next few days fairly twinkled by. the girls roamed the woods and the fields with dick and alice, and went in bathing, and fed chickens, and even made little pats of butter down in the cool springhouse. gertie mourned because she could not send hers home straightway to mother. chicken little and sherm waited until sunday to go over to the captain's. sherm found caliph and the mexican saddle rather more to his taste than chicken little's outfit had been on the ride from town. he had about all he could do for the first five minutes to manage caliph for he had had little opportunity for riding at home. but he had a cool head, and with a few suggestions from jane, he soon convinced caliph that he had a new master as determined as ernest, if not quite so skilful a horseman. they did not talk much. sherm considered jane a little girl and jane stood rather in awe of sherm. but they enjoyed the brisk ride none the less. the swift motion with the wind in their faces, the wide stretches of prairie bounded on the distant horizon by a faint line of timber, were novel and delightful to sherm. to jane, they were familiar and dearly loved. besides, she liked having sherm with her. he glanced at her from time to time. chicken little glanced back with sweet, friendly eyes. it was she who finally broke the ice. "i do hope the captain will go. i'm most sure he'll like you, because his little boy looked a lot like you. he showed me the picture." "he seems to like you all right from what they say." chicken little laughed merrily. sherm couldn't quite see the connection. "well, what's so funny about that?" "will you cross your heart never to tell, sherm? frank and ernest would tease the life out of me if they knew." "cut my heart out and eat it, if i ever breathe a word." chicken little related the swearing episode which she had not seen fit to trouble even marian with, at home. "i guess," she concluded, "he felt sort of sorry for me right at the start and that made him like me." "'twouldn't be such a hard job as you seem to think, jane," sherm surprised himself by saying. chicken little flushed and looked up hastily at sherm who also felt his face getting warm to his great disgust. sherm hated softies of any kind. "oh, i believe there's the captain now over by the pasture fence." captain clarke was riding round the pastures inspecting the barbed wire fencing. he soon hailed them. "hello, little neighbor, is the piebald behaving himself?" jane introduced sherm as soon as they came abreast. "captain clarke, this is ernest's friend, the sherman dart i told you about." captain clarke scanned the boy's face curiously. his own went a little white after an instant's inspection. "you are right--he is marvellously like what my boy might be to-day. i beg your pardon for my rude scrutiny. possibly jane has told you of the resemblance. you will come up to the house and let wing give you some lemonade. it is hot this afternoon." chicken little declined to take him from his course and told him their errand. he hesitated. "you say mr. and mrs. harding and your brother and his wife are going. would you think me very rude and unappreciative if i declined, dear? i am poor company for anyone these days and----" chicken little looked so disappointed that he paused ruefully. "please, just this once, katie and gertie want to see you dreadfully and you could go with us. pretty please." she thought she saw signs of weakening. sherm also noticed the captain's hesitation. "we've all sort of set our hearts on having you, sir. chicken little and ernest have talked so much about you we feel acquainted, and dr. morton says you're a dead shot. i've never hunted anything but squirrels myself." captain clarke stared at sherm as if in a dream for a minute. the boy was embarrassed by his silence and smiled his little crooked smile to cover it. their host passed his hand over his eyes and sighed. then he smiled. "it's no disgrace to surrender to a superior force. i am yours to command. but i stipulate that you two stand by me." chicken little gave a bounce in her saddle to emphasize her delight and calico took this as a hint to go on. "whoa, calico! thank you--bushels! oh, i just know we'll have the best time! would you mind if we children all went with you because nobody's going to be willing to be left out?" "i can take five nicely and have plenty of room for guns and lunch baskets besides. by the way, please tell your mother that wing fan will never forgive me if he is not permitted to get up the lunch for all the young people at the very least." "have you a gun with you?" he asked sherm as they were going. "no, but ernest said i might take his." "i have a new shotgun. i should be glad if you would share it with me." they found alice and dick, marian, katie, gertie and jilly, not to mention huz and buz, waiting for them on the morton side of the ford. "what luck?" sherm didn't give jane a chance to reply. "oh, chicken little just put on her company smile and the captain held out his hands and said: 'handcuffs, please.'" he was meeker than buz. "sherman dart, you old--" chicken little flicked caliph lightly by way of revenge, and sherm had his hands full for several seconds, for caliph resented the indignity. it was arranged to start early the following saturday morning. mrs. morton and annie were up soon after daylight busy with the mysteries of fried chicken and fresh rolls. the men of the party were equally busy cleaning guns and routing out all sorts of hunting toggery. the girls tried to help everybody impartially, succeeding for the most part in making a general nuisance of themselves. at exactly seven-thirty captain clarke drove up with a wonderful team of blacks. his hunting jacket was belted in with a formidable looking cartridge belt, two shotguns were slid in on the floor of the spring wagon, and lunch baskets and a great earthenware jug of lemonade were wedged in under the seats. he gave a shrill hunting halloo as he drew up at the gate. mrs. morton was a little disturbed at the gay looking team. "are you quite sure they are safe with the guns? you know young people are often reckless and this is a very precious load." "my dear madam, i think i can answer for jim and jerry. i took them out for an hour yesterday and used the gun over their heads to make sure they hadn't forgotten their manners." the captain met the strangers of the party in his usual courteous reserved fashion, but his eyes lighted when chicken little ran down the walk. he established ernest and katie and gertie on the back seat and swung jane up in front to the driver's seat with sherm on her left. "ernest, i'll handle the ribbons going, if it suits you, and you can drive us back. i have an idea you will have the sharpest eye for game of any of this crowd. we ought to do our best work the next two hours for snipe. we probably won't find many prairie chickens until we get over on little john. by the way, boys, be careful not to disturb the mother birds--there are still some on the nests. i really don't like to hunt quite so early in the season as this, although a good many of the young birds are shifting for themselves already--bird parents have a beautiful faith in providence. they don't worry long about their young." a light shower had fallen the night before and the air was fresh and fragrant with the smell of wet grasses and moist earth. the rattle of wheels close behind assured them that frank and his load were near. "kansas certainly takes the cake for climate," dick called to them, happily reckless about corrupting the young folk with his slang. alice promptly reproached him. "mrs. morton would send you home by the first train if she heard you." dick assumed an air of mock woe. "oh, i say there, chicken little, don't mention that little matter of the cake--that particular cake isn't respectable, alice says." it was frank who got the first shot. "here, marian, take the lines quick. hold them tight--they may jump when i fire. turn out of the road--to the right--slowly now. stop!" frank drew the gun to his shoulder and took careful aim while the others were still vainly trying to see something to shoot at. a snap, a flash, and a bird whirred up a hundred paces away, flew a few feet from the ground, and fell. frank ran to the spot and held up a good-sized plover. marian and alice examined it pitifully. "what a slender delicate thing it is! it seems a shame to kill it. i like the excitement of hunting but i always want to cry over the victims," said alice with a sigh. sherm caught sight of a covey soon after. he and ernest slipped out of the wagon and stole up as close as possible. ernest got two with the scattering bird shot, but sherm missed. "you were too anxious, lad. stop an instant always before you fire to make sure your hand is steady," the captain consoled him kindly. sherm profited by this advice and brought down his next bird. captain clarke left the game to the boys until their first zest for the sport was satisfied. chicken little frequently discovered the birds before either of the boys, and was eager to have a turn herself, as was also katy. gertie put her hands to her ears every time a gun was fired and openly hoped they wouldn't find any more game to shoot at. captain clarke advised the girls to wait a little, and watch the boys carefully to see exactly how they aimed and rested their guns, and he would help them both a little later. but ernest soon undertook katie's education and was surprised to find he had a very apt pupil. katy had as steady a nerve and as true an eye as either of the boys. ernest began to be alarmed lest his pupil win his honors away from him. "you must have shot before, katy." "i have with a revolver. uncle sim used to let me shoot at a target. and he had an archery club last summer." the captain did his best for chicken little but she did not do nearly so well as katy, though she made one shot the captain considered quite extraordinary. "it's a pretty long range for a novice, little neighbor, but you can try it." two birds flew up where she had seen one. "oh, dear, i missed," she lamented. "i'm not so sure," said sherm. "let's go see." he helped her down and they made a brisk run toward the spot where the grouse had risen. after a few minutes, sherm stooped and picked up a bird considerably to the right of where chicken little had aimed. "well, i'll be jiggered!" he exclaimed with a puzzled expression. "you did get one." he stood looking down thoughtfully at the ground. chicken little hurried to him elated, but her joy was short-lived. snuggled among the grasses was an empty nest. "oh, do you 'spose she was on the nest? but i couldn't have seen her if she had been--and it's empty." by way of reply, sherm stooped again and picked up a baby grouse from a clump of weeds. fear had frozen it into a motionless wee brown image. "oh, the poor little darling! i took its mother." chicken little looked ready to cry. bending down sherm parted the weeds and grasses cautiously. "here's another--and another. we must hunt them, chicken little, and take them home or they will all starve. gee, what can we put them in?" jane slipped her hat elastic from under her braid, and taking a handful of long grass to line it with, soon made a snug nest. they tucked the mottled downy bunches into it. "what in sam hill are you people doing over there?" called ernest. "little grouse--come help us find them," sherm called back. "be careful now or you'll step on them," he warned as ernest and the girls came running up. "they are the slyest little codgers--you don't see them until you are right on them." gertie was on her knees peering before the words were out of his mouth. she lifted a fourth mite from its hiding place, and a fifth, and a sixth, almost as fast as she could pick them up. "oh, aren't they dear? may i hold them, jane, when we get back to the wagon?" gertie was caressing them with hands and eyes. there were ten chicks cuddled in the hat, when after a thorough search of the weeds, ernest announced that they must surely have them all. but to make sure they went over the ground in all directions once more. jane was very sober. sherm tried to cheer her. "you couldn't help it, chicken little. you didn't mean to." sherm smiled his funny smile as he said this. "why are you smiling? oh, i know--i believe so, too." "what secrets are you talking?" katy was curious. "yes, speak united states, it isn't polite to leave your guests in the dark this way," growled ernest. jane haughtily declined to explain just then. when they returned to the wagon, they found the captain as much interested in the shot, as he was in the prairie chicks. "that was really a wonderful hit, little girl. i congratulate you." jane stole a glance at sherm. he wasn't looking at her, but he was smiling. jane smiled, too. "yes, captain clarke," she replied demurely, "it was rather astonishing." this was too much for sherm who chuckled openly. captain clarke looked from one to the other inquiringly. the others were completely mystified. "well, i'd just like to know what you two are up to." katy wrinkled her nose in disgust. "can't a fellow laugh without having to give an account of himself?" sherm parried, still trying to stave off the mirth that possessed him. chicken little's face was sweetly sober. "he's appreciating my--skill--the rest of you don't seem to realize what a feat----" a sound, something between a crow and a suppressed steam whistle interrupted her. sherm whooped until he was red in the face. chicken little regarded him reproachfully, but continued: "you see most anybody can hit the chicken they aim at, but it takes a fine shot to hit one you didn't know was there." she grinned mischievously up at the captain who grinned back delightedly. "really, chicken little?" "really." she joined in the general laugh. "what did you want to tell for?" sherm had enjoyed having the joke to himself. she didn't answer then, but later she whispered: "because the captain--i didn't want him praising me that way!" noon found them fifteen miles from home with a bag of six snipe and ten prairie chickens, and appetites that fairly clamored. frank found an ideal camping place in a grove of walnut trees beside a small creek. "i camped here once two years ago and there's a fine spring somewhere near. come along, katie, we'll go hunt it. ernest, picket the horses--there's oats under the back seat. and sherm, if you'll just start a fire for the coffee." marian and alice spread the luncheon out on a long tablecloth laid over the dust robes on the ground. gertie and chicken little fed the little grouse with some moistened bread crumbs, finding it difficult at first to induce them to eat. but they would swallow, when the girls pried open their tiny beaks and stuck a crumb inside. captain clarke showed them how, and patiently helped them until each tiny craw was at least partly filled. marian and alice watched him furtively. "he is gentle as a woman," alice whispered, "and his face lights up wonderfully when he smiles, though it is stern usually." "yes, i can see now why jane is so fascinated. do you know his smile is very much like sherm's? see--no, just wait a minute. now--watch his upper lip--his mouth twists crooked exactly like sherm's. chicken little spoke of his baby's picture having the same smile." marian dropped her eyes hastily as the captain chanced to turn in their direction. "i imagine lots of people have that kind of a smile only we never noticed them," replied alice. "of course, i didn't mean to suggest anything. will you cut the lemon cake?" after the luncheon was eaten, the shady grove tempted them to linger on with its woodsy coolness. the younger folk dragging the captain, a willing victim, along with them, went off on an exploring expedition while the others stretched out luxuriously on the coarse grass that grew rank along the slope. it was four o'clock before they could tear themselves away for the homeward ride. "you'd better hurry," frank called to the stragglers, "it will be almost dark before we get home even if we don't stop to shoot." they picked up a few quail on the divide soon after they started, but their zest for the sport seemed to have waned. chicken little declined to try any further. "i know, it's the baby grouse," said katy. "yes," said captain clarke, "i think the baby grouse have rather taken the zip out of it for all of us." the moon was just peeping above the tree tops as they crossed the home ford. a huge grotesque shadow of the horses and wagon with its load, was reflected upon the silvered surface of a deep pool just beyond the ripples where they had stopped to let the horses drink. the blacks having satisfied their thirst, began to dash the water about with their hoofs. "they love it, don't they?" katy watched them. "yes," said the captain thoughtfully, "i guess every living thing enjoys this beautiful world of ours--when it is given the chance." chapter vii pigs "take a hand to a wooster? take a hand to a wooster!" dick harding was standing out in the road near the white cottage one morning about two weeks after the hunting party, trying to decide whether he would take a walk or a ride to settle his breakfast. he glanced down into jilly's sober little face lifted to his appealingly. "take a hand to a wooster? charmed, i'm sure. point out the rooster. but what has his rooster-ship done, and how can i make him keep still long enough to lay hands on him, jilly dilly?" jilly clasped five fat fingers around two of his, smiled confidingly and made her plea once more: "take a hand to a wooster." dick looked puzzled, but jilly was pulling and he meekly followed her guidance. "i haven't the faintest idea what you are getting me into, young lady, but go ahead, i'm at your service." jilly pattered along not deigning to reply to his remarks. jilly considered words as something to be reserved for business purposes only. she led him to the chicken yard, pressed her small face against the wire netting that enclosed it, and contemplated the fowls ecstatically. dick contemplated also, trying to pick out the offending rooster. "which rooster, jilly?" but jilly only smiled vaguely. "feed a wooster," she commanded after another season of gazing. "yes, to be sure, but what would you suggest that i offer him? there doesn't seem to be anything edible round here." the chickens seconded jilly's suggestion, coming to the fence and clucking excitedly. jilly looked pained at dick's indolence and, taking his hand, led him over to a covered wooden box, which was found to contain shelled corn. the chickens were duly fed, but dick still puzzled over the unchastized rooster until marian enlightened him later. "i shall have to give you a key to jilly's dialect," marian laughed--"she merely wanted you to go with her to see the chickens." chicken little was enjoying her guests. her resolve to help mother was carried out only semi-occasionally when there were raspberries or currants to be picked or peas to be shelled, under the grape arbor so they wouldn't be in annie's way in the kitchen. at first, mrs. morton had counted on having the girls help with the breakfast dishes, but they developed such a genius for disappearing immediately after breakfast that she gave it up as more bother than it was worth. they tramped and rode, and waded and splashed and finally swam, in the bathing hole down at the creek, under marian's or alice's supervision, till katie and gertie were brown and hearty. "mrs. halford wouldn't know gertie--she's fairly made over," alice observed one morning. gertie was fast losing her timidity and had so much persistence in learning to ride that she bade fair to have a more graceful seat in the saddle than jane herself. sherm was deep in farm work and the girls saw little either of him or of ernest, except in the evenings and on sundays. dick ran the reaper in the harvest field for dr. morton for three days, but his zeal waned as the weather got hotter. "this is my vacation and i don't want to sweat my sweet self entirely away 'in little drops of water.' think how pained you'd be, dearest," he told alice. "i never dreamed there was so much farming to a ranch," alice remarked to dr. morton one day. "i thought you attended to the cattle----" "and rode around in chaps and sombreros, looking picturesque, the rest of the time," interrupted dick. "my precious wife is disappointed because she hasn't seen any cowboys cavorting about the place shooting each other up or gambling with nice picturesque bags of gold dust." "dick harding! i didn't. but we'd hardly know there were any cattle round if we didn't go through the pasture occasionally." "our big pastures take them off our hands pretty well in summer, but in winter they have to be fed and herded and looked after generally, don't they, chicken little? humbug has played herd boy herself more than once. you are thinking of the big cattle ranges in colorado and montana and wyoming, alice. this country is cut up into farms and the ranges are gone. and we have to raise our corn and wheat and rye, not to mention fruits and vegetables. it's a busy life, but i love its independence." a day or two after this conversation, ernest came in late to dinner, exclaiming: "father, the white sow and all her thirteen pigs are out." "the dickens, have you any idea where she's gone?" dr. morton looked decidedly annoyed. "i told jim bart that pen wasn't strong enough to hold her--she's the meanest animal on the place." "one of the harvest hands said he thought he saw her down along the slough. i am sorry for the porkers if she is--they aren't a week old yet." "go down right after dinner and see if you can see anything of her. the old fool will lose them all in that marshy ground. and i don't see how we can spare a man to look after them. it looks like rain and that wheat must be in the barns by night." ernest came back from his search to report that the sow and one lone pig had wandered back to the barnyard and jim bart had got them into the pen. "one pig! you don't mean she has lost the other twelve? that's costly business!" "looks that way. they're such little fellows--i suppose they're squealing down there in the slough in that swamp grass--it's a regular jungle three or four feet high." dr. morton studied a moment, perplexed. "well, the grain is worth more than the pigs. i guess they'll have to go until evening and then we'll all go down and see how many we can find. they won't suffer greatly before night unless they find enough water to drown themselves in." "oh, the poor piggies!" exclaimed chicken little. "why, they'll be most starved and maybe the bull snakes might get them." "i hardly think they could manage a pig. but i can't help it, unless you think you could rescue them, daughter." dr. morton said this last in fun, but chicken little took it seriously. "what could i put them in, father?" "oh, you might take a small chicken coop," replied her father carelessly. the wagons coming from the barn were already rattling into the road and he was in a hurry to catch one and save himself the hot walk to the fields. chicken little was thinking. she sat twisting a corner of her apron into a tight roll. "i believe we could do it," she said presently, "and the bull snakes are perfectly harmless if they are big, ugly-looking things. will you help me, katie?" "ugh, are there really snakes there, jane?" "yes, but we've never seen any poisonous ones along there, though i saw a water moccasin once right down by the spring, so you never can tell. but snakes sound a lot worse than they really are, 'cause they're such cowards they always run." katy considered. the task did not sound attractive, but katy was plucky. "i guess, if you can do it, i can." jane had not thought of asking gertie and she was surprised to hear her say: "i'm coming, too." "oh, gertie, won't you be afraid?" "yes, i'm afraid, but i don't want the little piggies killed--just think how you'd feel if you were lost in such a dreadful place and there were snakes and awful things. if i see a snake i'll yell bloody murder, and i guess it'll let me alone." jane threw herself on gertie and hugged her. "gertie halford, i think you'd make a real, sure enough book heroine, because you do things when you think you ought to, whether you're scared or not." "i wish dick hadn't gone to town to-day," said katy. chicken little had her campaign already planned. "i'm going to get ernest's and frank's and sherm's rubber boots for us. they'll be lots too big, but we can tie them around the legs to make them stick on. they will be fine in the mud and water if we have to wade in the slough. yes, and they will protect us from the snakes, too. we won't put them on till we get down there; they will be too hard to walk in. and we can take jilly's red wagon and put the smallest chicken coop on it. it isn't heavy." mrs. morton had gone to town with dick and alice for the day or the girls would probably not have been permitted to carry out their unusual undertaking. they quickly made their preparations with much joking about the boots, and twenty minutes later came to the banks of the slough. the slough was in reality a continuation of the spring stream, which spread out in the meadows below the pond until it lost all semblance of a stream and became merely a marshy stretch, whose waters finally found their way into the creek. in the meadows adjoining, the finest hay on the place was cut each year. the girls sat down on the grass and fastened on the boots. the effect was somewhat startling, for they reached well above the knee on chicken little, who was the tallest of the three, while poor gertie seemed to be divided into two equal parts. both katy and jane giggled when she got laboriously to her feet. "there's more boots than girl, gertie," laughed jane. "you don't need to be afraid, sis, you'll scare anything, even a snake!" katy remarked unfeelingly, though her words reassured gertie wonderfully. "i don't feel so afraid in these," she said. chicken little was slowly making her way in to the slough. "jim found the mother pig near here, ernest said, but the little scamps may be most anywhere. let's listen and see if we can hear any squeals or grunts." "yes, i did--i'm most sure, but it didn't sound very close by," gertie answered. chicken little listened. "which way did the sound come from?" "toward the creek, but i don't hear it any more." [illustration: they had a pretty chase.] "we'd better search pretty carefully as we go along so we won't have to come back over the same ground," remarked katy, who had a genius for organizing--even a pig hunt. "you are the tallest, jane, so you take the tallest grass next the water, and i'll come along half way up the bank and gertie can walk through the meadow grass--that way we can't miss them." "no, for they must be on this side of the slough: they're too little to wade across it." chicken little made the first find, two discouraged little porkers, hopelessly mired and grunting feebly when disturbed. they had no trouble in catching these, but holding their wet, miry little bodies was a different matter. they were slippery as eels. chicken little and katy, who each had one, found them a handful. "oh, mine most got away! and i'm all over mud--we'll be a sight!" katy giggled hysterically. "i wonder what mother would think if she could see me now." "well, it will all wash off. it wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't so hard to clump along in these old boots. it takes forever to get any place." they had sent gertie on ahead to open the coop door. with a sigh of relief, katy shoved hers into it. jane was not so lucky. instead of going in, as a well-regulated pig should, the small, black-and-white sinner shot off to one side and made for the slough again. they had a pretty chase before he finally tangled himself up in the grass and was captured once more. they plodded back to take up the search where they had left off, going through the shorter grass till they should reach the point where they had found the pigs. they were clumping along, chattering gaily, when katy jumped and let out a yell that could have been heard a block away. "oh, there's the biggest snake i ever saw--over there near that rock--don't you see?" gertie turned white, but chicken little encouraged her by starting toward the monster, which was indeed a huge bull snake fully five feet long, as ernest and sherm found by actual measurement that evening. "pooh," said chicken little, "it looks dreadful, but it won't hurt you. if i can find some stones i'm going to try to kill it." "don't you dare go near it." katy grabbed her dress and held on tight. "but we'll all be scared to death all the time, for fear we come across it again, if i don't. there are some rocks over there big enough, if i can get them out of the ground." she went resolutely over and, prying with a stick, secured two good-sized rocks. armed with these, she started toward the snake coiled up asleep in the hot july sunshine. katy and gertie watched her breathlessly. chicken little advanced with caution. she didn't like the job herself, though she was sure the snake wouldn't do anything worse than run. she had seen her elders kill them more than once, and they had always been cowardly. nevertheless, her heart thumped and her breath came fast, as she crept nearer. she must go close and aim at the head if she hoped to do any execution. step by step she crept forward till she was within four feet of that ugly coil. stopping, she raised the heavy stone and took careful aim. at this instant her presence disturbed the snake. it raised its oval head, fixing her with its beady, bright eyes. a thrill of horror shot through her. what if it should fascinate her so she couldn't move? she had heard of such things. she heaved the stone, shutting her eyes tight as it left her hand. katy and gertie both screamed and jumped back. jane opened her eyes quickly to see the snake uncoil and start to glide away. she saw something else, too. she saw that her stone had wounded it just behind the head. her courage flowed back in a trice. she raised the other stone and moved forward. the snake was slipping over the ground at a swift pace. she had to run, catching up with it as it came to its hole, a few feet distant. she smashed down the second rock almost in the same place she had hit before. the reptile moved feebly about six inches farther till its ugly head was hidden inside the hole, then thrashed its heavy body through another undulation, and lay still. chicken little stood looking at it in dazed surprise for several seconds. she was white and trembling with excitement. seeing that it did not move, katy and gertie crept a little closer. no one said a word for a full minute, then chicken little came to life, her face convulsed with loathing. "ugh, the nasty thing--i hate them. i don't see what god wanted to make such horrid, wicked things for!" "well, the bible says they weren't wicked till eve ate the apple," katy replied, staring curiously down at the snake. she had never seen such a big one outside of a circus. "but i think they must have always looked wicked, anyhow. how did you ever dare, chicken little, to tackle it? i was expecting it to wind right round you like that picture of laocoon in our mythology." "i shouldn't have dared if i hadn't seen so many of them before. i guess being brave is mostly being used to things. but i hate snakes worse than anything in the world--i don't feel a bit sorry about killing them!" "oh, dear," said gertie, shuddering, "i s'pose we have got to find the rest of the pigs." katy and chicken little each echoed the sigh. they all started ahead resolutely. but they kept closer together for a time. they went some little distance without finding any further signs of the lost animals. "you don't suppose we could have passed them, do you?" katy inquired anxiously. "we couldn't, if they are on this side of the slough." a few rods farther on something moved in the swamp grass. all three jumped and screamed: their nerve had been sadly weakened by the bull snake. a squeal and chorus of grunts reassured them. "here they are--a lot of them. oh, dear, i wish we'd brought the coop along so we wouldn't have to go back." jane parted the tall grass and discovered five of the fugitives huddled together. they were much livelier than the first ones and showed symptoms of bolting if the girls approached nearer. "i'll go back for it," said katy. "i'll go through the short grass and i won't be afraid." chicken little and gertie watched and waited. "isn't that little white one with the pink ears and curly tail cunning? i didn't suppose pigs could be so pretty." "they are only pretty when they are weenties. as soon as they grow old enough to root in the mud, they are horrid." when katy returned they anchored the red wagon with the chicken coop and the two captured piglets as close to the slough as possible. all three crept upon the pig cache cautiously. "pick out which one you'll grab, for they are going to run sure," chicken little admonished. they made a dash and each got a pig, but, alas, the two free ones made a dash also--a break for liberty worthy of an indian. they selected routes immediately in front of, and immediately behind chicken little, whose attention was absorbed with trying to hold a squealing, squirming pig. the result was disastrous to all concerned. pig no. tripped her up neatly and she sat down hastily and unexpectedly upon pig no. , who gave one agonized squeal, in which the pig in her arms joined. fortunately, her victim did not get her whole weight or there would have been one pig the less in this vale of tears. chicken little squashed him down gently into some two inches of oozy mud and water. it splashed in all directions, baptizing katy and gertie and the fleeing pig as well as completing the ruin of jane's pink gingham frock, fresh that morning. the sight of her amazed and disgusted face generously decorated with mud, was too much for katy. she giggled till the tears stood in her eyes. chicken little was indignant. "i guess you wouldn't think it was so funny, if it was you," she replied with dignity. dignity did not become her tout ensemble. katy went off into fresh screams of mirth. chicken little had stood about all she could that afternoon. her face flamed with wrath, and, gathering up the struggling pig in her arms, she hurled it at katy, as the only missile within reach. piggy just missed katy's head, tumbling harmlessly into the ooze. chicken little was instantly remorseful, not on katy's account but on piggy's. katy was furious. she didn't say a word, but walked deliberately over to the coop, deposited her pig very gently and started toward the house. gertie tried to stop her, but she shook her off. chicken little, too angry to care what happened, relieved herself of the rest of her ill-temper. "go off and be hateful if you want to--a lot i care, miss katy halford. i should think you'd be ashamed to act so when you are most fifteen." a swift retort rose to katy's lips, but she decided it would be more impressive to remain dignifiedly silent. she stalked on. gertie hesitated as to which of the belligerents she should follow, but finally decided in favor of the one who needed her worst. she put her pig in the coop and came to help jane up. the latter was already ashamed of her outburst, but was far from being ready to acknowledge it. the other three pigs had not gone far and they soon had them safely in the coop. they were debating as to whether they should give up hunting for the others, when a hail from the road brought aid and comfort. katy had met dr. morton coming from the field on an errand and had told him what they were trying to do. he was delighted and surprised to see the seven rescued pigs. "why, chicken little, i didn't really suppose you were in earnest or----" dr. morton stopped suddenly, he had just taken a good look at his only daughter--the look was effective. he threw back his head and roared. "oh, if you could just see yourself, jane!" this was adding insult to injury and chicken little burst into tears. "you can just hunt your old pigs yourself--i don't think it's nice of you to laugh when i tried so hard!" "come, come, i beg your pardon, but you are enough to make an owl laugh, humbug. it was fine of you to try to rescue the pigs. you girls deserve a great deal of credit, for it is a disagreeable, muddy job. i guess i'll have to make it up to you. i'll tell you what i'll do. you may have this litter for your very own, and we'll send the little girls their share over the cost of keeping, when the pigs are sold. how will that do?" chicken little was not in the mood to be easily appeased. "yes, but you say things are mine till you want to sell them, and then i never see the money." this was touching a sore point. the doctor had been a little remiss on the subject of the children's ownership of their pets. he was nettled by this accusation. "my dear, when i say a thing i mean it. i was about to add, though, that if i give you the entire proceeds of the pigs i shall expect you to attend to feeding them until they are big enough to be turned in with the drove." "i thought the mother fed them." "well, the mother pig has to be fed." "do you really, truly, mean it, father?" "truly." chicken little forgot the late unpleasantness. "oh, goody, let's call katy back and tell her!" katy was not so far away as might have been anticipated. her wrath was dissipating also. dr. morton lingered to help them a few moments and to satisfy himself that they could not do themselves any damage that a bath and the wash tub could not repair, then left them once more to their own resources. by four o'clock they had all but one of the missing pigs safely stowed in the coop. they were very tired and hot, and decided to save the joy of hunting for the last pig for ernest and sherm in the evening. it was well they did. the wee stray would have led them a chase. he had found his way almost to the creek, and it took the boys a good hour of wading and beating the swamp grass to discover him. just as chicken little was dropping off to sleep that night, katy roused her. "do you suppose we'll get as much as five dollars apiece from those pigs?" chapter viii a party and a picnic gertie looked wistful. dick and alice were going on to denver that morning to return a month later for the little girls. all three were to drive into town with dr. morton to see them off. the mere thought of anyone going away made gertie a little homesick. she went out to the chicken yard, where nine of the young prairie chickens were flourishing under the care of a much-deceived hen, who had adopted them with the mistaken notion that they were her own egg kin. the little mottled things seemed very much out of place among the domestic fowls. they were wild and shy and astonishingly fleet on their reed-like legs. gertie loved to watch them. two of the chicks had died the first night, and one, two days later. but the rest survived, and, in the course of time, flew away to join their wild mates. "dear me, i wonder what we can do next?" said chicken little, as they watched the train pull out with dick waving from the rear platform. dick's and alice's going seemed to have finished things, at least for the time being. her question was answered as soon as she got home. "jane," said her mother, "i have just received an invitation for you and the girls that i am a little doubtful about. ernest and sherm are invited, too, but not to remain for the night." "stay all night? where, mother, where?" "with mamie jenkins. the jenkins family are hardly as refined as i could wish for your associates; still they are good religious people, if they are plain, and katy and gertie might enjoy going to a country party." "a party? o mother, please let us go." "i don't mind so much your coming to the party, but they want to have you stay overnight and attend a picnic some of the young people are getting up for the next afternoon." katy was as eager as jane for the festivity and mrs. morton was at length persuaded to pocket her scruples and permit the girls to accept mamie's invitation. ernest and sherm were also delighted at the prospect of a frolic. they were to take the girls over and leave them for the night, returning the next afternoon for the picnic, which was to start from the jenkin's farm. but when the day of the party arrived, gertie backed out, begging to be left at home with mrs. morton. the thought of meeting so many strangers frightened her. "i doubt if she would enjoy it. she would be the youngest one there--most of them will be from fourteen to twenty. the neighbors live so far apart, they have to combine different ages in order to find guests enough for a party." at first, chicken little would not hear to gertie's remaining behind, but finding that she would really be happier at home, stopped urging her. jane and katy were soon joyfully planning what they should wear. they were to go in their party frocks, each taking another dress along for the morning and the picnic. jane was to wear alice's gift. katy had a dainty ruffled muslin with cherry-colored sash and hair ribbons. "i was afraid i wasn't going to have a single chance to wear it here," she remarked naïvely. the boys were busy shining their shoes, and performing certain mysteries of shaving with very little perceptible change in their appearance. ernest felt that he could not possibly go without a new necktie, but as no one was going to town before the event, he had to content himself with borrowing one from frank. it took the combined efforts of marian and gertie and mrs. morton to get the revellers dressed to their satisfaction. gertie waited on the two girls as patiently as any maid. marian was in great demand by the boys to coax in refractory cuff buttons and give a "tony" twist to the ties. "is tony the very latest, ernest?" "that's what sherm says. just make the bow a little more perky, can't you, marian? i don't want to look like a country jake." "ernest, you are just the boy to go to annapolis; you are so fussy about your clothes." "golly, i hope i do get to go. father hasn't heard from the senator yet, but he may be away from home." sherm was struggling with his tie, getting red and hot in the process. he had just tied it nearly to his satisfaction, when he carelessly gave it a jerk and had it all to do over again. "cæsar's ghost!" he exclaimed vengefully, "what do they make these things so pesky slippery for?" marian laughed and sherm colored in embarrassment over his outburst. "please excuse me, but this is the fifth time i've tied the critter." "let me try." marian turned him to the light and had the bow nicely exact in no time. the girls found their source of woe in their hair. katy, having learned that most of the young people would be older than themselves, decided to put her hair up, and look grown up, too. mrs. morton was horrified and made katy take it down. katy, though rebellious, dared not oppose her hostess openly. she contented herself with taking a handful of hair pins along and putting it up after she reached mamie's. to be sure the heavy braids piled upon her small head looked rather queer, especially with her short skirts, which she could not contrive to lengthen. but katy made up for this defect by an unwonted dignity, and actually persuaded a majority of the people she met that she was sixteen at the very least. country folk gather early and they found the fun well started when they arrived. the jenkins family had come to the neighborhood about a year before from iowa. the farmhouse was new and rather more pretentious than most on the creek. lace curtains with robust patterns draped the windows in fresh-starched folds. a green and red ingrain carpet covered the floor, while the entire jenkins family--there were four olive branches--done in crayon by a local photographer, adorned the walls. it would be more truthful to say, adorned three walls. the fourth was sacred to a real oil painting in an unlimited gilt frame, which had come as a prize for extra subscriptions to the st. louis _globe-democrat_. mrs. jenkins regarded this treasure almost with reverence. "i do think it is real uplifting to have a work of art in the house, don't you, mrs. brown?" she had been heard to remark to a neighbor who failed to notice this gem. the family bible and a red plush photograph album rested on the marble-topped table, usually placed in the exact center of the room. to-night, it was pushed back against the wall to make more room for the games. mr. and mrs. jenkins were rigid methodists and would not tolerate any such worldly amusement as dancing. kissing games were substituted, and if, as the jenkins believed, these were more elevating, they were certainly coarser and rougher than the dancing would have been. mamie had attended the garland high school for one year and had acquired different ideas. she would have much preferred the dancing, but her parents were firm. mamie deemed herself a full-fledged young lady at fifteen. her highest ambitions were to have "style" and plenty of beaux. ernest and sherm had to find a place to tie the horses. they lingered also a moment at the pump to wash the leathery smell of the harness from their hands--a fastidious touch that would have subjected them to much guying if the other boys had seen them. so chicken little led katy into the crowded room, unsupported. there was no hall or entry and they were plunged directly into the thick of the party. many of the country lads and lasses were her mates at the district school and greeted her cordially, eyeing katy, however, with frankly curious stares. mrs. jenkins relieved her embarrassment by taking them upstairs to remove their wraps. she introduced herself to katy before jane could get out the little speech of presentation her mother had urged her not to forget, since katy, being a stranger, should be made to feel at home as quickly as possible. chicken little hated introducing people and had been dreading the ordeal, but kindly mrs. jenkins took katy by the hand and presented her to the whole roomful at one fell swoop. "this is miss katy halford, young folks, and i want you all to introduce yourselves and see that she has a good time or she'll think you are a lot of green country jays who haven't any manners." "king william was king james's son" was in full swing. the young folks made places for the two girls in the ring and promptly drew in ernest and sherm as soon as they entered. the lilting tune was sung lustily while the supposed victim in the center, a handsome lad of sixteen with bold, black eyes and dark curls, surveyed the girls, big and little, with an evident enjoyment of his privileges. several of the older boys interrupted their singing to give him advice. "take the city girl, grant, buck up and show your manners." "bet you knew who you'd choose before you left home." "don't let on that you don't know which girl you want--mamie's biting her lips already to wash off that kiss." the boy returned or ignored this badinage as he saw fit. mamie, however, was indignantly protesting that he needn't try to kiss her. grant looked in her direction and smiled as the fateful instant arrived. indeed, he started toward her, then mischievously whirled around and seizing chicken little, who was whispering to katy that grant was mamie's beau, kissed her with a resounding smack. chicken little was taken so unawares that she had time neither to blush nor to protest or struggle, as was considered etiquette on such occasions. she didn't even try to rub it off, as was also customary. she just looked at him with such a funny mixture of surprise and dismay that everybody roared, including mr. and mrs. jenkins and some of the older neighbors who had come in to see the fun. "here, chicken little, you need practice," and "chicken little acts as if she didn't know what kisses were. you'll have to have a rehearsal beforehand next time, grant!" "why, grant? what's the matter with the rest of us?" these comments were open and noisy. ernest took all this coarse bantering at his young sister's expense good-naturedly. he knew no offence was intended. he had been present at a number of these rural frolics. but sherm, town-bred and unaccustomed to this form of amusement, was distinctly displeased both at the kiss and the talk. he got chicken little off to one side as soon as he could. "say, chicken little, don't let the boys kiss you." chicken little looked concerned. "i don't like them to, sherm, but i can't help it if i play--and they'd think i was awfully stuck up and rude if i refused." "does your mother know they have this sort of games?" chicken little made a little grimace. "don't go and be grown-up and horrid, sherm. everybody does it here. they'll stop this pretty soon and play clap in and clap out or forfeits." her big brown eyes were lifted so innocently and sweetly that sherm couldn't say any more, but he felt a curious desire to fight every time a big boy so much as stared at jane. "she's such a kid!" he explained the feeling to himself, "and ernest isn't looking after her at all." katy entered into the romping heart and soul. katy was playing young lady. her pink cheeks and laughing eyes and little flirtatious ways were very popular with the boys--so popular that mamie was vexed because many of her mates seemed to have eyes only for the city girl, as she called her behind her back. mamie eased her mind by treating her special friends haughtily. she got even with the recreant grant by choosing ernest the very first time in post office. she even put some of the girls up to boycotting the boys who were hanging round katy, for one entire game, persuading them to choose ernest and sherm alternately till the others were jealously wrathful without being quite sure whether it was accident or conspiracy. considering his scruples about kissing, sherm submitted most meekly. he had the grace to color when chicken little remarked carelessly: "it wasn't so bad as you thought it would be, was it, sherm?" "oh, it's different with boys," he retorted loftily. "little girls like you don't understand." "little girls! i suppose you think yourself a man grown. you needn't feel so big because you're most seventeen. i heard dick say a boy of seventeen wasn't really any older than a girl of fifteen, because girls grow up quicker. so there, you're not much more than a year older than i am!" sherm's "little girl" rankled not only that evening but for weeks afterwards. she told katy and mamie in strict confidence after they had gone upstairs that night. "i'd show him if i were you, jane," advised mamie the experienced. chicken little needed no urging, but she was in doubt how to proceed. "my, i wish i was awfully beautiful and grown up. i'd make him fall so many billions deep in love with me he couldn't squeak." jane felt positively vindictive whenever she thought of sherm's patronizing tone. she had neglected to mention to the girls the little conversation that had preceded her remark to sherm. she didn't consider it necessary to tell everything she knew. mamie tittered. "pooh, you sound as if you had been reading sir walter scott. they don't do things that way nowadays. when i was in town last winter at school i had lots of boys gone on me, and i'm not a raving, tearing beauty either." mamie looked as if she expected her guests to contradict her, but they were too much impressed with her conquests to do anything so rude. a little disappointed, but finding their absorbed expressions encouraging, mamie preceded to retail her adventures. boiled down, these were mainly a box of candy and various walks taken at recesses and noons, with an occasional escort to a party. they were sufficiently thrilling to the others, who had never been permitted even such mild forms of dissipation. "my, wouldn't i catch it if papa ever caught me walking with a boy!" katy painted the paternal wrath with a real relish. it seemed to furnish an adequate excuse for her having nothing to relate and put her on a little pinnacle of superior breeding as well. her parents looked after her. it was only more ordinary people who permitted their daughters to run about at fifteen. mamie was keen enough to realize this and she promptly resented katy's patronizing tone. "oh, pa would have been mad, too, if he had known. but i was staying with my aunt. she didn't care what i did, just so i was on time to meals and didn't run around after dark." katy was determined to keep up her end. "we used to have wonderful times at the church oyster suppers. one night last winter dr. wade--you don't remember him, chicken little, he's only been in centerville about a year. well, he took me in for oysters and bought me candy and three turns at the grab bag. and he is a grown-up man--he's been a doctor for over two years." katy would hardly have told this story if gertie had been there. she neglected to mention that dr. wade had kindly included gertie and five other young girls in these courtesies. or that he had remarked to mrs. halford that he loved to be with children because he missed his own brothers and sisters sadly. but gertie was not present to mar the effect of this story with further particulars. mamie began to rack her brain for forgotten attentions worthy to be classed with this superb generosity. poor chicken little was hopelessly out-classed. nothing more thrilling than being singled out in games and blackman at school had happened to her. "grant stowe said you had the prettiest eyes of any girl here to-night. i heard him tell jennie brown so when she asked him whether he liked blue eyes or brown best. she is the awfulest thing--always fishing for compliments." this was generous of mamie, for grant was the one who had passed her by so recently. but katy's eyes were also distanced and mamie had been very much thrilled by hearing that ernest might go to annapolis. further, he had chosen her twice that evening. she felt amiably disposed toward ernest's sister. when the tales of past glories were exhausted, the conversation grew intermittent, being punctuated by frequent yawns. they were just on the point of dropping off to sleep when mamie suddenly opened her eyes and sat up in bed with a jerk. "music! don't you hear it? i shouldn't wonder if some of the boys were out serenading. oh, i do hope they'll come here." katy and chicken little listened breathlessly. "it is!" "yes, and it's coming nearer." all three hopped out of bed and crouched down by the window. the moon was setting, but there was still a faint radiance. the strains were growing more distinct. "i bet it's grant stowe and his two cousins from the prairie hill district. they are staying all night with him and are going to the picnic to-morrow. don't you remember that red-headed boy?" "it sounds like a banjo and guitar," said katy. "oh, i do love a guitar. it always makes me think of 'gaily the troubadour.'" katy gave a wriggle of delight at this romantic ending to the night's festivities. she was already planning to tell the girls at home about the wonderful serenade. the tinkle tinkle of the thin notes grew stronger and clearer and they found that a third instrument, which had puzzled them, was a mouth organ. "i didn't suppose anybody could really make music with a mouth organ, but it goes nicely with the others." chicken little, like katy, was more excited over the serenade than the party. it seemed so delightfully young ladyfied. the trio had one awful moment, for the music seemed to be dying away and still there was no human in sight. suddenly it stopped altogether. they listened and waited--not a sound rewarded them. "i think it's downright mean if they've gone by." mamie's tone was more than injured. the words were hardly out of her mouth when a stealthy foot-fall came directly beneath their window, and guitar, mandolin, and mouth organ burst forth into "my bonnie," supported after the opening strains by half a dozen boyish voices. the boys had crept in so close to the wall of the house that the girls had not discovered them. the young ladies ducked at the first sound, and hastily slipped their dresses over their night gowns so they could look out again. "o dear," said mamie, "i almost forgot my curl papers." they were arrayed in time to reward the serenaders with a vigorous clapping of hands, father and mother jenkins joining in from the window of their bedroom downstairs. "swing low, sweet chariot" floated up next, followed by "over the garden wall," which, if not choice, had the distinction of being sung in new york, as grant stowe proudly informed them. it was three o'clock past, before they finally settled down in bed once more. faint suggestions of dawn were already apparent. "it's not much use to go to bed, father always gets up at six," mourned mamie. a brilliant idea struck katy. "suppose we stay up all night. grace dart said she did once when her father was so sick, and she said it was the most wonderful thing to see the sun rise when you hadn't been to bed at all." this proposal met with instant favor. they clambered out of bed and lit the small oil lamp, wrapping themselves in quilts and petticoats impartially, for the air was growing chilly. the next three hours were the longest any of the three had ever known. in spite of fortune telling, and a thrilling story which mamie read in tragic whispers, the minutes shuffled along like hours. yawns interrupted almost every sentence and much mutual prodding and sharp reproaches were necessary to keep their heavy eyes open. they were too sleepy to care whether the sun rose in the usual sedate way or pirouetted up chasing a star. in fact, they forgot all about the expected sunrise. they wanted just two things--sleep and something to eat. the call to breakfast was even sweeter than the serenade had been. father and mother jenkins were concerned at their jaded appearance. "seems like parties don't agree with you young ones none too well. i reckon we won't have them very often," father jenkins remarked tartly. his own eyes smarted from loss of sleep. "i don't believe you ought to go to the picnic this afternoon if you are feeling so played out," mother jenkins added. "your ma will think i haven't taken good care of you. it was them good-for-nothing boys a-coming that wore you plumb out." generous cups of strong coffee--a luxury not permitted to either chicken little or katy at home--woke them up and they got through the morning nicely. not for worlds would they have missed that picnic. but even the coffee could not carry them through the afternoon. they were the butts of the entire party on account of their dullness and heavy eyes. ernest expressed his disgust with his sister openly. "well, i think mother'd better keep you at home till you're old enough not to be such a baby." jane had been nodding in spite of herself. "looks to me as if you girls had stayed up all night!" exclaimed grant stowe. mamie roused enough to retort: "well, i guess you didn't get any too much sleep yourself." "we can keep awake if we didn't. but if it has this kind of effect on you, we'll leave you out the next time we go serenading." it had been arranged that they should catch fish for the picnic supper. the girls had brought a huge frying pan and the butter and corn meal to cook them in. as soon as the teams were cared for, the boys got out fishing tackle and bait and the party broke up into small groups for the fishing. grant stowe offered to help chicken little with her line. she found this courtesy on his part embarrassing, for katy and mamie exchanged looks, and she was so utterly sleepy, that she would have preferred ernest or sherm so she wouldn't be expected to talk. chicken little had gone to school with grant the preceding winter. he was always a leader in their school games and a great favorite. grant found a snug place beside a deep pool that promised catfish at the very least, and might be expected to yield a few trout. he made her comfortable on the spreading roots of an elm growing upward with difficulty from a steep bank. grant smiled at her as he handed her the rod and tossed the baited hook into the stillest part of the pool. "there, you ought to get a bite soon. this is one of the best places on the creek for catfish. say, what did you girls do to yourselves that you are so used up to-day? you didn't take a five-mile walk or anything after we left, did you?" jane laughed. "don't you wish you knew?" "oh, i'll find out, but i wish you'd tell me." grant looked at her from under his long black lashes. his tone was distinctly wheedling. chicken little laughed again and shook her head. grant threw his own line in, seating himself a little lower down on the bank; and quiet reigned for several minutes. but the boy was determined to get the secret from her. after a tedious silence, he began in a low tone so that he would not disturb the fish: "you know, chicken little, i always did think you were the prettiest girl in school, but you were such a kid you never took the trouble to look at a fellow. seems to me you might be nice now and tell me what you did." he neglected to mention the fact that he had bet mamie a silk handkerchief against a plate of taffy that he would find out what they had been up to before night. he received no response. "oh, come now, be a trump and tell a fellow." he glanced around this time with a tenderly reproachful look. this tenderness speedily vanished. jane was peacefully asleep, her head supported against the tree trunk. the boy's face flushed wrathfully for an instant, but he had a saving sense of humor. "serves me right for trying to get the best of a kid, i guess," he said to himself. he let her sleep on undisturbed until the sound of voices announced the approach of some of the others, when he hastily wakened her. he did not intend to be laughed at for the rest of the day. chicken little found it hard to wake up and was heavy-eyed and stupid the remainder of the afternoon. fortunately for her and katy, ernest had orders from his mother to be home by dark. patient gertie was waiting expectantly to hear about the good times, but she could hardly extract three words from either of the revellers. parties and boys and finery were all stale, but their neatly made bed looked like heaven. chapter ix bread and polliwogs three days elapsed before katy and jane could settle down to the quiet, daily life of the ranch. if gertie had found them disappointingly mute that first evening, she never had to complain again. they went over and over the thrilling events of the night and the picnic the next afternoon, till gertie got sick of hearing what "mamie said" and how _he_ looked and how wonderful the serenade had been. indeed, these events seemed to grow in importance the farther off they were. gertie was seldom pettish, but katy's seventeenth repetition of what grant stowe's cousin said to her while they were fishing left her cold. "shut up, katy, i'm sick of hearing about it. i don't care what he said and i just know he thought you were a silly little girl trying to seem grown up when you aren't! you know mother wouldn't like you to act so, and i guess mrs. morton'd be ashamed of you, too, if she knew." "gertie halford, if you dare tell!" "thank you, i'm no tattle tale! i intend to forget all about it as soon as ever i can. but i know sherm thought you were silly from something he said." chicken little related the most presentable of their doings to marian. marian didn't say much at the time, but some days afterwards she told them tales of the adventures of her own early teens. she ended a little meaningly: "do you know, i believe girls can be sillier from thirteen to sixteen than at any other age? they're exactly like that little buff cochin rooster you laugh at, because he tries to crow and strut before he knows how. i hope you girls won't be in a hurry to grow up. there are so many nice things you can do now that you will have to give up after a while." july was growing unpleasantly hot. the mornings were dewy and fresh, but by noon they were glad to hunt a shady place. the apple orchard was a favorite haunt, and the weeping willows when the wind was from the right direction. they took books and crochetting, sometimes the checker board or dominoes, and spent the long summer afternoons there, with jilly tumbling over their feet and huz and buz dozing alongside or lazily snapping at the plaguing flies. they had been picking blackberries mornings for mrs. morton's preserving. the rescued litter of pigs was also taking much time. the mother pig had developed an appetite that was truly appalling. it seemed to take endless gallon pails of sour milk and baskets of fruit parings to satisfy her. dr. morton would not let them feed corn in summer. "dear me," said katy, "how big do little pigs have to be before they can be turned into the corral with the others?" "oh, six or eight weeks, i guess." "they are getting awfully smelly!" remarked gertie, holding her nose, "and they aren't a bit pretty any more." "i know and father said last night we'd have to begin and feed the pigs some, too, before long." chicken little sighed. this speculation in pigs had its unpleasant side. "i guess we'd have to bring a lot more stuff if ernest and sherm didn't help us out. they give them things to eat lots of times. but i think jim bart might keep the pen a little cleaner," katy observed. "he's so busy he doesn't have time." another morning occupation was bread-making. dr. morton had offered a brand new dollar to the girl who would bring him the first perfect loaf of bread. they were taking turns under mrs. morton's teaching, but it did seem as if more things could happen to bread. katy would have had her perfect loaf, if she hadn't let the dough rise too long. the loaves were beautiful to look at, but slightly sour, alas! chicken little spoiled her prize batch by sitting down to read and letting it burn. gertie's first and second were very good, but a trifle too solid. katy won out on her third, and produced a loaf so light and crisply brown that marian said she was envious. the others wanted to stop when katy secured the dollar, but mrs. morton persuaded them to persist until they could equal katy's. "you may send one to captain clarke, if you wish." this stimulated their waning interest and they tried to produce that perfect loaf. a week went by before mrs. morton nodded approval, saying: "yes, that is nice enough for a present. i am sure the captain will like it." the girls had planned to take it over on the ponies, but mrs. morton wanted to send over two gallons of blackberries also, which was more than they could manage. "i am sending ernest and sherm down the creek this evening on an errand," said dr. morton, "and they can stop at captain clarke's and leave the things. you girls can go some other time." chicken little decided to send some of her spare pinks. she came in with a great handful just as the boys were ready to start. "where is your loaf, chicken little?" asked her mother. "o dear, i forgot to wrap it up. it won't take a minute." "take one of the fringed napkins to wrap it in, then put paper around that," called her mother. "where did you put the bread, mother?" "in the bread box, of course, child, where did you suppose?" "there isn't anything but old bread in the box." "well, ask annie." "she's gone to benton's." "well, i think you're old enough to find four loaves of bread in a small pantry." mrs. morton got up, disgusted. sherm stood waiting with the tin pail of berries and the bunch of flowers in his hands. ernest was holding the team out at the road. when mrs. morton disappeared sherm remarked placidly: "well, i guess i might as well take these things out. i'll come back for the bread." mrs. morton could be heard exclaiming about something in the kitchen. sherm smiled a fleeting smile and departed. sounds of hurried footfalls, of boxes and pans being moved, came from the kitchen. somebody ran hastily down cellar. "it isn't here, mother." jane's tone was emphatic. "what do you suppose is the matter?" exclaimed katy. she departed to see, followed by gertie. the sound of fresh disturbances floated in from the cuisine. dr. morton grew curious and went out to investigate. sherm came back as far as the front door and stood waiting. presently, mrs. morton entered, flushed and annoyed. "it's the queerest thing i ever heard of--that entire baking of bread has vanished. annie is perfectly honest and she knew we were expecting to send a loaf to the captain. you haven't seen any tramps about, have you, sherm? you don't suppose the dogs could----" mrs. morton glanced suspiciously at buz asleep on the path outside. "nonsense, mother, the dogs couldn't get away with whole loaves of bread and leave no trace. they are not overly fond of bread, anyhow." "possibly annie may have put it in some unheard-of place--girls are so exasperating. i'll go look again." a third search was no more successful than the previous ones had been. they were obliged to send the boys on without the bread. both chicken little and gertie mourned, for they had combined forces in this baking and were immensely proud of their effort. "we never can get it so nice again--i just know!" mrs. morton had been studying. "you don't suppose the boys could have meddled with it, do you?" katy looked up with a gleam in her eye. "they were laughing about something fit to kill just before supper and they wouldn't tell what it was." "but why--i don't see." mrs. morton was puzzled. "to tease the girls, possibly. but i don't see how they could make away with four big loaves without being noticed." "if ernest morton took that bread, i'll never forgive him as long as i live!" chicken little's jaw set ominously. "you just watch me get even." "come now, chicken little, we're merely guessing the boys took it. annie may have put it away in a new place, forgetting that you would want it to-night," her father tried to pacify her. gertie didn't say much, but it was plain that she sympathized with jane. an hour later the three girls went out to the road to watch for the boys' return. the lads were evidently taking their time. nine o'clock came--half-past nine--still no boys! mrs. morton came out and sent the girls in to bed. they were just dropping off to sleep when the lads drove up. at breakfast the next morning the entire family fell upon ernest and sherm and demanded news of the bread. annie had returned and assured mrs. morton that it had been safely stored in the bread box before she left the house the evening before. "bread? what bread?" asked ernest, rather too innocently. "ernest morton, you did something with that bread i was going to send the captain. you have got to tell me where you hid it." "chicken little jane morton, i give you my word of honor i didn't touch your old bread and i don't know where it is." ernest assumed a highly injured air. sherm took a hasty swallow of water and nearly choked. the family had come near believing ernest, but sherm's convulsed face roused their suspicion afresh. "if you didn't, you got sherm to," said katy shrewdly. "that's what you were laughing about last night--i know it was." "that's like a girl always suspecting a fellow of being up to some deviltry. maybe you think we'll keep on feeding your old pigs if you treat us this way." dr. morton scanned the boys closely, but did not say anything. jane and katy turned on sherm. "did you take the bread?" chicken little had fire in her eye. sherm tried guile. "chicken little, do i look hungry enough to steal your bread? mrs. morton has been feeding me on good things ever since i came, why should i want to make away with four loaves of bread?" sherm was almost eloquent. "nevertheless," observed katy, "you don't deny that you took it." try as they would, they could get no satisfaction from the boys. "well, i know they did and i'm going to make 'em wish they hadn't." chicken little puckered up her brow to think hard. "of course they did or sherm would have denied it instanter. let's think up something real mean." katy stood ready to second any effort. gertie had been in a brown study. "the boys are going off some place to-night. i heard ernest ask your mother if she had cleaned that spot off his sunday suit, where somebody spilled ice cream on him at the party." "i bet they're going to see mamie jenkins ... they're trying to sneak off without our knowing it." jane's indignation was not lessened by this news. katy leaned forward and whispered something. jane and gertie clapped their hands. "all right, the very thing." at dinner the boys were rather surprised to find that the young ladies had dropped the subject of the bread. they were inclined to take it up again, but nobody seemed interested. ernest was a little vexed to have his father say before them all: "it will be all right about sherm's riding the bay, only don't stay out late, boys." the girls went upstairs soon after dinner and there was much giggling from their room for the next two hours. "where ever can we put the clothes where they can't find them? they make such a big bundle." "o chicken little, i've thought of something that will be better than hiding!" katy's eyes sparkled with mischief as she unfolded her scheme. "let's hurry and fix a cord." "there's a hook there already we can use. mother had a hanging basket outside the window one summer." "we can pretend to take a walk," added katy. "pshaw, i want to hear them--it will be half the fun," gertie objected. "i said pretend--we will sneak back through the orchard. of course, we'd have to be here to do it, goosie." that night mrs. morton had an early supper at the request of the boys. immediately after, they armed themselves with sundry pitchers of hot water and retired upstairs. the girls also disappeared. all went well for some minutes except that ernest cut himself in his haste to shave. presently, a call for mother floated downstairs. mrs. morton had gone across the road to visit with marian. receiving no reply, ernest called again lustily. dr. morton, coming in just then, replied: "your mother is not here, what do you want?" "send chicken little then." "she's gone for a walk with katy and gertie." "thunderation! i've got to have somebody. won't you please call mother?" at this moment three girlish forms slipped into the grape arbor immediately below the boys' window, and concealed themselves in its deepest shadow. mrs. morton came patiently home to attend to the needs of her favorite son. "what is it, ernest?" "where did you put our sunday clothes?" "dear me, aren't they in the closet?" "in the closet? do you suppose i'd call you home if they were in the closet? they aren't anywhere!" ernest's tone verged on the disrespectful. mrs. morton toiled upstairs with a sigh. was there to be a repetition of the bread episode? ernest had spoken the truth, the aforesaid clothes were not anywhere. the boys exchanged glances both wrathful and sheepish. ernest had already exhausted every swear word that his mother's presence permitted. sherm, also restrained by her presence--he had retired to bed while she searched their room and closet--thought all the exclamations he hesitated to utter. three young young ladies in the arbor beneath listened to such fragments of conversation as floated down to them with unholy glee. "well, ernest, they're certainly not here; i'll go look in chicken little's room." ernest accompanied her. sherm scrambled out of bed and speedily resumed his ordinary wearing apparel. he was startled to perceive a bulky object suddenly darken their window. it was a peculiar-looking bundle from which coat sleeves and trousers' legs dangled indiscriminately. he had no difficulty in recognizing their missing clothes. he rushed to the window and raised the screen, calling to ernest excitedly. he half expected to see the things disappear as mysteriously as they had come, but the bundle remained stationary. it had been raised to the window by means of a pulley contrived from an old clothes line and the hanging basket hook. the end of the cord was hidden in the arbor. the boys secured their possessions, hastily assuring themselves that they were all there. mrs. morton started thankfully downstairs, but had barely reached the foot when a vigorous exclamation and a loud "mother!" recalled her. mrs. morton had never seen ernest so furious. sherm didn't say much, but his face was wrathfully red. "what now?" "look at this!" ernest's voice was tragic as he held the garment up to view. his trousers' legs had been neatly stitched across twice on the sewing machine. sherm's, ditto. all four pair of sleeves were also carefully stitched with a tight tension, so they could not be readily ripped out. mrs. morton looked aghast. "it will take an hour to get that out!" "confound those kids! mother, you can just make those smarties come rip that stitching out!" "my son, whom are you addressing?" "well, mother, i didn't mean to be disrespectful, but this is a little more than i can stand! wait till i get my hands on jane!" "you would do well to remember, ernest, that you started this practical joking yourself. i hope it will be a lesson to you to refrain from such pranks in future." "we didn't do anything but carry the bread over to the captain without telling them. that's where they wanted it to go." mrs. morton gasped. "did you take the whole baking?" "sure, wasn't that what you wanted?" mrs. morton considered a moment before replying. "well, ernest, you boys have brought this annoyance upon yourselves--i think you will have to accept the consequences. i am too tired to fuss with the stitching to-night. if you go to jenkinses you will have to wear your every day suits." "but mother!" mrs. morton was already descending the stairs; she did not respond. ernest turned in despair to sherm, who was examining the neat stitching ruefully. sherm grinned; "guess we might as well take our medicine. score one for the kids!" "i think they might take a joke the way it was intended." "they seem to have taken the joke and a few other things besides." sherm chuckled. ernest laughed, too, a little sulkily. "we're elected to stay at home all right, but i'll get ahead of them if it takes a month!" by the time the boys had rearrayed themselves and come downstairs, the occupants of the grape arbor had vanished. they didn't return until the enemy had departed for a ride to soothe its ruffled feelings. the girls retired to bed early, as innocent young people should. "did you have a good time at mamie's last night?" asked chicken little at breakfast the next morning. "mamie's? we didn't go to mamie's." "no? i thought you intended to." this from katy. "you girls do get the queerest notions in your heads," observed ernest loftily. gertie giggled. the boys looked at gertie; they hadn't suspected gertie. katy also giggled, likewise chicken little. there is something exceedingly contagious about giggling. ernest became even loftier. "you girls seem to spend about half your time cackling--i hope you know what you are cackling about." "we do," retorted chicken little, still sweetly. ernest and sherm exchanged glances. after breakfast ernest asked his mother if she had told the girls what happened the night before. "not a word. they didn't ask me." "humph!" the boy was puzzled. at noon they took another tack. "i forgot to tell you that mamie sent her regards to you and katy," ernest remarked casually. "she said she was sorry you didn't come, too," added sherm. jane lifted her eyebrows at katy. katy shook her head. "by the way, sis, i forgot to tell you that captain clarke invited us all to come over to supper to-morrow night. he said to tell you he appreciated that bread very much. and while i think of it, if you can spare a little of your valuable time, i'd thank you to rip that stitching out of our clothes. i want to wear mine to the captain's." "all right, we'll rip out the stitching if you'll bake us a batch of bread as good as the one you took." "not much, mary ann! we took the bread to the captain, all right." "yes, but we only intended to send one loaf--and, besides, you made us a lot of trouble." "mother, haven't the girls got to take out that stitching?" "i think jane's proposition is a fair one, ernest," observed dr. morton dryly. the boys retired to their room early that night where they worked most industriously with scissors and penknife and clothes brush. they had paid a hurried visit to chicken little's room when they first came upstairs. this visit did much to sweeten their hour of labor. the girls were spending the evening at frank's. they were late in getting home. the night was hot and they hated to go to bed until it began to cool off. dr. and mrs. morton were sitting on the front porch. "go to bed, children. father was just starting over to call you." mrs. morton kissed them each goodnight. dr. and mrs. morton followed them in and had barely settled themselves for the night, when an unearthly shriek rent the air, followed by another and yet another. "what in thunder are those children up to now?" dr. morton spoke in the tone of one who considered that patience had ceased to be a virtue. "o mother, come quick--there's snakes or frogs or something in our bed and we haven't any light!" mrs. morton hurriedly lit a lamp and went to the rescue, followed by the doctor armed with a stick. holding the lamp aloft they went into the room, the three girls, who had retired in a panic to the head of the stairs, bringing up the rear. katy had scrambled into bed and out again in haste, dragging the coverlet and sheet half off on the floor. the interior of the bed was fully exposed to view. it was already occupied--not by snakes, but by a handful of fat, squirming, little polliwogs. "ugh, i thought it was a snake--they were so slimy and cold!" katy shivered at the recollection. dr. morton grimly gathered up the polliwogs, then, leaving his wife to restore order, went into the boys' room and held a conversation behind closed doors. no report of what was said ever reached the girls, but the practical jokes ended then and there. chapter x supper at the captain's their late unpleasantness had made the young people unusually polite to each other. irritating subjects were carefully avoided the next day. when they set out for the captain's, sherm gallantly handed katy in to the front seat to sit beside ernest, while he sandwiched himself between jane and gertie. the boys had finally concluded that the real joke was on them and were trying to make up. the captain received them at the gate. "i can't be grateful enough for that bread. i haven't had such bread since i was a boy at home. i believe i am indebted to both chicken little and gertie for the treat. wing fan is consumed with envy and asked me to-day if i would ask the honorable miss to tell him how she make the so wonderful bread." "i'd be delighted to," replied chicken little, "only it took more than telling for gertie and me. we tried ever so many times before we got it just right, but, of course, wing understands more about cooking than we did." "well, judging by the bread, you seem to know a good deal about cooking." sherm could not resist. "yes, and the girls are first rate at sewing, too!" this was too much for them all. they laughed until the captain begged to be let in on the fun. their host had an unexpected treat for them. "you are to help me christen my new row boat. it came four days ago, but i have been saving it until you could all go with me." he led the way down the creek to a long, deep pool, where a blue and white skiff floated gaily at anchor. a piece of white cardboard was tacked over the name so they could not see it. "i covered it up to see if you could guess it. i'll give one of those siamese elephants to the one who gets it first." a lively contest followed. the girls suggested all the poetical names they could think of from sea rover to bounding billow. the boys, after a few wild guesses, settled down to the names of places in the neighborhood, and women's names. the captain laughed at their wild hazards. "it isn't the name of any ship or famous naval hero?" ernest asked this question for the second time. the captain shook his head. "some of your neighborhood guessers were the nearest. there's one thing i'm sure of, chicken little won't guess it." this was hint enough for sherm. "chicken little," he sang out instantly. "bright boy, the elephant is yours." "did you really?" chicken little eyed the long strip of cardboard that concealed the name, incredulously. the captain took out his penknife and deftly ripped the covering off. there it was--the letters an inch tall in white paint: "chicken little." "i think we should have a proper christening ceremony while we are at it. ernest, would you mind stepping up to the house and asking wing for a bottle of ginger ale?" when ernest returned with the bottle of amber-colored liquid, captain clarke turned to gertie. "we must divide the honors, will you break the bottle over the bow while sherm pushes off? champagne is customary, but this is better for a prohibition state, and for young folks in any state." gertie took the bottle and waited for directions. the others looked on curiously. sherm untied the boat, and, holding the cord in his hand, also waited. "perhaps we'd better consider ernest the crew; that cord is hardly long enough to permit the _chicken little_ to float off in style, and we don't want to have to swim, to bring her back. jump in, ernest; you know how to handle an oar in fresh water, don't you?" "i think i can manage it." captain clarke explained to gertie exactly how to strike the blow that should send the ginger ale foaming over the bow, and repeated the formal words of christening until she knew them by heart. gertie was so interested she forgot to be shy, and performed her office with much spirit, repeating the "i christen thee, _chicken little_," as solemnly as if she were standing beside a battleship instead of a blue-and-white row boat. it was a pretty ceremony, but it took so long that wing fan came to announce supper before they were all fairly packed away in the boat for their promised ride. the six were a snug fit. supper was served on the uncovered veranda. a stream of late afternoon sunshine filtered through the trees, and, with the lengthening shadows, cast a sunflecked pattern of branch and foliage on the white linen tablecloth and shining glass and silver. some of chicken little's own clove pinks, mingled with feathery larkspur and ribbon grass, filled a silver bowl in the center of the table. "how did you keep them fresh so long?" chicken little asked curiously. "wing fan performed some kind of an incantation over them. you'll have to ask him." wing was delighted to have jane notice them. "velly easy keep--put some away in box with ice all same butter." captain clarke had been the first person on the creek to put up ice for summer use and wing was the proud possessor of a roomy ice box. "it seems like home to have ice again." katy was stirring the sugar in her tea for the sheer satisfaction of hearing the ice tinkle against the sides of the glass. a sudden thought disturbed her. "though there couldn't be anything nicer than your spring house for keeping things. i don't believe our melons at home ever got so nice and cold all through as yours do down in the spring stream." "that's a wonderful spring you have over on the place." captain clarke came to katy's rescue. "and that big oak above it is the finest tree in this part of the country. i'll venture it has a history if we only knew it." "yes, father is very proud of the old oak. he says it is at least two hundred years old. he wouldn't take anything for it," ernest replied. "everybody calls kansas a new country," said sherm, "but i guess it is pretty old in some ways. kansas had a lot of history during the war." "yes, and lots of the people who helped make the history are living down at garland now. the old santa fe trail runs clear across our ranch. you can tell it still--though it hasn't been traveled for almost twenty years--by the ruts and washouts. and even where the ground wasn't cut up by the countless wheels, it was packed so hard the blue stem has never grown there since. it is all covered with that fuzzy buffalo grass. in winter this turns a lighter brown than the prairie grass and you can see the trail for miles, distinctly." ernest loved history and politics. "what was the santa fe trail? i have heard you speak of the trail so much and i never knew what you meant." katy asked eagerly. the captain answered: "the old trans-continental wagon road to the gold fields of california. you know there was a time when kansas didn't have anything so civilized as a railroad and people traveled by wagon and horseback--even on foot, all the way to the coast." "yes," added ernest, "and lots of them died on the way or got killed by indians." "indians?" said katy, "why, we haven't seen a single indian and cousin may said she'd be afraid to come out here because there were lots of them still about." "not in this part of kansas--you needn't lose any sleep. the kaw reservation isn't so very far away and parties sometimes come this way to revisit their old hunting grounds, but the kaws were a peaceable tribe even in their free days." "there are lots of indian mounds and relics around here," put in chicken little. "father got those arrow heads, and that stone to pound corn, and his tomahawk heads out of a mound over on little john." "yes, and there's a tree on the main street in town that used to be a famous meeting place for the indians. oh, we must take you all to see the old indian mission. it was used as a fort, too, more than once, they say. the walls are fully two feet thick." "whew, i didn't know you had so many interesting things round here!" exclaimed sherm. "we are so used to them we hardly think of them as being interesting. have i ever told you about the hermit's cave?" "hermit's cave? no, where is it?" "on the side of that big bluff just west of town. oh, that's some story. the hermit lived there until about ten years ago. some said he was a jesuit priest who lived a hermit's life to become more holy, and others that he was an italian noble who had fled from italy to escape punishment for a crime. nobody ever really knew much about him except that he was highly educated and read books in several different languages. but the cave is still there, in the ledge of rocks near the top of the bluff." "oh, i'd love to see it." gertie liked romantic things. "so would i," katy added. "me too," echoed sherm. "count me in," said the captain, "or rather let me take you all to town some day to explore these marvels." "they really aren't much to see--they're more interesting to tell about. but i'd be glad to see them all again myself," ernest replied. wing fan had prepared so many good things for them that none of the party felt energetic enough for rowing immediately after supper. they were glad to linger over the peach ice cream which was wing's crowning triumph, and nibble at the chinese sweetmeats about which they were rather doubtful. "i don't believe i ever tasted such good ice cream," exclaimed katy. "i think wing fan must say magical words over everything he cooks--his things are so different and taste so good. i never thought i liked rice before, but his was delicious." [illustration: and he brandished it fiercely.] "wing fan knows all about the family history of rice. he talks to each grain separately," laughed the captain. the boys didn't praise wing's efforts in words, but their appetites kept wing on the broad grin. he could not resist looking proudly at his employer when sherm accepted his third saucer of cream. the captain invited them into the library to pick out sherm's elephant. they were all so interested in the curios and asked so many questions they came near forgetting the boat ride. ernest picked out a ship's cutlass the first thing. the captain took it down for him to examine and he brandished it fiercely. captain clarke smiled. "i fear you wouldn't do much execution if you handled it that way, ernest. a cutlass has tricks of its own. here, this is the way." he showed the boy how to get the proper hold and how to swing it. ernest struck an attitude. "behold your sailor brother as he skims the briny deep, chicken little." "pooh, naval officers don't carry cutlasses, do they, captain clarke?" "no, i believe the sword used now is straight. but this cutlass has a history i think might interest you." "tell us." "if you like. it won't take long. boys, will you draw up chairs for the girls?" captain clarke reached out his hand for a big easy chair nearby at the same moment that sherm laid his hand upon it to draw it nearer for their host himself. the two hands rested in almost the same position on the opposite arms of the chair. they were singularly alike. katy, the observing, noticed this instantly. captain clarke studied sherm's hand for a minute, then his gaze shifted to his own. "i doubt if my hand was ever as good looking as sherm's," he said easily. "you have a hand that denotes unusual strength and will power, according to 'palmology.' you will have to live up to it." but katy was persistent. "it's almost exactly like yours, captain clarke, only yours isn't so smooth and has more lines. don't you see it's a square hand with unusually long fingers. the thumbs are shaped just the same, too." "you should be an artist, katy, you are such a close observer," replied the captain. they settled down comfortably for the story. chicken little noticed sherm regarding his own hand rather critically and glancing from it to the captain's, who used frequent gestures as he warmed with his talk. gertie could not take her eyes from the cruel steel blade of the cutlass. "i wish there were no awful things to kill people with. i don't believe god meant people to kill each other in battle any more than to kill each other when they get mad." captain clarke smiled at her disturbed look. "that is one of the most terrible questions human beings have ever had to answer, little girl. i thought as you do once, gertie, before the civil war broke out. i loathed the histories and pictures of fighting. my schoolmates used to dub me a sissy because i hated the sight of blood. but when president lincoln called for volunteers to save our country, when i realized that it was a choice between having one great free country with liberty in it for both blacks and whites, or letting our own race and kin leave us in hatred to continue the wickedness of human slavery right at our doors, it didn't take me long to decide. war and all unnecessary suffering inflicted by human beings upon each other, are hideous. but have you ever thought how much more of such suffering there would be if parents didn't inflict suffering upon their children to make them control their ugly passions? if our courts didn't punish people for being cruel to other people? and when it isn't a child or one or two grown men or women who try to be cruel or unjust, but a whole nation, what then? surely other nations should come to the rescue of the right, even if it means war. you wouldn't let a big dog kill a little one without trying to save it, would you, gertie?" gertie mutely shook her head. "neither should christian nations allow weaker peoples nor any part of their own people to be unjustly treated, when it is in their power to prevent it. 'am i my brother's keeper?' will some day be a question every nation must answer as well as every individual." "but most of the world's wars have been to take other nations' rights away from them, not to protect them," objected ernest. "yes, on one side, but in every war there has always been the side that fought to protect its loved ones and its homes from the brutality of conquerors. there is hideous wrong in every war, but the wrong is in the hearts of those who would rob and oppress those weaker than themselves, not in the patriots and heroes who resist. but i didn't mean to deliver a lecture. i'd rather tell you about the brave boy who wielded this cutlass." chicken little drew her chair closer. "it was in ' --soon after i was mustered out of service at the close of the war, i was offered the command of a freighter going round the horn to the orient. i hated to leave my wife and little boy for a year's voyage, especially after being away so long during the war, but it was the only opening worth while i could find. i guess i had the get-rich-quick idea, too, but never mind, that has nothing to do with the story. we had a terrible voyage. storms and bad luck of every kind. the rigging was shrouded with ice for weeks--two men were frozen to death on watch. i don't know that i blame the men as i look back. i had been so hardened myself by the terrible discipline and sights of war, i guess i didn't take much trouble to make my crew see the necessity of some of our hardships. at any rate, they mutinied and would have killed me while i slept, but for my cabin boy. he was only sixteen, but he discovered the conspiracy and roused me. with the help of the other officers and a few loyal sailors we stood them off. hot work it was." the captain stopped an instant, musing. the young people waited, expectant. captain clarke held up the cutlass reverently. "charlie used this to good purpose after he had fired his last round of ammunition. i was wounded--had propped myself against the rail and was aiming my last precious bits of lead at the ring-leader, when some one jabbed a bayonet at me from the side. charlie knocked it up, cutting the dastard down with a second blow that was a marvel. those two strokes saved my life and saved the ship. do you wonder this ugly thing looks beautiful to me?" "and the boy?" katy asked softly. "commands a vessel of his own in the pacific trade. i had a letter and a satsuma jar from him a few weeks ago. but we are neglecting the _chicken little_! that will never do." a crescent moon was visible in the sky as they came back to the place where the boat was moored. "i fear i detained you longer than i intended with my yarn," said the captain. "it will soon be dark and that moon is too young to be very useful." "oh, it will give a good deal of light for two or three hours. i know every inch of the road, and even if i didn't, the horses do," ernest replied. "will you boys take the oars together or one at a time? chicken little, you girls may take turns in the bow and the rest of us will make a nice tight fit here in the stern." the boys preferred to try their luck singly. ernest picked up the oars awkwardly. he had had little experience in rowing and he felt self-conscious under the captain's eye. his first stroke sent a shower of drops flying over them. "here," called sherm, "that isn't a hose you're handling!" "anyhow, the drops feel lovely and cool." katy was inclined to defend ernest. "a longer, slower stroke will do the work better and not blister your hands so quickly," admonished captain clarke. "our future admiral must learn to row a boat skillfully. you boys are welcome to use it whenever you see fit." ernest set his lips together firmly and soon had the boat skimming along rapidly, though still rather jerkily, his strokes being more energetic than regular. the woods were already echoing with soft night noises, frogs croaked; the clicking notes of the katydids mingled with the whining of the wind through the boughs overhead. part of the pool disappeared in the shadows; the rest broke into shimmering ripples with every stroke of the oars. "oh, i love the night time!" exclaimed chicken little. "seems as if everything in the world had done its day's work and was sitting down to talk it over--even the frogs. don't you s'pose they're glad or sorry about things when night comes, just as we are?" sherm looked at chicken little, who was leaning over the side of the boat, trailing her hand in the water. "chicken little, you work your imagination overtime--it will wear out if you aren't careful." she rewarded him with a grimace. "you are getting a much evener stroke, ernest," observed the captain. "i bet he's getting a blister on his hand, too," said katy. "yes, ernest, you'd better let me have a turn." sherm slid over to the rower's seat and reached his hand for the oars, which ernest yielded reluctantly. sherm had spent one summer near lake michigan and was a better oarsman than ernest. the boat skimmed along smoothly. "good for you, sherm, you have a strong, even stroke," the captain praised. presently the girls began to sing, ernest and sherm joining in. captain clarke listened happily to the young voices until they struck up "soft and low over the western sea." they all loved it and were crooning it sweetly, but the captain's face went white as they sang: "father will come to his babe in the nest." "don't!" he exclaimed involuntarily. they all looked at him in surprise. he regained his self-possession instantly, saying with a smile: "go on--don't mind my twinge of rheumatism--i slept in a draught last night. that is one of the loveliest things tennyson has ever written." the young people finished the song and began another, but they wondered. the spell of the evening was broken. soon after, they started home. chapter xi calico and company mrs. morton passed the muffins for the fifth time to ernest. ernest's appetite for muffins was prodigious. sherm was also ready for another. chicken little hadn't quite finished hers, but at the rate they were disappearing--she thought she'd better. katy said: "yes, thank you," and gertie, who ate more slowly than the others, had only had one. dr. morton was merely waiting to be urged. mrs. morton rang the bell doubtfully. annie had filled the plate three times already. annie appeared with a questioning grin. "shall i bring some bread, ma'am? they ain't no more muffins." dr. morton laughed. "our appetites do credit to your cooking, annie." mrs. morton sighed, then smiled as she surveyed the rosy, tanned faces. "there is certainly nothing like country air to make people eat. i wonder when alice and dick will be getting back. dick said the first week in august probably." "oh, dear," said chicken little, "i want to see alice and dick again, but i don't want katy and gertie and sherm to go home. they can only stay a few days this time, alice said so." "i don't want to go home a bit," replied katy. "there's nothing to do at home till school begins." "i'd like to go home and see mother, and then come back." gertie looked a little wistful. she did want mother within reach. "i wish we could keep you all till september." dr. morton liked to have the clatter of the young people about. "if we only knew some one going back to illinois at that time to look after you. i don't suppose mrs. halford would like to have you girls travel so far without some grown person along. but i don't see why sherm can't just as well stay till time to get ready for college." "i'd like nothing better, and i'm not dead sure i'm going to college this fall. father seemed a little doubtful when i left, and the folks haven't said anything about it in their letters. if i can't, i guess i'll try for a clerkship in the post-office when i go back." dr. morton studied a moment. "how would you like to work here on the ranch if you don't go to college, sherm?" "do you mean it, dr. morton?" "i surely do. of course, ernest's going is not quite settled yet, but i have practically made up my mind that he must go off to school somewhere. we shall need some one to take his place and it would be very pleasant to have you. chicken little here wouldn't be quite so homesick for ernest, perhaps, if you would let her adopt you in his place." jane jumped up and down in an ecstasy. "oh, sherm, please do--i thought i'd just die with lonesomeness this winter with all of you gone, and ernest, too." sherm looked pleased at her eagerness. his news from home was still depressing and sherm, if not homesick, had his lonely hours. "i would pay you regular wages--whatever is customary for boys of your age. i should have to make some inquiries," continued dr. morton. "yes, and we could go to the lyceums--they most always have one every winter over at the fair view schoolhouse. it's heaps of fun when there's snow on the ground. frank puts the big wagon bed on runners and we fill the bottom with straw and buffalo robes and all snuggle down together. you just must stay, sherm!" "perhaps he will, if you don't talk him to death, chicken little. you haven't given him a chance to get in a word edgeways." ernest reproved his sister sharply after the manner of brothers slightly older. "what about you?" retorted chicken little. "sherm, we'll all keep quiet and let you have a chance." "i'd like to, if college is ruled out, and mother and father will let me. they may want me at home, especially if father grows worse." sherm gave a little gulp. he was very fond of his father. "i'll write to him to-day, sherm, and you might write, too, for i'm going in to town about noon. any commissions, mother? why don't you drop things and come along? a change will do you good--you haven't been off the place for two weeks or more." "i don't know but i will. chicken little, you girls might get up a little picnic lunch for yourselves and the boys, and have it out in the orchard. annie has a big ironing to-day and it would help her out not to have a dinner to get. then we'll have a hearty supper this evening." "yes, and chicken little, did you girls feed the porkers last evening? i heard them squealing and grunting in the night." "golly!" said chicken little, sitting up with a start and looking at katy. katy looked guilty, and gertie concerned. dr. morton did not need any further answer. "well, you'd better run right out. remember dumb beasts must never be neglected, daughter." "and jane, i don't want to hear you say golly again. by-words of any kind are objectionable for young girls, and that is particularly rough and coarse," mrs. morton added severely. "you never say it is coarse when ernest says it--and he uses it an awful lot." "my dear, you are not a boy," mrs. morton replied with a dignity that was final. "i don't care," said chicken little when the trio got out doors, "it's not one bit fair to let boys do so many more things than girls! you just wait, if i ever have a daughter she's going to do every single thing her brother does. so there!" sherm overheard and later in the day when he and jane were talking together, he remarked: "chicken little, i don't think it is exactly fair either to hold the girls in so much tighter than boys, but your mother is right, allee samee. i have heard the fellows talk often enough to know they think a lot more of a girl who isn't slangy, than of one who is. of course, mild ones like 'oh dear' don't matter, but you see a man kind of likes to have a girl, well--different." sherm was getting in a little beyond his depth. the girls carried two pails of sour milk and a great basket of parings to their greedy pigs and watched them feed without interest. "the only reason i'm glad to go home is i won't have to feed these horrid pigs any more. i never saw anything grow and eat like they do. they ought to be worth a lot of money after all the stuff they've eaten." katy kicked her toe against the log pen to emphasize her remarks. "i don't think they're worth so very much yet." chicken little was regarding them with no very friendly eye. "i wouldn't mind so much if they weren't getting so ugly and smelly," said gertie plaintively. frank, happening by just then, was amused to see their disgusted expressions. "say, frank, how soon will these pigs be big enough to go in the corral with the others?" frank's eyes twinkled. he came up and scanned the ten muddy, impudent pigs, who were already coming up to the sides of the pen, grunting for more. "well," he said judicially, "i think perhaps you will be rid of them inside of two or three months, but they'll eat a lot more from now on." the three set up a united protest. "father said it would only be a few weeks when we caught them, and it's been five already," chicken little remonstrated hotly. "well, don't go for me. you asked for my opinion and i gave it to you." frank grinned so broadly that jane grew suspicious. "pooh, you're teasing, i'll ask father to-night." the girls scoured the pantry and spring house for provender for the picnic. sherm and ernest would be in from the meadow where they were cutting down thistles about half-past twelve. bread and butter and cold ham were flanked with cookies, pie, and musk melons. annie wanted them out of her road as speedily as possible, so they took their stuff all down to the orchard and stowed it away in the shade. "now what?" demanded katy. "i don't know. wish we could think of something new." chicken little stared up and down the rows of apple trees, seeking an inspiration. her glance fell upon a lone apple tree standing in the center of an open space, apart from all its fellows. katy's glance followed hers. "why is that old tree all by itself that way?" "i don't know--they were all big trees when we came here. it is a bell-flower and we call it old king bee. say, i've got an idea. let's get calico and caliph and play riding school--you remember that article in 'the harper's' about a riding school in new york, and you said you wished you could go." "would ernest let us take caliph?" "i don't know, but i know i could ride him if i tucked my skirts up and used the man's saddle. there can't a soul see us here; it's so shut in by the trees." "it would be fun. let's try to ride bare back and do stunts to surprise the boys. i wish we could take our skirts clear off--they catch so on the saddle horn and in the stirrup buckles." "i tell you what we'll do." chicken little's eyes danced impishly. "there are lots of ernest's old trousers in the lumber-room closet that he outgrew ever so long ago. i believe we could find some to fit all of us. let's go see." a swift rummage of the dusty closet set them all sneezing, but they triumphantly brought forth an armful of defunct trousers and carried them up to their room. for the next fifteen minutes such giggles and exclamations and shrieks of laughter escaped from their room that annie left her ironing to see what was up. an astonishing sight met her gaze. once started upon the dressing-up craze, the girls had not been content with one garment. chicken little had daringly ransacked not only ernest's bureau, but sherm's possessions, in quest of shirts and ties. she had decked herself in a blue checked cheviot shirt, tucked into blue serge trousers, liberally patched at the knees. sherm's best red tie was neatly knotted at her throat, and an old straw hat adorned with a red hair ribbon, topped her brown braids. katy was resplendent in a tan colored shirt, with a bright green tie popularly supposed to belong to ernest. her own black sailor finished her off nicely. gertie had a faded pink shirt, which dated back to centerville days--all ernest's more recent garments being too big for her slim little figure. annie threw up her hands. "you're a pretty-looking lot. i'd just like to have the missus see you now. i bet you'd catch it." but annie had troubles of her own and retired to her ironing. the trio slipped out the back way--they didn't care to have marian see them, and they didn't wish to bother with jilly. the stable was deserted. they quickly saddled caliph after making friends--with sundry lumps of sugar. calico was equipped only with a saddle blanket and girth. gertie decided that she would let the others experiment first, so she walked back to the orchard. "let's try them down the lane first. they will be easier to manage on a straight road than in among the trees, if they are fractious." jane helped katy upon calico's back and showed her how to press her knees against the sides to secure her seat in the place of stirrups. "you can put your hand under the girth if you begin to slip." katy took a turn or two and decided she could stick on if calico didn't trot. he was a single footer and had a very easy gait except on the rare occasions when he insisted upon breaking into a hard trot. chicken little led caliph to the fence. she wanted to be sure that she was well in her seat before caliph discovered she was a girl. but caliph liked chicken little, and not having any skirts to make him suspicious, seemed inclined to take her for what she seemed. he noticed only that he had a lighter hand on the reins. he dashed off as lightly and smoothly as if ernest or sherm were on his back, and chicken little was in a transport of pleasure and triumph to think she could ride him. katy had a harder time, but she stuck on pluckily for three turns up and down the lane. they didn't dare linger too long lest some neighbor come by and see them. so they presently turned off upon the faint track that led through the gate into the orchard. gertie was awaiting them under the big tree. katy slipped off calico to give gertie her turn. chicken little led the way on caliph and they went round and round the tree, faster and faster, till both were ready for a rest. the ponies were fresh and seemed to enjoy the sport as much as they did. katy tried calico next, enchanted to find she could stick on at a canter. by this time they were ready for something new. "do you suppose we could ride backwards?" katy was in a daring mood. they could and they did, though calico was a little doubtful as to whether he approved of this innovation. it was not exactly comfortable for anyone concerned and they soon gave it up. but when chicken little tried to make the intelligent pony dance on his hind legs, calico waxed indignant. instead of rising gracefully, he gave two short, plunging leaps, descending with forelegs rigid and head down, a maneuver which sent his mistress flying over his head. the turf was soft and she was up in a trice, gripping calico's rein before he could make use of his freedom. the crowning feat of the morning was another of chicken little's brilliant ideas. they had tethered the ponies by their bridle reins and were letting them graze on the orchard grass while they stretched out and rested. suddenly jane sat up with a start and began to take off her shoes. "what on earth are you going to do now, jane morton?" demanded katy sharply. "wait and see. i'm most sure i can. i want you to lead calico very slowly." katy obediently followed directions. chicken little put her hand on the girth and vaulted on his back. she rode once around the tree tamely, then slowly got to her feet on calico's slim back, bidding katy steady her. she succeeded in going about three feet with this precarious footing before she lost her balance and slid harmlessly down on the pony's back. calico did not look specially pleased at the jounce she gave him as she lit. she persevered until she could go round the tree, then insisted upon trying it alone. katy and gertie both remonstrated. "you'll get killed! calico doesn't like it a bit." "i won't--i tried once all by myself last summer on old kit, but calico's harder, because he isn't so fat. you wouldn't hurt me, would you, calico?" she put her arm around his neck and squeezed him hard. calico whinnied and began to nose her for sugar. she produced two lumps, and stroked him, talking to him in whispers while katy hooted. "a lot of good that will do." chicken little got up again with katy's help, then started off slowly by herself. calico moved carefully at a snail's pace. she made the entire circuit of the tree successfully this time. again she went around, increasing the speed of calico's walk. she was so jubilant she grew reckless and clucked, which was calico's signal to canter. he responded promptly and with equal promptness, she slid down on him kerplunck. calico laid back his ears in disapproval, and looked around inquiringly. by this time katy had plucked up her courage and wished to try it. she was entirely willing, however, to have chicken little at the pony's head. katy slipped, too, but she was lighter, and calico was growing used to it and did not mind so much. chicken little patted him each time and he soon ceased to notice the bumps. gertie preferred to be a spectator at this stunt, but the others persisted until jane succeeded in going round the tree once with calico pacing. "golly, i wish ernest and sherm could see us!" chicken little was already sighing for new worlds to conquer. "you said golly again." "golly, i did, didn't i? it's awfully hard to quit anything like that. say, i want you girls to pinch me every time i say it, then i'll remember." "you'll get mad if we do," replied gertie, wise beyond her years. "no, i won't! honest to goodness i won't. i truly want to stop it." "all right," said katy firmly, "but you will get more pinches than you are expecting." katy and gertie and poor calico were all ready to settle down for a rest. but chicken little was burning to show off before ernest and sherm. she untied caliph and took several turns around the tree, going faster and faster. "pooh," she said after a while, "i bet i could ride caliph anywhere. suppose we go meet the boys. you and gertie can both ride calico bare back. i guess they'll be surprised. it's most noon; i can tell by the sun." "but jane, we can't go to meet the boys this way." gertie looked distressed. "oh, i forgot. what can we do? i'd be afraid to ride caliph with even a short skirt--he's never had a woman on him before." "what if the boys do see us? nobody else is likely to come along just at noon. anyway, your father thinks it's dangerous for girls to wear long skirts to ride in. i heard him say so." katy was plausible and chicken little wanted to be persuaded. "i don't care, if you don't." "all right, let's do it. i think you look real nice that way, chicken little, honest i do." "well, they're heaps more comfortable. i feel so light. you make an awfully cute boy, katy, and gertie is just sweet. and you couldn't ride bare back half so well sidewise." it took some persuasion to secure gertie's consent, but she finally gave in. they rode gaily out into the lane. calico was too tired to make any protest to his double burden. once in the lane, they waited in the shade. but the boys did not come. they waited until jane was sure it must be one o'clock and their appetites suggested two at the very earliest. calico waited patiently enough, but caliph was uneasy over the flies. finally, they decided to give the boys up and go back and have their picnic alone. "we might take one gallop down the line to the creek to make sure they're not in the meadow," katy suggested. "i bet they finished the weeds sooner than they expected and went fishing." chicken little strained her eyes in the direction of the meadow. they started the horses off at a smart pace, then faster and faster, till they broke into a swift gallop. "isn't it glorious?" chicken little called back. she was several lengths ahead. she did not hear katy's response. a jack rabbit, frightened by the approaching horses, broke cover from some wild blackberry bushes that grew over the stone wall, and dashed across the road directly in front of caliph. the spirited beast shied violently, then leaped forward, throwing chicken little neatly off into the exact middle of the dusty lane. her pride was more hurt than she was. she tried to stop him by calling "whoa" lustily. but caliph seemed to have a pressing engagement elsewhere. he quickly disappeared around a bend in the lane. the girls looked at each other in dismay. chicken little got hastily to her feet. there was no time to nurse bruises. she must catch caliph somehow. "golly, he's got that beautiful mexican saddle on and he may take a notion to roll. i knew i hadn't any business to take it, but i wanted to ride him just as ernest does." katy and gertie noticed the "golly," but there seemed to be more important business on hand. "do you suppose you could take calico and catch him?" asked katy anxiously. "i don't know, but i guess i'll have to try." katy and gertie climbed down and chicken little swung herself up. "maybe one of you'd better come, too, to hold calico and ride him home if i catch caliph." "i'll come, and gertie had better run and change her clothes and go back to the orchard to give the boys their lunch, if they come before we get back. don't tell them where we're gone." "nor about caliph, gertie, you can say we'll be back in a minute." katy had mounted behind jane while she was giving this last direction and poor calico started off at a gallop. they crossed the creek and came to the place where the road forked just beyond the timber without seeing hide or hair of caliph. "he must have streaked it. i don't think he'd take the road to town--he must have gone straight home to the captain's. oh, dear, i'll have to tell him i used ernest's horse without permission, and i've got these awful clothes on! it just seems as if the captain has to know every single bad thing i ever do." chicken little heaved a long sigh and clucked to calico. they had almost reached the captain's gate when they saw wing fan approaching on horseback, leading the truant caliph. chicken little was immensely relieved to find, as they came near, that neither saddle nor bridle had suffered from the run away. wing fan was also greatly relieved to find that no one had been hurt. "me velly 'fraid honorable brother have bad fall. captain clarke no home. i bring horse, find out." wing held caliph while jane mounted, and rode a little way with her to make sure he would not be fractious, but caliph seemed to have had his fling and bowled along smoothly. in the meantime ernest and sherm had arrived and were plying gertie with questions between mouthfuls. gertie parried as long as she could, shutting her lips together tight when they began to press her too hard. "i'd just like to know what they are up to now. that precious sister of mine can get into more scrapes than any kid i ever saw." "and katy isn't far behind her," added sherm, hoping gertie would try to defend her absent sister and let something out. chicken little and katy took the horses to the barn, carefully unsaddled caliph, and rubbed both horses down and fed them, before going back to the orchard. they forgot all about their unusual dress. they arrived there, tired and flushed, in time to help the boys finish the last melon. "you mean things to eat the melons all up." chicken little almost forgot her own offense in her disgust over their greediness. the boys did not waste time defending themselves; their attention was concentrated on the girls' peculiar costume. "well, what in the demnition bow wows have you been doing now, chicken little jane morton?" ernest's gaze wandered from his sister to katy, who suddenly became self-conscious and tucked her feet and as much of her trouser-clad legs as she could manage, underneath her. chicken little gave a start of surprise, then faced ernest boldly. "oh, just having a little fun." by this time ernest was beginning to grasp details. "suppose next time you start out to have fun you let my things alone. isn't that sherm's best tie you've got on?" chicken little clutched the offending tie and glanced hastily at sherm. the boy was regarding her with a peculiar expression, both admiring and disapproving. there was no denying that chicken little made a most attractive boy. the swift color swept into the girl's face as she caught sherm's glance. "oh, dear, and he had told her only that morning that girls should be different!" she liked sherm--she didn't want him to think she was a bold, awful girl. some way their prank seemed to need excusing. she replied to the look in sherm's eyes rather than to her brother's accusation. "we--i wanted to ride caliph--i just knew i could if i didn't have a lot of horrid skirts to frighten him. and we did beautiful stunts and we couldn't, if we hadn't put on your old things. i bet if you had to wear cluttering things like skirts all the time you'd be glad to take them off some times, too." chicken little's big brown eyes sought sherm's appealingly. ernest answered before sherm could say anything. "well, you can settle with mother about the skirts, but i'll thank you to let caliph and my best ties alone." "did you ride him?" asked sherm. "you're welcome to my tie, chicken little. it's very becoming." chicken little felt subtly consoled. "yes, i rode him, but he threw me once," she confessed. "he threw me once, too," said the boy. "you'd better be a little careful." sherm grinned and chicken little smiled back happily. chapter xii dick and alice go on alone dr. and mrs. morton got home about four o'clock. the girls had studied some time as to whether they should make a clean breast of the morning's doings, but ernest, urged on by sherm, had discouraged them. "you needn't be afraid i'll peach, sis. you're an awful good rider for a girl and i don't mind your taking caliph so long as you didn't get hurt. and i guess it was sensible of you not to try him with skirts. but you'd better be careful. you're getting most too big for such tom boy business." "it wasn't anything really wrong," argued chicken little. "i know my mother wouldn't have cared way off out here in the country." katy added her mite to the whitewashing. "i don't think it was wrong, but i guess your mother wouldn't be pleased to hear about it," observed gertie sagely. "she isn't going to," said chicken little with decision. "i shall tell father instead." father only laughed. mrs. morton did not learn of it until the girls had gone home to centerville, when chicken little, wishing to convince her that she could ride caliph safely, let it out, and received the long-delayed scolding. two days after the riding school, a letter came from dick and alice, saying they would arrive sunday and must leave for centerville the following saturday. the same mail brought a letter for sherm from his mother, and another from mrs. dart to dr. morton. the doctor did not mention the contents of his until the boy had finished reading his own. then he stepped over to his side and laid his hand gently upon his head. sherm was looking pretty sober. "can you be content to be our boy this winter, sherm?" "thank you, you're mighty good to want me. i--i guess there's no college for me this winter. father's no better. i wish--excuse me." sherm finished abruptly and bolted out of the house. chicken little looked after him with some concern. she turned inquiringly to her father. "poor lad," he said in response to her look, "his father is no better--will be a helpless invalid to the end, i judge, more from what mrs. dart doesn't say than from what she does. i'm afraid their affairs are in bad shape. dart's illness must have cost enormously and they have had no man to look after their business. she writes that sue is to be married quietly next month. she says they are sadly disappointed not to have sherm home for this event, but feel that he will be better off to stay with us this winter, and she can hardly afford to have him come so far just for a short visit. there is something sort of queer about the letter--something mysterious, as if she were keeping the really important facts to herself. see what you make of it, frank." he handed the letter to frank, who had just walked in with jilly perched on his shoulder. chicken little did not wait for frank's verdict, she slipped out the door in search of sherm. her first guess was the stables and she made a hurried survey of stalls and hay mow. he was not there. she tried the orchard next, then the arbor. perhaps he had taken one of the ponies and gone for a ride. no, she remembered both calico and caliph had whinnied as she went by their stalls. he might have walked down the lane. she went clear to the ford and hunted among the trees for a short distance up and down the bank. he was nowhere in sight. coming back, she caught sight of the tops of the weeping willows and, remembering that sherm sometimes went there sundays with a book, she stole up quietly. he had thrown himself down on the ground under the interlacing branches. no, he was not crying--just lying perfectly still, staring up into the boughs above him with such misery in his face, it hurt her to see him. she hardly knew what to do. she knew ernest generally preferred to be let alone when things went wrong, but then ernest had never come up against any real trouble. she suspected that sherm's was very real. chicken little watched him for several minutes, undecided. he did not stir. finally, she decided she didn't care whether sherm wanted her round or not, she wasn't going to go off and leave him to grieve all alone. "sherm," she called softly. the boy raised up on his elbow. "what do you want?" he asked rather gruffly. his manner didn't suggest any longing for her society, but she persevered. "i won't bother you but just a minute, sherm, but i'm awful sorry--about your father--and college and everything." sherm did not answer or look at her. the tender note of sympathy in her voice was imperilling his self-control. he didn't mean to play the baby, especially before a girl. but the braver the boy was, the more chicken little burned to comfort him. she stood for a moment staring at him helplessly, the tears welling up into her own eyes. then on a sudden impulse she dropped down beside him, and before he could protest, began to stroke his hair. sherm tolerated the caressing fingers for a few minutes, but his pride would not let him accept even this comforting. he dabbed his eyes fiercely. "don't, chicken little, don't! you're a trump to stand by a fellow this way. i am all right--i just got to thinking about father--and sue's going." sherm would have carried it off beautifully if he hadn't attempted a smile, but his heart was too sore to quite manage that. the smile vanished in a hasty gulp, and, burying his face on his arm, he had it out. chicken little's eyes were redder than sherm's when she got up to go back to the house. sherm noticed her tear-stained appearance. "wait a minute," he ordered bruskly. he ran down to the spring stream just beyond the willows and soaking and rinsing out his handkerchief, brought it dripping to her. "mop your eyes, jane, they look awful. there--that's better. i'll be along pretty soon!" mrs. morton had not considered it necessary to inform katy and gertie that she had also written to their mother, asking if their visit might be prolonged until the last of august. mrs. morton was firm in the opinion that every detail of children's lives should be settled by their elders for their best good, and she expected the children to be properly thankful. her expectations had not always been realized with her own children--all three having often very definite ideas of their own as to what they wanted and what they didn't want. but in this instance she was not disappointed. the joy was general when mrs. halford wrote that the girls might remain until the twenty-eighth, when a business friend of mr. halford's would be coming through kansas city, and would meet the girls there and bring them on home. to be sure, gertie had a bad half hour thinking how much longer it would be before she could see mother, but she soon forgot all this in the bustle of preparation for alice and dick. marian and frank had arranged several excursions for their last days at the ranch. they had seen fit to include the young folks in only one of these--a day in town when they were to go to the old mission and look up some interesting indian mounds in the neighborhood. captain clarke was to be of the party, and, true to his promise, insisted upon driving the boys and girls in himself. the afternoon alice and dick were expected, the girls were down the lane watching for the first glimpse of the bay team, to greet them. they had arrayed jilly in white with a wreath of forget-me-nots on her blonde curls and a small market basket full of hollyhock blooms to scatter in the pathway of the expected guests. frank was responsible for the hollyhocks. flowers were becoming scarce, it had been so dry, and chicken little was bemoaning the fact that they could hardly find enough to trim up the house. "hollyhocks, sure. there's a whole hedge of them right at your hand. nothing could be more appropriate for returning honeymooners. further, they're gaudy enough to compete with the two inches of dust in the lane. if we don't have rain pretty doggoned soon we won't have any crop." both mrs. morton and marian looked up anxiously. "you don't think----?" marian hesitated. she did not wish to burden katy and gertie with family worries. "no, i don't think, not being in the weather man's confidence. but a rain inside of the next three days would mean hundreds of dollars to the morton family and the whole eastern half of kansas as well." chicken little's mind flew instantly to ernest's cherished hopes. "oh, can't ernest go to college if we don't have rain?" "don't bother your head, chicken, we'll find some way to take care of ernest. go back to your decorations." ernest and sherm had spent the preceding evening erecting a remarkable arch over the front gate with "welcome to our city" done in charcoal letters a foot high on a strip of white paper cambric, depending from it, and an american flag proudly floating above. the girls completed this modest design by trimming up the gate posts with boughs. mrs. morton's preparations were more practical. three peach and three custard pies crowded a chocolate cake and a pan of ginger cookies on the lowest pantry shelf. the bread box lid would not shut, the box was so full, and a whole boiled ham was cooling down at the spring house, not to mention six dismembered spring chickens which had been offered up in place of the regulation calf. "i shouldn't mind if they had cooked two of the pigs," groaned katy. they were giving their charges an extra big feed, being fearful lest they should forget them in the excitement of the guests' arrival. "neither would i," chicken little replied with a sigh. "i'm sick of the sight of 'em!" gertie threw a carrot and hit the one time beauteous white one with the curly tail, so smart a rap on his snout that he squealed his disapproval while his relatives bagged the carrot. "i don't care if i don't get any money for my share of 'em," said katy after a pause of disgusted contemplation of the pigs. "i'd have to spend it for something useful like as not, or give some of it to the heathens. let's give them back to your father." "i'd just as lief, only frank and the boys would tease us everlastingly if we backed out now--and we've worked so hard!" "i don't care. i'd just as lief quit." gertie's discouraged expression was so funny that chicken little laughed and gertie, the patient, flared. she hated to be funny. "stop it--i am not going to help you feed those horrid pigs another time, chicken little jane morton. i've just been doing it to help you out. and i don't think it's a suitable occupation for girls--or company!" gertie climbed down from her perch on the log pen and departed with dignity. "humph, i guess i never asked you to help me. besides, you expected to get as much money as i did. you can just go off and sulk if you want to." "well, i don't think that is a nice way to talk to your guests." katy climbed down and departed to soothe her sister. chicken little whacked her heels against the logs and made a face at the nearest pig to relieve her feelings. she loathed the creatures. she wished she could wipe them off the face of the earth. katy was half way to the house when she had an inspiration. "katy!" she called eagerly, "katy, i've got an idea." katy continued her way without glancing 'round. "it's something you'll like." katy wavered and unbent enough to ask: "what is it?" "come here and i'll tell you. i'm not going to yell it." katy considered and finally returned reluctantly. when she came back to the pen, chicken little glanced round to make sure that no one was about, to overhear, then, to make sure, whispered excitedly into katy's ear. katy's face lighted. "all right, let's. gertie won't care." they had entirely made up this slight unpleasantness by afternoon. perched on rocks under the shade of the cherry trees they waited impatiently for dick and alice. jilly had been coached in her little speech so often that there was no doubt at all that she would get it wrong. she had been told to say, "welcome, uncle dick, welcome auntie alice." she had said it faultlessly three times already when approaching wheels started them to their feet expectantly. they were disappointed by seeing a neighbor drive round the bend in the lane. when the familiar bays did come into view with their swinging trot, jilly was so enchanted she started off pell mell to meet them, spilling her blossoms out generously as she ran. the girls overtook her before she quite got in the path of the horses and reminded her of her responsibility. dr. morton pulled up and dick leaped to the ground, punctuating her attempted "weecome" by tossing her into the air and kissing her noisily. jilly struggled free. her coaching had not been in vain. "oo muttant--i ain't said it, and oo pillin' ve fowers." dick set the mite on her feet with exaggerated courtesy. "of course--to be sure. i beg your most humble pardon, miss." jilly drew in a long breath and began at the beginning again. she plunged a fat hand into the market basket and aimed two hollyhock tops in the general direction of dick's diaphragm, repeating impressively: "wee-come, unky dick." she took no notice of his profound bow, but looking up at alice, who was leaning out the side of the seat watching with amused eyes, she showered another handful upon the wheels and horses hoofs impartially. "wee-come, an-tee alish," she said solemnly, then, with a rapturous look of triumph, turned to the girls for approval. she got it, with numerous hugs and kisses for interest. dick surveyed the remainder of the reception committee critically. "chicken little, i hate to mention it, but is there anything left on the ranch to eat? i have been a little nervous all the time we have been away, remembering the execution katy and gertie and sherm were doing when we left and now----" he gazed sorrowfully at the girls' plump cheeks. "i know they have gained ten pounds apiece. be frank with me, jane, is there anything left?" "if there isn't, dick, you might commandeer one of chicken little & co.'s pigs. they are fat enough to sustain you for a few hours," replied dr. morton, glancing at the girls. katy and jane also exchanged glances. dick was quite overcome when he caught sight of the triumphal arch and the flag. "support me, chicken little, this reception is so, ah, flattering it makes me faint with emotion. young ladies, dr. morton," he placed one hand over his heart and bowed low to each, "and esteemed----" he hesitated, not seeing anyone but jilly to include in this last salutation, "esteemed fellows," he bowed once more, including trees, bushes, and any other objects handy, with a courtly sweep of the arm, "it is with deepest gratitude i----" "heart-felt sounds better, dick," interrupted alice, laughing. dick gazed at her reproachfully. "'tis always the way when i try to soar, my wife seizes my kite by the tail and pulls it down with a jerk. i thought lovely woman was supposed to inspire a man to higher----" dick was interrupted in the middle of his complaining by mrs. morton's coming out to greet them. the next few days fairly flew by. each member of both families had thought of a variety of things that alice and dick must do before they went home. unfortunately, there were only twenty-four hours in a day and it seemed necessary to spend part of these in sleep. "we ought to have at least one more hunting party," declared chicken little. "we ought--i shall feel the lack of that hunting party for years to come, jane. there will be a vacuum in my inner consciousness. i shall wake up in the middle of the night sighing for that hunting party. but you see to-day is wednesday, and we must leave friday, and frank and i have sworn by every fish in the creek to take to-morrow off for a fishing trip. chicken little, there is only one way out of the dilemma. painful as it will be for you, you'll have to invite us to come again." the worst of it was that frank firmly declined to take a single petticoat along. neither marian nor alice could move him from this ungallant resolve. "my dear wife," frank replied, "i love you, but i don't love to have you round when i'm fishing." "never mind," said marian with decision, "if we can't go we won't get them any lunch. will we, mother morton?" mrs. morton was rather horrified at such a breach of hospitality, dick and sherm being included in the boycott, but marian and alice both urged, and she finally promised neither to get up a lunch herself nor to permit annie to. marian and alice looked triumphant. frank motioned to dick and the two promptly disappeared. marian quickly followed. "the villain! he's gone over home to confiscate that batch of doughnuts i baked this morning. i hope he doesn't find them." mrs. morton took the hint and locked up her pies and cake. but the two boys and dr. morton had joined the foraging party and food disappeared most mysteriously at intervals during the remainder of the day. a custard pie already cut and served on plates on the kitchen table, reassembled itself in the pie tin and walked out of the kitchen door when annie changed the plates in the dining room. one entire loaf of bread vanished from the earth while annie was trying to expel ernest from the kitchen with a broom. the foragers were so capable that even mrs. morton ceased to worry about the men folks going hungry. but marian's blood was up. "we've just got to do something to get even. the best pool for fish on the whole creek is on captain clarke's land and i know they are not going there. let's take the spring wagon and drive over and get the captain to go fishing with us. he'll take us to his own pool and with him to help, i'd be willing to wager we can beat these top-lofty fishermen at their own game." alice and the girls were instantly enthusiastic, but mrs. morton preferred to stay at home and keep cool. marian and chicken little left the others to put up the lunch, while they went out to the stable to hitch up the bays. they were soon on their way, with a can of bait and a pocket full of fish hooks and stout cord to rig up impromptu fishing lines, the men having taken all the poles with them. the others had gone soon after daybreak. it was nearing ten when marian drove up to the captain's hitching post. "what if he isn't at home?" said chicken little. "he's got to be," laughed marian. wing fan came out, grinning. he did not share his master's reputed dislike for ladies. he ushered them all into the big library and went off to notify the captain, who was down in the meadow superintending the hay cutting. "i am afraid we are an awful nuisance, but my prophetic soul tells me he will enjoy the joke and be pleased to have us come to him." marian was bolstering up her courage. "of course he will. you don't suppose anybody could resist this crowd, do you?" alice encouraged. captain clarke was both pleased and amused. they were so excited they all talked at once, and it took several minutes for him to get command of the situation. "they have the advantage in fishing early in the day, but i'll impress wing fan and we'll have more fish, if i have to get out a net and seine them. we'll go down to the long hole now and see what we can do, and wing will come as soon as he gives the men their dinner. if there is a fish in the creek you can depend on wing to lure him. he just goes out and crooks his little finger and they begin to hunt for the hook," he explained to gertie. the captain proved to be an expert fisherman himself. he showed them all his little stock of fisherman's tricks and they had a good catch by noon when marian and alice stopped to prepare the lunch. about two o'clock wing fan appeared, his face one broad, yellow smile. "big missee and little missee have most," he assured them. chicken little and katy and gertie laid off and perched some distance up the bank behind wing to watch his methods. he didn't seem to do anything different, but the fish certainly came to his hook in a most astonishing manner. they fished until four, and the catch exceeded their wildest expectations. they wanted to leave some with the captain, but he wouldn't hear of it. "if the men have more than you, you can send me some of theirs. i should like to see if the flavor is better." they expected their fishermen to drift in about five, and knew they would bring their fish to the house to display them before taking them down to the spring stream. hurrying home, they put away the team and took their fish down to the spring house. captain clarke had saved a considerable part of their take alive for them, in a wooden cask, which wing carefully loaded into the spring wagon. they got a piece of chicken wire and fastened it across the opening where the water flowed out underneath the spring house, and then, removing the milk and butter crocks from the rock-lined channel, turned all the living fish into the water. the others they spread out on the rock floor to make the best showing possible. the spring house seemed alive with fish. "they'll never beat that!" alice's eyes were dancing. "i don't see how they can." marian chuckled. "my lofty spouse will have to come down off his high horse this time." "don't breathe a word, girls. i don't want them to have the least inkling of what we have been up to, till they see this array." the fishermen arrived, hot, dusty, and hungry. after all their efforts, their supplies had hardly kept pace with their appetites. they displayed their booty proudly. frank had three trout and five catfish on his string. dick, one trout, and three catfish. dr. morton and the boys had pooled theirs, and boasted twelve altogether. but most of the fish were small. the ladies obligingly went into ecstasies over their skill. chicken little and katy admired and ohed and ahed until marian was afraid they would rouse suspicion. "do you want them all here at the house or shall we put part of them down at the spring?" frank asked, with emphasis on the all. "oh, since there are so many, perhaps you'd better put some away for breakfast," marian replied, after an instant's consideration. frank, dick and the boys started for the spring. the three girls rose to accompany them. alice and marian looked languidly uninterested. the spring house was very dark and shadowy, coming in from the bright sunshine outside. frank was in the lead. he stopped just in time to avoid stepping on a fish. he and dick got their eyes focused to take in the display at almost the same instant. "well, i'll be darned!" frank looked at dick in wild amaze. dick stared, speechless, for fully twenty seconds. then he broke into a roar. the boys, a few paces behind them, rushed in to see what the fun was. ernest took one good look over frank's shoulder. "jumping jehosaphat!" he ejaculated, making room for sherm. sherm gazed his fill and glanced at frank. dick came to first and hazarded a guess. "the ladies--god bless 'em--they've been to town and bought out a market." "nonsense, there isn't a fish market in the burg--men sometimes peddle fish round at the houses, but they never get out here. they've been fishing on their own hook." dick turned on chicken little, who was watching them demurely. "if you don't tell us how you worked this i'll----" he advanced threateningly. "fished," she replied laconically. and neither coaxing nor threats extracted any further information from the ladies that evening. after supper marian remarked carelessly: "frank, there are more fish than we can use, don't you think it would be nice to send some over to the captain?" but it was marian herself who finally let the cat out of the bag the following morning just before alice and dick left. the train would not leave until evening, but they were all going in to make a tour of the indian remains and to do some shopping. frank was driving for the guests and marian; the youngsters were with the captain. marian reached down under the seat to push a satchel out of the way of her feet, and to her surprise, came in painful contact with a fish hook. she pulled up a bunch of line and several hooks. "oh, i wondered what became of our lines," she said carelessly. "wing must have put them in for us." she looked up to find both dick and frank regarding her with interest and alice looking reproachful. "methinks," remarked dick, gazing at the heavens thoughtfully, "i see a great light." "i knew they'd let it out," frank replied meanly. "women are clever, but a secret is too many for them every time." the day was cloudy but sultry. collars wilted and little damp spots appeared between their shoulder blades if they ventured to lean against the backs of the seats. leaves were curling in the corn fields; the prairies were parched with the heat. frank got out and examined several of the ears of corn just heading out in a field they passed. he looked sober when he returned. "forty-eight hours more like to-day will finish that field. it's a trifle better on the bottom lands." marian and alice scanned the heavens. "that cloud bank off to the south looks hopeful," said marian after several minutes' silence. whether it was the weather or their unusual exertions of the preceding day or the menace of the drouth, that weighed upon them, it would be hard to say, but their interest in the old mission and the indian mound on the cook place was languid. perhaps ernest had been right when he declared that they were more interesting to hear about than to see. "it looks just like other houses, only the walls are thicker and the stone chimneys go clear down to the ground outside!" katy exclaimed, distinctly disappointed at the appearance of the one-time fort. "of course, it was just a schoolhouse. they used it for a fort because it was stronger than any of the other houses, and, being all of stone, the indians couldn't set it on fire so easy." the indian mound looked as if somebody had made a nice symmetrical sand pile about twenty feet high out in the middle of the prairie and then grassed it over neatly. "if we could cut into it after the fashion of a birthday cake," said captain clarke, "you would find some very interesting things inside, i imagine, weapons and iron utensils. i should think mr. cook would take the trouble to explore it some day." "i guess he isn't interested in anything unless he sees a dollar close by," ernest replied. they had dinner at the one decently kept hotel in garland, and scattered along the comfortable veranda afterwards to rest and cool off. ernest pointed out the place near the top of the bluff where a dark spot in the rocky ledge revealed the location of the hermit's cave. "who is ready for the climb?" he asked, rejoining the others. "i pass," said dick from the depths of a willow porch chair. "and i," marian echoed. "i am just dying to go, ernest, but it wouldn't be proper for me to desert my liege lord." alice shot a mischievous glance at the occupant of the willow chair. "i couldn't think of leaving our guests," frank stopped smoking long enough to say. "put it to a vote, ernest, and save us the trouble of inventing excuses," remarked the captain dryly. "resolved--that we stay right where we are until train time. all in favor----" he was not permitted to continue. a chorus of "ayes" drowned him out, the captain leading. and they stayed until train time. "what is it," queried ernest as they started homeward, "about a railroad train that makes one so crazy to go along?" "is it the train, or merely your love of adventure?" suggested captain clarke. "i think it's because a train always seems so--oh, jolly--and exciting," ventured katy. "that's only part," said chicken little, who had been studying; "it's wondering what's at the other end of the track that tempts you so." "pooh, i know what's at the other end of this track and it tempts me like sixty." "home?" katy and jane asked together. "no, supper!" chapter xiii chicken little and ernest the household was awakened in the middle of the night by peals of thunder and the rush of rain against the windows. chicken little was drenched before she could get the window down next their bed. "i don't care," she said, as she hunted out a dry gown, "it's raining and ernest can go to college." they slept late the following morning. the rain was coming down in a steady, business-like way that gladdened the heart of every farmer on the creek. dr. morton was jubilant. "this will save the corn and make thousands of dollars difference in the hay yield in the country," he remarked at the breakfast table. "that's what i don't like about farming," said ernest. "so much depends on things that you can't help. a man can work like a dog, and along comes a drouth or chinch bugs or too much rain during the haying season and, presto, all his fond hopes are knocked sky high." "well," replied his father, "i guess there are mighty few businesses or professions where you don't have to take chances. by the way, son, i'm beginning to be afraid your hopes of annapolis may be disappointed. i don't understand why senator pratt ignores my letter this way." "oh, i forgot to tell you, father, captain clarke heard at the hotel yesterday that senator pratt has been seriously ill for several weeks, but they've been keeping it quiet. they say he's just beginning to take up his affairs again." "we may hear then in a day or two. i believe i'll go to town to-day--it's too wet to do any work." the day dragged for the young people indoors. they tried dominoes and authors, but the boys soon found these tame and settled down by themselves to chess as more worthy of a masculine intellect. the rain ceased and the sun came out about two o'clock. gertie was in the midst of a letter home, but katy and chicken little hurried outdoors into the moist, fresh air joyfully. "let's go get some of those summer sweetings. i'm hungry for an apple. my, doesn't the air taste good?" chicken little was taking deep breaths. they picked their way daintily to avoid the wet weeds and high grass. the sky once more serene, receded in deep bays above the arches of foliage. every now and then a bird, startled by their coming, flew out from the branches overhead, sending down showers of drops on their hair and shoulders. they found the sweeting tree and chicken little soon had an apron full. it was too wet to linger and they had started back, when chicken little stopped still and made a wry face. "katy halford, we haven't fed those pigs!" "no sir, we haven't!" "say, this would be an awful good time to do it--everything's so wet, we could loosen one of the stones easy. and i guess they'll do the rest fast enough." "if we don't give 'em much to eat they'll want to get out worse." the days since alice's and dick's coming had been so full they had found no opportunity to carry out jane's scheme for ridding themselves gracefully of their burdensome boarders. katy had explained the plan to gertie, who heartily endorsed it. she went back to the house after her now, while chicken little began scouting to see if there were anyone about. the coast seemed clear. jim bart had gone to look after the pasture fences, and marian told her that ernest and sherm had taken the wheelbarrow and started to the south field after a load of watermelons. "they'll be back in half an hour if you want them for anything, jane." jane didn't want them for anything: she merely wanted them safely out of the way. she sped back to the house. "hurry, girls, everybody's gone, and marian's putting jilly to sleep in the bedroom on the other side of the cottage, so she won't see us. i'll go get the milk and those pea pods annie saved." katy and gertie undertook the feeding, while chicken little went to the tool house for pick and spade. the log pig pen was merely one corner of the big hog corral, fenced off for the benefit of the new litters to protect them from the older hogs. stones had been securely embedded underneath the lowest rail to keep the pigs from burrowing out beneath. chicken little went into the corral and inspected these, carefully trying one or two with the pick. "here's one that isn't very big and it's loose at one corner. let's try it." the stone had been put there to stay and did not yield readily. jane dug till she was tired, then katy took a hand. gertie had been posted as a sentinel where she could watch the road. they strained and tugged, but the stone was obstinate. jane was getting red in the face. "the old hateful----i'll get it out or bust!" "perhaps i can help you, chicken little." the girls glanced up in dismay. sherm stood there grinning. he had come back across lots. "what you trying to do, anyhow? have your pets been getting out?" there was nothing to do but take sherm into their confidence. "please promise you won't tell, sherm--they'd tease me to death if they know. but we're sick of those pigs. i never want to lay eyes on a pig again. so we thought we'd just loosen a stone so they could get into the corral with the others and father'd think they'd dug out themselves. nobody can ever pick 'em out from the others. they are every bit as big as old whity's pigs and father turned them in two weeks ago." sherm chuckled. "mum's the word. hand over the pick and we'll do such an artistic job that the porkers themselves will think they are responsible for the whole business. i don't blame you. that's not girl's work!" the pigs rose to the occasion beautifully. the tiny opening called as loudly as a pile of corn. they continued the excavating so promptly and expeditiously that by the time dr. morton returned from town, every piglet had deserted its maternal ancestor and was joyously rooting for itself in the corral. "i don't see how those pigs got out," said dr. morton disgustedly. "i thought that small pen was secure." the girls listened attentively. "they were there at four o'clock, i saw them," sherm remarked. "oh, i suppose the heavy rain loosened the earth and it was easy rooting." "possibly," said sherm. the incident might have awakened more interest if the doctor had not returned, bringing a fateful letter. the long-expected letter from senator pratt had come. he would be most happy to give ernest the appointment immediately, if he thought he could pass the mental examinations. an extra examination was to be held on the th at annapolis. he was sending a catalogue and some special literature as to the ground to be covered, by the same mail. he would, however, recommend that ernest go immediately to some reputable physician and see if he could pass the physical examination. they had a naval surgeon there in topeka, if he cared to incur the expense of a visit to the capital. ernest was so busy poring over the catalogue that he could hardly be induced to stop long enough to eat his supper. "i'm more afraid of the mathematics than anything else. i wonder if i couldn't get prof. smith to coach me. i could study all week and go in saturdays to recite." "the first thing to do is to get that doctor's certificate. we'll go to town to-morrow and have dr. hardy look you over, and if he doesn't find anything suspicious, we'll run down to topeka to see the surgeon and call on the senator at the same time. i think i could go monday." the entire family held its breath or at least tried to, for the next few days. mrs. morton quite forgot how badly she had wanted ernest to have an education, when she learned that he could only come home once a year, and then only for a short month. she sighed so much and was so distraught, that the family were almost afraid to rejoice with ernest, when he came home jubilantly waving his physician's certificate. "never mind, mother, that surgeon may send me packing. don't worry till you are sure i'm going. even if i am vouched for as up to the scratch physically, i may flunk, alas! wouldn't that be nice after father had put up a lot of money to send me on? you'd be ashamed of me, mother, you wouldn't want to see me come home." "i am not expecting you to fail, son," said dr. morton, "though i wish we could have arranged matters sooner to give you more time for review. but with the exception of a little extra mathematics, the requirements are certainly no worse than for college entrance exams. and you've tested yourself out twice on those. aren't you glad i insisted on more geometry?" "he doesn't need to come home if he does fail. he can visit some of our friends in centerville till college opens. it would only be a few days," frank consoled him. "however, i am not expecting you to fail, old boy. i have always flattered myself that the morton family are not lacking in brains, and you know how to study." "i most wish he would fail so he could come to see us. mother would love to have him spend the christmas vacations with us," put in katy naïvely. "thank you, katy, i'd enjoy nothing better, but i've kinder set my heart on showing this naval outfit that a wild and woolly kansan can measure up with some of those down-easters." the naval surgeon confirmed dr. hardy's judgment. the senator had been cordial, and after some questioning, said he would send ernest's name to the department immediately. he also gave him some helpful suggestions as to what subjects to put the emphasis on. two weeks seemed a pretty short time for preparation. ernest thanked his lucky star that he had done a little studying through the summer in preparation for his college entrance, and was not rusty. the entire family waited on him and followed him round till frank declared they would ruin the boy, if he didn't get off soon. chicken little sadly neglected her guests whenever it was possible to hang round ernest. but ernest was so busy, she seldom had a word alone with him. the two were very dear to each other despite their occasional bickering, and chicken little was almost jealous of every one who came near him during those last few days. "ernest," said his father the saturday before his departure, "will you take one farewell turn at herding to-morrow? jim bart wants to get off for the day and i'd like to have the cattle clean off that stubble field. i think i will plow early and put it in winter wheat this year. i have promised to drive mother and the girls to town to church in the morning. we are to have dinner with the parson and won't be home until evening." that evening ernest overtook chicken little coming up from the spring with the butter and cream. "say, sis, don't you want to stay home and help me herd to-morrow? the girls wouldn't mind this once." "oh, i'd love it. we just haven't had a good talk for ages--but i don't know what mother'll say." "i'll fix mother," he answered confidently. later, he whispered: "it's all o. k." "gee, i guess mother'd give you the moon if she could, she feels so bad about having you go so far away." "poor mother, it's mighty rough on her out here on the ranch. say, sis, i don't mind if you want to wear some of my old truck to-day--we'll just be down in the field and your riding skirt will be a nuisance in among the cattle." this was a mighty concession for ernest, who had a considerable share of his mother's respect for the conventions. chicken little appreciated it. she reached up and gave him a big hug. "it's going to be awful hard to have you go, ernest." ernest didn't say anything in reply, but he squeezed his young sister tight, as if he were realizing himself that he was about to miss something precious from his life. the two were up early the next morning and off with the herd before the rest of the family were fairly through breakfast. sherm was going in with the others to church. annie had put up a lunch for ernest and jane; they did not expect to get back to the house until late afternoon. the day was an august masterpiece, warm, but not too warm, with a fresh breeze blowing and shreds of blue haze lingering over the timber along the creek. "it has almost a fall feel," said chicken little. a brisk half-hour's work, in which huz and buz took an active part, hindering rather more than helping in the cattle driving, was sufficient to transfer the herd from the pasture to the stubble field. chicken little was thankful she had discarded her skirt, for they had many a chase after refractory animals through the timber and underbrush. calico and caliph, being mustangs, seemed to enjoy the sport as much as their riders. "cricky, caliph is almost human when it comes to heading off a steer, and he's never done much cattle driving either. he must have inherited the range instinct." "humph, what about calico?" retorted jane. "he turned that roan father always says is so mean, three times." the cattle scattered over the stubble eagerly. ernest picketed the ponies so they could graze after their good work and he and chicken little threw themselves down under a red bud tree near the edge of the field to rest. "they won't stray much till they get their stomachs full," said ernest, "and that won't be before afternoon. i brought a book along--cooper's 'naval history.' it's great, though father says it's better romance than history. do you mind if i read you a bit?" chicken little backed up against a tree and settled herself comfortably and they were soon fighting with paul jones, so utterly absorbed that the herd had drifted down to the farther end of the field before they realized it. a half dozen adventurous beasts were already disappearing into the timber, apparently headed for the captain's cornfield, which lay just beyond the creek. "the pesky brutes! why can't they be content with a good square meal at home?" ernest hated to be interrupted. "perhaps they like to go visiting as much as we do. besides, they don't often have a chance at green corn." it took some time to recover the truants. by the time they were settled once more under the tree, the sun was nearing the zenith and they were growing hungry. "it's only half past eleven, but i'm starved. let's eat now." ernest eyed the packet of luncheon hungrily. "all right, go fill the water jug, and i'll get it out." after lunch they read for awhile, but, presently, the sun seemed to grow hotter and they commenced to feel drowsy. they decided to take turns watching the cattle and napping. the cattle also seemed to feel the heat and were hunting patches of shade, lying down to chew their cuds contentedly. the air seemed palpitating with the incessant humming and whirring of insects. bees, and white and yellow butterflies flittered in a mat of weeds and wild blackberry vines, which had entirely covered an angle of the old rail fence near them. ernest's nap was a long one. the boy had been studying hard for his examinations and was thoroughly tired. he was lying on his side, his face resting on his hand, and his old straw hat drawn over his face to keep off the flies. but the nagging insects soon discovered his neck and hands. chicken little fished his bandanna out of his pocket to protect his neck, covering the hand that lay on the grass with her own handkerchief. he woke at length with a start, smiling up at chicken little when he discovered the handkerchiefs. "thank you, sis. whew, i must have slept for keeps," he added, glancing at the sun. "it's four o'clock. the folks will be along about six." he sat up and took a survey of the field. the cattle were all quiet. chicken little was braiding little baskets with a handful of cat tail leaves she had brought from the slough. ernest reached over and patted the busy fingers. "sis, i'm mighty fond of you--do you know it?" chicken little looked up at him affectionately. "i suspected it, ernest," she answered demurely. the boy was going on with his own thoughts. "i'm mighty glad to get away from the ranch. i don't believe i'm cut out for this sort of thing. guess, maybe, i'm not democratic enough--you remember that party at jenkins'? well, i've been thinking about it a good deal since. i guess sherm sort of set me to thinking with his fuss about the kissing games. at any rate, i've made up my mind i don't intend to be like any of the boys on this creek, and i don't propose that you shall be like any of the girls if i can help it. it isn't that they aren't smart enough and good enough. the people round here are mighty touchy about one person's being just as good as another. maybe one person is born just as good as anybody else, but, thank goodness, they don't all stay alike. i mayn't be any better than the craft boys, but i know i'm a sight cleaner, and i don't murder the king's english quite every other word, and i know enough to be polite to a lady. and if i take the trouble to make myself decent, and they don't, i don't see any reason why i should be expected to pretend they're as good as i am." ernest was waxing wroth. the insistent equality of the creek was on his nerves. "i don't care if people do think i'm stuck up--i'm going to try to associate with the kind of people i like. it isn't money--it's just nice living. if it wasn't for people like the captain and one or two others we'd forget what lady and gentleman meant. and that isn't saying that there aren't lots of good kind people on the creek, too. but they're so dead satisfied with themselves the way they are--they don't seem to know there is any better way to live." chicken little was listening eagerly. "i know what you mean. lots of it's little things. i noticed that night at the jenkins'. mamie's prettier than me and the boys like her better, but i don't want to be like her all the same." "i should think not, chicken little, and you needn't worry. you're nothing but a kid yet, but by the time you're eighteen, mamie jenkins won't hold a candle to you. and while i think of it, sis, the less you see of mamie the better. and i don't want you playing any more kissing games--you're too big." "humph, you just said i was nothing but a kid. you're as bad as mother." ernest was not to be diverted. "none of your dodging. i want you to promise me you won't." chicken little considered. "it isn't that i want to play them," she argued, "but if i don't, i'll have to sit and look on and all the old folks'll ask me if i'm not well, and the girls'll say i'm stuck up. it wasn't as easy as you seem to think, ernest morton, but i'll promise, if you'll promise not to kiss any girl while you're gone." "nonsense, jane, you don't understand. it's different with a boy." chicken little fixed her brown eyes upon ernest's face musingly. "how is it different?" "chicken little jane morton, haven't you had any raising? you know as well as i do it isn't nice for a girl to let boys kiss her." chicken little considered. "you needn't be so toploftical; girls don't want most boys to kiss 'em." "most?" "that's what i said. i hated it when grant kissed me at mamie's party, but i don't know that i'd mind if sherm----" she got no further. ernest bristled with brotherly indignation. "has sherm ever----" "of course not, sherm wouldn't! i guess it's because i know he wouldn't, that i shouldn't much mind if he did." chicken little said this soberly, but her face grew a little red. ernest's brotherly eyes were observant. "oh, sherm's all right, but sis, i want that promise." "i told you i'd promise if you would." chicken little drew her lips together in a firm way. "but i can't--it would be silly--i might look ridiculous sometime if i refused. the fellows would guy me if they knew i made such a promise." "well, i just told you they'd guy me if i refused to do what the others do." "but, chicken little, it isn't nice." "i guess i know that as well as you do. and i don't know that i shall ever play that kind of games again, but i'm not going to promise if you won't. boys don't need to think they can do everything they want to, just because they're boys. you don't want anybody to kiss me, but i'd like to know how you are going to kiss a girl without making somebody else's sister do something that isn't nice, ernest morton." the discussion ended there. ernest was not very worldly wise himself, and chicken little's reasoning was certainly logical. they had but little time to talk after that. the cattle began to roam restlessly once more and they were in the saddle pretty constantly for the remainder of the afternoon. ernest took the trouble to lift her down from calico when they reached the stable that evening, an unusual attention. he also gave her a shy kiss on the cheek and whispered: "i'll promise, sis. i don't know but you are about half right." chapter xiv off to annapolis "golly, i sha'n't have any fingers left by the time i finish this needle case! king's excuse, katy, you needn't mind. i know i said it, but if you tried to push a needle through this awful leather and pricked yourself every other stitch you'd say golly, too." chicken little edged off as she saw katy approaching. katy was not to be deterred. "you said to pinch you every single time, jane morton, and you've said it twice. besides, your mother said she hoped i could cure you." katy gave chicken little's arm two vigorous pinches to emphasize this statement. chicken little did not take this kindly office in the spirit in which it was intended. she hated to sew and she had been toiling all morning on a little bronze leather case to hold needles, buttons, and pins--a parting gift to ernest. "katy halford, i told you not to! i think you are real mean to do it when i'm having such a hard time. i'll thank you not to any more, if i do say it." "you don't need to go and get mad! you told me to." "yes, and i just now told you not to!" "i guess you'd say king's excuse every time if i'd let you. a lot of good it's going to do, if you sneak out of it whenever you want to." "i don't sneak out of it--this is the very first time, and you know it!" "i don't know any such thing, but i don't think it's very good manners to be telling your guests they're saying something that isn't so! the day before they're going home, too!" katy forgot the dignity of her fifteen years. "well, i think it's quite as good manners as to tell your friends they're sneaks!" jane's tone was icy. gertie came between the belligerents. "please don't quarrel, girls. it'd be dreadful the very last day, after we have had such a beautiful summer. i never did have such a good time in all my life. i most wish i could live on a ranch always." "i shouldn't like to live on a ranch, but we have had a jolly time, chicken little," katy recovered herself enough to say graciously. chicken little was not to be outdone. "i suppose i was ugly, katy. it always makes me cross to sew. i wish nobody had ever invented needles. o dear, i shall be as lonesome as pie when you are gone. it isn't much fun being the only girl on the ranch, i tell you. sometimes, i don't even see another girl for weeks." "but your school begins soon, doesn't it?" "yes, and i'll have sherm. i just don't believe i could bear to have ernest go if sherm wasn't going to stay." "i'm awful glad mr. lenox put off coming for another day so we can go on the same train with ernest." katy had been exulting over this for the past twenty-four hours. "ernest will be on the train for three days. i feel as if he would be as far away as if he were going to china." their conversation was interrupted by mrs. morton's entrance. "would you rather have chocolate or cocoanut cake for your lunch, girls? annie has killed three chickens, and i thought you could take a basket of those big yellow peaches; i only wish i could send some to your mother. and i'll put in cheese and cold-boiled ham and a glass of current jelly. mr. lenox may want to get a meal or two at the stations, but you are so hurried at these--and it's always well to have plenty of lunch in traveling. dr. morton told ernest that he'd better get all his breakfasts at the eating houses to have something hot. and by the third day his lunch will be too stale--even if there is any left." ernest was creepy with excitement between joy at going and his haunting fear that he might disgrace the family by failing to pass the examinations. "buck up, old chap," frank admonished, "you've got facts enough in your head if you can only get them out at the right time. my advice is to forget all about exams and enjoy your trip. one doesn't go to washington and baltimore every day. you ought to have several hours in st. louis if your train is on time. be sure to eat three square meals every day and keep yourself as fresh as you can and i'll back you to pass any fair test." "if you have time in st. louis i want you to be sure to go and see shaw's gardens. they used to be wonderful and they must have been greatly improved since i saw them," said mrs. morton. each individual member of the morton family, except jilly and huz and buz, took ernest aside for a parting chat with advice and remembrances. jilly and the dogs secured their share by getting in the way as often as possible. chicken little had her turn first. she tendered the needle case doubtfully. "mother said you would have to sew on your own buttons at the academy and that you'd find this mighty handy, but i'd loathe to have anybody give me such a present. and, ernest, here's the five dollars i got last birthday. you take it and buy something you really want." ernest demurred about accepting the money, but jane insisted. "little sis, you're sure a dear----" ernest found himself choking up most unaccountably. he gave her a good old-fashioned hug in conclusion to save himself the embarrassment of words. dr. morton took his son into the parlor and closed the door immediately after dinner. they stayed an hour, during which time the doctor gave ernest much practical advice about his conduct and sundry warnings not to be extravagant or careless in handling his money. no sooner had they emerged, ernest looking important and rather dazed, when his mother laid her hand upon his arm, saying: "my son, i also wish to have a little talk with you. we shall be hurried in the morning so perhaps we would better have it now." ernest returned to the parlor with his mother. chicken little lay in wait outside in the hall. she and katy had a beautiful plan for a last boat ride that afternoon. she knew ernest would be going over to say good-bye to the captain anyway. chicken little waited and yawned and waited and squirmed for a solid hour and a quarter. the steady hum of her mother's voice was interrupted occasionally by brief replies from ernest. at last, chicken little heard a movement and roused herself joyously. but her mother began to speak again--this time with reverent solemnity. chicken little forgot herself and listened a moment. "umn, i guess she's praying--they must be most through. golly, i bet ernest's tired!" when the door opened a moment later there were tears on mrs. morton's lashes and ernest looked sober. he held a handsome oxford bible in his hand. mrs. morton glanced at jane suspiciously, but passed on into the sitting room. chicken little surveyed her brother wickedly. "did mother give you a new bible?" "yep." "i thought you had one." "got two--mother forgot, i s'pose." "bet you'd rather have had a new satchel--that bible must have cost a lot." "yes, i would, but don't you dare let on to mother. i wouldn't hurt her feelings for a farm! she's awful good, but she doesn't understand how a fellow feels about things. i'd rather be licked any day than prayed over. i guess if i attended all the 'means of grace' she wants me to, i wouldn't have any time left for lessons. i'm going to try all-fired hard not to do anything to hurt mother or make her ashamed of me, but i'm not calculating to wear out the pews at prayer meetings--not so you'd notice it." ernest grinned at chicken little defiantly. jane replied soberly: "a prayer meeting's a real treat to mother. she hasn't had a chance to go to one for so long she is just pining for the privilege, but i bet she didn't feel that way when she was young! but she thinks she did, so there's no use fussing." marian's admonition to ernest was brief and to the point. she stood him up against the wall and looked him so squarely in the eyes that she could see her own reflection in the pupils. ernest's six feet of vigorous youth was good to look at. his hazel eyes gazed back at her steadfastly. marian smiled up at him. "ernest morton, i'm downright proud to be your sister, and if you can look me in the eye as fearlessly and unashamed when you come home, i shall be still prouder. i want to tell you something i overheard in a store the other day about father. some men were evidently discussing him in connection with a business deal, and one remarked emphatically: 'old man morton may have his weaknesses like the rest of us humans, but his word's as good as his bond any day, and there's precious few men you can say that of.' it's worth while to have that sort of a father, ernest, but it makes the morton name somewhat of a responsibility to live up to, doesn't it?" marian gave him a pat and pulled his head down to kiss him. katy and gertie had been busy all day with their own preparations for departure. marian was helping them with their packing, because mrs. morton had her hands full with the lunch and ernest's clothes and trunk. chicken little vibrated between the two centers of interest. jilly also assisted, contributing articles of her own when she caught the spirit of packing. her mother rescued a cake of soap and one of her shoes, but after katy and gertie arrived at home, they discovered one of jilly's nighties reposing on top of their sunday hats and her rag doll neatly wedged in a corner of their trunk. ernest was not overlooked either. when he unpacked at annapolis, his recently acquired new york roommate was decidedly amazed to see him draw forth a small, pink stocking from the upper tray and a little later, a soiled woolly sheep along with his shirts. ernest found his explanations about a baby niece received rather incredulously until a choice packet containing half a doughnut, a much-mutilated peach, two green apples, and a mud pie appeared. jilly had evidently prepared a lunch for her uncle. they both went off into rumbles of mirth over this remarkable exhibit and began a friendship which was destined to be enduring. jane's boat ride scheme found favor, but mrs. morton declared they must put it off till after supper. they drove over and found the captain smoking contentedly on the veranda. "i was hoping you young people would come to-night," he said, "though i intended going to the train to see you off in any event. i shall miss these young ladies sadly, and ernest seems to belong to me a little, now that he has decided to be a sailor, too." "if i get in, i shall owe it to you, for i should never have thought of annapolis if you hadn't suggested it," ernest replied. "well, i trust i have not influenced you to a decision you will some day regret. you seem to me to have many of the qualifications for a naval officer." "do you think he is sufficiently qualified to row the _chicken little_, captain clarke?" asked jane suggestively. the captain's eyes twinkled. "if he isn't, i think sherm is. we might let the one who gets there first prove his skill." the boys were not slow in acting upon this hint. they sprinted their best without waiting for a starter, and reached the skiff so exactly together that the question of precedence was still unsettled. the boys did not wait for an umpire. ernest untied the boat and both attempted to fling themselves in with disastrous results. the _chicken little_ had not been built for wrestling purposes. she tipped sufficiently to spill both boys into the creek. the water was shallow, but sherm was wet well up to the waist, and ernest, who had been pitched still farther out, was soaked from head to foot. they appeared ludicrously surprised and sheepish. the girls and the captain laughed most unfeelingly. but chicken little immediately began to consider the consequences. "poor mother, she'll have to dry that suit out and press it before it can be packed. it's a blessed thing you didn't wear your new suit as you wanted to, ernest morton." "my, but you are wet!" exclaimed katy. "oughtn't you to go right home and change?" "come with me into the house, boys. i think wing and i can fix you up." the captain cut a laugh in the middle to offer aid. the lads were so ludicrously crestfallen; they were doubly comical. wing, fortunately, had a good fire in the kitchen and soon had their wet garments steaming before it, while the captain hunted out dry clothes for them. some spirit of mischief prompted him to array ernest in an old uniform of his own, with amazing results, for ernest was considerably slimmer than the older man, and fully two inches taller. the ample blue coat with its gold braid hung on him as on a clothes rack. the sleeves were so short they left a generous expanse of wrist in view, and the trousers struck him well above the ankle. the captain saluted him ceremoniously, chuckling at the boy's absurd appearance. the girls were openly hilarious. chicken little struck an attitude. "behold the future admiral! ladies and gentlemen, permit me to introduce admiral morton, of whose distinguished exploits you have often heard. his recent feat of capsizing the enemy's frigate single-handed, has never been equalled in the annals of our glorious navy." she was not permitted to finish this speech undisturbed. ernest had chased her half way round the house before she got the last words out. he clapped his hand firmly over her mouth to restrain her from further eloquence. jane struggled helplessly. "katy--say, katy, come--help----" katy, nothing loath, flung herself on ernest from the rear and the three had a joyous tussle, with honors on the side of the future admiral, till sherm, who had been a little slower in dressing than ernest, came out the front door. jane called to him despite the restraining hand and her shortening breath: "sherm, he's choking me----" "choking nothing--it's katy who is choking me--just wait till i get hold of you, miss halford!" katy had both hands gripped fairly on his coat collar and was tugging ernest backward with all her might, while chicken little struggled to get away. "come help,--sherm, please!" chicken little loosened herself from the gagging hand enough to plead again. "keep out, sherm. three against one is no fair." sherm watched the fray a moment, undecided. "you may have bigger odds than that, ernest," laughed the captain. "you might as well be getting your hand in." sherm sauntered leisurely over and helped chicken little wrench loose, then, whispering something hastily, took her by the hand and they both made for the creek. ernest, relieved of his sister, swung quickly round, catching katy by the shoulders before she could save herself. "i've a mind to----" at this moment he detected sherm's game. "no, you don't, smarties!" katy likewise saw and acted even more quickly than ernest. she was very light and swift, and she darted past sherm and chicken little like a flash, reaching the boat twenty seconds ahead. "come on, ernest!" she slipped the rope deftly from the post, not waiting to untie it, and, pushing off, leaped lightly into the row boat. ernest needed no second invitation. katy motioned to him to run farther along the bank and paddled the skiff in close enough for him to climb on board. sherm and chicken little, dazed by the suddenness of this maneuver, were still some feet away. "katy halford, you're a pretty one to go back on your own side that way," jane scolded. "katy, i didn't think it of you--after asking me to come and help you, too!" sherm was also reproachful. "i didn't ask you, sherman dart. it was chicken little." "of course," ernest encouraged. "katy's been on my side all the time. haven't you, katy?" katy nodded, laughing. the captain, who had followed the young people at a more sober gait, smiled at this outcome of the skirmish. "when a woman will she will, you may depend upon it," he quoted. "the trouble is to find out what she wills." ernest, secure in the rower's seat, could afford to be generous. he brought the boat in and took them all on board. gertie had been a quiet spectator of the frolic. she had little taste for boisterous fun. captain clarke handed her in with a flourish. "gertie is my partner." sherm had his revenge. ernest rowed energetically--so energetically that he was tired enough to be willing to resign the oars before a half hour had gone by. under the circumstances he did not quite like to ask sherm to relieve him. sherm seemed to be oblivious to the fact that it required energy to propel the boat. he was strumming an imaginary banjo as an accompaniment to the familiar melodies the girls were softly singing, occasionally joining in himself. katy did not fail to observe that ernest dropped one of his oars to regard a blister ruefully, and she did her best to help. "say, ernest, let me try one oar. i believe i could row with you if you would take shorter strokes." ernest hadn't much faith in katy's skill, but the experiment gave him an excuse to rest a minute. he moved over and handed her the oar with a little smile of gratitude. "you're a trump, katy," he whispered. darkness dropped softly in the timber. they heard a distant splash where a muskrat had taken to the water. every one wished solemnly by the evening star. and two of the wishes came true in record time. the captain wished that he might find the son so long lost to him. katy wished--she didn't quite put the wish into words--but she did want ernest to have what he wanted. one by one the other stars twinkled forth and the darkness deepened till their faces were dim, white blurs, and the girls' pink-and-blue dresses faded into patches of dusk in the blackness. fireflies winked in the gloom. at the captain's suggestion, katy and ernest rested on their oars. they stopped singing and listened to the night's silences--silences broken by rustling movements from a thicket on the farther bank or by eery creakings of the branches overhead. the little group felt vaguely the bigness of things, though no one but the captain knew exactly why. it was ten o'clock before they went back to the house. wing had performed a miracle in the meantime; the boy's suits were not only dried, but neatly pressed. mrs. morton let them all sleep late the next morning in view of the long journey ahead for ernest and the girls. poor sherm found this last day trying. his father's health was not improving and a fear lay close in his heart that he should never see him again. it was almost more than he could bear to hear the girls talk about going home. he eased the ache by keeping at work. dr. morton had already initiated him into ernest's duties. the others were too busy to think much about sherm but chicken little, who sat beside him at the table, noticed that he scarcely tasted his dinner. she started to remark about it, but a glance at sherm's drawn face warned her in time. presently, she had a gracious thought. "sherm, let's ride caliph and calico in to the train, then the others won't be so crowded and marian and jilly can go, too." sherm somehow felt better immediately. the brisk gallop they took at starting helped still more. sunflowers and golden rod lined the roadside for miles; brown cat tails nodded above the swales. a bobolink, swaying on a weed stalk near by, answered sherm's chirrup to the ponies with a volley of golden notes. "chicken little," he remarked, apropos of nothing, after they had ridden a few miles, "you are a mighty comfortable person to have 'round." "maybe you won't think so in a day or two. i shall be so lonesome i may be tempted to follow you about like huz and buz." "you can't scare me that way, chicken little, i think the ranch is going to be a pretty loose fit for all of us for a few days. but your school begins about the middle of september, doesn't it? that will help." "yes, i wish you were going to school, too. say, sherm, why couldn't you arrange to take one or two special studies under the new teacher? they say he only lacks one year of graduating from college and knows a lot. he's teaching to save the money for his last year. perhaps you might take some of your freshman work." "i wish i could--i hate to get behind the rest of the boys. but your father is hiring me to work, not to study." "i know, but when winter comes you won't need to work all the time, and you'll have all your evenings--jim bart does." "if i could only keep up my mathematics and latin, i wouldn't be losing so much." sherm was considering. the nine-mile ride to town seemed shorter than usual to most of the party that afternoon. ernest, in spite of his joy in actually going away to school, found home and home folk unexpectedly dear now that he was leaving them for many months. poor mrs. morton could hardly tear her eyes from the son who was taking his first step away from her. chicken little was feeling disturbingly sober; no ernest, no katy, no gertie--how could she ever stand it? "sherm, if i start to cry, just wink, will you--that funny way you do sometimes. ernest bet i would--and i won't, but i know i'm going to want to dreadfully." chicken little was as good as her word. she didn't--that is, as long as ernest could see her. she kissed him good-bye and gave him a playful box on the ear. she threw kisses, smiling as the group at the car window slid by, then the lump in her throat grew startlingly bigger. "race you to the horses, chicken little," said sherm. "if it's all right with you, mrs. morton, we'll go straight home." chicken little raced with sherm and with her tears. she beat sherm but the tears won out. she could hardly see to untie calico's rein. sherm took the strap out of her hand, fastened it, and swung her up. "shut your eyes and open your mouth," he commanded, as soon as she was securely seated. jane obeyed meekly and sherm popped a big chocolate drop in. "oh!" she exclaimed, smiling through the trickling tears, "was that what you stopped down town for? my, what a baby you must think me!" sherm reached over and patted her hand. "i think you are several pumpkins and some squash, chicken little. have another?" chapter xv school the days crawled by during the next two weeks. "i hate them so by night, i want to shove them off into to-morrow by main force," jane told marian complainingly, the third day after ernest and the girls had gone. "you'll be all right in a day or two. it's always hardest at first," marian consoled her. "i suppose it doesn't make any difference whether i'm all right or all wrong--the folks have gone just the same." "and you might as well make the best----" "oh, yes, i might as well! 'count your blessings, my brethren, etc.' i've done counted 'em till i'm sick of hearing about them! marian, if you don't find me something new to do i shall bust!" marian was particularly busy that morning and not so patient as usual. she waved her hand around the room ironically. "i shall be charmed, chicken little, will you finish these dishes or sweep the sitting room or sew on that dress of jilly's? i can furnish you an endless variety to choose from." "i said something new." "jilly's dress is brand spanking new." "you know what i mean." "yes, i know, jane, i have had the feeling myself, but i don't imagine the heavens are going to open and shower down something new and choice on you because you're lonesome and bored. if you can't amuse yourself, you might as well be useful and have something to show for a tedious day." chicken little drummed on the window for several minutes without replying, then swung round with a grimace. "hand over the dress--i can run up the seams on the machine all right, i suppose." the family waited, excited and expectant, for the report on ernest's examinations. they had had a long letter telling of his journey and safe arrival. katy and gertie and mrs. halford had each written long letters full of centerville news and references to their pleasant summer. mrs. halford could not say enough concerning the girls' improved appearance. katy wrote the most interesting item. "what do you think? carol brown left for annapolis, too. do you suppose ernest will know him? p. s. we showed him your picture and he stared at it awful hard and said--you've got to get me a trade last for this--'say, chicken little's going to be a hummer if she keeps on!' don't you think i'm nice to tell you?" jane gave the letter to sherm to read, forgetting this part. sherm snorted when he came to it, glancing up curiously at her. "do you like that sort of stuff, chicken little?" he asked later. * * * * * it was almost two weeks after ernest went, before dr. morton, on his return from town one september evening, came up the walk excitedly waving a telegram. "oh!" exclaimed chicken little. "he must have passed or father wouldn't look so pleased," said mrs. morton. the doctor came in slightly breathless. "well, mother, i'm afraid you have lost your boy." mrs. morton looked startled for a moment, then, reassured by her husband's smile, fumbled nervously for her glasses to read the yellow paper he handed her. she was maddeningly deliberate. jane, perched upon the arm of her chair, tried to anticipate her, but her mother held it so she could not see. "it's mother's place to see it first, daughter." reproving chicken little steadied mrs. morton's nerves, and she read the few words aloud with dignity. "sworn in to-day--hurrah!" ernest. "that means that he----?" she looked inquiringly at her husband. "that means he has passed both physical and mental examinations and has been regularly sworn in to uncle sam's service." "but i thought he was just going to the naval academy--why does he have to be sworn in as if he were enlisting?" "because he, practically, has enlisted. he enters the government service when he enters the academy, and he simply takes his oath of allegiance." mrs. morton's questioning was interrupted by the entrance of sherm, frank, and marian, who came in demanding news. "don't worry, mother," said frank, patting her shoulder, "your precious lamb is in good hands. he'll be back next september such a dude the family won't know how to behave in his presence." frank couldn't resist teasing even when he tried to comfort. mrs. morton sighed. "a great many things can happen in a year." "yes, mother dear, they can, but most always they don't. the only things you can depend on are bad weather and work." a letter soon followed the telegram, giving details of the examinations, and a glimpse of ernest's new life, which comforted his mother, because he was forming punctual habits and had to go regularly to chapel whether he wished to or not. he had met carol unexpectedly, to their mutual joy. "he's an awfully handsome chap--knows it, too, but i think he has too much sense to let it spoil him. it's jolly to have some one i know here," ernest wrote. school began for chicken little at the little brown schoolhouse a mile distant, on the fifteenth of september. chicken little and the whole morton family rejoiced, for she had been a most dissatisfied young person of late. her mother watched her walk away down the lane, immaculate in her new flower-bordered calico, lunch basket in hand, with positive thankfulness. "glad to have her out of the way, aren't you, mother? jane is too restless a girl to be idle," laughed marian. jane had spoken to her father about her plan for sherm and he had heartily agreed. but sherm was not to begin until the first of november when the most pressing of the farm work would be over. chicken little promptly talked the matter over also with the new teacher, mr. clay, a young man of twenty-one, fresh from his junior year at college. he was wide awake and attractive, and while ignorant, as they, of many of the niceties of polite society, seemed a very elegant being to the majority of his new pupils. mamie jenkins had concluded to stay at home for the fall term instead of going to the garland high school. for some reason it took an astonishing number of consultations with the teacher to arrange mamie's course satisfactorily, especially when she learned that sherm would be coming soon. she quizzed chicken little carefully as to what studies sherm would take. "geometry and latin, i think. i asked mr. clay and he said he could. maybe bookkeeping, too." "i was just thinking i ought to go on with my latin. i had beginning latin last year, and i really ought to take cæsar right away before i forget." jane regarded her thoughtfully. she happened to know that sherm was planning to study cicero. how mad mamie would be if she started cæsar all alone! she had half a mind to let her go ahead. mamie had spent the entire morning recess telling her how the boys bored her hanging round. yes, it would do mamie good to have to recite alone. chicken little shut her lips firmly for a second. when she opened them, she replied that she understood cæsar was a very interesting study. mamie bridled and said condescendingly: "it's a pity you haven't had latin so you could come into the class, too." "oh, i see enough of sherm at home!" returned chicken little maliciously. mamie had the faculty of always rubbing her up the wrong way. mamie gave her shoulders a fling. "of course, i always forget you are just a little girl, jane. you're so big and----" mamie didn't finish her sentence. she merely glanced expressively at jane's long legs. "i think i'll go in and talk to mr. clay. he must be sick of having all those kids hanging round him." mamie sailed off in state, leaving jane feeling as if she had run her hand into a patch of nettles. she was standing there in the sunshine looking after mamie resentfully when grant stowe came along. he nodded toward the schoolhouse door through which mamie had vanished. "what's miss flirtie been saying to make you so ruffled? she's begun to sit up nights now fixing her cap for the teacher. bet you a cookie he's too slick for her." chicken little laughed, but retorted: "humph, how many times have you sat on her front porch this summer?" grant reddened. "oh, we're neighbors, and a fellow has to kill time summer evenings. father and mother always go to bed with the chickens and it's no fun listening to the frogs all by yourself. suppose your folks wouldn't let anybody come to see you--i hear they're all-fired particular." jane did not have an opportunity to answer. one of the little girls came begging her to play blackman with a group of the younger children. grant suggested that she choose up for one side, and he would for the other. she had just begun to choose when mr. clay appeared at her elbow. "may i play on your side, jane?" "teacher's" entrance into the game acted like magic. the few big boys who had come on this first day, edged near enough to be seen and were speedily brought into the sport. mamie, venturing languidly to the door to see what had become of mr. clay, suddenly decided she was not too big to play "just this once." teacher and jane were both swift runners and grant had hard work to make a showing. mamie sweetly let herself be caught by teacher the first rush, to grant's openly expressed disgust. the big boys warmed into envious rivalry with mr. clay right from the start, but he soon convinced them that they would have to work, if they worsted him at any of their games or exercises. chicken little found team work with him very delightful and could scarcely believe the noon hour was over, when he pulled out his watch and announced that he must call school. she turned a radiant face up to him. "oh, it's such fun to have you play--i wish you would often." "thank you, it's fine exercise, isn't it?" mamie began her cæsar the next day, requiring much help from "teacher." she also came to school in her best dress. mamie had faith in first impressions. chicken little had been tempted the night before to betray mamie's schemes to sherm, but she stopped with the words on the tip of her tongue. she couldn't exactly have explained the scruple that would not let her "give mamie away," as she phrased it. "is the teacher any good?" sherm had asked, meeting her at the ford on her way home, and taking lunch basket and books with an air of possession, which was the one trick of sherm's that annoyed chicken little. he never asked leave or offered to relieve her of burdens; he merely reached over and took them. she minded this more than usual to-day; mr. clay's manner had been so delightful. she couldn't even thank sherm. they trudged along in silence for a few minutes. finally, sherm asked dryly: "left your tongue at school, miss morton?--you're not very sociable." chicken little responded by making a face at him, which brought an ominous sparkle into the boy's eyes. things hadn't gone very well with him that day and he had waited for jane for a little companioning. "well," he demanded gruffly, "what's the matter? did mr. clay stand you in a corner the first day or did the handsome grant neglect you for mamie?" the last thrust put fire in chicken little's eye. she turned and looked at him squarely. "sherm, if i slapped you some day would you be surprised?" she demanded unexpectedly. sherm flashed a sidelong glance at her. "not as surprised as you'll be, if you ever try it." chicken little considered this remark. just what did he mean? sherm's face was flushed a trifle angrily. he looked as if he might mean most anything. she replied demurely with a provoking shrug of her shoulders. "i didn't say i should--but i wanted to dreadfully a minute ago." the tall lad beside her seemed genuinely surprised at this statement. "i suppose you know what you are talking about, chicken little, but i'm blamed if i do." "it's the way you take my books and----" "yes?" sherm was still more surprised. then an idea popping into his mind, "oh, i presume you'd like to have me take off my hat and make you a profound reverence as your favorite heroes do in novels. what in thunder you girls find to like in those trashy novels is more than i can see!" chicken little bristled. "hm-n, walter scott and washington irving, trashy! shows how much you know, if you have graduated from high school, sherman dart! besides, i didn't mean any such thing. only, you sort of take my things without asking--as if--as if----" she was getting into rather deeper water than she had anticipated. "yes, as if what?" "oh, i don't suppose you mean it that way--but you act as if i was only a silly little girl--and didn't count!" chicken little was decidedly red in the face by the time she finished. sherm didn't say anything for a moment, but he continued to look at her. he looked at her as if he had found something about her he hadn't noticed before. "who put that idea into your head?--mamie?" she shook her head indignantly. "grant stowe?" "nobody, thank you, i guess i have a mind of my own." "new teacher start in by giving you a lecture on deportment?" chicken little stamped her foot. "you're perfectful hateful--and i sha'n't walk another step with you!" they were near the gate leading from the lane into the orchard and she suited the action to the word, by darting through it and running off under the trees. sherm looked after her a moment, undecided whether to stand on his dignity or to pursue. he had considered jane a little girl--most of the time. some way she was alluringly different to-day. he suddenly resolved that he would not be flouted in any such fashion. it took him about two minutes to catch up with chicken little and slip his arm through hers. "no, you don't, miss. you are going to sit down here under this tree and tell me exactly what's the matter!" chicken little struggled rebelliously, but sherm held her firmly. "i can't--mother told me to come straight home from school; she wanted me." "fibber! your mother and marian went over to benton's this afternoon. you needn't try to dodge--you and i are going to have this out right now. so you might as well be obliging and sit down comfortably." "it wasn't anything to make such a fuss about." "then why are you making such a row?" chicken little flung herself down upon the grass. sherm stretched his muscular length on the sward in front of her and began to chew a grass stem in a leisurely fashion while he watched her. chicken little pulled a handful of long grasses and commenced plaiting them. her hair was windblown and her face rose-flushed from her run. she declined to look at sherm. "chicken little--o chicken little, are you very mad? chicken little?" chicken little kept her brown eyes fixed upon the pliant stems. "chicken little," sherm murmured softly, "you have the prettiest eyes of any girl i know." chicken little caught the touch of malice in his tone and shot an indignant glance at him from the aforesaid eyes. sherm laughed delightedly. "chicken little, you don't need to tell me what's the matter with you--i know." chicken little shot another indignant glance. "there isn't anything the matter except what i told you--of course, it wasn't anything really--only----" "yes, there is, chicken little, that was only a symptom." "stop your fooling." "don't you want me to tell you?" "no!" "bet you do--honest, don't you?" "i haven't the least curiosity--so you can just stop teasing." jane was positively dignified. "well, i'm going to tell you, whether you want to hear it or not. you're growing up, chicken little, that's what's the matter with our little feelings. but don't forget you promised to give me part of ernest's place this winter. it was a bargain, wasn't it?" sherm reached over and took possession of her busy fingers. "wasn't it? chicken little jane, wasn't it?" jane looked at this new and astonishing sherm and nodded shyly. sherm gathered up her books with a laugh. "come on, your mother wants you." "she does not--and i'm going to sit here till i make a grass basket for jilly." * * * * * september and october slipped away quietly, their warm, hazy days gay with turning leaves and spicily fragrant with the drying vegetation and ripening fruits. chicken little found school under mr. clay unwontedly interesting. he departed from the regulation mixture of three parts study and one part recitation and tried to lead his pupils' thoughts out into the world a little. indeed, some of his innovations were regarded with suspicion by certain fathers and mothers in the district. when he advised his advanced history class to read historical novels and shakespeare in connection with their work, there was much shaking of heads. but when he took advantage of the coming election to waken an interest in politics, the district board waited on him. if the visit of the school board silenced mr. clay, it did not discourage his charges, and partisanship ran high. the favorite method of boosting one's candidates being to write their names on the blackboard at recesses and noons, and then stand guard to prevent the opposing faction from erasing them. the fun grew furious. the mortons were staunch republicans, and chicken little strove valiantly to write "garfield and arthur" earlier and oftener than the democrats, led by grant stowe and mamie price, could replace them with "hancock and english." grant was the biggest and strongest and bossiest lad in school. his favorite method of settling the enemy was to pick them up bodily and set them outside the schoolhouse door while he rubbed out their ticket. or better still, to hold the door while mamie or some other democrat turned the entire front board into a waving sea of "hancocks and englishes." the republicans were in the lead as to numbers, but they were mostly the younger children. but few of the older boys could be spared from the farm work to enter school so early in the fall. so chicken little captained her side, aided by quiet suggestions from mr. clay who did not wish to take sides openly. many were the ruses employed to capture the blackboards. jane stayed one evening after school to have things ready for the morrow, but, alas, grant stowe was in the habit of waiting to walk a piece home with her. he waited down the road till he grew suspicious, and, coming back, caught her in the act. he took swift revenge, none too generously, by forcing her to erase every line, then rubbed it in by guiding her hand to make her write the names of the opposition candidates. despite all chicken little's struggles, he persisted until the hated names were finished in writing that decidedly resembled crow tracks, but could be read by anyone having sufficient patience. chicken little was furious but helpless. mr. clay had gone home early in order to drive into town that evening. grant treated her anger as a good joke. she finally wrenched her hand loose and gave him a resounding smack across the cheek, that made her tormentor's face tingle. it was grant's turn to be vexed now. he caught her arm and twisted it till she winced. "say you're sorry!" "i won't!" grant turned the supple wrist a twist farther. "now, will you?" "no sir, not if you twist till you break it--i won't! i'm not going to be bullied!" grant began to be afraid she meant what she said. but his pride would not let him give in to a girl. "all right, little stubborn, i'll kiss you till you do." as grant loosened his hold on her wrist, jane jerked away and fled toward the door in a panic. she was more than half afraid of grant in this humor--and then her promise to ernest. "oh, dear, i knew better than to do that, but he made me so mad!" she mourned. grant was close upon her. she fairly hurled herself out the door and most unexpectedly bumped into sherm, who caught her in time to save her catapulting down the steps. "save the pieces, chicken little, what's your hurry?" "o sherm,--oh, i'm so glad you came--i----" before she could finish grant reached the door, stopping short on seeing sherm. jane clutched sherm's arm tight. "don't let him, please don't let him!" her words were not entirely clear, but sherm promptly shoved her behind him and confronted grant angrily. "big business you're in, frightening girls--you bully!" sherm had taken a dislike to grant that evening at mamie's and exulted in this opportunity to pick a quarrel. grant was equally ready. he scorned explanations and replied by pulling off his coat. sherm swiftly peeled his also. chicken little was alarmed by these warlike preparations. "don't, boys, don't! i guess it was part my fault, sherm. grant didn't mean any harm. we were scrapping over the election and----" "i don't care whether it was your fault or not, jane. if grant doesn't know enough to be a gentleman, it's time he learned." sherm sprang forward and the boys clinched. they were pretty evenly matched. grant outweighed sherm, but the latter was quicker and had had some training in wrestling. this was the popular method of settling quarrels, boxing not having come into vogue. inside of three minutes both were down, rolling over the ground an indiscriminate, writhing heap of arms and legs. chicken little was utterly dismayed. she didn't want either of the boys hurt, but they heeded her remonstrances no more than if she had been a mosquito. she even tried pulling at the one who came uppermost, but they both pantingly warned her off. chicken little set her jaw firmly. she flew into the schoolhouse to the water bench, and seizing the water bucket, flew out. pausing long enough to take good aim, she dashed its contents over the boys' heads with all her might. grant being underneath at the moment, with lips parted from his exertions, received the full force of the water in his mouth and nose, and nearly strangled from the dose. sherm had to let him up and apply first aid to help him recover his breath--the lad was purple. when he began to breathe readily once more, both boys got to their feet, glaring reproachfully at chicken little. each was restrained by the presence of the other from expressing forcibly his opinion of the young lady. the heroine was in wrong with both the villain and the hero. however, the heroine did not care. "you boys ought to be ashamed of yourselves, both of you--fighting like a pair of kids. i wish you could see yourselves! you look exactly like drowned rats!" the lads could not not see themselves, but they could see each other, and the exhibit was convincing. sherm's mouth puckered into its crooked smile. "well, if that's the way you feel about it, chicken little, it's all right with me. so long, grant." sherm picked up his coat and cap and set off, leaving jane to follow or linger as she saw fit. she turned to grant. "i didn't mean to get you into trouble, grant." "don't mention it, and, truly--i didn't intend to frighten you, chicken little. i guess you aren't like most of the girls on the creek--i didn't suppose you'd take it that way. good-bye, sherm," he called. grant also picked up his belongings and departed. chicken little rescued the water pail and carried it into the schoolhouse. she secured her hat and lunch basket, and was starting for the door when a wonderful idea buzzed in her brain. slipping to the window she glanced out. grant was striding rapidly off up the road. she ran to the board and hastily erased that hateful "hancock and english" and as hastily wrote the names of the other presidential candidates in letters a foot high across the front board, underlining them heavily and putting hands pointing toward them on each of the side boards. this done, she locked the schoolhouse door, as she had promised mr. clay, and, taking the key over to a neighbor's a few rods away, joyously departed homeward. sherm was not in sight when she started. a little farther down the hill she saw him waiting beside a haystack. he had evidently been watching to make sure she did not get into further trouble. he walked briskly on as soon as he caught sight of her. young mr. dart looked a trifle sulky at supper that evening. chicken little tried to attract his attention in various ways without success. sherm was resolved to ignore her. finally, she addressed him directly. "won't you please pass the water, sherm?" she asked with exaggerated meekness. sherm grinned in spite of himself. the other members of the family looked at jane inquiringly. jane, having received the water, ate her supper in profound silence. he came on her unexpectedly down by the spring a little later. it was growing dark and he did not see her until he was almost beside her. he hesitated a moment, then joined her. she glanced up demurely. he regarded her an instant in complete silence. chicken little tossed her head. sherm came a step closer and jane prepared to fly if necessary, but sherm contented himself with staring at her till he made her drop her eyes. "you mischievous witch, i'd like to shake you hard!" chapter xvi the prairie fire the prairies were brown--a dead, crisp brown, as if they had been baked by hot suns through long, rainless days and nipped by a whole winter of killing frosts. "i don't understand why the grass is so dry by the middle of november," said dr. morton. "of course the summer was pretty dry, but then we had rains in september." "yes, father," frank replied, "but there has been less rainfall for the past two years than kansas has known for a decade. i imagine the ground is baked underneath on the prairies, and the rains only helped for a time." "well, whatever caused it, we shall have to feed earlier than usual. i am afraid we may have some bad fires, too, if we don't have rain or a snowfall soon." "there was a fire over on elm creek night before last," spoke up sherm. "grant stowe's cousin was telling us about it at school." "i saw smoke off to the north yesterday," said chicken little. "oh, i hope we sha'n't have any bad fires this fall!" exclaimed mrs. morton. "i do think a big prairie fire is one of the most terrifying sights, especially at night. i couldn't sleep that first fall for dreading them. i used to get up in the middle of the night and look out the windows to see if that awful glare was anywhere on the horizon." "don't go borrowing trouble, mother. there hasn't been a bad fire on big john for years. the country is so thickly settled a fire doesn't have the sweep it used to." dr. morton tried to reassure her. "they must be wonderful things to see. i hope there won't be any bad ones, but if one shows up anywhere within ten miles, i propose to be on hand," sherm said eagerly. "you won't be so keen after you have fought one or two, sherm." frank smiled with the wisdom of the initiated. "say, father, i think jim and i had better fire round those stacks on the north eighty. it would be hard to save them if a fire got started on the divide." "yes, i don't know but you'd best do it this afternoon. burn a pretty wide strip. and we ought to run a guard on the west from that field of winter wheat to the county road. if a fire ever got in there, it might come down on the house." chicken little spoke up. "may i go, too, frank? i love to watch you." "you will be in school, but you can come home that way if we are still at work. you can easily see the smoke. we won't try it if the wind rises, and i believe it is going to." "chicken little, if you see the smoke you may tell mr. clay i won't come for my recitation this afternoon. i am going to find out how this back-firing business is done." sherm had begun his studies some two weeks previous and was making rapid progress, studying evenings, and going to the school a half hour before closing time to recite. chicken little found this arrangement extremely pleasant, because sherm was always there to walk home with her. they took all sorts of detours and by-paths through the woods, instead of coming along the road to the ford. they discovered unexpected stores of walnuts and acorns and wild rose hips, and scarlet bitter-sweet just opening its gorgeous berries after the first hard frosts. jane helped sherm press autumn leaves and pack a huge box of nuts to send home. his mother wrote back that his father hadn't showed as much interest in anything for weeks, as he did in the nuts. they seemed to carry him back to his own boyhood. mr. dart seldom left his bed now, and sherm's mother told but little of his condition. sherm understood her silence only too well. chicken little noticed that he always worked hard and late the days he heard from home. she began to watch for the letters herself, and to mount guard over the boy when he looked specially downcast, teasing him into going for a gallop or wheedling him into making taffy or playing a game of checkers. she got so she recognized sherm's blue devils as far off as she could see him. sherm did not notice this for some time or suspect she was looking after him, but one day he remarked carelessly when she thought she had been specially clever: "chicken little, don't make a mollycoddle of me. a man has to learn to take what comes his way without squealing." "yes, sherm, but if you get thorns in your hand, it's better to try to pull them out than to go on pushing them in deeper, isn't it? i know when i was a kid, it always helped a lot to have mother kiss it better." "how'd you get so wise, chicken little?" the lad smiled his wry smile. "don't make fun of me, please, sherm." "make fun of you? lady jane, i've been taking off my hat to you for a week. how in the dickens you girls find out exactly what's going on inside a chap beats my time. it's mighty good of you to put up with my glooming and try to cheer me along. maybe i don't look grateful, but i am." sherm was eager to make this acknowledgment, but found it more trying than he had anticipated. he revenged himself by starting in to tease. "say, i wish you'd try your hand at this splinter--i can't budge the critter." jane flew for a needle, unsuspecting. the splinter didn't look serious, but she painstakingly dug it out. "is that all right?" she demanded, looking up to encounter a wicked glint in sherm's gray eyes. "hm-n, aren't you going to put any medicine on it?" "medicine?" "well, you know you said it helped." sherm was grinning impishly. "sherman dart, i think you're too mean for words!" she was about to turn away affronted when she had an inspiration. "mother," she called, "o mother!" mrs. morton had been placidly sewing in the sitting room while the young people were studying their lessons by the dining-room table. she came to the door, inquiring. "mother, sherm's had a splinter in his finger and he wants you to kiss it better." sherm started to protest, but mrs. morton did not stop to listen. "jane, i think that kind of a joke is very ill-timed, making your poor mother get up and come to you for nothing. you must remember i am not as young as i once was." mrs. morton departed with dignity. "now will you be good?" chuckled sherm. "oh, i guess i'm square," chicken little retorted, going back to her lessons. mrs. morton had said truly that she was not so young as formerly. she had not been well all fall. dr. morton had persuaded her to see another physician, who, having assured her that she was merely run down, had prescribed the usual tonic. he had told dr. morton, however, that her heart action was weak and warned him to guard her against shocks of any kind and to have her rest as much as possible. this had agreed with the doctor's own diagnosis of her condition, and the family had been trying to save her from all exertion. so chicken little was a tiny bit conscience-stricken. high winds and more pressing farm duties had interfered with running the fire guards. it was not until the week before thanksgiving that the men got at it, then they succeeded only in protecting the stacks. they had intended to finish the job the following morning, but one of the neighbors, passing through the lane, stopped to tell dr. morton of a sale of yearlings to be held the next afternoon in the neighboring county. "it must be part of the elliott herd. they're three-quarters bred shorthorn; i'd like mighty well to pick up a bunch of them. we have plenty of feed for any ordinary winter." dr. morton was talking the matter over with frank after supper. "suppose we ride over, father, it's only about twenty miles. we can start early--we don't need to buy unless they are actually a bargain." they were off at six the following morning, planning to return the same day. dr. morton, however, warned his wife not to be anxious if she did not see them before the next afternoon. if they bought the steers, they would not try to drive them home the same day. the morning was bright and pleasant, but the wind rose toward mid-day and was blowing a young gale by the time chicken little returned from school at half-past four. mrs. morton began worrying lest the doctor and frank had not wrapped up sufficiently. "why, it isn't cold yet, mrs. morton. in fact, it is astonishingly warm for november. and there's the queerest, yellowish haze i have ever seen." sherm said this to reassure her. "probably dust," replied mrs. morton carelessly, relieved from her anxiety about her family. chicken little hurried through her supper and went over to see marian. presently marian threw a shawl over her head and they both climbed the hill back of the house. the wind was still blowing fiercely. sherm saw them on the ridge and followed to see what was tempting them to a stroll on such a night. "what's up?" marian answered. "why, jane thinks all this yellow haze comes from a prairie fire. we've been trying to see if we could see any trace of it. it seems to me i do smell smoke--there's a kind of pungent tang to the air, too." marian sniffed uneasily. "like burning grass or leaves?" marian's face paled. "sherm, that's exactly what it is! what can we do? and the menfolks all away except jim bart, and he's gone to benton's on an errand. he'll be back in a few minutes though." "don't worry, marian," said jane, "if it's a prairie fire it's miles and miles off. it must be on the other side of little john. it can never cross the creek--besides, the wind is blowing the wrong way for it to sweep down on us." "that's so--but the wind might change any minute, and in a gale like this i'm not so sure it might not jump little john. i do wish frank had finished that back-firing." "i suppose it wouldn't be possible to do it until the wind lulls, but mrs. morton, i'll sit up and watch to-night--at least until the wind goes down. it often falls about midnight," said sherm, looking troubled. "it looks to me as if we were in for a three-days' blow," marian replied despondently. "but i'd be much obliged if you would, sherm, i don't quite like to ask jim bart to, for he's had such a hard day. do you think you can keep awake? and, chicken little, don't let on to mother--we mustn't worry her." "sherm," said jane, after they went into the house, "i'm going to stay up, too; i'll slip down again after mother goes to bed. it's a lot easier for two people to keep awake than one." "no, chicken little, i don't believe you'd better. your mother wouldn't like it. and we'd be dead sure to laugh or talk loud enough for her to hear us. i hope the wind will go down early. if it doesn't and i find i can't stay awake, i'll call you and let you watch while i doze on the couch here." jane stayed up as late as her mother would let her, and sherm made the excuse of having special studying to do, to sit up later. after mrs. morton had retired he made frequent excursions to the hill top. a lurid glare lit up the horizon to the northwest. he could still catch the tang of smoke and whiffs of burning grass, but these were not so pungent as earlier in the evening. the fire seemed farther away. by eleven, the glare was decidedly fainter and the wind had subsided noticeably. at twelve, he concluded it was safe to go to bed. chicken little waking about two, stole down stairs and finding everything dark, made the rounds of the windows, but the distant fire showed only a faint glow in the night. when they arose the next morning there was no trace of the fire to be seen. sherm hailed some men passing, for news. they reported that it had swept the north side of elm creek and said it had burned up a lot of hay. there was a rumor that two of the upland farmers had lost everything they had and that a man and team had been caught in it. but they hadn't been able to get any details. "though it wouldn't be surprising," one of the strangers added, "that fire was traveling faster than any horse could run." chicken little had come out and was standing beside sherm. her eyes grew big. "do they really think somebody got burned?" one of the men nudged the man who had spoken. "no, sis, it was just a rumor--i don't 'low it was true. when folks can't give you any name or place--it most generally ain't so." the men drove on. it was saturday. jim bart had gone down to town for the weekly supplies and sherm was busy with odd jobs. he asked jane to go up to the hill top occasionally to make sure there were no fresh signs of the fire, though jim bart had assured him the danger was over. sherm noticed that the wind had changed. it was blowing freshly from the very direction where they had seen the fire the preceding night. chicken little obediently made trips once an hour until noon; she could detect nothing to occasion alarm. after dinner her mother set her to making doughnuts and she forgot all about it. mrs. morton was not so well to-day and jane persuaded her to go to bed. drawing the blinds to, she put a hot iron to her mother's feet and left her to sleep. the clock striking four attracted jane's attention as she came back into the sitting room, the last doughnut was draining in the collender while annie mopped the kitchen floor. she stood irresolute for an instant, undecided whether to read or to fetch some walnuts from the smokehouse for sunday. dr. morton always liked to have a basket of walnuts handy on sunday afternoons. "i guess i'll get the nuts, and perhaps i'd better run up the hill to be sure that old fire hasn't had a change of heart. father says often some little side fire smolders and burns after the main fire is all out. though i guess one would have showed up long before this if there'd been any this time." she argued with herself for two or three minutes, finally deciding that it wasn't much trouble to go take a look, even if it were foolish. just outside the door she met sherm and he walked up to the crest with her. half way up the slope chicken little suddenly stopped, sniffing suspiciously. "sherm, i believe i smell smoke again." sherm stopped also to draw in a long breath. he did not wait to announce his observations, but broke into a run for the top of the hill. chicken little followed him a length in the rear. sherm took one look and gave vent to a surprised whistle. chicken little stared, fascinated, at a tiny line of fire burning merrily on a hillside not a mile distant. "jumping jehosophat!" exclaimed sherm, "how did it ever creep up on us this way?" jane was thinking rapidly. she scarcely noticed what he said. "sherm, frank left the water barrels and the mops and everything on the wagon, didn't he?" "yes--what----" "are the barrels filled?" "yep, do you think----" "sherm, run hitch the bay team to the wagon quick. i'll get marian and warn annie not to tell mother--she's asleep still. hurry, sherm, every minute's precious!" sherm's "all right" drifted from him on the run. he was already on his way to the stable. he realized that jane knew more about fire fighting than he did. jane hurried to the cottage. marian listened to her news, white to the lips. "annie can take jilly. perhaps i'd better ride over after mr. benton." "marian," protested chicken little, "there isn't time. and if mr. benton's home, he has probably seen it, too, and is trying to protect his own place. no, we've got to work fast. unless we can run a fire guard before the fire reaches that tall grass on the division line, the whole place is a goner! it isn't coming very fast yet. here, i'll run with jilly over to the house and you put on a pair of frank's trousers--your skirts might catch. i'll get that old pair of ernest's. hurry, marian, hurry!" chicken little gathered up jilly and started on the run. both marian and jane reached the stable yard just as sherm drove the heavy farm wagon clattering out of the gate. they hurriedly climbed in and sherm lashed the horses into a gallop. as they passed the cottage, marian exclaimed: "did you get matches either of you?" sherm slowed up the team and examined his pockets. "a handful." "stop a moment--i'll run fetch a box. it takes a lot." chicken little was over the wheel before the words were fairly out of her mouth. she was back in a jiffy with the matches, which she proceeded to divide among them, while the horses leaped forward again. "stop on the backbone where the santa fe trail strikes the road." precisely four minutes later sherm pulled up the panting team. chicken little promptly took command. she had been out many times with her father and brothers and knew exactly what to do. "wet your mop--take a bucket of water and fire right along the trail, marian,--that buffalo grass burns slow. call if it starts to get away from you. i'll begin there by the hedge. drive about fifty yards farther on, sherm,--the horses will stand. fill all the buckets and wet the extra mops. we're liable to want them in a rush." "all right, jane, save your breath--you'll need it. careful there, mrs. morton, beat out the flames along the trail as you go. never mind how fast it whoops the other way. cæsar's ghost! that fire is getting close!" the waving, irregular lines of flame on the hillside were coming steadily on, now leaping up several feet high as the breeze freshened, now creeping close to the ground when the gusts died away. the wind was fitful. marian and sherm both had their trail of fire flickering into a blaze before chicken little got hers kindled. her hands shook so she could hardly hold the match. the first flickered and went out, a second, then a third, blackened, before she could coax the stubbly grass to burn. she caught up a bunch of weeds, set it blazing in her hand and dragged it swiftly along the ground. tiny swirls of yellow flame wavered in her wake, crackled feebly for an instant in the shorter herbage, then, reaching out tongues into the longer blue stem beyond, leaped forward like a frolicsome animal. sherm's and marian's lines of fire were eating their way merrily toward hers on each side. it was easy to beat out the flame in the buffalo grass, which formed their safety line toward the house, and the three soon had several hundred feet of fire running to meet those menacing flames on the neighboring hillside. for a while it seemed almost pretty play save for that haunting dread of disaster. but the dripping mops were heavy for girls' wrists and arms, the constant stooping and rising and the lifting of the heavy buckets pulled painfully on aching muscles. they must backfire for a third of a mile before they dared hope the place was safe. a field of winter wheat adjoining the wagon road where they had started, and extending down to the bank of big john, was the best of protection to the lower half of the farm. west from this, there was neither track nor field to break the tindery sweeps of prairie grass, until the strip of breaking on the north boundary of the pasture was reached. the old santa fe trail along which they were firing, fortunately extended to within some two hundred yards of the breaking, and was their safeguard against the ever-present danger of letting the fire get away from them to the rear. older heads would have selected that hundred yards of high grass as a starting place, while they were fresh and best able to cope with its perils. chicken little was leaving it to the last. swiftly as the three worked, the head fire was rapidly gaining on them. again and again, one of them glanced toward the house in the hope that jim bart might have returned, or some neighbor have seen their danger and be on the way to help. not a human being was in sight in any direction. marian straightened up with a groan and glanced despairingly at the head fire. sherm's gaze followed hers anxiously. "we've got to do better than this, girls. here, chicken little, make a torch of some of those resinous weeds--those long crackly ones--and fire just as fast as you can. i'll follow with the mop and yell if i can't manage it." the plan worked well for a time--their haven of hope, the brown strip of breaking, seemed to move steadily nearer. but chicken little and marian were fast becoming exhausted. the main fire was now so close that its smoke was beginning to drift in their faces. prairie chickens and quail, startled and confused by the double line of flame, whirred above their heads, uncertain how to seek safety. a terrified jack rabbit leaped up almost at sherm's feet. rabbits, ground squirrels, one lone skunk, and even an occasional coyote, darted past them. back at the road where they had begun, the head fire was already meeting their line of back fire and dying down in sullen smoke. still, that hundred yards of blue stem was untouched. they paused a moment at its edge in hurried consultation. "let's souse all the mops--dripping wet--and trail across first," suggested chicken little in short, labored gasps. she had been running for several minutes. "yes, and then fire back. christ!--we must hurry!" sherm, too, was breathless. "can you stick it out a few minutes longer, marian?" marian morton's face was drawn and colorless. she nodded and rested a moment, leaning on her mop. for the next sixty-five yards the blows of the wet mops rained down with the precision of clock work. twice the flames started in quick eddies back of their line, but, panting, the girls almost sobbing, they beat them back. the smoke was growing stifling. the wind, freshening, blew it from both fires full in their faces. they could see only a few feet ahead. "light another torch and run, chicken little--there's no time to lose--we must chance it!" chicken little obeyed silently. half way to the breaking she stumbled and fell. her torch of twisted grass flew from her hand, scattering the burning fragments about her. before she could get to her feet, the grass was ablaze all around. quick-witted sherm threw her a mop, then beat his way toward her. marian, summoning her last remaining strength, ran to help, but sank to the ground in a faint before she could reach jane. sherm and chicken little, beating, stamping madly, did not see her fall. the flames fairly licked up the long grass. they beat them out around jane only to see them spread in an ever-increasing circle. chicken little's legs gave way under her and she sank helplessly down, watching the rushing fire. sherm struggled on with parched throat and stinging eyes, but he, too, was fast becoming exhausted in the unequal fight, when a strong pair of hands seized the mop from his straining arms and rained swift blows on the flaming grass. answering blows resounded from four other stout pairs of hands and an irregular line of charred vegetation was soon all that was left to tell the tale of the danger they had escaped. "thank god, we got here in time!" captain clarke ejaculated fervently, raising marian's head and dashing water in her face to restore her. "we're so shut in by the timber at our place, i didn't dream the fire was in this part of the country till one of the hands went up in the pasture. we mounted and came double quick, i tell you. and we'd have got here quicker, if i'd known what straits you were in. you're a plucky lot! easy there, mrs. morton, you are all right, and the fire is safe to smoke out at its leisure. here, drink a drop of this whiskey." sherm had gathered up chicken little and carried her beyond the smoke, then dropped down beside her with a sigh to recover his breath. he felt numb and so dazed he hardly heeded what the captain was saying. "pretty well done for, yourself, aren't you, lad?" one of the men inquired. "you sure knew exactly what to do, if you are a tenderfoot." sherm roused himself enough to twist the corners of his mouth into his wonted smile. "me? i didn't do anything--chicken little was the boss of this gang." chapter xvii the lost oyster supper thanksgiving came and went its turkey-lined way rather lonesomely. christmas preparations also lacked their usual zest. "everything seems to have caved in round where ernest was," chicken little confided to marian. "you see, we always talked everything over and planned our christmas together. sherm takes ernest's place in lots of ways, but, of course, he isn't interested in what i'm making for mother, or in helping me make $ . go clear round the family and piece out for katy and gertie besides." "if sympathy is all you need, jane, i can lend you a listening ear." marian crocheted another scallop. "i'd be thankful for a few suggestions, too, i can't think of anything to send ernest. when he has to have everything regulation, and the government furnishes him with every single thing it wants him to have, why--it's awful." "yes, i agree with you--i've been racking my brains for ernest, too. mother is patiently knitting him a muffler, which i know he won't be permitted to wear, but i haven't the heart to discourage her--she gets so much comfort out of it. uncle sam should be more considerate of fond female relatives. he might at least tolerate a few tidies and hand-painted shovels or a home-made necktie." "or a throw or a plush table cover with chenille embroidery. mamie jenkins is making one for mr. clay. he will be too cross for words. he loathes mamie, though he tries not to show it, and plush is his special abomination. he says it reminds him of caterpillar's fuzz." chicken little's eyes danced maliciously. marian looked at her young sister-in-law meditatively. "mamie doesn't seem to be dear to your heart just now. is she too popular or too affected or too dressy?" "oh, she's just too utterly too too all around. i do have lots of fun with her--she can be awfully nice when she wants to be, but----" "but?" "oh, i don't know--she swells up so, lots of times over things i'd be ashamed to tell--they're so silly." "yes, i guess mamie's pretty cheap, but as long as you make friends with her, don't rap her behind her back. it was all right to tell me--i quizzed you anyhow. i wish you didn't see so much of her." "why, she's the only girl at school i can go with, who is anywhere near my own age. the kearns twins aren't even clean--i don't like to go near them." "i shouldn't think you would. our public school system has its drawbacks as well as its virtues. well, jane, be nice to mamie, but don't--don't be like her." "you needn't worry; she's going to town to school after christmas, so i sha'n't see much more of her." mrs. morton was still far from well, and she hung on ernest's letters almost pathetically. ernest, boy fashion, was inclined to write long letters when he had something interesting to tell and preserve a stony silence when he didn't. life at the academy was monotonous and he had to work hard to keep up with his studies. further, his father and frank suspected he was having many disagreeable experiences which he kept from his family. these were still the days of rough hazing at the academy and ernest, being a western boy, big and strong and independent, was likely to attract his full share of this unpleasant nagging. he revealed something of his experiences in a letter to sherm. sherm showed the letter to chicken little and chicken little, vaguely worried, told her father. dr. morton talked it over with frank. "there isn't a thing you can do about it, father. most of it does the boys more good than harm anyway. i talked to a west pointer once about the hazing there. he said some of it was pretty annoying and at times decidedly rough, but that if a fellow behaved himself and took it good-naturedly they soon let him alone. he said it was the best training he had ever known for curing a growing boy of the big head. don't worry--ernest has sense--he's all right." to chicken little, ernest confided, two weeks before christmas, that he was getting confoundedly tired of having the same things to eat week after week. "say, sis, if you and mother would cook me up a lot of goodies for christmas, i'd like it better than anything you could do. send lots, so i can treat--a turkey and fixings." this letter did more for mrs. morton's health than the doctor's tonic. she tied on her apron and set to making fruit cake and cookies and every delicious and indigestible compound she could think of that would stand packing and a four-days' journey. chicken little and sherm spent their evenings making candy and picking out walnut meats to send. dr. morton made the nine-mile trip to town on the coldest day of the season to insure ernest's getting the box on the very day before christmas. the family at the ranch had a quiet holiday week. the day after new year's, jane was invited to come to town and stay over night to attend an amateur performance of fatinitza, a light opera the young people had staged for the benefit of a struggling musical society. chicken little was excitedly eager to go. mrs. morton deliberated for some time before she gave her consent. marian and frank and sherm all teased in her behalf, before it was won. sherm drove her in, and frank, having business in town the following day with a cattle buyer from kansas city, volunteered to bring her home. jane wore her christmas present, a crimson cashmere with fine knife plaitings of crimson satin for its adorning. frank lent her his sealskin cap and she felt very grand, and looked piquantly radiant, as she revolved for her mother's inspection before slipping into her big coat. sherm, standing waiting, inspected her, too. "scrumptious, lady jane, you look like that red bird i've been trying to catch out in the evergreen by the gate." mrs. morton shook her head disapprovingly. "no compliments, sherm, jane is just a little girl and she must remember that pretty is as pretty does. don't forget, dear, to thank mrs. webb for her hospitality when you come away. are you sure your ears are clean?" "oh, mother, i'm not a baby!" chicken little protested indignantly. "you talk as if i were about five years old." "my dear daughter, your mother will speak to you as she sees fit. have you got the high overshoes? i think, perhaps, you'd better take father's muffler. sherm, have you both buffalo robes?" chicken little relieved her feelings by making a little moue at sherm. he winked discreetly in return. "why," she said disgustedly after they were started, "won't mothers ever let you grow up? i am a whole inch taller than mother now, and half the time she treats me as if i didn't have the sense of a chicken." "well, you see you're the only girl in the family, and you've been the littlest chicken so long your mother kind of likes to shut her eyes to all those extra inches you've been collecting. by the way, miss morton, i don't notice that muffler your mother mentioned, and i think you'll be cold enough before we get to town to wish you had it." "you don't suppose i was going to wear that clumsy thing? i can snuggle down under the robes if i get cold." "no, i didn't suppose, so i brought the red scarf mother gave me christmas, for your ears. they'd be frosted sure without anything. did you think your pride would keep you warm, chicken little?" chicken little was inclined to resent this delicate attention; sherm seemed to be putting her in the same class her mother had. but her ears were already beginning to tingle as they left the timber and got the full force of the wind on the open prairie. sherm was swinging the bays along at a good pace. the cutter glided smoothly over the frozen snow. she submitted meekly while he awkwardly wrapped the muffler over her cap with his free hand. the soft wool was deliciously comfortable. she neglected, however, to mention this fact to him. "too stubborn to own up, lady jane?" jane stole a glance at the quizzical face turned in her direction. then she evaded shamelessly. "sherm, don't you just adore to skate?" * * * * * chicken little was in a pulsing state of excitement that evening as she listened to the pretty, lilting music and watched gorgeously clad young people, many of whom she recognized, moving demurely about the little stage. to others it was merely a very creditable amateur performance; to chicken little, it opened a whole new world of ideas and imagining. she had been to a theatre but twice in her whole life, once to uncle tom's cabin and once to a horrible presentation of hamlet, which resulted in her disliking the play to the day of her death. she loved the light and color and harmony of it all. she delighted in it so much that she sighed because it would be so soon over. "what are you sighing for, jane? don't you like it?" her hostess inquired. chicken little gave a little wriggle of joy. "like it? i just love it--it's like butterflies keeping house. don't you wish everything was like that--pretty and gay, with all the lovers getting things straightened out right?" "dear me, jane, do you get all that out of this poor little comic opera? i must have you come in to all our amateur things if you love music so." "i don't love music so very much--i hate to practice. i shouldn't care for their singing very much by itself, it's seeing the actors and thinking how they feel--and their pretty clothes and----" mrs. webb laughed. "chicken little, i envy you--you are going to see so many things that most people shut their eyes to." jane studied about this, but she hardly liked to ask what things mrs. webb meant, because that lady seemed to expect her to know, and she felt she would appear stupid not to. she lay awake a long time that night; the music seemed to be splashing over her in little waves of melody. even after she had once fallen asleep, she awakened to find her brain still humming the insistent measures. the next morning she went downtown with her hostess and met mamie jenkins in a store. "why, chicken little, i didn't know you were in town? your brother didn't say anything about your being here." "frank? is he in already?" "yes, i just saw him. say, did you know a crowd of us are going out to his house to-night to an oyster supper?" "no, who's going?" "oh, a lot of the town boys and girls, and grant stowe and me. john hardy asked him if a crowd of us couldn't come out to-night and surprise your sister, and frank said come along, he'd have some hot oysters for us. the boys have got a big bobsled from the livery stable. i bet we have a lovely time. why don't you and sherm stay in and go out with us--i guess there'll be room. anyhow, you can always crowd more into a bobsled, it's more fun when you're packed in." mamie giggled expressively. jane was surprised to learn that sherm had come in with frank and she was also extremely doubtful whether her mother would approve of her waiting to come out with the party. john hardy's crowd was one of the gayest in town and they were very much grown up. but her outing the previous evening had given her a taste for grown-up things; she was eager for the lark and resolved to tease frank to let her stay in. frank studied the matter for several minutes, but finally consented rather reluctantly. he saw sherm was also keen for the fun. "all right, sis, that set are pretty old for a kid like you and i'll have a time squaring myself with mother. but you don't have many good times and sherm's steady enough to look after you. they are planning to start early. i guess you'll get home by eight." frank left for the ranch about three o'clock to warn marian of her surprise party. mrs. webb had insisted that sherm stay with them for an early supper. the party had arranged to start at six. with a good team they should reach the ranch easily by eight, have two hours for merry-making, and get back to town by midnight. the cold had moderated through the day; by five o'clock, the sky was leaden gray and it looked like snow. some of the fathers and mothers were doubtful as to whether they ought to risk so long a drive. but the weather was ideal, if it only didn't snow, and there might not be another night during the holidays when they could all go. the expedition had bad luck from the start. the livery man, disliking the weather prospects, had had an inferior team harnessed to the big sled. john hardy and the other young men stood for their rights and after a long wrangle, succeeded in getting what they wanted. but this had consumed precious time. they drove out of the livery barn at six-thirty instead of six, as they had intended. then two or three of the girls were not ready. one of the last called for, having sat with her wraps on for over three-quarters of an hour, had finally removed them and her party frock as well, in disgust, thinking the jaunt had been given up on account of the weather. by the time she had dressed herself afresh it was a quarter past seven. there was still one young man to be picked up at the hotel. he, too, had grown tired of waiting and had started out to hunt the sleigh. ten minutes more were consumed searching for him. the clock in the schoolhouse tower was striking the half hour as the sleigh load passed the last house in the little town, and turned into the country road leading to the ranch. sherm pulled out his watch. "whew, frank and marian will have a nice wait for us! we can't possibly make it till after nine." the next two miles went with a dash. the moonlight was a dim gray half light instead of the silvery radiance they had counted upon. "those clouds must be beastly heavy--there is scarcely a star to be seen," ejaculated john hardy, who was on the driver's seat with a sprightly girl of nineteen for his companion. "what'll you bet the snow catches us before we get home to-night?" "i'll bet you it catches us before we get out to morton's," retorted one of the other young men. "well, i'm glad i am taking my turn at driving going out, if that's the case. i shouldn't like the job of keeping the road on these prairies in a nice blinding snowstorm." "oh, that's just because you're a town dude," said grant stowe boastfully. "it is just as easy to follow a country road as a street in town if you only know the country." "all right, grant, if it snows, we'll let you drive home." "if it snows?" exclaimed one of the girls. "i felt a flake on my nose this very minute." the party surveyed the sky. "oh, you are just dreaming, kate." "somebody blew you a kiss and it cooled off on the way," teased another. "just wait a minute, smarties. there--there was another!" "yes, i felt one, too!" exclaimed mamie. "you're right, it's coming." sherm stared at the sky in some concern. "better whoop it right along, john," advised one of the young men thoughtfully. "i am not so sure that we shouldn't be sensible to turn round and call this frolic off for to-night," john hardy replied. there was a chorus of no's. "nonsense, who's afraid of a little snow? besides, we'd disappoint the mortons and jane's mother would be frantic if she didn't come. don't crawfish, john hardy." "i'm equal to anything the rest of you are. i merely thought it might be rough on the girls, and occasion some alarm to other fond relatives in town, if we failed to get back to-night." "oh, stop your croaking!" "there will be no trouble getting back." "of course not, the horses can find the way if we can't." "here, start something to sing and shut off these ravens!" the crowd sang lustily for the next twenty minutes, then the snow began coming down steadily and the majority of the young people commenced to disappear under the robes and blankets. "the pesky stuff is getting inside my collar!" exclaimed one of the men who had insisted upon keeping his head out. "why don't you tear yourself from the scenery and come under cover?" asked mamie pertly. "yes, smith, i'm only holding one of mamie's hands. you may keep the other warm." "he's not either. don't you believe him, mr. smith," mamie protested. john hardy spoke to the girl beside him. he had been watching the road ahead too closely for several minutes to do any talking. "hadn't you better go back with the others--there's no need for you to get wet and cold." "oh, i am all right--it isn't cold--very." "i am afraid it is going to be--the wind is rising and it's coming right in our faces. we're a pack of fools to go!" "we must be nearly half way there, aren't we?" "i think so--i have never been out to the morton ranch. well, if worst comes to worst, i guess they'll keep us all night." the crowd was beginning to quiet down. by the time they had covered two more miles the wind was blowing the snow in their faces with stinging force. john hardy was having trouble to keep the horses in the road. they, too, recoiled from the snow drifting in their faces. he finally persuaded his companion to go back under the robes. sherm volunteered to take her place. "i don't like the look of things," said hardy in a low tone as sherm climbed up beside him. "can you tell where we are?" sherm stared at the snow-covered waste ahead and tried to recognize some familiar land mark in the white gloom. "yes, i think so. that was elm creek you crossed some time back. we must be about half way from elm to big john." "how far now?" "three miles." "can you see the time?" "nine-twenty." "the dickens, we ought to be there!" "it oughtn't to be long now. let me take the reins--your hands must be cold." "just a minute till i start the circulation. i feel sort of responsible for this gang, because i got up this fool enterprise." hardy clapped his hands together vigorously. "it wouldn't be bad except for the wind!" hardy said presently. "that's the worst of kansas, there always is a wind!" sherm had not yet been entirely converted to the charms of the sunflower state. when hardy took the reins again, sherm still peered ahead, watching the road. he had been finding something vaguely unfamiliar about the landscape, though this was not strange since neither house nor tree nor haystack was visible through the storm until they were almost upon it. then it loomed up suddenly shrouded and spectral. this feeling of strangeness grew upon him and he felt uneasy. "stop the team a minute, hardy." sherm got down and went to the horses' heads, peering all about. he scraped the snow away with his foot and examined the ground. he let out a shrill whistle of dismay, as he uncovered grass spears instead of the hard-trodden road bed. "say, hardy, we're off the road. i thought so from the way the sled was dragging." hardy climbed hastily down with an exclamation that sounded profane. the boys in the sleigh also piled hurriedly out. they soon assured themselves of the sorrowful fact. "what can we do?" "isn't there a house somewhere near where we can inquire?" "what did you fellows go to sleep for when you were driving, anyhow?" "you'll have to go back on your tracks till you find the road again." questions and offers of advice were numerous. sherm had walked a short distance back, exploring. he returned in time to hear this last remark. "the trouble is, grant, the snow hasn't left us any tracks. two hundred yards back you can hardly see where we came." the others began to wake to the seriousness of the situation. "haven't you any idea where we are, dart?" "not the faintest notion, except that we are somewhere between elm and big john. perhaps jane might know. she usually has a sixth sense for direction. "chicken little," he called, "do you mind getting out and seeing if you can tell us where we are?" chicken little was on the ground with a spring before sherm could help her. she strained her eyes through the gloom. she, too, examined the ground, then, accompanied by sherm and hardy, waded through the snow for several hundred yards in each direction, the men kicking the snow in the hope of finding the track. finally, chicken little gave it up. "i don't know a blessed thing more than the rest of you. but i have the feeling we must be near charlie wattles' place--you know that old darkey. you see the wind was right in our faces most of the way, and it isn't now. it's coming obliquely--course the wind may have changed. let's try heading west a while--and see if we can find the road. let me sit up there with you and sherm; i might see something i'd recognize." "chicken little, you'd freeze," objected sherm. "not any sooner than you will, sherman dart." "we can wrap her up in a blanket and she might help us--we have got to get out of this some way. it's ten o'clock." they drove about slowly for half an hour, but they could find nothing that looked like a road. some of the sleigh load were openly apprehensive and inclined to blame hardy for their plight, but for the most part they were plucky and good-natured, trying to turn off their growing fear with jests. chicken little glued her eyes to the dimness ahead. sherm suggested that they give the horses their head. "they'll try to go back to town if we do, and i don't believe they could hold out--that off one is blowing pretty badly now. this snow is heavy as mud to pull through." hardy looked dubious. "turn due west, mr. hardy--we can't be far from big john." hardy obeyed and they drove another half hour, seeing nothing save the fluttering snowflakes and the snowy wastes opening out a few feet ahead as they advanced. "chicken little, your theory is all right, but it doesn't seem to work," sherm remarked regretfully. in the meanwhile, time had also been moving along at the ranch. the big sitting room at the cottage was brightly lighted and glowingly warm from an open wood fire. by eight o'clock, coffee was steaming on the back of the kitchen stove, the extension table pulled out to its full length, was set with soup plates and cups and silver. piles of doughnuts and baskets of apples and walnuts stood awaiting the sharp appetites the mortons knew the cold ride would bring to them. marian had the milk and oysters ready for the stew and sat down to rest a moment before the arrival of the guests. she hardly noticed the clock until the hand pointed to half-past eight. "my, they're late!" she exclaimed. frank got up and went to the door. he encountered dr. morton just coming in. "when did you say those youngsters were coming? it's snowing like fury." he paused on the porch to give himself another shake. "i don't believe they'll try to come out to-night. i guess you've had all your trouble for nothing. i only wish chicken little and sherm had come home with you." frank, being a good many years nearer to understanding the rashness of youth than his father, disagreed with him. "i bet they tried all right, but they may have had to give it up. i wonder how long it's been snowing this way. i haven't been out since supper." dr. morton sat and visited for a half hour, then said he guessed he'd better go back to mother. she was worrying a little about her baby being out such a night. "she needn't," he concluded, "even a child like jane would have sense enough not to start on a nine-mile ride in such weather." after his father had gone, frank put on his coat and went down the lane with a lantern. he came back presently and sat down by the fire without saying anything. marian saw he was worried. "you don't think they've got lost, do you, frank?" "i don't know what to think. i hope father is right and they had sense enough not to start. but i wish to goodness i hadn't let jane stay in." they sat there listening for every sound until the clock struck ten. frank had twice gone to the door, imagining he heard sleigh bells. he got to his feet again at the sound of the clock. "you might as well go to bed, dear. we sha'n't see them to-night, but i'll sit up till eleven myself to make sure." [illustration: a half hour later when they were warmed] marian waited a little while longer, then took his advice. frank sat by the fire and pretended to read until five minutes of twelve, then he, too, gave up the vigil as hopeless. at ten minutes past two they both sat up with a start at the sound of sleigh bells. an instant later there was a vigorous pounding on the door. frank stared into the darkness for one confused instant, then leaped out of bed, and wrapping a dressing gown about him, flung open the door. twelve numbed and snow-covered figures stumbled into the room. two of the men were half carrying one of the girls. "fire up quick, frank, we're most frozen! and get some hot water!" sherm exclaimed, suiting the action to the word by stirring up the coals of the dying fire and piling on wood. it was not until a half hour later when they were warmed and fed, that the mortons had time to listen to any connected account of the night's adventures. frank had speedily summoned his father to prescribe for frosted cheeks and fingers and toes. later, it was discovered that john hardy had a badly sprained wrist. marian and mrs. morton made the girls comfortable and finished preparing the belated oyster supper. "i am glad we didn't lose this oyster supper altogether," said grant stowe feelingly. "i never tasted anything better." "same here," a half dozen laughing voices echoed. "i wasn't so darned sure an hour ago that some of us were ever going to taste anything again," said john hardy soberly. "things didn't look exactly rosy, specially when we got spilled out," one of the girls added. "what, did you have an upset?" dr. morton looked as if this were the last straw. "yes, that's how hardy sprained his wrist!" "chicken little had just assured us that if we would drive a little farther west, we should surely find something, when we struck the sidehill and went over as neat as you please." mamie enjoyed this thrust at jane. "well, we found something, didn't we?" defended sherm. "i should say we found out how deep the snow was." "yes, and the sidehill made jane sure we were near the creek, and then she saw the trees and----" "yes, and then she found it wasn't the creek at all, but the wattles' place." "whew!" exclaimed frank, "you didn't get over to black charlie's? why, that was three miles out of your road!" "yes, frank, and you ought to have seen him. he was scared to death when we came pounding on his door in the middle of the night." chicken little giggled at the recollection. "and there was a trundle bed full of pickanninies and they kept popping their heads up. they were so ridiculous--with their little pigtails sticking up all over their heads, and their bead eyes." "well, old charlie warmed us up all right and started us back on the road again," said john hardy gratefully. "and there's another thing sure," said marian, interrupting this flow of reminiscence, "you can't go back to town to-night, and you must be tired to death, all of you. mother morton, if you will take the girls over with you, frank and i will make some pallets by the fire for these boys, and let them get some sleep." * * * * * the real sport of this excursion came the next day when frank morton hitched an extra team on in front of the livery horses and drove the party back to town himself, to make sure they did not come to grief again in the piled-up drifts. but chicken little and sherm were not along. they watched them drive off with never a pang of envy. "i have had enough bobsled riding to do me for this winter," said jane wearily. her evening at fatinitza seemed a thousand years away. "ditto, yours truly!" and sherm yawned luxuriously. chapter xviii an april fool frolic mrs. morton and marian were sitting by the great open fire at the cottage sewing for jilly. jilly herself had constructed a wonderful vehicle of two chairs hitched to the center table, and she was vainly trying to persuade huz and buz to occupy seats in this luxurious equipage. lazy buz, having once been dragged up into a chair, stayed put, though he looked aggrieved, but huz had his eye on the braided rag rug in front of the fireplace. the moment jilly's gaze was attracted elsewhere, he would jump softly down and curl up on the rug. marian had risen three times to restore him to jilly because she mourned so loudly, but she finally began to sympathize with the pup. "let him be, honey, you've got buz for company. huz doesn't want to play." jilly opened her mouth to wail. then she suddenly changed her mind, climbed down, and going over to huz began whispering vigorously into his ear. her warm breath tickled huz and he flopped his ear to drive away the annoying insect. jilly beamed, calling joyfully to her mother: "huz say ess, mamma, huz say ess." "but jilly, huz can't talk." "he nod he's ear, mamma. huz nod he's ear." the unfortunate huz went up into the chair once more. mrs. morton glanced out the window where the march wind was whipping the bare branches of the cherry trees into mournful complaining. eddying leaves fluttered from the heaps accumulated in fence corners or beneath the friendly shelter of the evergreens. a huge tumble weed went whirling down the road, passed on by each succeeding gust. in and out of the cedars, the robins were flying, prospecting for new nests. she pushed back her hair and sighed. "it doesn't seem possible that april is almost here. ernest has been gone nearly a school year. i am beginning to realize that i sha'n't see much more of my boy." "but, mother morton, he is doing so beautifully and he likes the life. you couldn't keep him with you much longer, even if he were not in the academy. besides, you still have jane." mrs. morton sighed again. "that is the worst of this ranch life. jane is growing so fast i shall soon have to be sending her away to school. if we only lived some place where she could be right with me till she finished her education." "oh, mother morton, i am glad she can't. it is the best part of a girl's education to go away from all the home coddling and have to rely upon herself. i wouldn't give anything for what i learned by being away from family and friends, and having to exert myself to make people like me, instead of taking it for granted." "i don't doubt what you say is true, marian, but ernest is gone, and you don't know what a wrench it is going to be to send my baby away, too." "are you thinking of sending her next year?" "i think i must, unless i can persuade father to move to town for the winter so she can go to the high school. it isn't merely the studies--i am most dissatisfied with her associations here." "i know--the creek is certainly a little crude. still i think jane is pretty sensible. and she is learning a lot about human nature--human nature without its party clothes. it's good for her, mother, if she doesn't get too much of it." "what's good for whom?" dr. morton, coming in, was attracted by marian's earnest tone. "jane, and the effect district thirteen is having on her," marian explained. "i was just saying, father, that she is getting too old to be associating with tom, dick, and harry the way she is doing up at the schoolhouse." "there you go again, mother. you don't go about enough among the neighbors to know what good kindly people they are. of course, they are plain, but the tom, dick, and harry you complain of, are more wholesome than lots of more stylish youngsters i know. i wish you'd try to be a little more neighborly. i am constantly hearing little thrusts about our family being stuck up. frank will bear me out in this." frank had followed his father and was warming his hands in the blaze. "oh, the creek thinks the morton family has a good opinion of itself, all right. but i have been thinking for some time that it wouldn't hurt us any to have some sort of a merry-making and invite all the neighbors in." frank looked at marian. "what could we have, frank?" marian inquired, her brow puckered a little. "well, april fool's day is next wednesday--why not get up a frolic for that evening?" "just for the young folks?" "no, men, women, and children. invite the families. send out an invitation to the whole creek. there will be a lot who can't come. cook up plenty of stuff and we can play tricks--they won't need much entertaining. how would that suit you, chicken little?" jane had just strayed in to join the family group and was listening with interest. "i think it would be bully." "jane, where did you pick up such a coarse expression? father, that's just what i complain of. how am i to teach my daughter to be a gentle woman, when she is constantly hearing vulgar language?" "chicken little is old enough to know better than to use such words, but she probably got that from ernest or sherm, if the truth were known." frank laughed. chicken little looked injured. "why, bully isn't a by-word--or strong language--and ernest said it a lot. you never said anything to him about it's being vulgar." "my dear daughter, can i never make you understand that little ladies may not do everything their brothers do?" "i don't care, mother, i'm sick of hearing about ladies, and if bully is so vulgar, i don't see why it isn't vulgar when a boy says it. you expect ernest to be a gentleman, don't you, just as much as you do me to be a lady?" "come, chicken little, don't speak to your mother that way," dr. morton reproved her. mrs. morton was more severe. "you may go to your room and remain until you can address your mother respectfully, my daughter." frank's plan was carried out. there were no formal invitations issued. frank and dr. morton and jim bart spoke to every neighbor they met for the next few days, inviting them to come to an april fool frolic at seven on the evening of april first, and asking them to pass the invitation along to the other residents of big john. chicken little and sherm rode over to give captain clarke a special invitation, fearing he might not have become sufficiently used to creek ways to come on the more general bidding. the captain was charmed and begged leave to send wing over to help that evening. wing delighted in every new experience he was having on the creek. he grinned joyously at the prospect. the entire morton family entered into the preparations for this novel party with enthusiasm. even jilly and huz and buz caught the excitement of something unusual going on, and hung round, and got under everybody's feet, more successfully than usual. jilly had the privilege of scraping icing bowls while huz and buz looked enviously on. they licked their sticky chops ecstatically when jilly turned the bowl over to them after she had done her best with the big tin spoon. her mother reproached her for letting the pups eat out of one of the family dishes, but jilly couldn't see why her mother was so particular. mrs. morton and annie and marian baked cakes and doughnuts and cookies and mince pies and custard pies, and roasted turkeys and whole hams, until pantry and cellar and spring house were all overflowing. it would be a never-ending reproach, if there should not be an abundance for all who might come, and no one could even guess how many would come. "it looks like enough for a regiment," said mrs. morton wearily, dropping into a rocking chair on the afternoon of the thirty-first day of march. "yes, but country men do have such astonishing appetites. i am sure it would feed all centerville for twenty-four hours. of course, some of the things are not eatable," marian replied. they had carried out the april fool idea as much as possible without spoiling the supper. six nice brown doughnuts had wads of cotton concealed in their tempting rings. these were to be mixed with the good ones. pickles just out of the brine, were to be put in the same dish with deliciously perfect ones. there was to be just enough of the false to keep the guests on the alert and make fun. while they were sitting there resting, frank and dr. morton came in from a trip to town. frank tossed a package into marian's lap with a laugh. "these ought to do the work for somebody. i'd like to fool old jake schmidt. it would be worth ten dollars to see his face--he is such a screw about driving a bargain." marian untied the string and opened the parcel, revealing a handful of the most luscious-looking little cucumber pickles that ever lured the unwary. "they certainly look all right," said marian, "what's the matter with them--salt?" "feel them." marian picked one up gingerly as if she were afraid it might prick her or explode in her hand. then she threw back her head and laughed merrily. "frank, they are just perfect. i never should have guessed it. you can fetch jake all right with one of these. let me know when you do, i'd like to be round to see the fun." "aren't you afraid you will hurt somebody's feelings with all these pranks? they don't seem quite dignified some way for grown up people." "that's just why we want to have them, mother. the creek thinks the morton family is entirely too grown up and stiff. they'll be good-natured, never fear." that evening chicken little and sherm put their heads together. "we just must find some way to fool frank--i sha'n't be happy if we don't." chicken little bit her lips and studied. "can't you think of something, sherm?" "not right off the bat, but if we keep our eyes open, we'll find a way. it would be jolly if we could do it before the crowd. they would so love to see frank have to take his own medicine. say, this party is going to be a jim dandy!" it had been decided to have the gathering at the cottage, as the big sitting room and the bedroom adjoining would hold more people than mrs. morton's parlor, sitting room, and dining-room all three. further, the parlor, being separated from the other rooms by a short hallway, was of use only for some little group who wished to be by themselves. sherm and chicken little were busy all day trimming up the pictures and the windows with evergreen and bitter sweet berries, mixed with trailers from the japanese honeysuckle, which still showed green underneath where it had escaped the hardest freezes. marian flitted in occasionally with suggestions, but the two did most of the work alone. chicken little began by giving sherm precise directions as to how he was to arrange each branch and spray, but, presently, he began to try little effects of his own so much more charming than hers, that she called marian in to see. "you certainly have a knack for decoration, sherm. i never dreamed you were artistic. why didn't you tell us? that spray against the curtain is exquisite. have you ever taken drawing lessons?" marian was both surprised and interested to discover this unexpected talent in the self-contained lad. "no, i have never taken real drawing--i used to copy little geometrical designs at school along with the rest." "well, you surely ought to have lessons. i shouldn't wonder if you had the making of an artist in you." marian hurried back to her custards. chicken little went on tying evergreen into ropes, but marian had put several new ideas into her head. "do you want to be an artist, sherm?" "no, i want to be an architect." "you never said anything about it before." "what's the use of talking? doesn't look as if i would ever get the education to be one now." "why, you can't tell. even if your father can't send you, maybe you could work your own way--mr. clay has." chicken little looked troubled; sherm's tone revealed a yearning she had not suspected. "yes, i could work my way if i had the chance. i guess father is never going to be well again and----" he paused for a moment as if it were hard to go on. "even if he lives, i may have to keep at work to support the family. mother never says anything, and father never told me much about his business--i don't know how much we have, but i'm afraid there isn't a great deal left." there was a hopeless ring in his voice that hurt chicken little. she wanted to double up her fist and attack somebody or something in sherm's behalf. "i think they--your mother ought to tell you." "oh, mother doesn't realize i am most grown--she--she doesn't think i amount to much i guess." the boy had been brooding; his manhood affronted because he had not been permitted to share in the family councils. "don't feel that way--she doesn't mean to leave you out, sherm. you know it's awfully hard to write things and you have been away most a year." "that's just it. i've been away most a year, and mother doesn't even hint at my coming back!" "but sherm, she's so worried all the time about your father." "all the same, i bet your mother wouldn't forget about ernest if your father was ill. i am the only boy in the family and i know i could help, if they'd only trust me. it's being left out that hurts, chicken little. but forget everything i've said. i didn't mean to blab this way. i s'pose mother's right--i can't even keep my own affairs to myself." sherm shut his lips together tightly. jane tactfully changed the subject. "i suppose you'd have to know a lot to be an architect." "yes, right smart--i'd need a college education, and then i'd like to go to paris and study at the beaux arts." "what's that?" "oh, it's a school for architects and artists. i don't know very much about it myself. the new york architect who designed the new court house at home told me i ought to go there, if i ever wanted to be a real honest to goodness architect. i had a talk with him one day. he said if i ever got ready to go, to write to him, and he would give me some letters to people in paris." "my, wouldn't that be grand to study in paris? i most wish i was a boy--they can do such wonderful things." * * * * * the neighborhood gatherings began early. by half-past seven, hitching posts and trees and fence were all in use for the teams. frank was pleased. "if there is anything in numbers, this party is going to be a success. sure you have plenty to eat?" marian groaned. "frank, i am dead sure we have all the food we can possibly serve between now and midnight. i don't see how we are ever to manage." "don't worry, i'll impress about a dozen of the young folks as waiters--they will like nothing better. the boys each have one more pair of hands than they know what to do with. look at the raddon boys over by the fireplace. they have put their hands in their pockets, and taken them out, and dropped them by their sides, and picked up every bit of bric-a-brac on the mantel, and smoothed back their hair, and heaven knows what else, during the last ten minutes. hands are an awful responsibility! it will be a godsend to them to give them something to do." chicken little came out, after helping with wraps and seating guests, in a gale of merriment. "oh, marian, do take a peep at mrs. brown. she has a purple skirt and a blue polonaise and a red bow on her hair, and she's got her hair banged in front and pulled back tight as can be behind." "hush, jane, they're our guests." "i know, and i didn't mean to be making fun--but marian, she's a sight! and jake schmidt's wife and sister have the loveliest hand embroidered caps and aprons, with exquisite lace, that they brought from the old country, and some of the other women are sort of turning up their noses at them. i wish you'd go and say something extra nice to them." marian found her way to where christine and johanna schmidt were shrinking into a corner, painfully aware that their festal dress was very different from their neighbors'. marian asked after the children and said one or two pleasant things to make them feel at home, then, raising her voice a trifle so that the whole room might hear, she lifted a corner of johanna's apron, exclaiming: "where did you get this exquisite apron? i don't believe i have ever seen such a beautiful one. may i look at the lace?" johanna colored with pleasure. she forgot her shyness and explained eagerly. marian did not leave her until she had made every woman in that part of the room admire both hers and christine's old country handiwork, and they had promised to show her how to make the lace. there was no more smiling at their unusual dress. others followed marian's example in asking to be taught the beautiful craft. old jake himself, who had never before considered his women folk as amounting to much, was so gratified by the attention they were receiving, that he was more offensive than usual. "never mind," said frank, "i'll fix jake." the early part of the evening passed in visiting and games. supper was served at ten. there was a stir when the refreshments appeared. word had gone about that there was to be some hoaxing in connection with the supper and everybody was firmly resolved not to be fooled. marian allayed suspicion by starting them off with delicious coffee and rolls and cold ham and turkey. having tasted these gingerly, and found them delicious, both young and old grew less wary. chicken little came in demurely with a great dish of pickles. the creek loved pickles. it helped itself plentifully. captain clarke got the first taste of brine, but after one surprised grimace, he went on eating it heroically, while he watched the others. old jake promptly fixed his eye on a nice firm-looking green one. he lifted the fork awkwardly and attempted to take the pickle. the pickle slid from under the fork as if it had been greased. jake was terribly afraid of being a laughing stock; he glanced slily around to see if any one had noticed. frank was watching from the opposite side of the room, but jake did not see him. he grasped the fork firmly in his great fist and speared the pickle as if he had been harpooning a fish. the pickle resented such violence. it shot out of the dish and half way across the room with old jake, the fork still clenched firmly, gazing stupidly after it. "april fool, jake!" called one of the men who saw the joke. some one picked up the pickle and passed it from hand to hand. after that, people avoided the wooden pickles, but several took liberal bites of brine-steeped ones. the fun was well under way by this time. so many people had been victimized that many refused the dainties they coveted, for fear of being deceived, only to find their next neighbor enjoying them. the guests began to try to catch each other, and the young men would get marian to point out the traps. but, so far, frank had escaped, though sherm and chicken little had been plotting all day. they took captain clarke into their confidence, but even he failed, until he had the happy thought of getting wing to help. wing had been working busily in the kitchen assisting annie. frank had steadily refused cotton wool doughnuts and sanded pie and every doubtful delicacy, but he was extremely fond of cup custard. when wing approached him, urging that he be served now, frank hesitated a moment, then said: "just bring me a custard, wing. and wing, don't let anybody meddle with it." wing came grinning to the conspirators. "oh, dear," said chicken little, "i think the custards are all right." marian overheard. "trust me, chicken little, i have one very special one for frank--i didn't intend to have him crowing." wing bore in a most tempting custard. frank inspected it carefully to make sure it had not been tampered with. in so doing he attracted the attention of those round him. he took a generous spoonful and made a hasty dive for the kitchen amid lively applause from the whole room. "what was in it?" the captain was still shaking. "mustard--marian made it bad enough so he couldn't hide it!" chicken little was dancing up and down in glee. "wing, you rascal, i'd like to choke you." frank was still sputtering. wing assumed a mournful expression. "me velly sorry--nobody touch, samee you say." it was the second of april before the last rattle of wheels died away down the lane. "well, mother, i think it paid for the trouble," said dr. morton, as they were starting homeward, his arms laden with chairs. "yes, i guess, perhaps, i have been inclined to stand too much aloof. that little mrs. anderson is really a cultured woman. she comes from maine. i asked her to come and spend the day tuesday." marian's comment was brief. "frank, i am dead, but i'm glad we did it." "so am i--put out the light." frank was already half asleep. chapter xix sherm hears bad news "sherm, don't you just love this room?" chicken little gazed about captain clarke's big library with a real affection. "i don't know why it is, but this room makes me feel the same way a sunset, or the prairie when it's all in bloom, does. i can't just tell you, but it makes me so satisfied with everything ... as if the world was so beautiful it couldn't possibly be very bad." "i know--it's the harmony, like in music. the colors all seem to go together ... everything seems to belong. i like that, too, but it doesn't mean just that, to me. i see the captain every time i step in here. it's a part of him--almost as if he had worked his own bigness and the kind of things he loves, into furniture and books and--fixings." "yes, there's so much room to breathe here--i s'pose being at sea so much, he had to have that. and he picked up most of these things on his voyages--he must have wanted them pretty bad or he wouldn't have carried them half around the world with him." the young people had come over to the captain's for supper. school had closed the day before, and chicken little was the proud possessor of an elaborate autograph album, won as a spelling prize. captain clarke had attended the closing exercises at her request. he had invited them over to celebrate, this evening. he declared he had never learned to spell himself and he wanted the honor of entertaining some one who knew how. chicken little had brought the album along for the captain's signature. "and write something, too, won't you? something specially for me," she had begged winningly. "have they all written something--specially for you, chicken little? i should like to read them." "i haven't asked very many people yet, just mr. clay and grant stowe and mamie jenkins' little sister--mamie's in town you know. i asked sherm, but he hasn't thought up anything." the captain glanced at sherm and smiled whimsically. "now, if i were as young as sherm, i shouldn't have to think up things--the trouble would be to restrain my eloquence." sherm grinned and looked uncomfortable. the captain was merciful; he changed the subject. "isn't the middle of may a little early to close school?" "no, it is the usual time. you see the older children have to help at home as soon as the weather gets warm." "of course. what are you going to do this summer?" "wish ernest was home," jane answered pertly, but there was a wistful look in her eyes. before the captain could reply, wing came to the door to announce a man to see him. the captain was gone some time. when he returned, he explained that it was a buyer from kansas city after his corn, and he should have to leave them to entertain themselves for a while. "i'll tell you what you can do," he paused in the doorway as the idea occurred to him. "you two may rummage in the drawers of the cabinet. take out anything you like the looks of. i think you will find a lot of interesting stuff there. make yourselves at home." they lingered, discussing the room for several minutes after his departure, then jane went over to the cabinet. "come on--there are heaps of wonderful things here. he showed me some of them the day i ran off and came to see him on my own hook. that's a year ago! my, i feel as if it were a dozen--it seems as if i were just a little girl then." "and now?" sherm adored to set jane off. "none of your sarcasm, mr. dart." then soberly: "truly, sherm, i know i'm a lot older. things seem so different to me." "i know you are, too, lady jane. i was only teasing you." they had a beautiful half hour among the captain's treasures. sherm gloated especially over the prints--their wonderful composition and soft color. "say, the japs know a thing or two, don't they? that wouldn't be my idea of what to put into a picture, but it's awfully satisfying." he held the print off and closed one eye to see the outlines more vividly. "sherm, you surely were intended for an artist." chicken little had gone on to the drawer below. "oh, sherm, i believe this is the drawer the captain didn't show me before. do you suppose he wants us to go through it?" "he said all of them. what's in it?" "oh, sashes and scarfs and things. i thought maybe they used to belong to his wife." sherm lifted a roman scarf of crimson and yellow and rich blue, and examined it admiringly. "it doesn't look as if this had ever been worn. i guess he wouldn't have told us to go ahead if there had been anything here he didn't want us to find. say, chicken little, this would look dandy on you. here, i'm going to fix you up for captain clarke to see." sherm shook out the glowing silken folds and proceeded to wreathe the scarf around chicken little's head, turban fashion. her brown eyes glowed and the color in her cheeks grew deeper, as she met the admiration in sherm's eyes. he was staring at her, enchanted at the result of his efforts. jane moved restlessly. "hold still there, can't you? i want to try it another way. didn't i see one of those sleeveless jacket affairs in there?" jane rummaged and brought to light a crimson silk turkish jacket embroidered in gold thread. she noticed that it, too, seemed perfectly fresh. "sherm, i do wonder how captain clarke happened to buy all these woman's things. do you suppose he bought them for his wife and she was dead when he got home with them?" "i wonder. perhaps we oughtn't to be handling them. see all those queer beads, and there's a bracelet! isn't it a beauty? see, it is like silver lace. i guess those blue stones must be turquoises." "isn't it dainty? that must be the filigree work we read about." sherm was staring thoughtfully at the contents of the drawer. "one thing sure," he muttered, "he must have thought a heap of her." chicken little had continued exploring. "here's a photograph and two locks of hair in a little frame. oh, sherm, it's her! yes, it must be, this is the same baby. i wonder why he doesn't have this on his bureau, too." sherm took the picture and stared at it so long that jane grew impatient. "what is it, sherm? what's the matter?" sherm started, passing his hand over his forehead and eyes as if he were dazed. "funny, the face seems sort of familiar. i had such a queer feeling about it for a minute." "i know why it looks familiar--there's a tiny bit of resemblance to you--not as much as in the pictures of the baby. i suppose the baby got it from the mother. still, i think it looks like captain clarke, too, don't you?" "let's put these things back, chicken little. poor little lady, i wonder what happened to her." sherm laid the picture gently back in the bottom of the drawer and helped jane fold and lay away the other things. they had both forgotten the roman sash which still adorned her dark hair. captain clarke, coming in soon after, started when he saw her and glanced at the cabinet. "dressing up, chicken little? that gew gaw was evidently intended by providence for you. won't you accept it as a present to keep that autograph album company?" chicken little put her hand to her head in dismay. captain clarke must have thought she wanted it. she stammered awkwardly: "oh, captain clarke--i--couldn't take it. i oughtn't to have put it on." sherm calmly took the matter out of her hands. "she didn't put it on, captain clarke. i'm the guilty party. i thought it would be so becoming to chicken little--her dark hair and eyes--you know. i didn't realize till we came across the picture that it belonged to your wife--and--you might not like to have us handle it." "it was never mrs. clarke's," the captain said evenly. "i bought it for her, but she"--he hesitated an instant--"she--died before my return. i told you to rummage the drawers, and that scarf is entirely too becoming to chicken little's bright eyes to be wasted in a drawer any longer. you will be doing me a favor, my dear. "you seem to have an eye for color, sherm. juanita loved color, too, that is why i picked up so many gay things for her." captain clarke seemed to have formed a sudden resolution. he plunged his hand down among the rustling silks and brought up the picture. his hand trembled a little as he handed it to chicken little. "i have never shown you her picture before. she had eyes something like yours." chicken little took the picture and tried to look as if nothing had happened. she described the scene to marian afterwards. "o marian, i felt as if i were standing in a story book. the captain's face was as white, but he went on talking just as if i knew all about his wife, and--i do wonder! i felt so sorry for him. sherm said he wanted to kick himself for being so thoughtless." "don't worry about it, jane, and don't be trying to make a mystery out of what was merely a big sorrow. it must have been an awful blow to him to come home and find wife and baby both dead, but it happened years ago. i expect it did him good to talk to you and sherm about it." chicken little forgot about it after a few days, except when she went to the box where she kept the scarf. she always thought of the picture of the young mother and baby whenever she saw it. "i don't believe i ever can wear it," she told sherm. "oh, yes, you will, some of these days; the captain would be hurt if you didn't." * * * * * sherm hadn't heard from his mother for over a week when a neighbor came one evening and handed dr. morton a yellow envelope. "no bad news, i hope," he said. it was addressed to dr. morton and read: "my husband died this morning. break news to sherm--he must await letter." sherm, too, was older than he had been a year before. he was coming up the lane whistling, swinging his supple young body along at a good pace, as if he enjoyed being alive. dr. morton watched him, dreading to have to tell him the bad news and wondering how he would take it. "it's a pity," he thought, "sherm's a fine manly fellow and ought to have his education and a chance at life, and i am afraid this means more than losing his father." he waited until the boy came up to him. he was still holding the telegram in his hand, but sherm did not notice it until he spoke. dr. morton's voice was very kind. "my boy, i am--afraid----" he got no farther. sherm saw the telegram and understood. "father?" he questioned. dr. morton nodded. sherm stood motionless, as if he were trying to realize that the blow he had so long dreaded, had fallen. presently he looked up at the doctor. "there isn't any train before to-morrow, is there?" "no, sherm, and i don't think your mother expects--here, read the message." sherm's hand shook. he read the meager words through twice, then crushed the paper in his fist. "i am going home to-morrow," he said doggedly. "i've got enough saved up for the railroad fare. he was my father--i haven't seen him for a year. they might have told me! i am not a child any longer!" dr. morton laid his hand on his shoulder. "don't, sherm--don't add bitterness to grief. your mother may not have known in time. death often comes suddenly at the last in such cases. and, my boy, i would think twice before setting out rashly. your mother asks you to wait for her letter--she must have some good reason. the message was sent this morning. there will probably be a letter to-morrow." "i don't care whether there's a letter or not, i'm going." there was a hard look on the boy's face. chicken little came running up, with jilly panting alongside. "my, we had a good race, didn't we, jilly dilly? why--what's----" she stopped short at sight of their grave faces. dr. morton told her. she stood a moment awestruck; chicken little had never had death come so near her before. then she turned to sherm, her face so full of tender pity that his face softened a trifle. "don't worry about me, chicken little," he said gruffly, "i am all right. if you'll help me knock my things together after a while, i'll be grateful. i guess i'll take a--walk--now." his voice broke a little at the last. he did not wait for an answer, but walked hurriedly away. jane gazed after him, undecided whether to follow or not. dr. morton divined her thought. "i wouldn't, dear. let him have it out alone first--you can comfort him later on. i want you to help me persuade him not to rush off before he receives his mother's letter. i must say i don't blame sherm for resenting his mother's attitude. i think she is making a big mistake." dusk came and the darkness closed round while chicken little strained her eyes in vain for sherm. it was almost ten before he came back. she was standing at the gate watching for him. the rest of the family had gone to bed. "chicken little can comfort him better than any of us," dr. morton had told his wife. "he will be glad not to have to face any of the rest of the family to-night." "you shouldn't have stayed up, chicken little," sherm called, as soon as he caught sight of her. "i forgot i asked you to help me--i'd have come home sooner if i'd remembered. the duds can wait till morning--i can get up early." he spoke quietly. "do you think you ought to go, sherm?" sherm's eyes smouldered. jane could not see him very distinctly, but she could fairly feel his determination. "it's no use talking, i'm going!" they went up the walk in silence. the lilacs and the white syringia in the borders were in bloom. she hoped sherm did not notice the heavy fragrance--it was so like a funeral. he did not say anything till they got to the foot of the stairs. "thank you, jane, for--for waiting." his voice broke pitifully. when dr. morton discovered the next morning that sherm was not to be moved from his purpose, he decided to go into town early and see if by any chance there might be another telegram or a letter. letters from the east sometimes came down by a branch line from the north. there was nothing, and he finally resolved to telegraph mrs. dart as to sherm's state of mind. sherm was to come later in the day with frank in time to catch the evening train, which was the only one that made close connections at kansas city. it was late afternoon before he received a reply. the message was emphatic. "sherm _must_ await letter." "mrs. dart evidently knows her own mind," thought the doctor. he drove a little way out of town and waited for frank and sherm. chicken little was with them. he gave the boy this second message, explaining what he had done. sherm read it over and over, as if he hoped in some way to find a reason for his mother's decision lurking between the lines. at length he said stolidly: "i'll wait till to-morrow. perhaps the letter will come to-night." they talked it over and sherm and chicken little went on to town with the light buggy to wait for the mail, while dr. morton and frank drove home. there was a handful of letters in the box. sherm took them out hastily. "i guess this is it," he said, stuffing one into his pocket. "and here's three for you." "three? whoever from?" jane held out her hand. "ernest and katy--and here's another with an annapolis postmark. who do you suppose?" sherm glanced over her shoulder. "that's carol brown's handwriting." "carol?--writing to me? how funny!" they hurried out to the team. "let me drive while you read your letter, sherm." sherm shook his head. "read yours first--this will keep." "the idea--i wouldn't be so piggy selfish." "please, jane, i'd rather get out of town before i tackle it." "sherm, i wish i could----" she didn't need to finish. sherm understood. "read carol's first," he said. she read it with a beaming face. sherm was looking at her without seeing her. she started to tell him the contents of the letter, then suddenly stopped. she couldn't rejoice over being asked to a hop when sherm was in such trouble. laying the letter in her lap, she took up ernest's. sherm noticed the movement and, remembering, asked her what carol had to say. she handed him the letter. he read it through absently. the houses were thinning along the road. the prairie stretched ahead of them in solitary sweeps of tender green, dappled with flowers. jane reached for the reins. "read your letter, sherm." he obeyed in silence. chicken little kept her eyes on the road ahead. a sharp exclamation from sherm startled her: "god, it can't be true!" sherm swearing? she looked at him in amazement. the boy was not swearing; he had cried out in utter agony. he dropped the letter on the floor of the buggy and buried his face in his hands. "sherm, sherm, what is it?" chicken little was frightened. he did not answer. he did not seem to have noticed that she had spoken. she reached over and touched him. "sherm! sherm!" he shook off her hand impatiently. chicken little hesitated a moment, then flicked the horses into a swift trot. she must get him home. perhaps he was going to be ill. the boy did not move or look up for miles. when the horses splashed through the ford at elm creek, he roused himself and looked dully at jane. "sherm, please tell me. it will make it easier for you to tell somebody, and i'm worried to death." he stooped and picked up the letter. smoothing it out, he thrust it into her hand. "read it." he took the reins. chicken little ran over the letter hurriedly. it bore a date some days previous. * * * * * "my dear boy: "dr. jones has just told me it can be only a question of days now. i have been studying whether to send for you or not. father settled the question for me. he said he wanted sorrowfully to see you, but in view of the things that must be told you, it would be too painful an ordeal for all of us. he said to tell you you were very precious to him--as precious as if you had really been his own son." * * * * * chicken little gave a little cry. "sherm, what does she mean?" "read it all." * * * * * "for, sherm, you are not our own. if father could have lived, we never intended you to know this--at least not until you were a man and had made a place for yourself. but father's illness is leaving us penniless. sue's husband has offered grace and myself a home with them, but he thinks you must be told the truth--that it is only fair to you. we took you when you were about two and a half years old under very peculiar circumstances. it was while we were still living in new york, and sue was a tot of five. we were going up to my father's in albany and were a little late. father told the hackman to drive fast; he'd give him an extra dollar if he'd catch the train. the man had been drinking and drove recklessly. he was just dashing round the corner to the station--the train was already whistling--when he knocked down, and ran over, a woman with a child in her arms. the child was pitched to one side and escaped with a few bruises. the woman never regained consciousness. you have probably guessed that you were that child. we could never find out who she was, though we advertised for several weeks. we decided to bring you up with sue, and when we moved to centerville, soon after, no one knew you were not our own child. we had you baptized sherman after the great general who had just won his way to notice then. i have saved the clothing you wore, and a brooch and wedding ring of your mother's. i will send them to you, together with a hundred dollars, which is all i can give you to start you on your way." the remainder of the letter was filled with her grief over parting with her husband, and her separation from sherm himself. chicken little swallowed hard--something seemed to be gripping her by the throat. "and your father isn't your father, sherm?--or your mother or sue or grace?" the tragic extent of what had happened was dawning slowly upon jane. sherm's lips trembled. "no, i--haven't any father--i've never had a father!... i haven't got anybody.... i haven't even got a name that belongs to me!" sherm's voice grew shriller and shriller till it broke with a dry sob. chicken little slipped her hand into his and the boy clung to it spasmodically, as if that slim, brown hand were all he had in the world to cling to. the tears were raining down jane's cheeks, but sherm's eyes were dry and burning. the team trotted along evenly. they turned mechanically into the stable yard when they reached the ranch. it was growing dusk. sherm helped her out, saying: "will you please tell them, chicken little? i won't come in just yet." she ran to the house and poured out her tale. her father hurried to the stable. sherm was not there. jim bart, who was milking in the corral near by, said he had saddled caliph and gone off down the lane. dr. morton talked it over with frank and they decided that sherm had done the wisest thing possible in going for a gallop. "he doesn't mean to do anything rash or he wouldn't have taken ernest's horse," frank declared. but as hour after hour went by, the family grew more and more anxious. at eleven o'clock, frank saddled calico and tried to find him. he returned some time later in despair. "you might as well try to look for a needle in a haystack. poor lad, i have faith he will ride the worst of it off and caliph is a pretty steady little beast now. he'll bring him home." a few moments after his return, a messenger came from captain clarke, saying that he had been wakened by caliph neighing at the gate and had gone out to find sherm dazed and apparently completely exhausted. he had got him to bed where he was sleeping heavily. captain clarke was afraid they must be worried. he would care for him till morning, but he would be glad to have some inkling of what had happened so that he might know what to say to the boy when he waked. dr. morton got out his medicine case and went back with the man. chapter xx the captain finds his own chicken little climbed the hill of sleep painfully that night, and slept late the following morning in consequence. while she was eating breakfast, frank came in with two tear-stained, dusty letters, which he had found in the bottom of the buggy. "is this the way you treat your correspondence, sis?" "the idea--it's ernest's and katy's letters and i never read them. sherm's trouble drove them clear out of my mind." "evidently, one is torn part way open, and the other hasn't been touched." "hurry up and tell us what ernest has to say. i was wondering why he hadn't written." mrs. morton paused expectantly. "he says a lot of things," replied jane, skimming rapidly through the letter. "he says they are going to start on their summer cruise next week and the boys are tickled to death to go, though they're probably just going to cruise around to navy yards and see dry docks and improving things. he says that it's rumored that superintendent balch is going away and old rodgers is coming back as superintendent. and this year's class graduated three japs--the japanese government sent them over. he gives the names, but i can't pronounce them. one is i-n-o-u-y-e." "skip the japs and give us the rest." frank was waiting to hear the news. "that's about all that would interest you." "my dear, anything concerning ernest interests me," protested her mother. "but it isn't about ernest; it's about carol brown." "well, what is it?" "oh, nothing much--he just took a fancy to my picture and asked ernest a lot of questions." chicken little folded the letter and hastily slipped it back into the envelope, devoutly hoping her mother wouldn't demand to see it. she tore open katy's. before she had read two lines she gave a little cry of delight. "oh, mother, do you think i could? oh, wouldn't it be just too wonderful? oh mother, you must say yes!" "jane, what are you talking about? calm yourself and tell me." mrs. morton looked up over her spectacles severely. "why, she says her mother wants me to come and live with them next year and go to the high school and that alice and dick want me to come there. and, perhaps, i could stay part of the time at one house and part at the other, and for me to tell you and let you be thinking about it, and alice and mrs. halford are both going to write you all about it, and--oh, mother, wouldn't it be too wonderful?" mrs. morton looked both surprised and worried. "it is certainly most kind of them all, but i shall have to think the matter over." "well," said frank, "that doesn't have to be settled to-day. jane, marian wishes to know if you want to go over to the captain's with her to see sherm. she is going to start in a few minutes." chicken little jumped to her feet. "i'll be ready in a jiffy!" sherm had still not wakened when they arrived. he had roused once toward morning; captain clarke had spoken to him, telling him where he was, then he had dropped quietly off to sleep again. captain clarke asked chicken little a good many questions. "i should like to see that letter," he said. "it's in his coat pocket. i tucked it in--i was afraid he'd lose it." dr. morton, who was still there, sat for several minutes in a brown study. "i think," he said presently, "that under the circumstances we should be justified in reading it without waiting for sherm's permission." he looked at captain clarke. the latter nodded assent. both read it and discussed it briefly. still sherm did not waken. "i believe i'll drive over to jake schmidt's while i am waiting--i have an errand with him. marian, don't you want to ride over with me?" "captain clarke," said jane rather timidly after they had gone, "would you mind showing me that picture of your baby again?" captain clarke rose and brought the photograph. chicken little studied it carefully, then glanced up at the captain. sherm certainly was like the picture--as much like it as a boy who was almost a man grown could be. should she dare to ask him? chicken little felt herself growing hot and cold by turns. her heart was beating so she thought the captain must surely hear it. one minute she was sure she didn't dare, the next, she remembered sherm's broken-hearted words about not belonging to anybody, and she was sure she could screw her courage up--in just a minute. captain clarke helped her out. he had been observing her restless movements for several minutes and was wondering if she could possibly have guessed what was in his own mind. "out with it, little woman, what's troubling you?" chicken little got up from her seat and went and stood close beside him. "i want to say something to you awfully, only i am afraid you--won't like it," she said earnestly. "my dear child, don't be afraid of me." chicken little summoned up her resolution. "i wanted to ask--to ask you, if you wouldn't adopt sherm. you see he looks like your little boy would have looked, and he hasn't got anybody or any name, and he isn't going to want to live hardly, i am afraid. and i thought.... you don't know how fine sherm is. he's so honorable and kind--so--so you can trust him. i just know you'd be proud of him after a while." chicken little was pleading with eyes and voice and trembling hands. the captain gazed at her a moment in astonishment, then he tenderly drew her toward him. "chicken little, i doubt if sherm would agree to that. but if he is willing, i should be proud and happy to call him my son. but don't get your hopes up--i fear sherm is too proud to let us find any such easy solution of his troubles. but we'll find a way to put him on his feet, you and i--we'll find a way, if it takes every cent i have! "i think perhaps the first thing to do, chicken little," he continued after some pondering, "is to try to find out something about sherman's real parentage. it hardly seems possible that a comfortably dressed woman could have disappeared with her child without making some stir. i am in hopes, by getting somebody to search through the files of two or three of the leading new york newspapers immediately following the day of the accident, we might secure a clue. i shall write to mrs. dart at once for particulars, and then send to a man i know and pay him to make a thorough investigation." they were so interested discussing what could be done, that sherm entered the room before they knew he was awake. the boy was calm, but looked years older, and very white and worn. captain clarke greeted him cheerfully. "i hope you rested. jane tells me you had a staggering day yesterday. chicken little, would you mind telling wing to serve sherm's breakfast?" as soon as she disappeared, he gripped the boy's hand, saying confidently, "i don't wish to talk about your trouble just now and i have no words to comfort you for your loss, lad, but i want to tell you not to begin to worry yet about your identity. i believe we shall find a way to get track of your people and that you will find you have an honorable name, and, possibly, a living father to make up a little for the kind foster-father you have lost." "i don't see how we could--after all these years." "will you leave the matter to me for a few days? and sherm, make an effort to eat something for chicken little's sake--she is worrying her heart out over your trouble. you have some good friends right here--don't forget that. dr. morton watched by you all night. brace up and be a man. i know you have it in you, sherm." letters came to sherm in a short time from sue dart, from dick and alice harding, and from mrs. halford, who painstakingly wrote him all the details of his supposed father's last days. she evidently knew nothing of his not being the dart's own son. sue's letter seemed to comfort him a little. he did not show it to anyone, even to chicken little. he confided to her, however, that the folks were sending his things to him the next day. they had already broken up the home and were going back to chicago with sue the following week. when the express package arrived, sherm took it straight to jane. "you open it," he said. chicken little took his knife and cut the string and folded back the paper wrappings carefully. it seemed some way as if she were meeting sherm's mother. the quaint little old-fashioned garments were musty and faded. a frock of blue merino braided in an elaborate pattern in black lay on top. there was a cape to match, and a little cloth cap. beside these lay a funny pair of leather boots with red tops--almost like a man's--only, oh, so tiny! chicken little hardly knew whether to laugh or cry at these. "oh, sherm, did you ever wear them? how you must have strutted! i can fairly see you." sherm smiled and took them up tenderly. did he, too, feel as if there were another presence haunting these relics of his childhood? the tiny yellowed undergarments came next, all made by hand with minute even stitches. a pair of blue and white striped knitted stockings was folded with these, and last, at the bottom, a little pasteboard box appeared, containing a ring, a brooch, and a flat oval locket on a fine gold chain. sherm examined the ring first. inside was inscribed william-juanita. may . the brooch contained a lock of dark hair under a glass; the whole set in a twisted rim of gold. the locket held miniatures of a white-haired man and woman with foreign-looking faces. both sherm and chicken little looked these over in silence. presently sherm sighed, then laid the trinkets all back in chicken little's lap. "i don't see anything there that could help much," he said hopelessly. chicken little slowly folded up the little garments and laid them neatly back in their wrapping. her brow was puckered into a frown. "i am trying to think where i have heard that name juanita--some place lately. i don't remember ever to have known anybody by that name. it's spanish, isn't it?" "i guess so, but what you're thinking of is the song, 'juanita.'" "oh, i expect it is. sherm, do you mind if i take these things over and show them to captain clarke? he said he would like to see them when they came." "no, take them along. if you'll wait till i get the feeding done, i'll go with you." "all right, let's take calico and caliph." sherm lingered out on the veranda while chicken little displayed the contents of the package to the captain. he examined each little article of clothing for some identifying mark. "there doesn't seem to be anything to help on those," he said, disappointed. "let's have a look at the jewelry." chicken little unwrapped the ring from its layers of tissue paper, and handed it to him. captain clarke took it, regarded the flat golden circle intently for an instant, then turned it to read the inscription. a pained cry broke from his lips. chicken little glanced hastily up to find him holding the ring in shaking fingers, staring off into vacancy. "juanita!" he whispered, "juanita!" chicken little touched his hands in distress. "captain--captain clarke, what is it?" he looked down at her with a start. "i--it is----excuse me a moment, chicken little." he walked into his bedroom with the ring still in his hand and closed the door. chicken little waited and waited, not knowing whether she ought to go and tell sherm what she suspected. it seemed too strange to be possible. and if it were true, surely captain clarke would want to tell him himself. perhaps she oughtn't to be there. she rose softly and slipped out to wing in the kitchen. after a time she heard sherm get up from his seat on the veranda step and go into the library. immediately after, the bedroom door opened and she heard the murmur of voices. she left a message with wing and running quietly out to calico, untied him, and rode home in the twilight. * * * * * "you needn't ever say again, ernest morton," she wrote to her brother the next evening, "that e. p. roe's stories are too goody-goody and fishy to be interesting. he can't hold a candle to what's happened to the captain and sherm. i have to go round pinching myself to believe it is really so. i am almost afraid i will wake up and find it isn't, still. do you remember the picture of the captain's little boy that looked like sherm? well, it was sherm. i can hear you say: 'what in the dickens?' so, i'll put you out of suspense right away. the captain's boy was not dead, only lost, and he is sherm or sherm is he, whichever way is right--i'm sure i don't know. you see the captain went off on a long voyage and got shipwrecked and was gone ages and ages. and juanita's father and mother were way off in california--they used to be spanish. that's what made them so foreign-looking in the locket picture. well, nobody knows exactly what happened. when the captain got back to new york and hunted up the boarding house where she had lived, they said she had left six months before to go to her parents in california. captain clarke wrote to california and found that her father was dead and her mother hadn't heard from juanita for months, and didn't know anything about her coming home. wasn't it dreadful? he paid detectives to hunt her up, but they never found the slightest clue. the captain thought she'd gone off and left him on purpose--that's what made him such a woman-hater--and so sad all the time. you wouldn't know him now. he looks like merry christmas all the year round. you should see him gaze at sherm. marian says it makes her want to cry, and mother says it is the most wonderful manifestation of providence she has ever known. it seems to me providence would show more sense not to muddle things up so in the first place. sherm is as pleased as can be to find he really is somebody, and he's awfully fond of the captain, but you see he'd got so used to loving the darts as his own folks that he can't get unused to it all of a sudden. he choked all up when he tried to call captain clarke 'father,' and the captain told him not to. there's heaps more to tell, but mother has been calling me for the past three minutes." * * * * * "no wonder sherm feels dazed," said dr. morton two evenings later, watching the boy, who was making a vain pretense of playing checkers with chicken little. he was so heedless that she swept his men off the board at each move, to chicken little's disgust. sherm usually beat her when he gave his mind to the game. presently, she picked up the board and dumped the checkers off into her lap. "a penny for your thoughts, sherm." "i was just wondering if captain--father--would find out anything more in new york." "how long will he be gone?" "i guess that depends on whether he gets track of anything new. after he comes back we're going to chicago to see--mother." "oh, i am so glad. it will make you feel a lot better to have a good visit with them all." "yes, and he told me i might buy back the old home for her if she wants it--if i'd only known last week, she needn't have sold the place. and the captain--father--says he will give me some money to put out at interest so she'll have enough to live on comfortably. he says he owes her and father a debt he can never repay for bringing me up." chicken little was thoughtful. "sherm, he seems to have plenty of money, maybe you can go to college and to the beaux arts, too." "he said i could have all the education i wanted." "will you go to college next year?" "yep." "o dear, it will be awful here unless mother lets me go to centerville." "don't fret, she is going to." "how do you know?" "she told marian so last night." chicken little got to her feet and shot two feet into the air with a whoop of joy. "goody! goody!! goody!!!" "save a little breath, jane. i know something better than that. promise you won't tell--your mother would skin me if she knew i were giving away her cherished plans." "don't be afraid, she just wants me to act surprised, and i can do it a lot better if i know about it before hand." "well, she's coming on at christmas time for a visit in centerville, and she's going to take you on to visit ernest." "sherm, truly?" "that's what she said." chicken little gave an ecstatic hop. "sherm," she exclaimed presently, a new idea striking her, "i can go to that hop with carol!" "carol?" sherm sat up a little straighter. "what do you mean?" "don't you remember that letter i got from carol? you don't remember a single thing about it, do you? he wrote to ask me if i wouldn't come on some time and go to a navy hop with him. he said he was asking me in time so i couldn't promise anybody else." "it strikes me carol is getting mighty fresh." chicken little stole a surprised glance at sherm. "i don't see anything fresh about that--i think it nice of him to remember me so long. my, i used to think carol was the most wonderful thing. i hung a may basket to him the last spring we were in centerville." "you did? why, i thought i got yours. who hung mine?" "gertie. i guess she won't mind if i tell--it's been so long." sherm whistled. after a little he inquired rather sheepishly: "say, chicken little, you don't like carol best now, do you?" chicken little looked up hastily. she was disgusted to feel her face growing hot. "why, sherm--i haven't seen carol for four years. i don't know what i should think of him now." then, seeing the hurt look in sherm's eyes, she added: "i guess i'd have to like him pretty awfully well, if i did." * * * * * captain clarke was gone two weeks and he had added only two facts to those they had been able to piece together. he had accidentally run across an old friend. this friend had supposed him dead all these years, and could scarcely believe his own eyes when he saw him. from him, he learned that his wife had also believed him dead before she would consent to leave new york. this friend told him he had suspected that her money was running low and had offered to help her, but she refused. he thought, after hearing the captain's story, that she must have had barely enough left to take her home, and that this explained why she was walking to the wharf instead of taking a hack, the day she was run down. sherm stayed on with the morton's until the following week when he set out with his new-found father to visit his adopted family. youth recovers readily from its sorrows. it was almost the old sherm who raised his cap to chicken little as the train got under steam and slid away from the long wooden platform. "o dear!" she exclaimed, "seems to me i haven't done anything this whole year but see somebody off. i think it ought to be my turn pretty soon." "have a little patience, humbug," said her father, "your turn is almost here. it is hard for me to realize how fast my baby is growing up." chicken little liked the sound of those words--"growing up." there was something magical about them. they lingered in her mind for days. one hot sunday afternoon late in june, she arrayed herself in an old blue lawn dress of marian's that trailed a full inch on the floor at every step. she coiled her hair high on her head and tucked in a rose coquettishly above her ear. highly gratified with the result of her efforts, she swept downstairs in a most dignified manner to astonish the family. unfortunately the family--father and mother, and both pups, were taking a siesta. she went over to the cottage; a profound silence reigned there also. she rambled around restlessly for a few moments, then, taking "ivanhoe" and a pocketful of cookies, went out into the orchard. it was hot even there. the air seemed heavy and the birds contented themselves with lazy chirpings. she swung herself up into her favorite tree and began to munch and read. but she did not read long. the charm of the green world around her was greater than the pictured world of the book. chicken little fell to making pictures of her own--dream pictures that changed quickly into other dream pictures, as real dreams sometimes do. as she stared down the leafy arcades between the rows of apple trees, she saw an immense ball room hung in red, white, and blue bunting and filled with astonishingly handsome young men in blue uniforms. ernest was there. and a tall, curly-headed adonis, who looked both like, and unlike, the good-natured, plump carol of old centerville days, was close beside her. but when the supposed carol spoke, it was certainly sherm's voice she heard, and it was sherm's odd, crooked smile that curved the dream midshipman's lips. chicken little recognized the absurdity of this herself and laughed happily. a bird on a bough nearby took this for a challenge, and burst into an ecstasy of trills. "pshaw," she whispered to herself, "i wonder what it would really be like." she kept on wondering. she felt as if she and the orchard were wrapped about with a great cloud, like a veil, and that beyond this, all the wonderful things that must surely happen when she grew up, were hidden. the twilight was falling before she stretched her cramped limbs and slid down the rough tree trunk. she picked up her neglected book, which had fallen to the ground unnoticed, and said aloud, with a little mocking curtsey: "your pardon, sir walter, but i made a romance of my own that was--nicer." then she tucked the slighted author under her arm and flew to the house before the pursuing shadows. chicken little was growing up. the end every grown-up will remember the time when "chicken little" was a most wonderful tale with which to open wide the eyes of children. many a fond mother will be glad to know of another "chicken little" just brought to light in handsome book form under the alluring title chicken little jane a delightful story by lily munsell ritchie little folk will at once fall in love with this new "chicken little" of the far western prairies--the same being an affectionate nick-name given to a dear little girl and always used when she was very, very good--but when she misbehaved it was "jane"!--just jane! this book is illustrated and decorated with unusually attractive pictures by charles d. hubbard. cloth, $ . britton publishing company--new york of all the charming books that may come forth this year, none will be more welcome than georgina's service stars by annie fellows johnston to be published september st in it will be found a new story of beloved georgina whose rainbow adventures led into her tenth year. now she is older--sweet sixteen, if you please--and richard, her playmate of childhood days, is a grown man of seventeen--and as devoted as ever. of course he got into the great war enough to give georgina a second star to her service flag; her father, being a famous surgeon, his star is rightfully at the top. but watch out for richard! (beautifully illustrated. $ . net.) as usual--for all the family georgina of the rainbows now selling in beautiful popular edition, cts. britton publishing company--new york little stories from the screen by william addison lathrop filling a long-felt want of thousands who desire to know the methods of the top-notch moving picture writer, this celebrated photo-dramatist has sanctioned the use of eighteen of his best synopses, and one full scenario, representing a wide range of successful productions participated in by world-famous stars familiar to millions. each synopsis is accompanied by one or more actual scenes of the finished play in which twenty-five screen favorites are pictured in their strongest acts. cloth--highly illustrated--$ . net uncle bill's letters to his niece by ray brown here's as gay a little gift as any girl could wish. bright, sparkling and joyous--letters from a matter-of-fact old uncle who talks to his young niece straight from the shoulder, exactly as he might to a boy. uncle bill gives facts about moonlight, becomes violent over athletics, taboos snobbery, takes a fling at heredity, and touches up a few complexions. the result is extravagantly and deliciously funny--just the book for an ingenue. cloth decorative cover and jacket-- cents net britton publishing company--new york over the seas for uncle sam by elaine sterne, author of "the road of ambition" miss sterne is senior lieutenant of the navy league honor guard, which has charge of entertainment and visitation in behalf of sick and wounded sailors sent home for hospital treatment. their experiences, such as may be published at this time, now appear in book form. this book brings out many thrilling adventures that have occurred in the war zone of the high seas--and has official sanction. miss sterne's descriptive powers are equaled by few. she has the dramatic touch which compels interest. her book, which contains many photographic scenes, will be warmly welcomed in navy circles, and particularly by those in active service. cloth--illuminated jacket--$ . net ambulancing on the french front by edward p. coyle here is a collection of intensely interesting episodes related by a young american who served as a volunteer with the french army--red cross division. his book is to the field of mercy what those of empey, holmes and peat have been in describing the vicissitudes of army life. the author spent ten months in ambulance work on the verdun firing line. what he saw and did is recounted with most graphic clearness. this book contains many illustrations photographed on the spot showing with vivid exactitude the terrors of rescue work under the fire of the big guns. cloth-- full page illustrations--$ . net britton publishing company--new york the wind before the dawn [illustration: "the girl also knelt at his side rendering such assistance as was in her power"] the wind before the dawn by dell h. munger a. l. burt company publishers--new york copyright, , by doubleday, page & company all rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the scandinavian contents chapter i castles in spain ii brushing up to go to topeka iii reforms not easy to discuss iv a cultured man v reaching hungry hands toward a symbol vi "didn't take 'em long" vii erasing her blackboard viii cyclones ix "against her instincts, against her better judgment, against her will" x philosophy of elizabeth's life voiced xi "wives, submit yourselves unto your husbands, as unto the lord" xii "pore little woman" xiii "ennobled by the reflected story of another's goodness and love" xiv mortgages of soul xv hugh noland xvi revivifying fires xvii adjusting domestic to social ideals xviii the child of her body xix "her wages, food and clothing she must accept" xx the cream-jars of her life xxi bound to the stake xxii "there are some things we have to settle for ourselves" xxiii "at any cost" xxiv facing consequences xxv "the weight of a dollaree and out of debt don't forget that" xxvi "was--was my papa here then?" xxvii to do over, and to do better, was the opportunity offered xxviii "till death do you part" considered the wind before the dawn chapter i castles in spain the unclouded sun of a burning august day had driven bird and beast to shelter wherever a bit of shade could be found. the kansas prairie afforded little refuge from sun or wind. the long stretches of low rolling hills were mostly covered with short grass, now dry from a protracted season of drought. occasionally a group of stunted cottonwood trees surrounded an equally stunted looking hut, or dugout, but the blazing sunshine had browned all to a monotonous tone in keeping with the monotonous life it represented. the only corn to be seen was of the variety called sod-corn, which, unwashed by rain for a full month now, had failed to mature, such stalks as had tasselled at all being as barren as the rest because the tender silks had dried too rapidly and could furnish no fertilizing moisture to the pollen which sifted down from the scanty bloom above. the sun's rays beat down upon the head of a fourteen-year-old girl who rode slowly around a herd of cattle, the members of which lay in the unavailing shade of the rosin weeds or browsed drowsily on the short grass. the day had been long and hard. the child knew that it was not later than two o'clock, having counted the hours eagerly since early morning, and having eaten her bit of cornbread and bacon full two hours before. she stopped her horse for the fortieth time, however, to get the angle of her shadow on the ground and to confirm her calculations. the sigh she gave as she again started on her round was not of relief, but of resignation. it was necessary to keep on the move or she was likely to fall asleep in her saddle, and then the cattle would escape to the nearby fields, and there would be a neighbourhood altercation over the matter, whether the fields held crops of value or not, farmers being jealous of their territorial rights, and ready to resent intrusion upon them. another horseback rider was moving across the prairie toward her, and the girl smiled when she saw him and stopped to watch his calico pony lope unevenly across the grass-covered slope. the pony was prone to drop into a rough trot at short intervals, and at such times was urged to renewed efforts by a dig of its rider's heels in the under regions of its stunted body. in order to get his heels in contact with his mount, the lanky boy was obliged to elevate his knees slightly, and when it was over his feet dropped languidly and his heavy plow-shoes dangled loosely, with several inches of bare ankle in evidence before the faded overalls concealed further stretches of the hairy legs. "howdie, lizzie!" he said with a pleasant smile as he drew his pony up beside her. "i've got something to tell you. we've sold out, an' goin' right off. th' other folks moved in last night. they was goin' through with a wagon an' stopped to eat. they found out that pap wanted to sell an' go back to minnesoty, an' took th' land quick. i've come to say good-bye." it had been so exciting that he had tumbled his news all out at once, although he was a quiet boy and slow of speech. "oh, luther! are you really going away?" the girl exclaimed in dismay. "yass," the boy replied, falling back unconsciously into swedish pronunciation. he had begun his announcement with pleased animation, but now that it was out, and she was sorry, the going did not seem so pleasing. "i wisht i wasn't!" he added with quick dejection. "i should think you'd be glad. i'd be glad, if i was going too." the boy looked surprised and asked with some curiosity, "what do you want to go for? i thought you liked kansas." "put your hand on your horse's neck," she commanded, leaning forward and setting the example. the boy did as she told him, but drew his hand back suddenly. "gosh!" he exclaimed. "don't their hair get hot in this sun!" "well, i'm just as hot as that all over," she replied emphatically, "and i want to go to a country where a body can get under a tree once in a while. i can't go in till five o'clock, and i forgot my jug, and i'm so thirsty i feel as if i'd crack like this ground," she said, pointing to the earth between them. "jimminy! i'll ride back and fetch you a drink," he said, poking his heels into his pony's ribs so suddenly that the little beast kicked spitefully. the girl called after him to "never mind," but he was off on his errand. it was a good mile to her home, but the boy knew what it meant to forget the water-jug on a day like this. when he returned half an hour later the sunshine had changed character and there was a peculiar dimming of its brilliancy. "is it going to rain?" the girl asked as she lowered the jug to her knee. she wiped her lips on the skirt of the faded sunbonnet she wore and looked up again. "rain!" luther hansen swept the horizon with the air of one who knew the signs, backing his horse about to see on all sides as he did so. "th' don't seem t' be any clouds," he said in surprise. "ain't it queer! looks's if it might be some kind of eclipse," he said. "do you remember--no, of course you don't--but, th' was an eclipse of th' sun--total, i believe they called it--when i was only about seven year old. all th' chickens went to roost, it got so dark, an' when th' cover come off they crowed's if 'twas mornin'. we had a blue hen an' she crowed too. pap killed 'er. he said it was bad luck t' have a hen crowin' about th' place." "you all don't believe in luck, do you?" the child asked. "i don't, but pap does," the boy answered apologetically. "i cried about th' blue hen; she was just like a dog; she'd let you ketch 'er, an' she'd sing, 'co-ook, co-ook, co-ook,' to 'erself, right in your arms, an' wasn't afraid. she wouldn't never set though. i guess that's why pap was so ready with his axe." happening to look up again, the girl gave an exclamation of surprise. "is it snow?" she asked. "no!" they sat with their faces turned skyward, studying the upper air intently. the sun was completely obscured now and the rapidly moving mass, not unlike snow indeed, was being driven straight toward the north. whatever it was, it was driving fiercely ahead, as if impelled by a strong wind, though there was not a breath of air stirring below. soon small objects began to detach themselves from the mass, so that the eye could distinguish separate particles, which looked not unlike scraps of silver driven with terrific force from the tail end of some gigantic machine. one of these scraps struck the girl on the cheek and she put her hand up quickly to feel the spot. while examining the place she received a similar blow on the forehead and another on the back of her hand. drawing her bonnet down tight over her face for protection, she shaded her eyes and again looked up. the whole moving cloud had lowered to a distinguishable distance. "why, they're all grasshoppers!" she exclaimed; and indeed so true was the observation and so rapidly were the grasshoppers settling that the boy and girl were obliged to turn their backs and shield their faces from the storm. the cattle also, annoyed by the myriads of insects settling upon them, began to move about restlessly and presently to mill slowly around, threshing with their heads from side to side while they whipped their flanks with their tails. "i didn't know they came like this!" the girl said, as luther's pony sidled over toward her. "what'd you say?" the boy demanded, leaning forward to catch her reply. "i said i didn't know they came like this," the girl shouted, raising her voice to make herself heard above the rasping noise of many wings. "father read out of the _prairie farmer_ last week that they was hatching out in the south." the two drifted apart and circled about the herd again. the cattle were growing more restless and began to move determinedly away from the oncoming swarm. to keep them in the centre of the section, and away from the cornfields, the girl whipped her horse into a gallop. without paying the slightest attention to either her voice or her whip, half blinded in fact by the cutting wings of the grasshoppers, the irritated cattle began to move faster and, before either boy or girl knew what was happening, were in full trot toward the north. seeing that the matter was becoming serious, luther lent all the aid of which he was capable and circled about the herd, shouting with all his strength, but the cattle, contending against countless numbers of smaller things and unable to look steadily in any direction because of the little wings which cut like the blades of many saws, stumbled blindly against his horse if he got in their way, and, shifting around him, went on. the girl was beside herself with trouble and anxiety. lashing her horse one minute, and the nearest cow the next, she raged up and down in front of the herd, bending all her energies toward deflecting her charges from their course, but the struggle was useless. seeing that they could do nothing, luther caught her horse by the bit as she passed him and shouted explanations in her ear. "let 'em go, lizzie! you can't stop 'em! i'll have t' come with you! we'll just follow 'em up!" "but they're going to get into that field right off if we don't get them turned!" the girl cried in distress, pulling down her long scoop-like bonnet and holding it together to keep the grasshoppers out of her face while they talked. the cattle now broke into a run. there was nothing to do but follow, as luther had advised. but the exasperated beasts were not looking for fodder and paid no attention to the corn. they were not out on a picnicking expedition; they were escaping from this tormenting swarm of insects which settled on itching back and horns and tail, settled anywhere that a sufficiently broad surface presented itself. having started to run, they ran on and on and on. the boy and girl followed, their horses stumbling blindly over the ridges between which the corn was growing. the grayish brown sod, through which the matted white roots of the grass showed plainly, lay in fine lines down the long field, their irregular edges causing horses and cattle to go down on their knees frequently as they ran. but though the cattle sometimes fell, they were as quickly up and pushed blindly ahead, neither knowing nor caring where they were going, their only instinct being to get away. not a breath of air was in motion except such as was stirred by the wings of the grasshoppers or was blown from the hot nostrils of the harassed cattle. they passed through the cornfield, over a stubblefield beyond, through a slough, another stubblefield, and on to the open prairie of another section of "railroad land." the boy and girl made no further attempt to guide them. a cow, with the tickling feet of half a dozen of these devils of torment on the end of a bare, wet nose, was in no state of mind to be argued with, and the tossing horns, threshing about to free the head from the pests, were to be taken into sober account. all they could do was to let the maddened beasts take their own course. for an hour, helpless to prevent the stampede, desiring nothing now but to keep the cattle in sight, the weary, sunbaked children trudged along in the rear of the herd, following through fields cut and uncut, over the short grass of the hills or the long bluestem of the hollows, their horses sweating profusely, their own faces too parched to emit moisture, conscious only of the business of following the panting herd and of avoiding the pitfalls under their horses' feet. at last the cattle came to a walk. the heat of the day and the unusual exertion had told upon them. occasionally a tongue lolled from the mouth of some wearied beast, but it was not permitted even that respite for long; the grasshoppers respected no part of the bovine anatomy, and with an angry snort and an annoyed toss of the head the tongue would be withdrawn. the perspiring cattle seemed so fatigued that the despairing children thought at last that they might be turned toward home, but though whips and voices were used to the utmost the nettled beasts could not be made to face the stinging devils which settled thicker and ever thicker about them. they came down to a walk, but they walked doggedly toward the north. at last the sun's rays began to peep through. the air soon cleared, and the scorched and burning children began to wish for even a cloud of grasshoppers to protect them from the heat. wherever the light fell it disclosed moving masses of locusts which covered the entire face of the landscape. the teeming cloud of insects was a pest equal to that of the lice of egypt. they overflowed the kansas prairies like the lava from mount vesuvius, burying vegetation and causing every living thing to flee from their path. at last the storm spent itself. the sun came out clear, and as hot as molten brass. the cattle could hold out no longer. the swarms which flew up in front of their moving feet were as unbearable as any that had come from above. the exhausted beasts gave up and permitted themselves to be headed toward home. "i began to think they wouldn't stop till they had reached the state line," the girl said with a relieved sigh, when they were safely started down the first road they came upon after turning south again. luther made no reply. he had stopped the pony and was watching the inroads of numberless scissor-like mouths on a stub of corn near the roadside. the tassel was gone, the edges of the leaves were eaten away, and lines of hungry insects hung to the centre rib of each blade, gnawing and cutting at every inch of the stem. "th' won't be a cornstalk left standin' by night," luther observed as the girl rode up to see what it was that attracted his attention. "crackie! but i'm glad pap's sold out. it'd be no shoes for me this winter if we didn't get away," he added, spitefully brushing a grasshopper from the end of his nose and rubbing the injured member. the girl's face fell at the mention of hard times. times were always hard in the farnshaw home, but she could never get accustomed to them, and each new phase of the trouble was a blow. the sensitive child already carried a load of financial worry which was tugging at every pleasure her young life craved. "won't we have any corn at all?" she cried in dismay. "i don't know," luther answered dubiously. "it'll be starvin' times about here. you better get your folks t' sell out and go east too," he said, without looking up. the child's fear of financial disaster was eased by the prospect of "goin' east." the "east" was the fairyland of her dreams, the childhood's home of her father, who was a good story-teller when he was not irritated, the mecca and medina of all the pilgrimages of all their little world. to go east was to be a travelled person, to attain distinction, just the next best thing in fact to being made president of the united states. to go east was to live near the timber, where one could wander for hours, days, ages, in the cool freshness of its shady paths. the sunburned child, with her jug hanging by a strap from the saddle horn, had a swift, rapturous vision of alluring, mossy banks, canopied by rustling leaves, before she was called back to the stern hills of her native kansas and the sterner necessity of forcing a hundred head of maddened cattle to keep within the confines of an illy defined road. by the time they had ridden ahead and crowded the cattle down to the right of way again, the child's natural good sense and business instincts had combined to temporarily shatter the dream. "nobody 'd buy us out if there ain't nothing to feed the cattle," she said, watching the boy's face eagerly in the hope that he would reassure her. when he did not speak, she added, with discouraged conviction, "pa wouldn't sell out anyhow; ma's been trying to get him to for a year." "he'll have to. you won't be able t' stay if there's nothin' t' feed," the lad said with emphasis, and then added with a giggle, "i bet th' cranes is mad for bein' in such a hurry t' get in. they paid pap th' money last night, an' made 'im promise t' give possession 'fore t'morrow night. three hundred dollars! th' old woman took it out of 'er stockin'." "three hundred dollars!" lizzie farnshaw repeated, whirling her horse about suddenly at the mention of a sum of money which ran into hundreds. she looked at the boy enviously. she was but fourteen, and did not realize that more than three hundred acres of fertile land had been exchanged for the sum. her spirits rose as they turned to follow the cattle again. perhaps, as luther had said, they would have to sell out also. the dream of going east absorbed her once more. as she dreamed, however, a shrewd eye was kept on the cattle. as nearly as possible she lived up to the trust reposed in her. quick to serve, sensitive, honest, dependable as she was, these cattle constituted the point of contact between the developing girl and her developing philosophy of life. duty pointed sternly to the undesired task, and duty was writ large on the pages of lizzie farnshaw's monotonous life. her hands and face had browned thickly at its bidding, but though, as she had remarked a couple of hours before, she should crack like the sunbaked earth beneath her feet, she would not fail in her obligation to keep the cattle out of other men's fields, and her father out of the primitive courts where damages could be assessed. poverty she had always known, but now they were threatened with a new and more dreadful form of it than any hitherto encountered, a fact of which courts took no cognizance. hope and fear alternated in her heart as she rode along, but for the most part the young life in her clung to the idea of the eastern trip. hope springs eternal in the child heart. perhaps after all they would have to leave kansas, as luther had said. if only----. in spite of the arguments of good sense she clung to the idea. she was glad luther was there. in her simple way she had told her plans, her hopes, and her fears to luther's willing ears ever since she had known him: she did so now. a maggie tulliver in her own family, luther was the one compensating feature of her life. luther not only understood but was interested. his tallow-candle face and faded hair were those of the--in that country--much despised swede, but the child saw the gentle spirit shining out of his kindly blue eyes. luther was her oracle, and she quoted his words so often at home that it was a family joke. luther hansen was the only preacher to whom lizzie farnshaw ever listened. her sundays had been spent on the prairies from choice. mrs. farnshaw mourned over what she considered her daughter's unregenerate condition, but mr. farnshaw was quite willing that the child should herd the cattle if she preferred it to spending an hour at "meetin'." luther, who also until this year had herded his father's cattle and who usually spent the long days with the girl, had quaint ways of looking at religious questions which was a never-ending source of delight and interest to her. their problems at home as well as at school were subjects of common discussion. he had been the beginning and the end of her social life. now she took him into her dream of going away, and discussed her ideas of the best way of disposing of the stock by sale or gift, the sort of home she would have with her grandparents, and pictured, with a vivid imagination, the woods and streams she had heard her father describe. if she only could go! they stopped at every field to watch the voracious insects, which were eating every green thing upon which they happened to alight. a turnip patch on the corner of the farnshaw place which had been straggling, but green, when the cattle had passed through it that afternoon, had not a leaf to show as they returned. the ground was dotted all over the patch with small holes where the hungry swarms, not satisfied with the tops, had followed the stems down into the earth, eating out the bulbs to the very taproots. they drove the cattle across to the usual feeding place, but the grasshoppers flew up in continuous clouds before every moving object, and it was impossible for them to eat. "why don't you take them in and shut them up?" luther asked when he saw that the herd was so restless that the child could not manage them alone. "pa wouldn't let me," she sighed, and continued to ride around her charges. luther had intended going home long before this, but he knew that lizzie could not control the restless cattle, and so he stayed with her, rather glad of the excuse to do so. josiah farnshaw's temper was a matter of neighbourhood knowledge. a word of explanation to his father, luther knew, would be all that he would need to make the fact of his absence commendable. he was glad of any excuse which would leave him with lizzie farnshaw for an extra hour, but he was to find that hour disappointing, for the cattle were restless and kept them both in constant motion. when at last the time came to corral the stock a new calamity was discovered. the cattle wandered into the edge of a field of flax as they neared the barn. luther, following them, dropped from the back of his pony and stopped to examine the grain. the girl was excitedly getting the straying animals crowded on toward the pens and it was not till she had the gate shut fast on them that she could take time to join him. "what is it?" she asked as she rode up. the lanky boy, who was really a man, measured the field slowly with his eye, calculating the damage before he answered slowly: "kicked it out o' th' pods flyin' through. must 'a' been twenty acres. what made you let it get s' ripe for? it ought t' been cut three days ago, anyhow." the girl was out of her saddle in an instant. she walked into the body of the field somewhat, her face quivering pitifully as she examined the grain for herself. it was only too true! the beautiful brown seeds carpeted the earth around the roots of the flax, but no amount of harvesting would ever gather so much as a handful. the crop was a total loss. "poor ma!" she cried, when convinced beyond a doubt of the empty bolls. with the eyes of the prematurely old, she saw the extent of the ruin, and she knew what would be its effect upon the mother who seldom knew joy. the loss of the turnips had seemed bad enough, but while watching the green things about her disappear it had not occurred to the child that the grasshoppers would eat the dry and, as luther had said, overripe stems of the flax. still less had it occurred to her that the insignificant wings and feet of such small things could do damage to an entire field by merely flying through it. that flax was of paramount importance in the family calculations just now. in her considerations of the prospective move to the east, the price of this flax had figured largely. family discussions had centred about that field for weeks. it was the one definite starting point in the bickerings about their weak and indefinite plans for the future. the loss of every other family asset could not have undone the child's faith in the ultimate good of things so overwhelmingly. she choked back a sob as she mounted her horse again. "poor ma!" she repeated. "pa told her she could have the money from the flax to go and see grandma on. you know grandma's old, and they think she can't live through the winter. that's one reason why i was so glad when i thought we were going to have to go east to live. she don't hardly know her own children any more, i hope ma don't know about the flax; she'll be sure to have one of her spells, and she's just got over one. ain't it awful?" luther feared she was going to cry, and, man fashion, prepared to flee. "i've got t' go, lizzie," he said, and awkwardly held out his hand. all thought of the flax disappeared from the girl's mind. "oh, luther!" she exclaimed in new distress, "won't i ever see you again?" the thought was so overwhelming that her tears came now from quite a different cause, and the frank eyes threatened to overflow as she stood clasping his bony hand in hers insistently. "what will i do without you?" she sobbed. the unexpected question and the unexpected tears had an uncomfortable effect on the boy. he grew suddenly embarrassed and drew his hand away. some indefinable thing about the action made her conscious that there was a change in his feelings. it checked her rising emotions and made her curious. what was he embarrassed about? the girl stole a look at him, which left him still more disturbed and uneasy. it was an intangible thing upon which she could not remark and yet could not fail to recognize. luther had never been awkward in her presence before. their association had been of the most offhand and informal character. as a boy of fifteen he had carried her, a girl of eleven, over many a snowbank their first winter of school in the prairie home school district. they had herded cattle together, waded the shallow ponds and hunted for mussel shells, and until this year they had seen each other daily. this year luther had taken a man's place in the fields and the girl had seen him at rare intervals. she was not conscious of the change which this year of dawning adolescence had brought to them both. luther had developed a growing need of a razor on his thin, yellow face, while she, four years younger, had also matured. the outgrown calico dress she wore was now halfway to her knees, its sleeves exposed some inches of sunburned wrists, and the scanty waist disclosed a rapidly rounding form. young womanhood was upon her, unknown to her, and but now discovered by luther hansen. for the first time luther felt the hesitancy of a youth in the presence of a maid. "i shall miss you _so!_" the girl said, looking at him, puzzled by the indefinable something in his manner which was a new element in their communications. her frank curiosity put the boy utterly to rout. the blood surged to his pale face and pounded in the veins under his ears, half choking him; it cut short the leave-taking and left the child bewildered and half hurt. she watched the calico pony lope away in a cloud of scurrying grasshoppers and wondered in a child-like way what could have happened. this abrupt and confused departure increased the loneliness she felt. he was her one real friend, and her tears came again as she turned toward the house. there was little time given the child to indulge her feelings, or to speculate upon a friend's confusion or adieus, for a sharp voice summoned her to the house and fresh duties. "when i call you i want you to step spry," was the greeting the child received from the stooped figure putting the potatoes over the fire to fry, as she entered the door. mrs. farnshaw had her head tied up in a white cloth; "the spell" had arrived. it was no time to tell of the loss of the flax, and luther's going was not mentioned, because mrs. farnshaw shared the public contempt for his nationality and had failed to get her daughter's confidence in that quarter. "here, set this table for me; i'm clear done out. did you ever hear of such a crazy thing as all them hoppers comin' down like bees? your pa's gone over to hansen's t' see what he thinks. looks 's if we'd be harder up 'n ever, an' i thought i'd done 'bout all th' savin' a woman could do a'ready. i'm goin' t' get right off t' mother's soon's ever we can sell that flax. if i don't, we'll be havin' t' use th' money for feed." her daughter made no reply. it was no time, when her mother was having one of her periodical sick-headaches, to let it be known that there was no flax to sell. that flax had been one long series of troublesome worries, to which the total loss was a fittingly tragic end. the restless grasshoppers outside were forgotten. some weeks before, mr. farnshaw had given a grudging consent to the use of the proceeds from the flax crop for a trip' to his wife's old home while her mother yet lived. josiah farnshaw's temper was an uncertain quantity. had mrs. farnshaw been wise she would have dropped all reference to the flax when the promise was obtained. but mrs. farnshaw had to talk; it was her fate. she had hovered about the field, she had centred her faculties on the considerations of harvesting, and prices. she laboriously and obviously collected eggs, skimped the family on its supply of butter, and had counted her chickens to see how many she could sacrifice for the purchase of "a decent bit of black." as she sewed upon the premature emblems of her coming woe, she had discussed the desirability of threshing out of the shock instead of waiting for the stack to go through the sweating process; she talked, talked, talked, with an endless clacking, till her husband fled from her presence or cut her short with an oath. he wished he had never planted flax, he wished he had never heard of it, he wished--he hardly knew what he did wish, but he was sick of flax. crops of all sorts were shortened by continued drought; corn would be an utter failure. he had given notes for a new harvester and other machinery while the prospects for crops were good, and the knowledge that implement dealers would collect those notes whether the yield of grain was equal to their demands or not tightened the set lines about his naturally stern mouth and irritated a temper never good at the best. daily he became more obstinate and unapproachable. josiah farnshaw was not only obstinate, he was surly. nothing could induce him to show any interest in the flax field after he found that his wife was looking out for its advantages. if she suggested that they go to examine it, he was instantly busy. if she asked when he intended to begin the cutting, he was elaborately indifferent and replied, "when its ripe; there's plenty of time." when at last the field showed a decided tendency to brown, he helped a neighbour instead of beginning on friday, as his wife urged. saturday he found something wrong with the binder. by saturday night he began to see that the grain was ripening fast. he was warned and was ready to actually start the machine early the next day. his grizzled face concealed the grin it harboured at the idea of running the harvester on sunday; he knew mrs. farnshaw's scruples. the flax had ripened, almost overnight, because of the extreme heat. torn with anxiety and the certain knowledge that haste was necessary, mrs. farnshaw quoted scripture and hesitated. her husband, who had delayed in all possible ways up to this time, and had refused to listen to her advice, became suddenly anxious to do "that cuttin'." now that his wife hesitated from principle, he was intensely anxious to move contrary to her scruples. the knowledge that her husband was enjoying her indecision, and that he was grimly thinking that her religious scruples would not stand the test, made her even less able to decide a question than usual. the game was getting exciting and he let her argue, urging with pretended indifference that, "that flax's dead ripe now an' if it shatters out on th' ground you kin blame yourself," adding with grim humour, "there's nothin' like th' sound of money t' bring folks t' their senses. it's good as a pinch of pepper under th' nose of a bulldog." there was everything to point that way, but a woman and a mother must vindicate her claims to religion, and mrs. farnshaw refused to give her consent to the sunday harvesting. torn between her desire to save every grain of the precious crop and the fear of a hell that burned with fire and brimstone, her husband's scorn did what neither had been able to do. mrs. farnshaw forbade the machine being taken to the field, and then cried herself into a headache. "do as you please; it's your lookout, but i tell you it'll be a sick lookin' field by to-morrow mornin'," was mr. farnshaw's final shot. when her decision was finally reached, mr. farnshaw became alarmed. he knew he had let the flax go too long uncut. he had half believed in the reasons he had given for delay up to this point, but suddenly realizing that the overripe grain would suffer great loss if left another day in the hot sun, he reasoned with real earnestness that it must be cut if it were to be saved. his wife, thoroughly convinced that he was still tormenting her and that he would never let her hear the last of the matter if she gave up, closed her lips down firmly and declined to allow it to be done. all this the child had heard argued out that morning. it was a cruel position in which to place one of her years. part of it she had comprehended, part had escaped her, but she was sensitive to the atmosphere of suffering. the details of past elements in the tragedy she could not be expected to understand. the stunted, barren life of her mother was but half guessed. what child could know of the heartsick longing for affection and a but little understood freedom, the daily coercion, the refusal of her husband to speak kindly or to meet her eye with a smile? the sorely puzzled and bewildered woman thought affection was withheld from her because of something done or undone, and strove blindly to achieve it by acts, not knowing that acts have little, if anything, to do with affection. she strove daily to win love, not knowing that love is a thing outside the power to win or bestow. had she had understanding she would have spared the child with whom she worked; instead, she talked on with her dreary whine, morbidly seeking a sympathy of which she did not know how to avail herself when it was so plainly hers. with a lump in her throat of which the mother did not even suspect, lizzie farnshaw set the table, cut the bread, brought the water, "put up the chairs," and, when her father came from the stable, slipped out to where he was washing for supper and whispered about the flax, asking him not to mention it while her mother was suffering with the headache. the news was not news to josiah farnshaw, who had examined the field anxiously as he had returned from hansen's. sobered by the loss, he was less disagreeable than usual and only pushed his daughter out of his way as he reached around her for the sun-cracked bar of yellow laundry soap with which to wash his hands. thankful to have the unpleasant but important matter, as she thought, safely attended to, the child returned to help lift the meal to the bare kitchen table. the illy lighted room, with its one small window, was dim and dismal in the dusk of evening. in spite of the added heat it would produce, the child decided that a light was necessary. after the kerosene lamp was lighted, she turned to see if her mother needed her help again. the crooked blaze ran up unexpectedly and blacked the cracked chimney on one side with a soot so thick that one half of the room was soon in semi-darkness. mrs. farnshaw took it fretfully in hand. "why can't you trim it when you see it runnin' up that way?" she demanded querulously, poking at the lopsided and deeply charred wick with a sliver obtained from the side of the wood-box. her ministrations were not very successful, however, for when the chimney was replaced it ran up on the other side, and in the end her daughter had to prosecute a search for the scissors and cut the wick properly. as they worked over the ill-smelling light, albert, the youngest of the three children of the household, burst into the kitchen crying excitedly: "ma, did you know that th' flax was all whipped out of th' pods on to the ground?" mrs. farnshaw, who had received the lamp from her daughter's hand, let it fall on the edge of an upturned plate in her excitement, and then, seeing what she had done, fumbled blindly in a terrified effort to right it before it should go over. the cracked chimney fell from its moorings, and, striking a teacup, spattered broken glass over the table like hailstones. the entire family scrambled to save the lamp itself from a similar fate and were plunged into darkness by the girl blowing out its flame to save an explosion. the excitement of the moment served, temporarily, to lessen the blow of albert's announcement, but by the time "a dip" had been constructed the full weight of the disaster had fallen upon the defeated and despairing woman, and to protect her from the taunts of the head of the house, lizzie induced her to go to bed, where she sobbed throughout the night. the next day was hot and windy. the grasshoppers, unable to fly in a strong wind, clung to the weeds, to the dry grass, the stripped branches of the half-grown trees, to the cattle and hogs upon which they happened to alight, and even to people themselves, unless brushed off. lizzie took the cattle out to the usual grazing ground, but there was no luther to help, and the grasshoppers made the lives of the restless animals so unendurable that in real alarm, lest they run away again, she took them home, preferring her father's wrath to the experience of getting them back if they should get beyond her control. fortune favoured her. unable to endure the demonstrations of grief at home, her father had taken himself to a distant neighbour's to discuss the "plague of locusts." the wind blew a gale throughout the day, sweeping remorselessly over the unobstructed hillsides. unable to fly, the helpless insects hugged the earth while the gale tore over the kansas prairies with a fearful velocity. with feminine instinct, every female grasshopper burrowed into the dry earth, making a hole which would receive almost her entire body back of her wings and legs. the spring sod, half rotted and loosened from the grass roots, furnished the best lodgment. in each hole, as deep down as her body could reach, her pouch of eggs was deposited. no attempt was made to cover the hole, and by night the sod presented a honeycombed appearance never before seen by the oldest settlers. having performed nature's functions, and provided for the propagation of their kind, the lately fecund grasshoppers were hungry when the act was over. not a spear of anything green was left. the travel-worn horde had devoured everything in sight the day before. evening closed in upon a restless and excited swarm of starving insects, but they were unable to fly at night or while the wind was blowing. it was necessary to find food; hunger's pangs may not be suffered long by creatures whose active life is numbered in weeks. the high wind had cooled the air and made the locusts stupid and sleepy, but when the next morning the wind had fallen, and the sun had warmed their bodies, as fast as they were able all were on the wing, headed for the north. the air was calm, and by ten o'clock they were away in swarms, leaving ruin and desolation to show that they had sojourned in the land. the situation was truly desperate. cattle, horses, and hogs were without food of any sort. many families were new to the country and had depended upon sod-corn for the winter's supply of provender for both man and beast. mr. farnshaw, being one of the older residents, had grown a crop of wheat, so that his bread was assured; but the herd of cattle which had been his delight was now a terrorizing burden. cattle and horses could not live on wheat, and there was no hay because of the dry weather. what was to be done? that night the neighbours held a consultation at the farnshaw house, where grizzled and despairing men discussed the advisability of "goin' east," and ways and means of getting there. the verdict was strongly in favour of going. mrs. farnshaw brightened. perhaps, after all, she would get away from these wind-blown prairies, where no shade offered its protecting presence against a sun which took life and spirits out of the pluckiest of them. even more childish than the daughter at her side, mrs. farnshaw clapped her hands with joy as she leaned forward expectantly to address her new neighbour. "if i can only get t' my mother's, i won't care for nothin' after that. my heart goes out t' mrs. crane. think of all that good money goin' t' them swedes! you just better pocket your loss an' get away while you can." "you're goin' too, then, farnshaw?" the new neighbour asked. all eyes turned upon mr. farnshaw, who had not as yet expressed himself on either side. these neighbours had asked to assemble in his house because his kitchen afforded more room than any other house in the vicinity, the kitchen being a large room with no beds in it to take up floor space. mrs. farnshaw realized as soon as the question was asked that her joy had been premature. josiah farnshaw sat with his chair tilted back on two legs against the wall, snapping the blade of his pocket knife back and forth as he considered what he was going to say in reply. he felt all eyes turned in his direction and quite enjoyed the suspense. mr. farnshaw was an artist in calculating the suspense of others. he gave them plenty of time to get their perspective before he replied. at last he shut the blade of the knife down ostentatiously, replaced it in his trousers' pocket, and announced slowly: "well, sir, as for me and mine, i think we'll stay right here." mrs. farnshaw gave a despairing, "oh!" and covered her face with her hands to strangle back her tears. her one hope had been that poverty would accomplish what the flax had failed to do. "why--i thought you said there'd be nothin' t' feed an' you'd have t'," said a man whose shaggy whiskers had not seen a comb that year. "what'll you do? you can't see things starve!" "i thought you was strong for goin'. what'll you do with all your stock?" another said, and all bent forward and waited for his answer as if he could find a way out of the tangle for them. "that's just it." again he paused, enjoying the suspense that his silence created. mr. farnshaw was not popular, but he had more stock than all his simple neighbours put together and was conscious that money, or its equivalent, had weight. "that's just it," he repeated to add emphasis to his opinion. "what is a man to do? you folks that have nothin' but your teams an' wagons can load th' family in an' get away. how'd i feel 'bout th' time that i got t' th' missouri river if i knowed all them hogs an' cattle was layin' around here too weak t' get up cause they hadn't been fed?" he dropped his argument into the midst of them and then sat back and enjoyed its effect. he had intended to go till ten minutes previous. the argument sounded good to him now, however. it put him on a higher basis with himself, in spite of the fact that it had only popped into his head while he was clicking his knife blade. he conceived a new liking for himself. "no, sir," he continued; "i'll stay by it." "i don't see as your stayin' helps anything if you ain't got nothin' t' feed," was the reiterated objection. "well," mr. farnshaw replied, careful not to look in his wife's direction, "i was for goin' at first, but i've listened t' you folks an' i've come t' th' conclusion that you ain't goin' t' better yourselves any. if you go east, you'll have t' come back here in th' spring, or live on day's work there--an'--an' i'll take my chances right here. it's a long lane that has no turn. grasshoppers can't stay always." "what'll you do if all them eggs hatch out an' eat th' crops in th' spring?" the new neighbour asked, determined to look on all sides of the question before he decided to give up his recently purchased farm, and glad of this opportunity to get the opinions of his fellow sufferers on that particular phase of his unexpected calamity. "what'll you do with all that bunch of cattle, anyhow?" he added. "i'll share what i've got with th' stuff, an' if part of it dies i'll drag it out on th' hill t' rot; th' rest i'll stay by," was the stubborn reply. "as for them eggs a-hatchin', they'll be good ones if they can stand a kansas winter; they'll do a blamed sight better'n any eggs mrs. farnshaw gethers in. they'd better go south." this raised a laugh. the grim humour of anything, that could get away, spending a winter in kansas, appealed to these grizzly pioneers, who struggled with the question of fuel in a country where there was little natural timber, and coal must be paid for before it was burned. but all their arguments would not turn him from his course. "your wife's turrible set on goin', farnshaw," one of the men said to him as they went to the stable for their horses when the meeting broke up. "women's always wantin' things," was the indifferent reply. "say, you've got a stack of wheat straw. what'll you take for it?" in the house the sympathetic daughter helped her mother prepare for bed. "i thought sure to-night we'd get to go," the child said. "if you could get back east you might get to stay; and then you wouldn't have to cry so much," she added as she picked up the abandoned clothing her mother had left lying on the floor. mrs. farnshaw, who was turning the same matter over disconsolately as she sat on the side of the bed, shook her head with the bitter certainty that her fate would pursue her, and replied hopelessly: "it wouldn't make no difference, i guess, lizzie. he'd be there, an' it'd be just the same." and the girl, who was naturally reflective, carried with her to the loft overhead that night a new idea: that it was not the place, but the manner in which lives were lived, which mattered. the preparations for the coming of that winter were the strangest ever witnessed in a farming community. never had any man known fuel to be so scarce. cornstalks, which were usually staple articles for fuel in that country, had been eaten almost to the very ground, but the stubs were gathered, the dirt shaken from them, and they were then carted to the house. rosin weeds were collected and piled in heaps. the dried dung of cattle, scattered over the grazing lands, and called "buffalo chips," was stored in long ricks, also, and used sparingly, for even this simple fuel was so scarce as to necessitate care in its use. to keep out the driving winds, the houses were banked with sods and earth halfway to the roofs. with so little material for keeping warm, and that of the lightest variety, it was necessary to make the living quarters impervious to the never-ceasing winds which tore at the thin walls of the unprotected houses that sheltered such folk as were hardy enough to remain. it was impossible to build sheds for all the stock, so the hogs were allowed to swarm under the feet of the horses tied in the straw stable, and many and sad were the accidents to the smaller animals. it was soon clear that not many of them could be carried through till the spring. seeing that they lost weight rapidly, as many as were full grown were killed and their flabby carcasses salted away to be eaten. fortunately, the grasshoppers had not arrived in kansas till after the small grain had been nearly all cut, so that there was considerable oat and wheat straw in the country. mr. farnshaw bargained for every straw stack he could find, but straw was a poor substitute for the corn and hay to which the cattle were accustomed, and as the weeks lengthened into months, and winter closed in, the unprotected cattle grew thinner and ever thinner. corn was quoted in the markets at a dollar a bushel, but in fact was not to be had at any price. iowa had had a drought, and illinois was the nearest base of supplies, and as it was generally known that there was no money west of the missouri river, no grain was sent to kansas. finding that the horses did not thrive on the straw alone, and knowing that wheat would very quickly kill them, mr. farnshaw put away a sufficient amount of oats for seed and then carefully portioned out the rest to be fed to four of his best broodmares, hoping to be able to put in the spring crops with them as well as to save the coming colts of two. the rest, he decided, must take their chances on getting through the winter alive. the family food consisted largely of bread and the slabs of thin meat, with a sort of coffee made from browned rye. as a "company dish" there was a scanty supply of sweet corn, dried before the drought had cut the crop short. there were no eggs, because the chickens had sickened from eating grasshoppers in the fall and nearly all had died. the few hens which remained clung to the limbs of the half-grown cottonwood trees throughout the long winter nights, and found barely food enough during the day to keep life in their fuzzy bodies, which could not even furnish the oil necessary to lay their feathers smooth, much less foster the growth of eggs. josiah farnshaw secretly questioned the propriety of having remained in that desolate territory when, as spring approached, the shrunken cows died one after another in giving birth to the calves which had matured in their slowly perishing bodies, but he made no sign or admission of the fact. it was a season of gloom such as our frontier states had never known, and to add to the general depression there was a growing conviction that the hatching of the grasshoppers' eggs when warm weather came would complete the famine. to support his action in refusing to go east, josiah farnshaw asserted stubbornly that the frost of their hard winter would certainly kill the larvae of the locusts. so persistent was his attitude that at short intervals throughout the entire winter rumours that "th' hopper eggs is dead 's doornails" stirred the community and set its members to making tests in a vain endeavour to establish their truth. pieces of earth, honeycombed with the tiny nests, would be placed near the fire and kept at as regular a degree of warmth as possible, the condition of the eggs would be noted carefully, and in a short time the hopes of the anxious pioneers would be dashed to the ground by wriggling little insects climbing cheerfully out of their winter quarters and hopping about in a vain search for something green to live upon. often, in sheer desperation, the harassed settler would sweep the hatching brood into the fire, remarking as he did so, "burnin's too good for such pests," and always fear gripped the heart. if the crops in spring were eaten, other homes must be sought, and all knew that the weakened horses were unfit for travel. in fact, no team in that entire country was fit to travel far or fast, except the two which mr. farnshaw groomed and fed so carefully for the sake of the spring work and the much desired colts. the depression and worries of the farnshaw home increased the spirit of contention and distrust of its guardians. the husband daily grew surlier and more unpleasant and the wife more lachrymose and subject to "spells." the children learned to avoid the presence of either parent as much as possible, and to look outside the home for the joy childhood demands. the chores were heavy and difficult, but could at least be performed in the open light of god's great out-of-doors, where the imagination could people the world with pleasant features and pleasant prospects. the cattle were driven daily to the ponds, half a mile away, for water, and if the ice was thick and the axe-handle benumbing to the mittened hands as they chopped the holes for the tottering animals to drink from, there was the prospect of a slide on the uncut portions of the ice later; and as the plucky youngsters followed the cattle home they dreamed of skates to be obtained in the dim future, and tried to run fast enough to keep warm. the blessing of childhood is that it cannot be cheated of its visions, and the blood of adolescence was coursing riotously through the veins of the daughter of the farnshaw house. if her hands were cold when she returned to the barnyard, after watering the cattle, she beat them about her shoulders or held them against the shrunken flank of some dumb animal, or blew her breath through the fingers of her knitted mittens; but her thoughts were of other things. it is an old saying that "god helps them who help themselves," and in the case of lizzie farnshaw the axiom became a living truth. while the rest of her family suffered and magnified their sufferings, she, by a vivid imagination, placed herself in the path of fortune and obtained the thing she demanded. the simple country schoolhouse that year, dreary and cheerless enough to the pert miss who had come out from topeka to teach there, and incidentally to collect twenty-five dollars a month from the school board, was to be the scene of the initial change in lizzie farnshaw's life. verily, god helps them who help themselves, and lizzie farnshaw proved the old saw by laying hold of and absorbing every new idea and mannerism of which the new teacher was arrogantly possessed--absorbed them, but transmuted them, winnowing out the coarse, the sarcastic, the unkind, and making of what was left a substance of finer fibre. the number of children in the prairie home school that year was limited to five, the rest having departed for the indefinable land known as the "east." three of these children came from the farnshaw home and the other two from the new neighbours, the cranes, on the hansen place. sadie crane hated the new teacher with all the might that her pinched little twelve-year-old body could bring to bear. she saw only the snippish, opinionated, young peacock, and the self-assurance which came from the empty-headed ability to tie a ribbon well. she was so occupied with resenting the young teacher's feeling of vast superiority that she failed to understand, as did the farnshaw child, that along with all that vainglorious assumption went a real knowledge of some things with which it was valuable to become acquainted. to the spiteful crane child the schoolma'am was "stuck-up," while to the imaginative daughter of the farnshaw house she was a bird of paradise, and though lizzie was conscious that the teacher's voice was harsh, and her air affected, the child reached out like a drowning man toward this symbol of the life she coveted. to her the new teacher was a gift from heaven itself. this young girl from topeka brought into activity every faculty the sensitive, ambitious child possessed. lizzie farnshaw laid hold, with a strong hand, upon every blessing which came in her way. she knew that the foppish young thing at the teacher's desk was "stuck-up," but lizzie was willing that she should be whatever she chose, so long as it was possible to live near her, to study her, and to become like the best that was in her. the teacher's matter-of-fact assumption that no self-respecting person failed to obtain a high-school education was a good thing for the country girl, however overdrawn it might be. lizzie farnshaw listened and built air-castles. to this one child, out of that entire community, the idea appealed alluringly. but for her castles in spain she must have burst with her unexpressed desires. to add fuel to the fires of her fancy, mr. farnshaw also fell under the fascinations of the school teacher and boasted in the bosom of his family that "lizzie's just as smart as that topeka girl any day," and when his daughter began to talk hopefully about teaching school it appealed to the father's pride, and he encouraged her dreams. he had been the leading man in the community since coming to kansas because of the number of cattle he had been able to accumulate. a small legacy had aided in that accumulation, and it appealed to his pride to have his daughter's intellectual ambitions adding to the general family importance. pride is an important factor in the lives of all, but to the children of the farm it is an ambrosia, which once sipped is never forgotten and to obtain which many strange sacrifices will be made. mr. farnshaw usually regarded a request from his children as a thing to be denied promptly, and always as a matter for suspicion. yet here he was, considering soberly, yea pleasurably, a move involving money, at a time when money was more than usually scarce. his assent was even of such a nature as to deceive both himself and the child into thinking that it was being done for her benefit! the young girl received a new impetus toward improvement. the family began to regard her as a member set apart, as one from whom special things were to be expected. from being just comfortably at the head of her classes, she became more ambitious, reached over into new territory, and induced the teacher to create new classes for her benefit. the subjects required for the examination of teachers were added to those usually carried. there was a real purpose in her efforts now, and the smoky kerosene lamp burned stubbornly till late hours. the new teacher not only listened to recitations but appealed to the artistic in the newly developing woman. she rolled her hair from neck to brow in a "french twist" and set on the top of it an "alsatian bow," which stood like gigantic butterfly wings across her proud head. the long basque of her school dress was made after the newest pattern and had smoke-pearl buttons, in overlapping groups of three, set on each side of its vest front. the skirt of this wonderful dress was "shirred" and hung in graceful festoons between the rows of gatherings, and was of an entirely new style. last, but not least, the teacher's feet were shod in "side laces," the first pair of a new kind of shoes, destined to become popular, which laced on the inside of the ankle instead of on the top as we have them now. of all her stylish attractions this was the most absorbing. "fool shoes," sadie crane called them, and her little black eyes twinkled with a consuming spite when she mentioned them, but the ambitious farnshaw child, reaching out for improvement and change, coveted them, and preened her own feathers, and mimicked, and dreamed. she accepted the shoes just as she accepted the teacher's other attributes: they were better than her own. to be better than her own--that was the measure of lizzie farnshaw's demand. if the shoes, the clothing, the manners, the ideas, were better than her own they were worthy of honest consideration. the teacher's tongue was sharp and her criticisms ruthless, but they had elements of truth in them, and even when they were directed against the child herself they were a splendid spur. the young girl copied her manners, her gait, and her vocabulary. she watched her own conversation to see that she did not say "have went" and "those kind"; she became observant of the state of her finger-nails; if she had to lace her shoes with twine string, she blackened the string with soot from the under side of the stove lids, and polished her shoes from the same source. mrs. farnshaw, broken with the cold, the privations of the long winter, and the growing disappointments of her domestic life, saw nothing but overdressing and foolishness in her daughter's new attention to the details of personal appearance. burdened with her inability to furnish the clothes the family needed, she complained monotonously over every evidence of the young girl's desire to beautify herself. when the mother's complaints became unendurable, the father usually growled out a stern, "let the child alone," but for the most part the growing girl lived a life apart from her family, thought along different lines, and built about the future a wall they could never climb, and over whose rim they would rarely, if ever, catch a glimpse of the world within. no life, however hard, could ever tame that spirit, or grind its owner into an alien groove after that year of imaginative castle building. chapter ii brushing up to go to topeka with the opening of spring and the coming of the young grass, the handful of cattle that had not died of starvation began to look healthier. a shipment of seed corn for planting, and even a stinted amount for feed, had been sent from the east in march. but for that donation even the work horses must have succumbed. josiah farnshaw had the best horses in the country and was suspected of having had far more help than he had really received. the two teams he had favoured all winter against the seeding season were the envy of all. some of the old neighbours, after a winter spent with the wife's relatives in the east, had decided to return and take the chances of the grasshopper-ridden middle west, and had come with horses able to drag the plow, but, worn from travel, most of them were practically useless. there was a lull after the small grain was in the ground. the menacing eggs of the grasshoppers began to hatch as the sun warmed the earth. it was a period of intense anxiety. so many months had been spent in alternate intervals of hope and fear that now, since the test was actually and immediately to be made, the tension was terrific. men rose as soon as the first light of day appeared and went to examine the tender grain, without which they could not remain upon the land which had cost so dear in the suffering of the winter just past. a surprise was in store for them. the young insects matured rapidly. while they appeared in swarms, it was noticed that they disappeared immediately upon hatching. kansas began to get its breath. never was promise of crops more encouraging. there was a distinct note of reassurance and hopefulness in the air. what became of the grasshoppers nobody knew exactly, but they went almost as fast as they hatched. some shook their heads and said, "wait till hot weather." josiah farnshaw moved steadily ahead with his planting. he announced that he had faith in kansas--had always had--he'd stand on the burning deck! while others hesitated, he took advantage of wind and weather to get his crops in the ground. he had been right all along. he did not propose "to be run off of the land he had homesteaded and set with trees by any durned little bugs he'd ever come across." it was necessary to be up and doing if a man was going to provide for a family. now this assertion proved to be true, for the agent of the harvester company visited him and requested payment of the notes given the year before. the agent was gracious when the inability to pay was explained. he would renew the paper if it could be secured by the land. there was no hurry about payment, but it was necessary for the details to be finished up in a business-like manner. the thing looked simple enough. it was a just debt and mr. farnshaw intended to pay it. he'd as soon it was secured by the land as any other way. the details were soon arranged. mr. farnshaw agreed to meet the agent in colebyville, the nearest town, the next day, and have the papers made out. after the agent was gone mr. farnshaw went to the house to inform his wife that she was to go to town and attach her name to the document. the storm of protest was expected, and when mrs. farnshaw broke out with: "now, pa, you ain't never goin' t' mortgage th' farm, are you?" he answered surlily: "yes, i be, an' i don't want no words about it neither," and walked determinedly out of the house, leaving his wife to cry out her fears with her children. "we won't have where to lay our heads, soon," she announced bitterly. "i've seen somethin' of th' mortgage business an' i ain't never seen any of 'em free from payin' interest afterward." this was no mere personal quarrel. her children distinguished that. this was real, definite trouble. accustomed as the child was to her mother's woes, lizzie farnshaw was moved to unusual demonstrations by the quality of the outburst of tears which followed the words, and said impulsively: "never you mind, ma, i'm going to teach school in another year, and i'll help pay the interest; and we'll get out of debt, too, somehow." mrs. farnshaw brightened. "i hadn't thought of that!" she said. "i'm glad you're willin' t' help out. i had thought maybe you'd get me one of them new nubies after you got some money of your own." she went into the other room to lay out the black dress, which death had sanctified some months before, for use on the morrow. the opportunity to wear the emblems of mourning turned her childish mind away from the object of her journey, and left her as unconscious as the young girl herself that the mortgage had extended from the land to the lives of herself and her husband, and that in that promise it had laid its withering hand on the future of her child as well. the promise of assistance had been lightly given; unearned money is always easily spent; besides, a teacher's salary seemed rolling wealth to the girl who had never had a whole dollar in her life. the question of paying the next year's interest was for the time settled. the next morning the healthy young mind was much more largely concerned with the appearance of her mother in the new black dress than with either the mourning it represented or the mortgage which occasioned its presence. she sensed dimly that a mortgage was a calamity, but her vigorous youth refused to concern itself for long with a disaster so far removed as the next year. but though calamity might pursue lizzie farnshaw on one hand, true to her innate nature she handled fate in so masterful a manner that even poverty could not cheat her youth of all its prerogatives. in order to sufficiently nourish the teams which must be used in seeding, josiah farnshaw had been obliged to use a part of his seed corn for feed. in despair at the thought of not being able to plant all the land under cultivation, he was overjoyed to hear that a farmer by the name of hornby, who lived twenty miles or more to the south, had a new and desirable variety which he was trying to exchange for cows with young calves by their sides. a calf was selected from their diminished herd, its mother tied behind the wagon which held it, and lizzie taken along to assist in driving. the journey, though begun in early morning, was a tedious one, for the cow fretted, the day was hot, and the footsore and weary child was worn out long before the hornby place was reached. it was after nine o'clock when they did arrive, the last five miles having been made with the added burden of a horse which seemed not at all well. mr. farnshaw would not even go into the house to eat supper, but asked the farmer to see that lizzie was put to bed at once, while he remained with the sick horse. the best team had been chosen for this trip, in spite of the near approach of foaling time for one of the mares, because the other horses were too reduced by lack of food to drive so far. after eating a bowl of bread and milk the tired child was taken to her room by mrs. hornby, and in spite of the ruffled curtains which adorned the windows and the other evidences of taste and refinement about her, she was soon fast asleep. the next morning at daybreak the household of nathan hornby was astir. the first object upon which lizzie's eyes fell was susan hornby herself, who had come to call her to breakfast. "your father took one of our horses and started right off home this morning. the one that was sick last night died and left a little colt. he said he thought he had better get the other one home at once, so he took ours. come right into our room to wash and comb." lizzie was on her feet instantly and followed her hostess into the next room, making love to the neat white bows of her hostess' apron-strings as she went. what did she care about her father's departure without her when she could wash her face in a white bowl whose pitcher stood beside the washstand, and comb her hair before a looking-glass "where you could see your head and your belt at the same time?" but the combing was destined to be a lengthy process, for before the child had pulled her comb through the first lock attacked she saw reflected beside her face in that mirror an old-fashioned, black walnut secretary _full of books_! lizzie farnshaw had never seen a dozen books in one house in her life except school books, and here were rows of books that didn't look like any she had ever seen. she took her comb and walked over to the bookcase where she could read the titles and comb at the same time, the spacious mirror, two whole feet in length, being forgotten in this much more desirable gift of fortune. susan hornby's eyes twinkled with delight. in the five years she had been in kansas she had never been able to persuade any one to read with her. here was a kindred spirit. she looked at the fifteen-year-old girl and was anxious to know how it happened that she was interested in books at her time of life. "do you like to read?" the question was repeated, and once more she asked it before the child heard her. "i guess you do," she laughed, answering her own question. "we'll have some good times before your father comes back for you. come on to breakfast now--the men are waiting." lizzie farnshaw fell naturally into her improved surroundings. the educating processes of reforming her language that year had also tended to improve the girl in other ways and it was with her straight brown hair gathered into neat braids, clean finger-nails, and a feeling of general self-respect that she approached susan hornby's white-clothed table and was introduced to mr. hornby and the hired men who were already seated there. "right glad t' see you. i been feedin' th' colt. it's about as likely a specimine as you be," was nathan hornby's salutation, and his handclasp was as hearty as his stubby fingered, hairy hands could make it. lizzie slipped quietly into her chair at his side, and stole a glance up at him again. all through the meal he found her eyes turning toward him curiously, and at last he said good-naturedly: "i'll know you next time whether you do me or not." the remark was a random one and meant nothing at all, except that he had been conscious of her close attention, but something in the way her gaze was withdrawn showed that whatever she had been thinking she wished to conceal it, and in the end it made nathan hornby really uncomfortable. the fact of the matter was that nathan's language did not fit his surroundings. susan hornby's house was in advance of the country in which they lived, while her husband fitted the pioneer life he had chosen. of this fact neither husband nor wife seemed to be conscious. nathan was ten years older than the woman he had married. in accepting him she had accepted him as he was; later she had grown, but to her he remained the same; he was just nathan, and needed no analysis. they lived and loved, and radiated the harmony which was theirs. the incongruities of their union were evident to this child, who was supersensitive about grammatical constructions, but their harmony was to be one of the strong lessons of her life. lizzie was accustomed to ungrammatical language at home, but the atmosphere of this house made ignorance of good form noticeable. she liked mr. hornby, but she wondered a little about his association with his wife and her home. she went with him to see the colt after breakfast and remarked upon his neat barnyard in a manner which lifted the cloud upon his face; he had had a feeling that he did not somehow come up to her expectations. the little colt nosed about his hand looking for food, and nathan laughed. "it's just like th' human critter o' that age--wants t' try everything in its mouth," he said, trying to find a topic of conversation. again nathan hornby caught a flicker of surprise in lizzie farnshaw's eye, and again he was disconcerted. "wonder what i done t' set that child t' lookin' at me so funny?" he asked himself as he went to the field later, and being big-hearted and ignorant was unaware that a man could hamstring himself by an ungrammatical phrase. all day susan hornby read with the young girl and questioned her to get into touch with her life and thought, and when night came was wildly enthusiastic about her. "nate, she's worth a lift," she said to her husband after lizzie had again been tucked into bed. "let's take her with us to topeka this fall and put her into the high school. she's--she's just the age our katie would have been. she says some teacher told her she was ready for the high school." "better wait till i'm elected, sue," nathan replied, and then, seeing susan's face cloud over with disappointment, added more cheerfully: "of course i don't care if you have the child, but you mustn't get to countin' on this thing. that's th' trouble with these here fool politics: they get folks t' countin' on things that can't come around." long after his wife was asleep, however, he mused upon the prospects of going to topeka, and for her sake he wanted to go. nathan hornby always spoke of his chances of being elected to the legislature of his state deprecatingly. he swaggered and pretended to be indifferent, but the worm of desire burrowed deeper every time topeka was mentioned. the very fact that he was uneducated, and, as the democrats had said, unfit, made him desire it the more. criticism had aroused the spirit of contest in him. also he wanted susan, now that she had begun to plan for it, to have it. nathan hornby knew that the woman he had married was his superior, and loved her for it. masculine jealousy he did not know. he would have been sincerely glad to have had her elected to the legislature of kansas instead of himself. "it's like sue t' want t' take th' girl," he meditated, the next day in the cornfield. "she'll see katie in every girl she sees for th' rest of 'er days, i reckon. i wouldn't 'a' had no show at topeka, nohow, if she hadn't 'a' made wallace feel good 'bout that crazy thing he calls 'is wife. curious how big things hinge on little ones. now sue had no more idea o' gettin' a nomination t' th' legislature for me than that hen she was foolin' with this mornin'." later, he remembered the thing that had worried him before the subject of topeka came up. "wonder what i done that set that youngster t' lookin' at me so funny?" mrs. hornby had not set her heart on going to topeka foolishly, but she wanted to go and it entered into all her plans. she did not tell the young girl of her plans at once, but waited for her to make her place in nathan's heart, as she was sure she would do. on that point the girl succeeded surprisingly. her knowledge of horses, of harness, of farm subjects in general made good soil for conversation with her host, and her love for the motherless colt called her to the barn and made special openings for communications. nathan called the colt, which was of the feminine gender, pat, because its upper lip was so long, and that too the girl enjoyed, and entered into the joke by softening the name to patsie. they were good friends. having decided to befriend her, the man's interest in her increased. she was to be theirs. the sense of possession grew with both husband and wife. already they had cast their lot with the child, and when at last they put the question of the high school to her, the friendship was firmly welded by the extravagance of its reception. "think of it! think of it! only think of it! i didn't know how it was going to come about, but i was sure i was going to get it somehow!" the young girl cried, dancing about the room excitedly. "whenever i was afraid something was going to keep me from it, i used to say, 'i will! i will! i will go to high school!' oh, isn't it too lovely! do you think my saying it made any difference?" she asked eagerly; and the quaint couple, who were born two generations in advance of the birth cry of new thought, laughed innocently and made no reply. when the floodgates of surprise and emotion were opened, and she began to talk of her hopes and fears, it was but natural that she should speak of her struggles for personal improvement, though this was instinctively done when mr. hornby was absent. curiously enough, some of her points of information were as helpful to susan hornby as they had been to her. mrs. hornby knew the rules of good grammar, but many little observances of table manners had changed since her youth. she read and was well informed on general topics of the day, but her life for more than fifteen years had been spent with nathan and with the hired men who ate at her table, and she had become careless of small things, so that she listened with an amused smile, but with real profit as well, to lizzie's confidences that "you shouldn't cross your knife and fork on your plate when you are through eating, like the hired men, but lay them side by side, neat and straight"; that "you shouldn't eat with your knife, neither," and that "to sip your coffee out of your saucer with a noise like grasshoppers' wings was just awful!" she, too, was brushing up to go to topeka, and while much in advance of her husband or any of her associates in society matters, she had lived the life of the farm, and to the end of her existence would be conscious of the inequalities of her education. of this she said nothing to the child, but listened and remembered. occasionally she reminded the girl that they might not go to topeka, but even as she warned she was quickening the subconscious mind to aid in recording any fact which might be advantageous when she herself got there, and her love for the child grew. the girl was part of the scheme. in a week she had become one of the family. at the end of the week mr. farnshaw did not appear; farm matters had detained him, so that the opportunity for a closer acquaintance with his daughter was permitted. under mrs. hornby the child blossomed naturally. the old-fashioned secretary was the young girl's delight. seeing her shaking in silent glee over "david copperfield" one night, and remembering her eager pursuit of intellectual things, mrs. hornby remarked to her husband, "as a man thinketh in his heart, so is he." the world of to-day would add to susan hornby's little speech, "not only as a man thinketh in his heart, so is he," but "so shall he live, and do, and be surrounded." this simple daughter of the farm, the herds, and the homesteaded hills of bleak and barren kansas, where the educated and intellectual of earth were as much foreigners as the inhabitants of far off russia or hindustan, had by her thought not only prepared herself for the life she coveted, but had compelled the opportunity to enter upon her travels therein. when mr. farnshaw arrived, mrs. hornby was fortunate in the form of her request to take his daughter with her, and it was arranged that if they went to topeka the child should be a member of their household. "we'll be just as good to her as if she were our own," she promised, and then added reflectively, "we're going to call her her full name too. elizabeth was my mother's name. it's so much prettier than lizzie." under any other circumstances mr. farnshaw would have seen symptoms of being "stuck-up" in the change of name, but elizabeth had been his mother's name, and although he had little recollection of his mother, and had never heard her called by her given name, he had seen it writ large on her tombstone, and, his eye having become accustomed to the word, his ear fell naturally into line with its pronunciation; besides, his daughter was to be a school-teacher, and was to sign contracts like a man, and must have a proper sort of name. she was to live in the house of a member of the legislature, too, and already called him and his wife "uncle" and "aunt." mr. farnshaw tasted pride and found it a sweet morsel. election day came the first week in november and nathan was successful. with the high school year in view, they moved to topeka the next week. it was as if they were literally to educate their katie. a slight disappointment awaited them. though they were ready the young girl did not come immediately. according to the dilatory methods of the farnshaw household, elizabeth--she had been supported by her father when the boys had shown an inclination to laugh her out of the change of name--was three weeks later yet in going. the eager girl urged at home that she would be behind her classes if she went into school so late in the term, but her parents, who knew nothing of school requirements, refused to let her go till the corn was all husked and everything snug for the winter, arguing that so much stock had been lost the winter before that every care must be taken of what was left. tears at the prospect of such a handicap made no impression, and it was not till december that the child and her father set off in the farm wagon for topeka, two days distant. railroad fare was not to be considered, and two new dresses and a new pair of shoes--not side-laces--were all the additions to her wardrobe. susan hornby was much annoyed at the delay, but met the young girl with open arms when she arrived. she was less happy in accosting mr. farnshaw. "why in this world did you keep her so late? half the year is gone!" was her luckless remark to him. "she's doin' mighty well t' get t' come at all," mr. farnshaw replied, taking instant offence. "i'm th' only man in our part of th' country that's givin' 'is childern any show at th' high school at all, i can tell you. i knew i wouldn't get no thanks for it from th' beginnin'. that's th' way with things nowadays," was his reply. "oh, well, we all know you have needed her, and that it's hard to spare a child on the farm, but we were so anxious to have her have all that could be got out of this year," mrs. hornby said, divided between a desire to scold the man and a real disinclination to hurt any one. so much valuable time had been lost. she saw that she must be politic for elizabeth's sake, however, for the child's appearance told the experienced woman that she must keep him in a good humour and inveigle him into giving her a little money for clothes. "we'll just make the best of the time that is left, little girl," mrs. hornby said cheerfully, and in that only added to the impression already made, for mr. farnshaw remembered his daughter's tears, and the feeling grew that instead of being lauded for what he considered a great sacrifice on his part, he was coming in for a blame wholly unexpected, and that this woman was siding with the girl and going to spoil her. people of the farm, more than any other class, resent being blamed, and josiah farnshaw was an extreme representative of his class. he had come to topeka delighted with himself because of the fine opportunities he was giving his daughter, and here was this woman at the first word finding fault because he had not done better; it was no wonder that children were not satisfied with anything a man could give them! there was now no possibility of elizabeth entering school till after christmas, and aunt susan turned her attention to efforts to get the most out of the time they would have to reorganize the poorly constructed dresses. she was considerate of mr. farnshaw's evident sensitiveness, seeing also that he had no real comprehension of the damage done by the delay, and made him comfortable by urging him to stay on after he was really ready to go home. so successful was she that he forgot for the time he was in her presence that all was not in his favour, and she was able to induce him to give all that he was able to give toward the improvements she suggested in his daughter's wearing apparel. elizabeth was surprised at the ready response to demands made upon his purse, but here again mrs. hornby left a sting, wholly unintended and at the time not recognized by mr. farnshaw himself, but remembered by him later and never forgotten after it was once fixed firmly in his mind. aunt susan, concerned for the entrance of the child into the company of those of her own age, pointed out to her father the gayly dressed girls of elizabeth's age, and suggested that a new coat would be an absolute necessity. mr. farnshaw had given mrs. hornby all the money he had with him except four dollars, and his wife had given him a list of groceries to be purchased in the city. it rather pleased him to use the money toward his daughter's adornment and it tickled his pride as well to give his last cent toward her education. mrs. hornby looked at the money he placed in her hand, and hesitated visibly. josiah farnshaw stiffened at her manner. aunt susan hated to ask for more, but this would not buy the girl a coat that she could wear in topeka! "you are just as good as you can be about this, mr. farnshaw, but--but a coat like the other girls have will cost at least eight or ten dollars." she felt his attitude. the amount named took the man's breath. he had given all he had and yet this woman, whom he had begun to like again, was not satisfied! "a man can't do no more'n he can, an' that's th' last red cent i've got," he replied, humiliated at the necessity of the confession. "oh! i'm so sorry," aunt susan exclaimed, really so at having forced the statement. she sat with her brows knit in serious thought a moment, and a light began to break in upon her. elizabeth had to have that wrap somehow and here was a way right before her. she remembered a long cape she had noticed going down the street that very morning. "i guess we can make it do," she said hesitantly. she was thinking out her plan and spoke slowly. "we'll just make a cloak ourselves. we can do it." josiah farnshaw left the next day for home, in a good humour with himself and his munificence, but on the way home remembered susan hornby's hesitancy and later decision to make the cloak herself, and the worm of suspicion began to gnaw again. "if that woman could make something that'd do, what'd she ask for one of them expensive coats for?" he asked himself. "i guess it's only th' girl that figures in that deal! i ain't nothin' but th' oats she feeds on nohow," he reflected, and having once given the thought lodgment it grew and became the chief stone of the corner. our own comes to us, and josiah farnshaw had formed the habit of that kind of thinking. he felt that he was being robbed, and forgot that his daughter was being befriended, and out of his trip to topeka got only a sour distaste for the woman he could clearly see was going to encourage the child in extravagance. he had never spent so much money on the entire family in a winter as he had done on that girl, and yet it wasn't enough. "he'd bet he'd never give 'er another year's schoolin'. she'd come home an' get a summer school--that's what she'd do. all folks thought about nowadays was clothes!" to elizabeth farnshaw every day of that busy month was full of unconscious growth. as soon as mr. farnshaw was out of sight, mrs. hornby said to elizabeth: "now, my child, i am going to take up the seams in that basque." elizabeth looked down at her "long basque" in dismay; she had striven hard over that waist and had thought that it would do very well, though conscious that it had faults. her face flushed as she answered reluctantly: "the seam in the back isn't quite straight, but--i never made one like it before--and i thought it would do." "so it would, dear, but it can do better and we've got plenty of time to fix it. you'll feel ever so much better about it when you see how the other girls are dressed." as aunt susan snipped and ripped and rebasted the refractory seam, elizabeth brought out her little stores of finery to discuss their artistic features. "look," she said, opening a pasteboard box which held her few ribbons. "i coaxed a long time for that, but i got it." she held up for aunt susan's approval a new alsatian bow of pink ribbon. "i wanted the wide, but they didn't have it, so i got a lot of the narrow and hid the joinings in the pleats. i think it's pretty, don't you?" susan hornby looked at the bow critically, and then seeing elizabeth's face cloud over with a suspicion that she did not regard the treasure with favour, said slowly: "it's pretty--that is, it's a pretty colour; but i was looking to see about how many yards there was in it, for the girls aren't wearing alsatian bows, as you call them, this year. they seem to be wearing their hair mostly in two plain braids. i'm glad of it, for you look ever so much better with your hair done that way. we can rip it up and press the ribbon. i'm awfully glad you've got such a lot; it'll make lovely bows for the braids." while elizabeth ripped her bow to pieces aunt susan's tongue ran on with the subject nearest her heart. "to-morrow morning i'm going to have you sit by that window and watch the girls that go past about school time. you'll learn more this month doing that than you would in school, i expect. it's just as well you can't start till next term, since you didn't get here at first." "next term!" her new dresses with their long basques--long basques were more talked of than any other feature of dress that year, not by elizabeth alone but all womankind--had seemed so magnificent that she could not think of it being necessary to take a whole month to make them over. "yes, not till after christmas. you can't start in at the middle of a term in high school like you can in the country. we'll get you a wrap made before that time. i told your father i couldn't think of your going without a coat of some sort. he didn't feel that he could afford a coat, so i'm going to get the cloth and you and i will make you a circular this week." "a circular? what's that?" aunt susan explained the new kind of cape which came down to the bottom of the dress and had a hood lined with bright coloured silk and was puckered with rubber to make it fit the face. it took all day to finish the basque, and the next morning elizabeth watched the well-dressed city girls loiter past, and was glad that she could have a month to get ready to meet them in the schoolroom. she had never known anybody dressed so well for anything but a funeral, or a party, or to go to church. they actually wore gloves to school! elizabeth looked at her brown hands and decided that she would wear her mittens to bed till her hands sweated themselves to a proper degree of whiteness, and susan hornby let her look on, and weigh, and exclaim. thus was elizabeth farnshaw's education begun. the afternoon was spent selecting the goods for the new cape, and wandering about the great stores and the streets; a new pair of pretty gray gloves were obtained, and for the first time elizabeth heard the term "lisle thread" used as against the common term of cotton for all things not silk or woollen. the new cape was to have a wonderful metal fastener called a clasp, and life ran like a silver stream the next two days as they sewed on the new-fangled garment. oh, father! could you have but seen truly, how great would have been your joy! each day elizabeth watched the boys and girls come and go past nathan hornby's house, and when the cape was finished she and aunt susan went daily on shopping expeditions. it was the most wonderful week of her fifteen years, and was well rounded out by going to church on sunday and for the first time listening to a choir, and seeing a window of softly coloured glass. she almost wondered if she had been transported from the body to the heaven of crowns and harps which her mother loved to describe. to heaven elizabeth farnshaw had gone in very truth, but it was the heaven of adolescence and developing womanhood. in the short time she had been observing the comings and goings of the boys and girls of their neighbourhood one young man had begun to stand out from the rest. elizabeth was nearly sixteen, and when she saw _him_ now in a pew a few seats ahead of her she made a little movement of astonishment. aunt susan caught the sound of the indrawn breath and looked around inquiringly, but elizabeth, with eyes modestly down, studied her gray-gloved hands and seemed unaware of her scrutiny. happiness had been elizabeth farnshaw's daily portion for weeks, but this was different. here was happiness of another sort, with other qualities, composed of more compelling elements. the gamut of bliss had not all been run. elizabeth had progressed from arcadia to paradise and was invoicing her emotions. she never shied around a subject, but looked all things in the face; and she found this delightfully surprising world of emotions as entrancing as the external one of mellow light, music, good clothes, and educational prospects. the rest of the hour was a blissful dream, in which the only thought was a wish for luther and his stunted pony and the freedom of grassy slopes where she could pour out her newfound joy. with each new event of this life the loss of luther was accentuated. nathan hornby and his wife had no acquaintances in topeka. they left the church as soon as the service was over. the young girl went with them, conscious that _he_ was behind her, glad that her new cape was finished, wondering if _he_ noticed it, eager to be seen yet wanting to hide, and foolishly aglow and wishing devoutly that she had eyes in the back of her head. henceforth elizabeth lived in the thought of seeing _him_. she dubbed him "the unknown," and if she looked out of the window at home, it was in the hope of seeing him pass; on the way to school she was alert and watchful for a glimpse of him in the distance; if she went to church it was to look for him as soon as seated, though he was rarely there. if she saw him in the morning her day was made glad; if she failed to see him she looked forward with anticipation to the next day. the winter spent itself. january passed, and february. the glad days ran on in kaleidoscopic readjustment of joy, work, wonder, and unfoldment, as far as elizabeth's own life was concerned. after the manner of youth, her own affairs absorbed her. in fact the young girl was so filled with the delights of her own little world that it was only gradually that she began to understand that the life in topeka was not as fortunate with the dear couple who had shared with her their home. the first signs of trouble were made manifest to her by the increasing tenderness with which susan hornby hovered around her mate, and her evident and growing solicitude. elizabeth was startled when she did at last comprehend the gloom and anxiety about her. the manner of the pair prevented questions, but, as she watched covertly, aunt susan's distress was transferred to her. elizabeth was not curious, but she was intensely sympathetic, and from disinterested motives she became keenly observant of all that took place about her. no opportunity to help offered. with a sharp realization that her best friends were in trouble, she was obliged to conceal any trace of that knowledge. nathan and his wife talked apart and in low tones, avoiding the young girl's presence, and were evidently puzzled and uneasy. it was elizabeth's way to make the troubles of those about her her own. longing to help, it was impossible to be indifferent. gradually she got bits of indirect light upon the subject. from little things dropped accidentally, and often from explanations which circumstances forced upon them, elizabeth learned that money was scarce. this came as a shock, and with all the hurt and heartsick worry which the mention of finances always brought to the girl. why must people have money? she asked herself daily. and mixed with dreams of "the unknown" came speculations as to the part which money played in the game of life, and the bondage of men to it, and a longing to be free from its withering grasp. in her childish mind the matter of freedom became slightly mixed and she dreamed dreams of being free by owning unlimited amounts of it, and she coveted marvellous bank accounts, acquired in some mystical way, with which the woes of humanity could be relieved by giving. along with this new idea of dispensing charity grew a desire to know why the crop of cash was short in nathan hornby's home. in her innocent way she led up to the subject of expenses in general, but aunt susan kept family affairs strictly in the family and vouchsafed no explanations, unaware that the example she set in that way was to bear strange and unexpected fruit. but though elizabeth carried the reflex of the anxiety of those about her, she was scarcely sixteen, and youth and joy and life claimed her attention and the affairs of her stage in life's span crowded out the affairs of others. these were days of transition. the child was becoming a woman. the love which was flowing out of her heart like a spring freshet toward one who, because she saw him less often was the more often in her thoughts, was making elizabeth farnshaw more observant of those who professed love. desiring mutual relations, she became sensitive to the communications of those about her who had to do with mutual relations. elizabeth saw that the more trouble clouded the brow of nathan hornby the cheerier and closer aunt susan drew to him. there was none of the quarrels here to which elizabeth had become accustomed when things went wrong at home. the contrast between her father's and mother's daily life and that of nathan and susan hornby in times of trouble was the subject of constant thought. nathan and susan hornby were to be guide-posts along the highway of elizabeth farnshaw's domestic affairs. love pointed her thoughts toward marriage, and here was a worthy model after which to build. her natural affection and gratitude were enhanced by the fact that this couple with whom she lived, and who were otherwise very dear to her, were the immediate example of all that was noble in the world of her present dreams. the fact that the harmony between aunt susan and her mate was of stern stuff and not matured solely upon success and pleasure added to the strength of that example. elizabeth had not been taken into the confidence of either; their private affairs were kept screened from the gaze of any but themselves. by a word dropped here and there, however, she learned that nathan had speculated and lost much money; also that he had favoured measures advanced by butter-tongued lobbyists, and that he had lost the good-will of many of his constituents. while elizabeth watched the tender association of nathan hornby and his wife and found such glowing tribute in her heart toward the life they lived together, a tragedy, in spite of the support and affection lavished by a faithful wife, was to leave the sunny, cordial man a broken, half-suspicious one. nathan hornby was to learn that legislative assemblies were death-traps to those whom providence had failed to coach in diplomacy and judgment, that legislation was a game at which none but gamesters might successfully play, a devouring flame singeing the wings of all who failed to distinguish between the light of a common candle and that of a real sun, that it was a nightmare to most, and ticklish business for all. unable to distinguish between the good and the bad intentions of those who advocated the passage of bills, convinced long before the end of the legislative session that a bill looking innocent and direct in its wording might be evil and indirect in its outworking, nathan became more and more confused and less and less able to withstand the attacks made upon him. nathan hornby was a leaden figure in the legislative assembly. he was honest, but slow of wit, and apt to become passive if pushed beyond his power to understand. this man who could throw the earth up to a hill of corn with skill and precision, who could build a haystack which would turn the rains and snows of winter, and break a colt to the harness without breaking its spirit, who had handled successfully the problems to which he had been trained, was not able to throw arguments up to the legislative hill or protect his reputation against the floods of criticism and accusation to which his actions were subjected either here in the capitol or at home among his constituents. his spirit was broken: he recognized that he was totally unfit for the position into which fortune had thrust him. nathan sat back in his chair, in the house, with few books and papers on the desk before him, and these unopened, his manner, like his wrinkled boots, indicative of the farm, his whole attitude that of the unsophisticated. he listened to the speeches made around him, but had no ideas to express. he was a pathetic figure. only the accidents of grasshopper year, when legislative timber was scarce, could have placed him in such a position. his tough, shaven cheeks grew thinner day by day as he pulled at the brush of grizzled chin-whiskers and tried to understand what went on before him. during those days susan was both his refuge and the cross of his crucifixion. the deeper his difficulties became the more he turned to her for help, certain not only that she understood better than he the measures about which his colleagues argued, but that she understood him and his failures, as well as his needs. it was because susan understood that the cross was so heavy. if his wife had been a dull woman, if she had been a woman without ambitions of her own, if she could have been hoaxed into thinking him the equal of his associates, it would have been easier; but nathan was aware that susan hornby knew to the finest detail the nature of his failure as well as she understood and loved the best in him. during those gloomy days the man marvelled at the gentleness of her solicitations for his cheering and encouragement, not realizing that woman is by nature faithful where man is appreciative of her devotion. appreciation! that had been the keynote of nathan hornby's attitude toward his wife. susan had always known what she ought to do, what she wanted to do, and what it was best for her to do, and in all matters where her individual affairs were concerned nathan had never interposed coercion nor advice. if susan made mistakes, her husband knew that they were the mistakes of the head and not of the heart, and left her to correct them in her own way. susan hornby had always been free, and now the walls of love and trust which nathan hornby had builded about their home for nearly twenty years were to be a flawless rampart behind which he could take refuge from foes without and receive help from within. at nathan's request his wife came day after day and listened to the discussions toward the end of the session. nathan sat before her dumb, but she was the anchor to his drifting soul as the political landslide took the ground out from under his feet. "i only wisht i'd 'a' taken you in on this thing sooner," he said on one occasion, and remembered those first weeks when he had felt self-sufficient, and had made false moves at the state house, and had also let himself be inveigled into buying "a few margins." that was the bitterest drop in his cup. wheat had dropped steadily from the very day he had begun buying. a steady decline in prices was unthinkable, and it was not till their land was endangered that the trusting man began to take alarm, and even then he let the speculators who profited by the sales induce him to make one more wild investment to save that which he had already lost. his certainty that his neighbors would take revenge upon _him_ for political differences by sly prods regarding speculation was of slight importance, but susan was to be humiliated before them!--susan, who had tried to help him to see the dangers--susan, who did not complain when she was called upon to sign the deeds to the land she had helped to win from the indians and the wilderness of uncultivated things. nathan remembered on that bitter day that but for her adventurous spirit he would have been working at day's wages in old indiana, instead of having a home and being an active member of his community and a member of the legislature of his state, with opportunities to prove himself a man in the world of men. he had failed, and his failure reacted upon her. it was not the loss of money and political prestige alone which bit. another phase of their life in topeka added its humiliation. nathan had wanted his wife to share his political honours and had found himself ignorant of every means by which these things could be brought to her. he had heard of gay winters at the capital, but they lived apart from it all. the house in which he had placed her was attractive and on a good street, but the men whom he met at the state house soon saw that nothing was to be gained through knowing nathan hornby, and failed to ask their wives to call upon his wife. disaster is in exact ratio to our valuation of things. although nathan hornby had lost three fourths of his land, his reputation as a business man and politician, and his faith in men, he still had left the one essential gift which should have helped him to win again all that which he had lost. susan hornby, like ruth of old, abandoned all else and abode with her husband in love, cheering him at each problematical step, and saying as they returned from the notary's office after signing away their land to a stranger: "never mind, nate, there are only two of us," and for the first time since their little daughter had been taken from them, he had replied: "yes, only two, thank god!" and had kissed awkwardly the hand laid over his mouth, and susan had seen the glitter of a tear on his faded lashes, the first in many years. susan knew that nathan would never forget the failures of that year, but she also knew that the comfort of accustomed activities would help to fill his mind and keep his thoughts from sore introspection. here in topeka there was nothing to do but cogitate and reflect. it was therefore a relief to her when elizabeth received a letter from her mother summoning her home to teach a spring term of school. while at any other time she would have been filled with indignation at the recall of elizabeth just as she was beginning to get settled to her new work, susan hornby felt that elizabeth needed education less at this point than nathan needed the busy seeding season to occupy his troubled thoughts. chapter iii reforms not easy to discuss elizabeth kept her tears and regrets to herself. she cried them out on her pillow that night, all the disappointments and handicaps of that wonderful year of experience and aspiration, but as she cried she planned the arrangements of her going. the letter was received on thursday night; elizabeth decided that she would go for her books the next day, and say her farewells to desk, recitation room, and the halls that had been dear to her. when elizabeth was called to the blackboard that afternoon to explain a problem in algebra, the board, the pointer, the very chalk in her fingers cried aloud their unity with her life and thought, and she sat down when it was over with a great throbbing in her throat and ears, and a sense of overwhelming disaster. as elizabeth carried her books home under her arm, bulging out one side of her circular like an unevenly inflated pudding-bag, the throbbing continued, and she turned into the less frequented streets with the certainty that she was going to disgrace herself with tears shed publicly. it had been a trying day, and in spite of all efforts her emotions broke loose before she could gain the shelter of home. hurrying blindly to get the last block covered, she nearly dropped her books as she turned the corner. "the unknown" was coming toward her! her startled glance of recognition was so unexpectedly open that he thought that he had probably met her. he looked puzzled, but lifted his hat as she hurried past him, wiping the tears from her face with her free hand. a boy called from across the street an instant later. "oh, hugh, i'm coming over for some help on that chem. ex. to-night." "all right," came the answer from "the unknown," and mixed with elizabeth's mortifying confusion was a quick thrill at knowing his name. "hugh!" no opportunity had ever come to meet him or to find out what his name might be. elizabeth was conscious that her life on the farm had made of her an impossible mate for this young man who, even among the young men of the city, was set apart by a peculiar grace and culture. she remembered the hat which had not merely been lifted from the head, but had been carried below the chin as he bowed distantly, and also the well-bred curiosity of his look. the rest of the leave-taking was made easier by having met him, and received his bow, and acquired the glorious, mystical knowledge of his name. to round out the experiences of the winter, fate decreed that mr. farnshaw could not come for her, and the glitter of the inside of a railway coach, with its brass lamps, plush seats, and polished woods, was added to her experimental knowledge. luther was somehow connected in her mind with the day's experiences and she wished devoutly that she could talk to him about the disappointment of leaving her school before the end of the term, and of this journey home on the train, and of hugh. yes, elizabeth would have told luther even of hugh. luther hansen was to elizabeth farnshaw unchanged and unchangeable. the transformations of her own life did not call for any such transformations in him. he was luther. it had been his mental processes which had won and now sustained her attachment for him. their two minds had worked together as one mind while they had struggled with the innocent problems of their childhood days, and elizabeth still felt incomplete without him. she had been less conscious of luther's absence the first year than at any time since his going away, but in topeka, and now that she was approaching the scene of their association together, elizabeth wanted him with a depth of homesickness she had never felt before. it was hard to go back to the old battleground and not find him there. the prospects in store for her at home made her shrink. elizabeth fell to wondering if any improvement in that home were possible. she had had them quite cheerfully in mind all winter, but now that the distance between her home and herself lessened rapidly a feeling of inadequacy came upon her, and the glitter of the wonderful coach in which she was riding was forgotten. could she help? the only thing that was very clear to her was that much patience would be necessary. at uncle nathan's they had been gentle and loving and tolerant. "can i make them see it--and see how?" she asked herself so many times that the wheels beneath her took up the refrain. "gentle and loving and tolerant--gentle and loving and tolerant--gentle and loving and tolerant," they sang for miles as she sat with her young brow puckered into a deep frown. the realities of life were thrust into the foreground the moment elizabeth arrived, and for new reasons she missed luther. mr. farnshaw resented the new circular. "is that th' damned fool kind of coat she was talkin' about?" he inquired as his daughter alighted from the farm wagon at the kitchen door that afternoon. "it ain't got no warmth," he added scornfully. "th' ain' nothin' to it but looks, an' not much of that. what 'd y' you do with th' coat you had?" the old heartsickening contention had begun. "i've got it." "well, you see that you wear it and don't go makin' a fool out of yourself around here. i'd 'a' kept my money if i'd 'a' knowed it was goin' t' be put into a thing that'd swell up in th' wind like a balloon." mrs. farnshaw saw the look that swept over elizabeth's face and instinctively ranged herself on the side of the young girl. she saw with a woman's eyes the style in the garment and its importance in her daughter's appearance. when elizabeth took it off her mother took it to the bedroom to put it away, remarking in a whisper that it made her look quite like a school-teacher ought to look. she was secretly glad that her daughter had it, since it was already paid for and she did not have to make it. it would be the most observed wrap in the schoolhouse the next sunday if she could only persuade elizabeth to go to meeting. the metal clasp had virtues all its own. "i think it's ever so much more stuck-up than if it had buttons," she whispered. the undertone rasped on elizabeth's nerves. aunt susan never differed with uncle nate in undertones. "let's get supper, ma," she said, to shake herself from threatened despondency. but though elizabeth bustled energetically about the getting of that meal, the eating of it was not a very great success. mr. farnshaw discoursed upon the senselessness of prevailing styles, with the new cape plainly in mind, and mrs. farnshaw nudged her daughter's knee under the table whenever elizabeth seemed inclined to defensive retorts. when mr. farnshaw had taken the milk pails on his arm and repaired to the corral, however, mrs. farnshaw turned from a belated churning and administered the caution in words: "don't ever say anything back to your pa, lizzie; he gets worse and worse all th' time." elizabeth considered the subject for some minutes. the wear and tear of the discords of her mother's life she knew were far more responsible for her mother's broken health than anything she did in the way of hard work. it seemed a good time to begin the reforms upon which her heart was set. "ma, i've been thinking about you a good deal this winter," she began slowly. "something is wrong with us all." the girl thought again for a moment. her mother watched her with sharp attention and waited. reforms were not easy to discuss with her mother; they were very different, elizabeth and her mother. elizabeth hardly dared express her longing to reorganize their home. if only she could effect a reformation! her heart had been set on it all winter. she knew now how people _could_ live if only they understood how to do it. her help here was needed. when she began to speak again it was very slowly, and with a careful consideration of the words she was using. "we ought all of us to be different. we go along day after day hating our work, scolding and fretting at each other, and never really happy, any of us, and i've been wondering why?" her mother eyed her closely. something of the girl's mood stirred a responsive chord. "i've thought of it too," she said, "but i can't never tell why it is though, unless"--she spoke slowly and elizabeth was encouraged--"unless it's because we don't never belong to ourselves. now your pa wants t' run th' house, an' th' farm, an' you children, an' me, an' everything, an' i'm so tired, an' never have any help, that anybody'd be cross. nobody ever pities me, though. here, take this dasher an' finish this here churnin' for me." elizabeth took the dasher into her own hand and stood looking down meditatively at the cream gathered about the hole in the churn lid. the first sentence of her mother's remark struck her attention. "why can't folks belong to themselves?" she asked, letting the dasher rest while she churned mental problems of greater moment. mrs. farnshaw looked up quickly. "well, if you think you can marry an' belong t' yourself, just you try it," she replied. "but, ma, if a man loved a woman couldn't she get him to leave her free? now--" mrs. farnshaw cut her short. "love! men don't know how to spell th' word. they get a woman, an' after she's got children they know she can't help herself. she's got t' stick to it 'cause she can't raise 'em alone an'--an' it don't make no difference whether he takes care of 'em or not--" words failed the exasperated woman. elizabeth studied her mother with a new interest. she began to apply her mother's words to her own case. she knew that her mother had wanted her services this spring as much as her father, and remembered the letter calling her home. "but that don't cover your case, ma. you love pa more than you do us children; you know you do, and we know that you do too." mrs. farnshaw usually denied the most obvious thing if her protective instincts prompted her to do so, but her daughter had hit the bull's-eye so exactly that for the moment she had no defence ready. elizabeth was encouraged by her mother's silence. mrs. farnshaw talked so much that it was not easy to get her attention. the young girl, glowing with the discoveries made in aunt susan's home, desired to get at the bottom of the causes of inharmony in her own and to reorganize it on a better basis. it looked as if she was to be granted a hearing upon her schemes. "i don't care about him running over _us_ so much," she said diplomatically, "but you let him run over you in the same way. now isn't there some way to come at him and get him to see it. when we're alone you talk about him domineering over you, but when he's here you let him say anything he wants to and you never try to help yourself. why don't you strike out on a new tack and say you won't do it when he makes unreasonable demands? why don't you reason with him good-naturedly, if you think that's better, without crying, i mean, and then if he won't listen at all----" "i don't know, lizzie," the mother interposed slowly. "i sometimes think i will an' then when he's here something won't let me. it ain't what he says to you; it's--it's--something he does to you when he looks at you. i'm as weak as water when he looks at me. i don't know why. i guess it's because i've always give up--an'--an'--i can't tell why. a woman does just like a horse--there's more'n one kind of whippin' a man can give--an' she gets scared--an' minds. a man begins right from th' first t' tell her what to do an' she loves 'im and wants t' please 'im, an' before long she don't have her way no more'n a nigger." some of the truth of the statement came within the grasp of the daughter, who was looking across the idle churn with her mind fixed in singleness of purpose upon remedies, and yet she felt that there was some other element in the matter not yet accounted for. the hopeless tone of the older woman, however, goaded her young spirit into forgetting the caution necessary to dealing with the subject. her blood fired with resentment that one life should be so crushed by another. it was her mother whose shoulders drooped with a burden too heavy for her to throw off. "if you're sure of that, why don't you leave him? we children are old enough to support ourselves and----" "lizzie!" elizabeth had overshot the mark. her mother was of another generation. "but, ma," the girl protested quickly, "i don't say leave him if you can find any way of settling matters. can't you have a talk with him--and get him to let you alone if you are willing to do the very best you can? that's the best way. have you tried it?" "no i hain't," the mother replied shortly; "it wouldn't do no good. but if my talkin' t' you is goin' t' make you say such things, i ain't goin't' talk t' you no more. when folks is married they're married, an' i don't believe in partin', nor talk of partin'." "well, i think maybe you are right, but if you and pa are going to live together you ought to try and have it out, and be a help to each other instead----" she broke off and thought a moment, "now aunt susan and uncle nate----" "stop right there!" mrs. farnshaw cried, afire with jealousy. "that woman's brought more trouble into this house a'ready than she'll ever take out. your pa's been rantin' about her all winter an'--an' he said you'd be pokin' her ways into our faces th' very day you got home. i 'spect she's th' one that got it into your head to talk of partin', most likely." "oh, now, ma, don't go on like that. you don't know about aunt susan. she's the last person in the world to ever suggest such a thing. that's just what i started out to say--they never have a word about anything. it's the loveliest home to live in, and i was just thinking that they must have found----" "i said i didn't want t' hear nothin' more about them folks, an' i don't," mrs. farnshaw cried, caught on the other horn of the argument and even more deeply offended than before. "she'll most likely get all your love just like she got all your father's money last winter. you needn't mention her here no more. th' school directors 'll be over to see you about fillin' out that term, to-night," mrs. farnshaw ended shortly, and turned the subject of conversation to other channels. "me? to fill out the term?" elizabeth exclaimed in surprise. "what's gone wrong with the school here? i don't want a piece of a term, and i don't want, ever, to teach in this district where i've gone to school." "well, you're goin' to," was the brief reply. "your pa an' me told 'em you'd take it." "but how does it happen that the school is without a teacher?" elizabeth asked with curiosity, ignoring the curt disposal of her services. she was accustomed to the peremptory measures of her parents. "jake ransom run him out. he just piked off after he got his money order cashed last saturday mornin'." "and you expect me to take a school that's all upside down from that kind of handling--and me without any experience?" "you'll take it an' you'll do your best, an' we won't hear no more about it. here, ma, tie up this finger," mr. farnshaw said. he had just come in from the barn in time to hear his daughter's objections. later in the evening the directors came. family pressure was strong, and with reluctance elizabeth accepted the month yet to be taught. it would help with the interest, and that interest clouded the family sky to the horizon on every side now. elizabeth was divided between a fear of inability to manage a demoralized school and the desire to add twenty-five dollars to the family revenue. in anticipation she saw the unruly boys supported and encouraged in insubordination by such as sadie crane, who was jealously ready to resent her--a former playmate--in the rôle of authority. and to put herself right with the governing board elizabeth told the new director--sadie's own father--her fears on that score. "they have played with me and we have had the sort of quarrels all children have, mr. crane, and i may not be able to manage them." lon crane was ignorant and uncouth, but big of heart, and the openness of the discussion pleased him. "you jest take that school, young lady, an' i'll see that my end of th' thing's kep' up. i'll come over there an thrash every mother's son of 'em if i have t'. i'd kind o' like t' lick a few of 'em anyhow, an' if my young ones give any trouble, you jes' stop in on your way home an' i'll see that it don't never happen ag'in." half the battle was won; she let him hold her hand a moment at leave-taking while he reinforced his remarks by many repetitions. "don't you worry, sis," he repeated as he backed out of the door; "you needn't be afraid; this here school board's at your back. we know it's a bad school, but, by ginger! we'll see that you're stood by. you jes' let me know if that there jake ransom tries any more monkeyshines and i'll tan his hide till it'll be good for shoe leather." it occurred to elizabeth that every word they were saying would be carried to the boy long before monday morning and that a bad matter might from the very goodness of the teller's intentions be made worse. "how old did you say the ransom boy was?" she asked with concern. "fifteen--and a stinker if there ever was one." "then i think maybe i'll have a show. i thought he was older than that," she said diplomatically. "now may i ask that what we have said be kept quiet? i would rather like to have a fair show with him--and i'll admit i'd like to be on good terms. promise me that what we have said may be a secret even from your own family till after monday." elizabeth went forward and spoke confidentially. the man liked her even better than before. "i'll do it, by jing!" he exclaimed. "they'll be wantin' t' know soon's ever i get home what we done about it, an' fur once they'll suck their thumbs. look out fur that boy, though; he's a black sheep that lives around in any flock; ain't got no home. i'll help if i'm needed." elizabeth listened closely to all that she heard her brothers say about jake ransom, trying to form some estimate of his character, and soon came to the conclusion that whatever else the boy might be, he was at least not to be classed as a sneak. in fact, jake seemed to have rather a surprising faculty for announcing his policies before he began action. when school opened monday morning the bully was easily recognizable. elizabeth had gone through all the stages of fright, of distaste for the job, and lastly of set determination to show this district that she could take that boy and not only conquer him but become friends with him. instead of being nervous about the coming encounter, however, elizabeth grew more steady and self-reliant as she felt his eyes upon her, and actually became interested in the small affairs preceding the ringing of the bell, and forgot him altogether till it was time to call the roll. jacob ransom's name came last on the list. a titter ran around the room when it was called. the tone of reply was louder than the rest and defiant of manner. elizabeth looked around the room with frank inquiry and the titter died down. she let her gaze wander quietly and naturally down the aisle to the seat of the bully and was surprised to find that she liked the boy. closing the roll book and following an instinct rather than a formulated plan, elizabeth walked slowly down the room to his desk. a faint giggle behind her spoke of the hushed expectations of trouble. "if i hear any more laughing in this room, i shall inquire into the matter," she said sternly, facing about beside jake's desk. the instant response to that remark gave her confidence in her own powers. it was the first time she had ever used the tone of authority and she instinctively recognized that the quality of her personality in that position was good. both she and jake ransom were on trial in that room. "so you are the 'jake' i have heard about?" she said, looking him frankly in the face and letting him see that she was measuring him openly. "is your name jake or jacob?" she asked, as if it were an important matter to get settled. "don't call me jacob," the boy snapped. "i think i like the nickname better myself," elizabeth replied easily. her good fairy beckoned her on. "these children are all laughing because they think we are going to pull each other's hair presently. we will show them at least that we are a lady and a gentleman, i trust. let me see your books." she looked at him with such straightforward sincerity that the boy returned the look in the same spirit. the books were produced in surprise; this was walking into the middle of the ring and bidding for an _open_ fight, if fight they must. the boy loved a square deal. jake ransom's sting had been drawn. "you are in advance of the rest of the school. are you preparing for the high school?" elizabeth asked, emphasizing her surprise. "lord, no!" the boy blurted out. elizabeth looked through the book in her hand slowly before she asked: "why don't you? i was only about as far along as this in arithmetic last year. some one said you were ready for it." "oh, i kin do 'rithmetic all right, but i ain't no good in nothin' else--an'--an'--wouldn't i look fine teachin' school?" jake ransom exclaimed, but the bully melted out of him by way of the fact that she had heard good reports of him. he would not smoke this level-eyed girl out of the schoolhouse, nor sprinkle the floor with cayenne, as was the usual proceeding of the country bumpkin who failed to admire his teacher. jake ransom was not really a bully; he was a shy boy who had been domineered over by a young popinjay of a teacher who had never taught school before and who had himself many lessons to learn in life's school. the boy brought out his slate, spit on its grimy surface and wiped it with his sleeve. one of the buttons on his cuff squeaked as he wiped it across, and the children had something tangible to laugh at. elizabeth was wise enough to take no notice of that laugh. some one has said that experience is not as to duration but as to intensity, and it was elizabeth's fate to live at great pressure in every important stage of her life. but for the fact that she had made a friend of jake ransom that month's events would have had a different story. sadie crane took exceptions to every move made and every mandate issued from the teacher's desk. the spirit of insubordination to which the entire school had been subjected that winter made good soil for sadie's tares. for the most part the dissatisfaction was a subtle thing, an undercurrent of which elizabeth was aware, but upon which she could lay no finger of rebuke, but at times it was more traceable, and then, to the young teacher's surprise, jake ransom had ways of dealing with the offenders outside of school hours. sadie's tongue was sharp and she was accustomed to a wholesome attitude of fear among the scholars, but her first thrusts at jake had aroused a demon of which she had little dreamed. jake had no foolish pride and would admit his faults so guilelessly that her satire fell to the ground. he was an entirely new sort to the spiteful child. the terrible advantage the person who will admit his faults cheerfully has over the one who has pride and evades was never more manifest. jake ransom pointed out to a credulous following the causes of sadie's disaffection, and left the envious child in such a state of futile rage that she was ready to burst with her ill-directed fury. in the end the month's work had to be granted the tribute of success, and the term closed with a distinct triumph for elizabeth and the experience of a whole year's trial crowded into four short weeks. at home things were not so fortunate. the young girl had come back from topeka with higher ideals of home life, of personal conduct, and of good manners than she had ever had before. it was so good to have something better, and elizabeth hungered to pass along the transforming things she had found; but when she tried to give the boys gentle hints about correct ways of eating she was greeted with guffaws and sarcastic chuckles about handling soup with a fork. mrs. farnshaw saw nothing but susan hornby's interference, mr. farnshaw told her to attend to her own affairs until her help was desired, and when the child was rebuffed and unable to hide her disappointment and retired within herself, both parents resented the evident and growing difference between her and themselves. it was to escape from a home which was unendurable that elizabeth flat-footedly, and for the first time, refused to accede to her parents' authority. when the matter of a spring term of school came up for discussion she refused to teach the home school again, though mr. crane had been so pleased with her work that he had offered it to her. when asked if jake ransom was the objection she indignantly asserted to the contrary. "he was the best pupil i had," she said, "but i don't want to teach at home, and i won't do it," and that was all she would say. she secured a school ten miles north of her home; ten miles had been the nearest point which she would consider. the interest was at last paid, but when the summer groceries were paid for there was no money left with which to go back to topeka, and it was necessary to teach a winter school. elizabeth went to work anew to collect funds for another year's schooling. mr. farnshaw sold himself short of corn in the fall, however, and the young girl was expected to make up the deficit. in the spring the interest was to be paid again, and so at the end of a year and a half the situation was unchanged. the next year a threshing machine was added to the family assets, and again the cry of "help" went up, again elizabeth's plans were sacrificed. the next year the interest was doubled, and for four years elizabeth farnshaw worked against insurmountable odds. chapter iv a cultured man when no remonstrance of hers availed to prevent the constant increase of expenses, elizabeth saw that her assistance, instead of helping the family to get out of debt, was simply the means of providing toys for experimentation, and that she was being quietly but persistenly euchred out of all that her heart cherished. mr. farnshaw valued the machinery he was collecting about him, mrs. farnshaw valued the money, partly because in one way and another it added to the family possessions, and also because her husband having found out that he could obtain it through her easier than by direct appeal, she could avoid unpleasantness with him by insisting upon her daughter giving it to him; but elizabeth's education was valued by no one but elizabeth, and unless she were to learn her lesson quickly the time for an education to be obtained would have passed. "it's of no use for you to talk to me, ma," elizabeth said the spring after she was twenty years old, "i shall keep every cent i make this summer. pa gets into debt and won't let anybody help him out, and i am going to go to topeka this fall. i'm years older right now than the rest of the scholars will be--not a single pupil that was there when i went before will be there--and i'm going to go. i don't ever intend to pay the interest on that old mortgage again--it's just pouring money into a rat-hole!" [illustration: "'now look here, lizzie, ... your pa expects it'"] it was early morning and they were planting potatoes. her mother stood with her back turned toward the raw april wind as they talked, her old nubia tied loosely about her head and neck, and her hands red with the cold. "now look here, lizzie"--mrs. farnshaw always refused to use the full name--"your pa expects it." "of course he expects it; that's why he keeps adding to the mortgage; but that don't make any difference. i'm going to topeka this fall just the same. i am not going to pay one dollar on the interest in may, and you can tell pa if you like." mrs. farnshaw was alarmed. elizabeth had protested and tried to beg off from the yearly stipend before, but never in that manner. the tone her daughter had used frightened her and she quivered with an unacknowledged fear. her husband's wrath was the sheol she fought daily to avoid. what would become of them if the interest were not paid? added to mrs. farnshaw's personal desire to command her daughter's funds there was the solid fear of her husband's estimate of her failure. she could not look in his eye and tell him that she was unable to obtain their daughter's consent. to live in the house with him after lizzie had told him herself was equally unthinkable, for his wrath would be visited upon her own head. "my child! my child!" she cried, "you don't have to be told what he will do t' me." there was a long pause while she sobbed. the pause became a compelling one; some one had to speak. "i can't help it, ma," elizabeth said doggedly after a time. "oh, but you don't know what it means. come on to th' house. i can't work no more, an' i've got t' talk this thing out with you." they picked up the pails and the hoe with which they had been covering the hills and went to the house, carrying a burden that made a potato-planting day a thing of no consequence. the mother busied herself with the cob fire as she argued, and elizabeth put away the old mittens with which she had protected her hands from the earth which never failed to leave them chapped, before she picked up the broom and began an onslaught on the red and fluffy dust covering the kitchen floor. "you see, you'll go off t' teach an' won't know nothin' about it, an'--an'--i'll have it t' bear an'----" the pause was significant. mrs. farnshaw watched her daughter furtively and strained her ears for signs of giving up. at last elizabeth said slowly: "i'm as sorry as i can be, ma, but--i'm twenty years old, and i've _got_ to go." there was no doubting that her mind was made up, and yet her mother threw herself against that stone wall of determination in frantic despair. "lizzie, lizzie, lizzie! i can't live an' have you do it. you don't know, child, what i have to bear." "now look here, ma; you won't let me have things out openly with pa and come to an understanding with him, and when i told you four years ago that you ought to leave him if you couldn't live with him peaceably you talked as if i had committed some sort of sin. you and pa are determined to fuss it out and i can't help it, and i've sacrificed four good years to you and the interest is bigger than it ever was. i haven't helped you one bit. if you want to go on living with him you'll do it in your own way, but if your life is unbearable, and you want to leave him, i'll see that you are provided for. the law would give you a share of this----" the noise of the broom and of their voices had prevented them from hearing any other sounds, but a shadow fell across the middle door and josiah farnshaw entered the kitchen a blazing picture of wrath. before he could speak, however, the dog on the doorstep barked sharply at a stranger who was close upon him, and the irate father was obliged to smooth his manner. elizabeth escaped to the bedroom as her father crossed to the kitchen to see what the man wanted, and mr. farnshaw went on out to the pens a moment later with the "hog buyer," as the man proved to be. "my god! my god! what have you done?" mrs. farnshaw cried, following elizabeth into the bedroom. "i don't know, ma," the girl cried, as white as her mother. "i'm going to get off to hunt up a school while that man is here. the sun has come out and it's only ten o'clock. if you're afraid, come along," she advised, as she hurried into a clean calico dress and took down her old black riding skirt from its nail. "lizzie!" the mother exclaimed, as much afraid of the advice as she was of her husband. there was little time left her for argument, for elizabeth hurriedly tied a thick green veil over her plain straw hat and left the house. the hog pens were on the opposite side of the stable from the house and elizabeth soon had patsie, now a mare of five years, saddled and bridled. the air was softening, and it occurred to her that it was going to rain, as she hurried out of the yard, but she did not wait to get extra wraps nor her umbrella. the best thing to do, she knew, was to get away while that hog buyer was there and trust to luck for the edge of her father's anger to wear away before she returned. fortunately she had worn her old coat, which was heavy and waterproof, and when it did begin to rain half an hour later, instead of turning back she pressed forward, more afraid of the thunderstorm at home than any to be encountered on the way. elizabeth rode steadily southward, thinking out her share in this new quarrel in which she had embroiled her parents, unaware that as it drizzled it became warmer and that the day had become spring-like and endurable. she began to question the propriety of having suggested drastic measures to her mother. "till death do you part" rang in her ears in spite of the certainty that the union of her mother and her father was an unholy thing which was damning them more surely than a separation could possibly do. of only one thing could elizabeth be sure: she saw without mistake at last that she must decide upon her own duties hereafter without listening to a mother who could not decide anything for herself. the director of the district to which elizabeth first turned her steps was away from home when she arrived and it was necessary to consider where she would go next. after some thought she decided to try the chamberlain district, which lay between there and her home. it was eight miles from the farnshaw homestead and far enough away so that she would not have to board with her parents and she determined to try to meet the school board, which met usually on the first tuesday night in april. the fact of facing around toward the north again set her to considering what course of action she would pursue when she went back home. "i'll go back, i guess, and be patient with whatever he feels like doing with me," she resolved, reflecting that from her father's standpoint he had a very real grievance against her. "it was a dreadful thing for him to hear me advising ma to leave him. i guess i owe it to them to try to straighten it up. but i don't believe it can ever be straightened up," she ended doubtfully. elizabeth was passing a grove of young cottonwood trees and was so absorbed in her thoughts that, becoming only half conscious that patsie was lagging and that time was passing rapidly, she gave her a slap with the strap in her hand, urging the horse to a faster pace as she rounded the corner of the section without looking up. patsie broke into a long, easy lope. suddenly elizabeth became conscious of the noise of other hoofs splashing toward them. glancing up, she saw a farm team almost upon them, whose driver was stooped to avoid the rain. elizabeth pulled her horse up sharply, and to one side. the trail was an old one, and the sloping, washed-out rut was deep. patsie lost her footing and, after a slipping plunge or two, fell floundering on her side before her mistress could support her with the rein. active as a boy, elizabeth loosened her foot from the stirrup and flung herself to the other side of the road, out of the way of the dangerous hoofs. elizabeth slipped as her feet struck the ground and she landed on "all-fours" in the grass. the young man, suddenly awake to what had happened, was out of his high seat and had the mare by the bridle before its rider had fairly scrambled up. "i beg your pardon! are you hurt?" he called across the wagon, when patsie, still nervous from her fall, hung back as far as her rein would permit and not only refused to be led but threatened to break away altogether. "not at all! not a bit! whoa! patsie! whoa! lady!" elizabeth cried, coming around to them, and extending a smeary, dripping hand for the taut rein. the young man let her step in front of him and put her hand on the strap, but kept his own there as well, while they both followed the backing horse with braced steps, the girl talking soothingly to the frightened animal the while. the naturally docile filly responded to the voice she had heard from earliest colthood and soon let elizabeth approach close enough to put her hand on the bit. the seriousness of the affair gave way to the comic when the horse began to snatch bits of grass from the roadside. the young couple laughed and looked at each other rather sheepishly as they saw that further cooperation was not needed. they untangled their hands where they had slipped tight together in the loop of the bridle rein as they had followed the rearing beast. "she has broken the girth," the young man said, lifting his hat ceremoniously and with a manner not born of life on the farm. he threw the stirrup over the top of the saddle and fished under the now quiet horse for her dangling surcingle. having secured it, he untied the strap and examined it to see if it were sufficiently long to permit of tying another knot. deciding that it was, he tied one end in the ring in the saddle and, passing the other through the ring of the girth, drew it up with a strong, steady pull. his side face against the saddle, as he pulled, permitted him to examine curiously the young girl in front of him. "are you sure you are not hurt at all?" he asked solicitously. "not a bit--only muddy," she replied, stooping to brush her earth-stained hands through the rain-laden grass at the roadside. he was still working with the straps when her hands were cleaned and watched her openly as she shielded her face behind patsie's head while waiting. the water dripped from the ends of her braided brown hair and the long dark lashes of her brown eyes were mist-laden also. he examined all the accoutrements of her mount minutely. when at last it occurred to her that he was giving them extra attention for the sake of extending the time elizabeth's eyes lighted up with a humorous twinkle. the young man caught and rightly interpreted the expression and was embarrassed. "i think it's all right," he said quickly. "i'm awfully sorry to have been so stupid. i never thought of meeting any one in all this rain." elizabeth took that as a reflection upon her presence out of doors on such a day, and leading her horse down into the deep road sprang into the saddle from the bank before he could offer his assistance. "thank you for helping me," she said, and was off toward the west before he could speak. she was gone, and he could do nothing but look after her helplessly. "your horse has lamed itself," he called when he was at last able to concern himself with such matters, but either the spattering hoofbeats prevented her hearing his voice or she was determined not to reply; he could not tell which. there was nothing to do but return to his wagon. "confound it!" he exclaimed. "now you've made an ass of yourself and let her get away without finding out who she was or where she lived." he liked her--and he was an ass! he anathematized himself openly. when well away from the man, elizabeth saw that his observation regarding the prospects of meeting people on such a day was a perfectly natural one and not aimed at her at all. she laughed at the spectacle she was sure she must have presented, and wished now that she had not been in such a hurry in leaving him. here was a man worth looking at. the gesture as he had lifted his hat indicated refinement. "curious that i haven't seen him--he lives here some where," she pondered, and now that she could not find out she rated herself severely for the embarrassment which was apt to assail her at critical moments. patsie limped miserably, and elizabeth brought her down to a walk and let her droop along the old country road, and speculated on this new specimen of masculinity which had dropped from the skies to puzzle and delight her soul. the rain beat heavily now, and elizabeth began to take her situation into account after thinking over the stranger a few minutes. there was a perfect deluge of water from the burdened sky, and though no sign of a house could be seen, she knew she could not be far from the chamberlain homestead; but the ground was becoming more and more soggy, and her garments were not of the heaviest. patsie's feet went ploop, ploop, ploop, in the soft, muddy road. elizabeth urged her to the fastest possible walking speed in spite of her lameness. to trot or gallop was impossible, and the young horse slipped now and then in a manner which would have unseated a less skilful rider. the sodden kansas road was aflood with this spring rain. patsie laboured heavily and elizabeth gave herself up to her cogitations again. her mind had reacted to more pleasant subjects than home affairs. it had been a dreary, disheartening ride, and yet it had had its compensations, for was not the rider young and the earth filled with the freshness of spring? the short and tender grass bordered the road to the very wheel-ruts; the meadow larks sang regardless of the rain, or mayhap in sheer meadow-lark delight because of it. to the south a prairie chicken drummed, and a cow called to her calf, whose reply came from a point still farther in the distance. at the sound of the cow's lowing elizabeth farnshaw peered delightedly through mists. "i knew it couldn't be much farther, patsie," she said, leaning forward and patting the neck of the dripping horse. little spurts of water flew spatteringly from under the affectionate palm, and elizabeth shook her bare hand to free it from the wet hairs which adhered to it, laughing at her rainsoaked condition. it was indeed a time for seeking shelter. presently the rattle of a chain was heard nearby, then the outlines of a straw stable were seen, and from the foreground of mist a man appeared unhitching a team of horses from a large farm wagon. patsie gave a little nicker of anticipation as she scented the sacks of oats, carefully covered, in the back of the wagon. the old man rose from his stooping position in unfastening the tugs and faced the newcomer. "why, it's miss farnshaw! gee whiz! be you a duck t' be out on such a day as this?" he inquired, stepping forward when he saw that she was coming in. then chuckling at his own humour, he added: "i guess you be a goslin'--a goslin' bein' a young goose, you know." elizabeth farnshaw laughed. "but my feathers aren't turning the rain, mr. chamberlain." it was the second time within the hour that she had been reminded that women were not expected to go out of doors in a rainstorm. "that's because you're such a young goose, you know; you ain't got no feathers yet, it's only down." "fairly caught!" she replied, backing her horse around so that the rain would come from behind, "tell me, does the school board meet to-night?" "oh, ho!" the farmer replied, "that's th' way th' wind blows, is it? now look here, young lady, if you be as prompt in lickin' them youngsters in season an' out o' season as you be in lookin' up schools i guess you'll do. yes, sir-ee, th' school board meets to-night an' you jes' come t' th' house an' have a bite t' eat an' we'll see what we can do for you. why, stars an' garters!" he exclaimed as he lifted her down from her horse, "liza ann 'll have t' put you in th' oven along with th' rest of th' goslins." then he added: "now you run along to th' house, an' i'll take this horse in hand. i judge by its nicker you didn't stop for no dinner to-day." mrs. chamberlain appeared at the door and her husband called to her, "liza ann! here's miss farnshaw, as wet as that last brood of chickens you found under th' corn-planter. give 'er a dry pair of shoes an' take 'er wet coat off o' 'er." as elizabeth turned to her hostess, the old man exclaimed, "why, gosh all friday, what's happened to your horse?" "i'm awfully worried about patsie's foot. she slipped in the muddy road this afternoon. do you suppose it'll lay her up? it's a busy time and pa needs her." "i don't know; it's in a ticklish place. i'll rub it good with mustang liniment; that's th' best thing i know of. now you run on to th' house; you're wet enough t' wake up lame yourself in th' mornin'," he admonished, straightening up, with his hands on the small of his back. having dismissed elizabeth, silas chamberlain took patsie's saddle from her back and laid it across old queen's harness, taking his own team into the barn first. old queen was an unsocial animal and it was necessary to tie her in the far stall when a strange horse was brought into the barn, as she had a way of treating intruders badly. she sniffed at the saddle distrustfully as mr. chamberlain tied her up. "whoa! there!" he said emphatically, giving her a slap on the flank which sent her into the opposite corner of the stall. "you needn't be s' all fired touchy you can't let a strange saddle come into th' stall. that saddle's carried th' pluckiest girl in this end of th' county t'day. gosh-a-livin's! think of her a comin' out on a day like this, an' smilin' at them wet feathers, as she called 'em, 's if it didn't make no difference bein' wet at all. now if john hunter gets his eyes on 'er there'll be an end of ma's board money; an' then how'll i finish payin' fur that sewin' machine?" in the house, after some time spent in trying to be stiffly polite to her guest, the unwilling hostess began the supper. the potatoes were put on to fry, the kettle sang, and mrs. chamberlain sat down to grind the coffee in a mill which she grasped firmly between her knees. "maybe you 'uns don't drink coffee?" she remarked anxiously, stopping to look over at the girl, who sat near the fire drying her shoes in the oven. "oh, yes," elizabeth answered slowly, coming back reluctantly from a consideration of the handsome stranger she had met; "that is," she added confusedly, "i never drink anything but water, anyhow." mrs. chamberlain gave a relieved sigh. "i was afraid you'd rather have tea, an' i ain't got no tea in th' house. bein' farmin' season now it seems as if i can't never get t' town." just then one adventurous chick which, with the rest of the brood, had been discovered under the corn-planter earlier in the day, jumped out of the box in which it had been kept near the fire. mrs. chamberlain set the mill on the table and gave chase to the runaway. "that's th' peertest chicken of th' lot," she remarked as she again enveloped him in the old woollen skirt, from the folds of which came much distressed cheeping. "they're hungry, i think," she added, reaching for a bowl of yellow cornmeal which she mixed with water. lifting the skirt off the little brood carefully, and giving it a cautious shake to assure herself that no unwary chick was caught in its folds, she dropped some of the mixture in the middle of the box, tapping lightly with the spoon to call the attention of the chicks to its presence. the chickens pecked hungrily, and there was a satisfied note in the twitterings of the downy little group as mrs. chamberlain turned to the preparation of her supper again. "yes, he's th' peertest chicken of th' lot; an' i'd most as soon he'd been more like th' rest--he's always gettin' out of th' box." "now, liza ann, you ain't thinkin' nothin' of th' kind," said her husband, who had hurried with his evening chores so as to get a chance to visit with the company and had just come in from the stable. "you know you said yourself, 'thank goodness, there's one on 'em alive,' when you fished 'em out from under that planter. th' same thing's keeping 'im on th' go now that kept 'im from givin' up as quick as th' rest did then. chicken's is like boys, miss farnshaw," silas continued, addressing elizabeth; "th' ones that makes th' most trouble when thy're little, you can count on as bein' th' most likely when they're growed up. now, liza ann there counted on that chicken soon's ever she set eyes on 'im." having washed his face and hands in the tin basin on the bench just outside the kitchen door, silas chamberlain combed his curly locks of iron gray before the little looking glass which was so wrinkled that he looked like some fantastic caricature when mirrored on its surface. after a short grace at the opening of the meal, he passed a dish of potatoes, remarking: "we ain't much hands t' wait on th' table, miss farnshaw; you'll have t' reach an' help yourself." "who's this plate for?" elizabeth asked at last, designating the vacant place at her side. "that's john's," said mrs. chamberlain. "john hunter's, miss farnshaw," said silas. "he's our boarder, an' th' likeliest young man in these parts." then he added with conviction, "you two be goin' t' like each other." a girlish blush covered the well-tanned cheeks, and to hide her embarrassment elizabeth said with a laugh: "describe this beau ideal of yours." "now, si, do let th' child alone," mrs. chamberlain protested. "he's always got t' tease," she added deprecatingly. "sometimes i be an' sometimes not. miss farnshaw made me think of you some way when i see her this afternoon." noting his wife's look of surprise, he explained: "i mean when i see you down to th' cherryvale meetin' house. an' it didn't take me long t' make up my mind after that, neither." mrs. chamberlain smiled at the mention of girlhood days, but said nothing, and silas turned to elizabeth again with his honest face alight with memories of youth. "you see, miss farnshaw, i'd gone out on th' hunt of a stray calf, an' an unexpected shower came on--th' kind that rains with th' sun still a shinin'--an' i dug my heels into old charlie's flanks an' hurried along down th' road to th' meeting house, a few rods farther on, when what should i see but a pretty girl on th' steps of that same place of refuge! well, i begged 'er pardon, but i stayed on them there steps till that shower cleared off. most of th' time i was a prayin' that another cloud would appear, an' i didn't want it no bigger than a man's hand neither. no, sir-ee, i wouldn't 'a' cared if it'd 'a' been as big as th' whole bay of biscay. an' what i was thinkin' jest now was that there was about th' same fundamental differences 'tween you an' john hunter that th' was 'tween liza ann an' me. he's light haired an' blue eyed, an tall an' slim, an' he's openin' up a new farm, an' 'll need a wife. he talks of his mother comin' out t' keep house for him, but, law's sakes! she wasn't raised on a farm an' wouldn't know nothin' about farm work. oh, yes, i forgot t' tell you th' best part of my story: i got t' carry miss liza ann parkins home on old charlie, 'cause th' crick rose over th' banks outen th' clouds of rain i prayed for!" "now, si chamberlain, there ain't a word of truth in that, an' you know it," said his wife, passing elizabeth a hot biscuit. "i walked home by th' turnpike road, miss farnshaw, though we did wait a bit, till it dried up a little." her husband's laugh rang out; he had trapped liza ann into the discussion, in spite of herself, and he had trapped her into an admission as well. "well," he said, "i may be mistaken about th' details, but i've always had a soft spot in my heart for th' rainy days since that particular time." "but you haven't told me why mr. hunter isn't here to eat his supper," said elizabeth, "nor have you told me what he is like." "oh, he's gone over to colebyville for his mail, an' won't be home till late--in all this mud. as to what he's like--it ain't easy t' tell what john's like; he's--he's a university feller; most folks say he's a dude, but we like him?" "what university?" elizabeth asked with a quick indrawn breath; she knew now whom she had met on the road that afternoon. "he comes from illinois. i guess it's th' state university--i never asked him. his father died an' left him this land an' he's come out here to farm it. couldn't plow a straight furrow t' save his life when he come a little over a year ago, but he's picked up right smart," silas added, thereby giving the information the young girl wanted. this young man was to be in this neighbourhood all summer. still another reason for applying for the chamberlain school. as elizabeth helped liza ann with her dishwashing after supper, john hunter came in. the ground had been too soft for them to hear the wagon when he drove up. silas introduced them promptly and added with a grin: "you've heard of folks that didn't know enough t' come in out of th' rain? well, that's her!" john hunter's eyes twinkled an amused recognition, but he did not mention the accident in which patsie had come to grief. "i am very glad to meet you, miss farnshaw; we are both wet weather birds." seeing liza ann reach for a frying pan, he addressed himself to her: "never mind any supper for me, mrs. chamberlain. i knew i'd be late, as i had to go around by warren's after i got back, and i got an early supper at the new hotel before i left town!" "the extravagance of that!" exclaimed mrs. chamberlain, to whom hotel bills were unknown. john hunter went to the door to clean some extra mud off his boot tops, and to hide a wide and fatuous smile at the thought of tricking silas out of his accustomed joke. he felt nearer the girl, because she too had been silent regarding the afternoon encounter. he liked the mutuality of it and resolved that it should not be the last touch of that sort between them. while not really intellectual, john hunter had the polish and tastes of the college man, and here he reflected was a girl who seemed near being on his own level. she looked, he thought, as if she could see such small matters as bespattered clothes. silas followed him out. "you didn't bed them horses down did you?" he asked. "no. i expect we'd better do it now and have it out of the way." as they entered the dark stable and felt their way along the back of the little alley, behind the stalls, for the pitchforks, the younger man asked indifferently: "who did you say the young lady was?" "oh, ho!" shouted silas; "it didn't take you long. i knew you'd be courtin' of me along with your questions. now look here, john hunter, you can't go an' carry this schoolma'am off till this here term's finished. i look fur carter an' that new director over to-night, for a school meetin', an' i'm blamed if i'm goin' t' have you cuttin' into our plans--no, sirr-ee--she's t' be left free t' finish up this school, anyhow, if i help 'er get it." "no danger! you get her the school; but how does she come to have that air away out here? does she come from some town near here?" "town nothin'! she was jest raised on these prairies, same as th' rest of us. ain't she a dandy! no, sir--'er father's a farmer--'bout as common as any of us, an' she ain't had no different raisin'. she's different in 'erself somehow. curious thing how one body'll have a thing an' another won't, an' can't seem t' get it, even when he wants it an' tries. now you couldn't make nothin' but jest plain farmer out of me, no matter what you done t' me." "do you think they'll give her the school?" john asked. silas's laugh made the young man uncomfortable. he had intended to avoid the necessity for it, but had forgotten himself. "there's carter now," was all the reply the old man gave as he moved toward the door, which he could dimly see now that he had been in the darkness long enough for his eyes to become accustomed to it. the splashing footsteps of a horse and the voice of a man cautioning it came from toward the road. "that you, carter?" silas called. "yes. this ground's fairly greasy to-night," answered the voice. "bring your horse in here; there's room under cover for it," was the rejoinder. they tied it in the darkness, feeling their way from strap to manger. "the farnshaw girl's here waitin' fur th' school." "glad of that," replied the newcomer. "i don't know her very well, but they say she can handle youngsters. she's had some extry schoolin' too. don't know as that makes any difference in a summer term, but it's never in th' way." the young man slipped out of the stable, intending to get a word with the new teacher before the others came to the house. the school was assured to her with two members of the board in her favour, he reflected. liza ann had gone to the other room, and finding the way clear he asked in a half whisper: "did you lame your horse badly?" and when elizabeth only nodded and looked as if she hoped her hostess had not heard, john hunter was filled with joy. the mutuality of the reticence put them on the footing of good fellowship. there was no further opportunity for conversation, as they heard silas and carter on the step and a third party hail them from a distance. there was a moment's delay and when the door did at last open elizabeth farnshaw gave a glad cry: "uncle nate! where in the world did you come from?" she caught nathan hornby by the lapels of his wet overcoat and stood him off from her, looking at him in such a transport of joy that they were the centre of an admiring and curious group instantly. while nathan explained that they had only last month traded their wooded eighty for a hundred and sixty acres of prairie land in this district, and that it had been their plan to surprise her the next sunday by driving over to see her before she had heard that they were in that part of the state, elizabeth sat on the edge of the wood-box and still held to his coat as if afraid the vision might vanish from her sight, and asked questions twice as fast as the pleased old man could answer them, and learned that nathan had been appointed to fill out the unexpired term of the moderator of the chamberlain school district, with whom he had traded for the land. the business of the evening was curtailed to give the pair a chance to talk, and when the contract was signed, elizabeth said that she would go home with nathan, and john hunter thrust himself into the felicitous arrangement by taking the young girl over in his farm wagon, it being decided that patsie's lameness made it best for her to remain housed in silas's barn for the night. it was a mile and a half along soggy roads to nathan hornby's, and john hunter made as much of the time fortune had thrown at him as possible. they sat under one umbrella, and found the distance short, and john told her openly that he was glad she was to be in his neighbourhood. chapter v reaching hungry hands toward a symbol susan hornby's delight over elizabeth's coming was the most satisfying thing nathan had seen since his return from topeka. he had traded the land to please his wife, by getting nearer elizabeth, but the presence of the girl in the house was so overwhelmingly surprising that susan was swept by its very suddenness into shedding tears of actual joy. elizabeth was put to the disconcerting necessity of explaining that her mother somewhat resented aunt susan's influence upon her daughter's life when she found her friends enthusiastically planning visits in the near future. she softened the details as much as possible and passed it over as only a bit of maternal jealousy, but was obliged to let this dear friend see that it was rather a serious matter in her calculations. susan hornby now understood why elizabeth had never visited her in these four years. with the eyes of love aunt susan saw that four years in a position of authority had ripened her darling, and made of her a woman of wit and judgment, who could tell a necessary thing in a right manner or with a reserve which was commendable. eagerly she studied her to see what the changes of those formative years had brought her. she listened to elizabeth's plans for going to topeka, and rejoiced that the intellectual stimulus was still strong in her. elizabeth was obliged to explain away her parent's attitude regarding further education, and left much for the older woman to fill in by her intuitions and experience of the world, but there again susan hornby saw evidences of strength which made her feel that the loss was offset by power gained. elizabeth farnshaw had matured and had qualities which would command recognition. john hunter had shown that he recognized them--a thing which elizabeth without egotism also knew. it was a new experience to go to sleep thinking of any man but hugh. in the darkness of the little bedroom in which elizabeth slept that night hugh's priority was met face to face by john hunter's proximity. possession is said to be nine points in the law, and john hunter was on the ground. the girl had been shut away from those of her kind until her hungry hands in that hour of thought, reached out to the living presence of the cultured man, and her hungry heart prayed to heaven that she might not be altogether unpleasing to him. in the hour spent with john hunter she had learned that he had come to kansas to open a farm on the only unmortgaged piece of property which his father had left him when he died; that his mother intended to come to him as soon as he had a house built; and by an accidental remark she had also learned that there were lots in some eastern town upon which enough money could be raised to stock the farm with calves and that it was the young man's intention to farm this land himself. it seemed so incredible that john hunter should become a farmer that by her astonished exclamation over it she had left him self-satisfied at her estimate of his foreignness to the life he was driven to pursue. elizabeth saw that if john hunter must needs run a farm that he would do his best at it, but that he did not wish to _appear_ one with a rôle, and being young and with her own philosophy of life in a very much muddled condition, she liked him the better for it. crucified daily by the incongruities of her own home, she craved deliverance from it and all it represented. just now elizabeth farnshaw was going home with something akin to fear in her heart. she rated herself soundly for the useless advice she had thrust upon her mother and for the entangling difficulties which her thoughtless words had produced. that the union of her parents was unclean, that it was altogether foul and by far worse than a divorce, she still felt confident, but she saw that her mother was totally unable to comprehend the difference between a clean separate life and the nagging poison dealt out as daily bread to the husband with whom she lived; but she saw that because of that very inability to understand the difference, the mother must be left to find the light in her own way. in her desire to help, elizabeth had but increased her mother's burdens, and she tried to assume an attitude of added tenderness toward her in her own mind, and puckered her young face into a frown as she let patsie limp slowly from one low hill to another. "i'll do everything i can to square the deal for ma," she resolved, but in her heart there was a sick suspicion that all she could do was not much, and that it had small chance really to avail. elizabeth had started early for home, but the sun rode high in the heavens before she arrived. albert, who was herding the cattle on the short grass a half mile from home, warned her as she passed that she would do well to hurry to the house. "pa waited for you to do the milking, bess, an' you didn't come. he's mad as a hornet, an' you'll have t' bring th' cows out after he gets through." it was a friendly warning. to be milking at that hour, when all the men in the neighbourhood were already following plow and harrow, was an important matter on the farm. plainly it had been arranged to make elizabeth feel a hindrance to the business of getting in the crops, and it was with increased apprehension that she approached home. the storm broke as soon as she was within hailing distance. "it's time you brought that horse home, young lady. you see to it that it's harnessed for th' drag as quick as ever you can. next time you get a horse you'll know it." when elizabeth started on and mr. farnshaw saw that patsie was lame his anger knew no bounds, and the sound of his exasperated voice could have been heard half a mile away as he poured out a stream of vituperation. elizabeth dodged into the barn as soon as its friendly door could be reached, thankful that the cows were as far as they were from it. joe was harnessing a team in the far corner. "you better shy around pa, sis; and get t' th' house," he cautioned. "all right. he told me to harness patsie, but she's so lame i know she can't work--what will i do?" "if she can't work, she can't. how did it happen?" "she strained herself just before i got to mr. chamberlain's. i was passing a young man by the name of hunter and she fell flat. say, do you know anything about mr. hunter?" "yes, yes. jimmie crane says he's a stuck-up, who's goin' t' show us country jakes how t' farm; but th' best thing you can do is t' get in an' not let pa get any excuse for a row." mr. farnshaw had taken the milkpails to the house while they were talking and it was elizabeth's fate to encounter him on the doorstep as she ran up to the kitchen door. "where were you last night?" "i'm awfully sorry about the horse, pa. i hurried this morning, but patsie was so lame and i had to come all the way from the chamberlain district. the haddon school board didn't meet this week and the director of number twelve was away, and it was so late last night that i couldn't get home." "oh, you've always got a good excuse. i bet you didn't get a school after all." elizabeth had been edging toward the door as her father was speaking and now made her escape to the inside of the house as she replied over her shoulder in a perfectly respectful tone: "oh, yes, i did, and it begins monday." "well, it's better than i expected. now see to it that you get that riding skirt off an' come an' drive my team while i finish them oats." the daughter stopped where she stood and was going to reply that she must get ready if she were to go to aunt susan's the next day, but on second thought closed her mouth down firmly. she knew she would do well if she escaped with no harder tax laid upon her temper than that of putting off her arrival at the hornby home, and she turned to do as she was bidden. when elizabeth found her homecoming unpleasant and her father sullen and evidently nursing his wrath, she faced the storm without protest, took all that was said quietly, helped in the fields and endeavoured to make up for her unfortunate words in every helpful way possible. in all, she was so subtly generous with her assistance that it was impossible to bring on a quarrel with her, and the sour demeanour of her father was so carefully handled that friday arrived without an open break having occurred. a new dress had been one of the longed-for accomplishments of the week's work, but certain of aunt susan's help when she was safely entrenched in her home, elizabeth retired to the attic whenever she saw her father approach the house. his attitude was threatening, but the anxious girl was able to delay the encounter. it could only be _delayed_, for mr. farnshaw made a virtue of not forgetting unpleasant things. the only unfortunate occurrence of the week was the presence of sadie crane and her mother when mr. hunter drove up to the back door for elizabeth's trunk, but even this had had its beneficial side, for josiah farnshaw had been mending harness, because a shower had made the ground too wet to plow, and the presence of neighbours made it possible to get the trunk packed without unpleasantness. when john hunter drove up to the back door, mr. farnshaw rose from his chair beside the window and went to help put his daughter's possessions in the wagon. sadie crossed over to the window to get a look at lizzie's new beau. sadie crane was now sixteen years old, and being undersized and childish of appearance had never had the pleasure of the company of a young man. the yearning in her pettish face as she stood unevenly on the discarded harness, looking out of the window toward john hunter, caught elizabeth's attention and illuminated the whole affair to the older girl. "dude!" sadie exclaimed spitefully, facing about and evidently offering insult. but elizabeth farnshaw had seen the unsatisfied look which preceded the remark and it was excused. sadie was just sadie, and not to be taken seriously. "he'd better soak his head; he can't farm." no one replied, and elizabeth said hurried good-byes and escaped. but though sadie crane was undersized and spoke scornfully, she was old enough to feel a woman's desires and dream a woman's dreams. she watched the pair drive away together in pleasant converse on the quilt-lined spring seat of the farm wagon, and swallowed a sob. "lizzie always had th' best of everything," she reflected. the roads were slippery and gave an excuse for driving slowly, and the young man exerted himself to be agreeable. the distaste for the presence of the cranes at her home when he came for her, his possible opinion of her family and friends, the prolonged struggle with her father, even the headache from which she had not been free for days, melted out of elizabeth's mind in the joy of that ride, and left it a perfect experience. it began to rain before they were halfway to their destination, and they sat shoulder to shoulder under the umbrella, with one of the quilts drawn around both. there was a sack of butterscotch, and they talked of scott, and dickens, and the other books elizabeth farnshaw had absorbed from aunt susan's old-fashioned library; and elizabeth was surprised to find that she had read almost as much as this college man, and still more surprised to find that she remembered a great deal more of what she had read than he seemed to do. she asked many questions about his college experiences and learned that he had lacked but a year and a half of graduation. "why didn't you finish?" she asked curiously. "well, you know, father died, and i didn't have hardly enough to finish on, so i thought i'd come out here and get to making something. i didn't care to finish. i'd had my fun out of it. i wish i hadn't gone at all. if i'd gone into the office with my father and been admitted to the bar it would have been better for me. i wouldn't have been on the farm then," he said regretfully. "then why didn't you go into the law? you could have made it by yourself," elizabeth said, understanding that it hurt john hunter's pride to farm. the young man shrugged his dripping shoulders and pulled the quilt tighter around them as he answered indifferently: "not very well. father left very little unmortgaged except mother's own property, and i thought i'd get out of canton. it ain't easy to live around folks you know unless you have money." "but you could have worked your way through college; lots of boys do it," the girl objected. "not on your life!" john hunter exclaimed emphatically. "i don't go to college that way." after a few moments' musing he added slowly, "i'll make money enough to get out of here after a while." "i only wish i'd had your chance," elizabeth said with a sigh. "let's talk about something cheerful," young hunter replied, when he realized that the ride was nearly over. "when may i come to see you again?" he asked. "you are to see a good deal of me this summer if you will permit it." elizabeth farnshaw caught a happy breath before she replied. he wanted to come; she was to see much of him this summer if she would permit it! could nature and fate ask for more? when elizabeth arrived, the old couple bustled about the bright carpeted room, making it comfortable, and cooing over the return of their prodigal, till a heaven of homeness was made of her advent. half an hour later elizabeth, dry and warm and with a cup of tea beside her which she had found it easier to accept than to refuse, looked about her and invoiced the changes of four years which in her preoccupied state of mind during her former visit she had neglected to think upon. there were many little changes in the household arrangement, due to the observations of the winter spent in topeka. in personal appearance aunt susan herself showed improvement. when elizabeth's attention was turned to nathan, however, the glad little enumeration became a more sober one. in the days when they had fed the motherless patsie together nathan hornby had been portly, even inclined to stoutness, and his face, though tough from wind and sun, inclined to be ruddy. the genial gray eyes had sparkled with confidence in himself and good-will toward all about him. at silas chamberlain's house a week ago the girl had noticed that nathan let others arrange the business details of contracts and credentials, but his joy at meeting her had obscured the habitual sadness of his present manner. she had noticed that he was thinner, but to-night she saw the waste and aging which had consumed him. the belt line which had bulged comfortably under the vest of five years ago was flat and flabby, the thick brown hair which had shown scarcely a thread of white was now grizzled and thin, the ruddy cheeks had fallen in, and two missing lower teeth made him whistle his s'es through the gap with a sound unlike his bluff speech of their first acquaintance, so that without the face which accompanied the words she could hardly have recognized the connection between the man who had and the man who did embody the same personality. the cogitations of the first half hour in the white counterpaned bed that night left elizabeth in a maze of wonder over his physical as well as mental collapse. aunt susan was evidently aware of changes also, for she hovered over him solicitously. nathan hornby was a broken man. school opened auspiciously on monday; john hunter came and stayed to walk home with elizabeth on tuesday afternoon, and the glad weeks which followed were but the happy record of so many rides, walks, and talks, and the dreams of elizabeth farnshaw and john hunter. he was with the girl daily. elizabeth never expressed the smallest desire for anything human hand could obtain for her that john hunter did not instantly assure her that she should receive it. if she stayed to sweep out the schoolhouse, john would almost certainly appear at the door before she had finished--his fields commanded a view of her comings and goings--if she went to carter's to have a money order cashed he accompanied her; if she wished to go anywhere she had but to mention it and john hunter and his team were at her service. elizabeth could not have been otherwise than happy. the spring, with its freshness and promise, was symbolical of the gladsome currents of her life that joyous april and may. her lightest wish was the instant consideration of the man she admired above all others, and that man, in refinement of appearance and knowledge of the world, was as far above those of the country community in which they lived as the sun was above the smoky kerosene lamps by which the members of that community lighted themselves to bed. john hunter, during the season of his courtship, served the girl of his choice almost upon his knees. he made her feel that she could command his services, his time, and himself. by his request he ceased to ask when he could come again, but encouraged, even commanded, her to tell him when and where she wished to be taken and to let him come to see her unannounced. he paid tribute to her as if she had been a goddess and he her devotee. silas looked on and chuckled. "didn't take 'em long," he remarked to liza ann, and when as usual his wife did not reply, he added: "glad we're to have 'em for neighbours. she's about th' liveliest meadow lark on these prairies, an' if she don't sing on a fence post it's 'cause she ain't built that way, an' can't; she's full enough to." susan hornby looked on and had her misgivings. she saw the devotion the young man poured out at her darling's feet, and she knew that it was the fervour of the courting time in a man's life that made him abandon his own interests and plans while he plumed himself and pursued his desired mate. she saw the rapturous, dreamy look of love and mating time in elizabeth's eyes, and she knew that the inevitable had happened, but she was not content. premonitions which she sought to strangle shook her whenever the pair wandered away on real or fictitious errands. she saw that no word of love had yet been spoken, but every look cried it aloud and the day could not be far distant. between corn planting and corn plowing the foundations of the new house had been laid and work on it had progressed fitfully and whenever the young man could find time to help the occasional mason who laid brick and stone for simple foundations, and who had crops of his own to tend between times. the work had progressed slowly, but at last the wall had been finished and the carpenters had come to do their share. it gave excuse for many trips in the evening twilight. they usually went on horseback, and silas's pony with liza ann's sidesaddle on its back had more business on hand that month than in all the other years of its lazy existence. susan hornby watched the pair ride away one evening the first week in june. nathan stood at her side on the doorstep. "of course he loves her; how could he help it? and yet----" "and yet, what?" nathan asked impatiently. "she wants him, an' he wants her, an' you stand there lookin' as if that wasn't enough." susan hornby turned to her husband with some uncertainty regarding his comprehension of the subject, and with a gentle patience with his mood. nathan was often impatient of late. "yes, i know--only it seems as if----" "well, now what's lacking?" her husband asked when she again broke off the sentence doubtfully. "he's got a good farm, an' he needs a wife to help him run it. from what he says, his mother's too old t' be of any help. he can't run it alone, an' seems t' me it's a good thing for both of 'em." "that's just it!" susan hornby broke out, turning back, her eyes following the progress of the pair toward the crimson west, her thoughts running ahead to the unknown future where the progress of the soul would be helped or hindered; "that's just it! he has a farm; now he's going to need a wife to help run it--just as he needs a horse. if he'd only be fair about it, but he's misleading her. she thinks he'll always do things the way he's doing them now, and he won't; there'll be an end to that kind of thing some day--and--and when they're married and he's got her fast, that kind of man won't be nice about it--and--they'll live on the farm--and life's so hard sometimes! oh! i can't bear to see her broken to it!" she cried with such intensity that the man at her side caught his breath with a sort of sob. "anybody'd think to hear you talk, susan, that marryin' was a thing to be feared, an' that i'd been mean t' you." what had she done? there was a half-frightened pause as susan hornby struggled to bring herself back to the husband standing beside her who was broken by failure. "bless your old soul, nate," she answered quickly, and with the flush of confusion on her face strangely like the flush of guilt, "if he's only half as good to her as you've been to me, she'll never have anything to complain of nor need anybody's sympathy." susan understood that her assurance did not wholly reassure that bleeding heart, and to turn nathan's thoughts to other things she slipped one hand through his arm, and picking up the milk pails from the bench at her side with the other, said with a little laugh: "there now! i'll do your milking for that. you throw down the hay while i do it. there's nothing the matter with you and me, except that i've done a washing to-day and you don't sleep well of late. i haven't one thing in all this world to complain of, and this would be the happiest year of my life if you weren't a bit gloomy and under the weather. come on--i'm nervous. you know i never am well in hot weather." nathan knew that susan was really worried over elizabeth's prospects, but her luckless remark upon the marriage of farmers cut into his raw, quivering consciousness of personal failure like a saw-bladed knife, torturing the flesh as it went. his failure to place her where her own natural characteristics and attainments deserved had eaten into his mind like acid. in proportion as he loved her and acknowledged her worth he was humiliated by the fact that she was not getting all out of life of which she was capable, as his wife, and it left him sensitive regarding her possible estimate of it. "she always seems satisfied," he said to himself as he turned his pitchfork to get a hold on the pile into which he had thrust it, "but here she is pityin' this here girl that's goin' t' be married as if she goin' t' be damned." the adam's apple in his wrinkled throat tightened threateningly, and to keep down any unmanly weakness it indicated he fell upon the hay savagely, but the suspicion stayed with him and left its bitter sting. chapter vi "didn't take 'em long" john hunter and elizabeth farnshaw rode away in the cool summer evening, wholly unconscious of the thoughts of others. the sun had dropped behind the low hills in front of them, and as they rode along, the light-floating clouds were dyed blazing tints of red and gold, as glowing and rosy as life itself appeared to the young pair. elizabeth took off her hat and let the cool evening breeze blow through the waves of hair on her temples and about the smooth braids which, because of the heat of the prematurely hot summer day, had been wound about her head. her eyes were dreamy and her manner detached as she let the pony wander a half length ahead of its companion, and she was unaware that john was not talking. she was just drinking in the freshness of the evening breeze and sky, scarcely conscious of any of her surroundings, glad as a kitten to be alive, and as unaware of self as a young animal should be. john hunter rode at her side, watching the soft curls on her round girlish neck, athrob and athrill with her presence, and trying to formulate the thing he had brought her out to say. it was not till they were turning into the lane beside the new house that his companion realized that he had been more than usually quiet. "you are a quaker to-night, evidently, and do not speak till the spirit moves, mr. hunter," she said, facing about near the gateway and waiting for him to ride alongside. the young man caught the cue. "i wish you would call me john. i've been intending to ask you for some time. i have a given name," he added. "will you do the same?" she asked. "call myself john?" he replied. they both laughed as if a great witticism had been perpetrated. "no, call me by my given name." "lizzie, bess, elizabeth, or sis?" he asked, remembering the various nicknames of her family. "you may call me whatever you choose," she answered, drawing the pony up where they were to dismount. john hunter stepped to the ground and with his bridle rein over his arm came around to the left side of her pony. laying one hand on its neck and the other on the hand that grasped its bridle, he looked up into her face earnestly and said: "i would like to call you 'wife,' if i may, elizabeth," and held up his arms quickly to help her from the saddle. when she was on the ground before him he barred her way and stood, pulsing and insistent, waiting for her answer. it was a full minute before either moved, she looking down at their feet, he looking at her and trying to be sure he could push his claims. when elizabeth did look up it was with her eyes brimming shyly over with happy tears, and without waiting for her answer in words, john hunter gathered her into his arms and smothered her face in kisses. ten minutes later they tied the horses to the new hitching post and passed into the yard. "it is to be your house and mine, dearie," the young man said, and then looked down at her to see why she did not answer. elizabeth was walking toward the house which was to be hers, oblivious of time and place, almost unconscious of the man at her side, stunned by the unexpectedness of this precious gift of love which had just been offered her. as they stepped upon the little back porch, he said: "i brought you over to ask your advice about the stairway; the carpenters want to leave one step in the sitting room. it'll be back far enough from the chimney to be out of the way and it makes their calculations easier about the stairs somehow. what do you think?" elizabeth was altogether too new in the sense of possession to grasp the full significance of the question. john hunter laughed at the look she turned upon him and said, with a large and benevolent wave of the hand, indicating the entire premises: "the house is yours, little girl, and you are to have it as you want it. the only desire i have on earth is to do things for you." elizabeth shot a quick look of joy up to him. "no one but aunt susan has ever wanted to do anything for me," she said, and opening her arms held them out to him, crying, "am i to be happy? john! john! do you love me, really?" and that was the burden of their conversation during the entire stay. "it can't be possible, john," the happy girl said at one point. "i have never known love--and--and i want it till i could die for it." "just so you don't die _of_ it, you'll be all right," john hunter replied, and went home from nathan's, later, whistling a merry tune. he had not known that love poured itself out with such abandonment. it was a new feature of the little god's manoeuvring, but john doubted not that it was the usual thing where a girl really cared for a man. "i'll farm the whole place next year, and it'll be different from boarding at the chamberlains', where they don't have any napkins and the old man sucks his coffee out of his saucer as if it hurt him. mother 'll like her too, after we get her away from that sort of thing and brush her up, and get her into the hunter ways," he told himself as he tied the pony in the dark stall. the next day was a dream to the young girl, who patiently watched the clock and waited for the hour of visiting the new house again. "i have no higher desire on earth than to do things for you," was the undercurrent of her thoughts. she was to escape from the things which threatened at home. instead of always rendering services, which were seldom satisfactory after she had sacrificed herself to them, she was to be served as well. oh, the glad thought! not of service as such, but of the mutuality of it. she loved john hunter and he loved her. there was to be understanding between them. that was the joy of it. to put her hand on the arm of one that appreciated not only her but all that she aimed at, to open her heart to him, to be one with him in aspiration, that was the point of value which elizabeth farnshaw never doubted was to be the leading characteristic of their life together. now that she was engaged, elizabeth felt herself emancipated from home authority. she would belong to herself hereafter. she would stay with aunt susan till she had her sewing done for the winter at topeka. she would go to school only one year, just enough to polish up on social ideas and matters of dress. elizabeth farnshaw knew that both john hunter and his mother were critical upon those accomplishments and her pride told her to prepare for the mother's inspection. she knew that she was considered a country girl by those of superior advantages, and she was resolved to show what could be done in a year in the way of improvement; then she would come home and teach for money with which to buy her wedding outfit, and then they would be married. two years and the certainty of graduation would have suited her better, but two years was a long time. the picture of john without her, and the home he was building for her, planted themselves in the foreground of her thoughts, and elizabeth was unselfish. she would not make john hunter wait. she would make that one year at topeka equal to two in the intensity of its living. she would remain away the shortest possible length of time which was required for her preparation. elizabeth was glad that john had his mother to keep house for him, because she did not want him to be lonesome while she was gone, though she did not doubt that he would come to topeka many times while she was there. her mind flew off in another direction at that, and she planned to send him word when there were good lectures to attend. "john likes those things," she thought, and was filled with a new joy at the prospect of their books, and lectures, and intellectual pursuits. her plan of teaching in the high school was abandoned. it was better to be loved and have a home with john hunter than to live in topeka. the more elizabeth thought of it the more she was convinced that her plan was complete. she was glad there was a month to spare before mrs. hunter came. john's mother was the only warning finger on elizabeth's horizon. she had always been conscious of a note of anxiety in john hunter's voice and manner whenever he spoke of his mother coming to kansas to live, and she found the anxiety had been transferred to her own mind when she began to consider her advent into the home john was building. she had gathered, more from his manner than anything definitely said, that his mother would not approve of much that she would be obliged to meet in the society about them, that she was a social arbiter in a class of women superior to these simple farmers' wives, and that her whole life and thought were of a different and more desirable sort. when elizabeth thought of mrs. hunter she unconsciously glanced down at herself, her simple print dress, her brown hands, and the heavy shoes which much walking made necessary, and wondered how she did really appear; and there was a distinct misgiving in everything where the older woman had to be considered. john came early that evening. the carpenters had raised new questions about shelves and doors and elizabeth must go over and decide those matters. they walked over, and it was late before all the simple arrangements could be decided upon. as they returned they walked close together in the centre of the deep road so as to avoid the dew-laden grass on either side. the open door of nathan's house gave out a hospitable light, but they were content to saunter slowly, listening to the harvest crickets which were already chirruping in the weeds about them, and looking at the lazy red disk of the moon just peeping above the eastern horizon. "i shall write mother of our engagement to-night," john said after a rather long silence. "oh, don't," the girl replied, awakened suddenly from a reverie of a different sort. "let's keep it a secret for a while. i haven't told aunt susan yet, and i don't want to tell her till i go to topeka. of course i'll have to explain if you come down there to see me." "to topeka?" john exclaimed in astonishment. elizabeth laughed merrily. "why, yes," she said. "isn't it like me to think you knew all about that? i'm going to topeka to school this winter--and--and i hope you'll come a lot. we'll have awfully good times. then i'll teach another term and get my wedding clothes and get them made, and then, john hunter, i am yours to have and to hold," she ended happily. "you don't mean that you are going to school again now that you are going to get married?" john hunter asked with such incredulity that elizabeth laughed a little joyous laugh full of girlish amusement, full of love and anticipation. "why of course--why not? all the more because we are going to be married. i'll want to brush up on lots of things before i have to live near your mother; and--and we'll have awfully good times when you come to see me." "oh, goodness!" john said irritably. "i'd counted on being married this fall. i simply can't wait two years, and that is all there is about it." elizabeth argued easily at first, certain that it could be readily arranged, but john became more and more positive. at last she became worried. the harvest crickets were forgotten as the young girl pressed closer to his side, explaining the necessity, pointing out that it was to be her last little fling at the education for which she had planned so long, her timidity where his mother was concerned, and her desire to enter the family upon equal social terms. "it is all tomfoolery," john answered with fixity of purpose. "you don't need a thing that you haven't already got--except," he added slowly, "except what mother could help you to. but that isn't the point. i shall need you. it's time for me to get down to business and raise some money. between building the house and going"--john hesitated--"and not applying myself as i should, i'm not making anything this summer. i want to get away from this--from here--some day, and i want to begin real work at once. mother can help you in anything you don't know; she's up on all those things; and we've got to get down to business," he repeated. there was a tone of finality in it. elizabeth recognized it, but her plans were made and she was not ready to give them up. "i can't go into your house, john, i simply cannot, without getting away and learning some things. when i become your wife i want to be a woman you are proud to take to your mother. i can't have it otherwise." there was quiet while she waited for the answer to her assertion. elizabeth thought he was formulating a reply. the silence lengthened, and still she waited. they were getting nearer the house and she moved more slowly, drawing on his arm to check his advance. at last, realizing that he did not intend to speak when they were just outside of the lighted doorstep, elizabeth stopped and, facing around so that she could see him in the dim light, asked: "what is it? what have i done to offend you?" "nothing, only it upsets every plan i have on earth. i tell you, it's all foolishness; and besides, i need you. now see here"--and he went on to show her how his mother knew all the things she was going to topeka to learn, and to outline his schemes for the future. confused by his opposition, and not knowing just how to meet this first difference of opinion, elizabeth listened and made no reply. it was her way to wait when disturbed until she saw her way clear. elizabeth was sound and sturdy but not quick and resourceful when attacked. john talked on till he had finished his argument and then turned to the house again. when they arrived at the step he said a whispered good-bye and was gone before elizabeth realized that he was not coming in with her. susan hornby had risen from her chair, thinking that john was coming into the house, and when she saw that he did not she slipped her arm about the young girl and kissed her as she was passing. "i'm going to bed, aunt susan," elizabeth said, and passed on to the door of her own room. susan hornby knew that something had gone wrong. saturday morning was spent by elizabeth sewing on a dress she was anxious to finish before mrs. hunter came, and when there were only mornings and evenings in which to sew, and inexperience made much ripping necessary, the work did not progress rapidly. as she sewed she considered. no, she would not give up the year away at school. it was absolutely essential that she come into the hunter family equipped and ready to assume the rôle which a wife should play in it. she would be married without a whole new outfit of clothes, but the year at school was a necessity. elizabeth's pride revolted against being taught social customs by john hunter's mother. as she thought of the year he must spend alone, however, she was quite willing to give up teaching an extra year for the sake of the usual bridal finery. she resolved to tell him that. she would be married in the simplest thing she had if he wished. fate in the person of john hunter himself took the settlement of the bride's gown out of elizabeth's hands. just before noon he stopped, on his way back from colebyville, to give susan hornby the mail he had brought out from the post-office. elizabeth followed him to the wagon when he went out. "well, i wrote mother. can you be ready by october?" he spoke across the backs of the horses as he untied them, and was very busy with the straps. elizabeth farnshaw's face contracted visibly. he had taken advantage of her. "how could you do it?" she asked indignantly. "why, i thought it was settled! i told you i couldn't wait a whole year, much less two. i told you about getting mitchell county land and getting down to cattle raising right off. you didn't say anything." there was such righteous innocence in his voice that the sting of deception was drawn from her mind. the young girl made no reply, but leaned her head against the withers of the horse at her side and looked down at her foot to hide her tears. it was a blow. she was conscious that somehow there had been a lack of high principle in it. her silence the night before _had_ given some colour to the claim of it having been settled, but there had been a haste about this letter which was suspicious. why could he not have stopped on the way to town as well as now on the way home? the question which was forming in elizabeth's mind was cut short by feeling john's arm stealing around her. she started and glanced at the house apprehensively. "oh, they can't see us," john said, glad to have that phase of the situation up for argument. "it wouldn't matter if they did, since we are to be married so soon." he added the last warily and watched to see its effect upon her. "but i didn't want it to be as soon as that," the girl objected half-heartedly, making her usual mistake of laying the vital point of difference away to be settled in her own mind before she discussed it. perhaps after all john had thought it was settled the night before; at any rate she would not speak of her suspicion till sure on that point. john hunter noticed that she did not refuse outright to consent to the early marriage and drew her complacently to him. "i couldn't wait that long, sweet. i want you and i want you now." he drew her close, in a firm, insistent grasp of his strong arm. her resistance began to melt. "i love you," his voice said close to her ear. she felt his eyes seeking hers. his was the position of advantage. elizabeth loved love, and she had never had it before. she had never been wanted for love's sake. she wished to believe him. it came over her that she had wronged him by even the thought of an advantage having been taken of her. john's arm was about her, he was pleading his love. why be unpleasant about it? it was only a little thing. as she had said in her engagement hour, elizabeth wanted love till she could die for it. she gave up, though something in her held back and was left hungry. as john hunter drove home to liza ann's waiting dinner he said to himself: "gosh! but i'm glad i got that letter off. i knew i'd better do it this morning or she'd be hanging back. it worked better than i had any reason to expect. she's going to be easy to manage. mother ain't able to cook for hired men. she's never had it to do--and she don't have to begin. this school business is all foolishness, anyhow." elizabeth did not stand as usual and watch her lover drive toward home. something in her wanted to run away, to cry out, to forget. she was torn by some indefinable thing; her confidence had received a shock. she went back to the house, but to sew was impossible now. she decided to go home, to walk. the long stretches of country road would give time and isolation in which to think. she announced her determination briefly as she passed through the kitchen, oblivious of aunt susan's questioning eyes. snatching up the large sunbonnet which was supposed to protect her from the browning effects of kansas winds and sun, she told the older woman, who made no effort to disguise her astonishment at the sudden change, to tell john to come for her on the morrow, and set off toward the north. elizabeth knew that her father's temper made her homegoing an unsafe procedure, but the tumult within her demanded that she get away from susan hornby and think her own thoughts unobserved. but though the walk gave her time to think, elizabeth was no nearer a decision when she sighted the farnshaw cottonwoods than she had been when she started out. the sun burned her shoulders where the calico dress was thin, and she wiped her perspiring face as she stopped determinedly to come to some conclusion before she should encounter her mother. "i suppose i ought to give up to him," she said, watching a furry-legged bumblebee as it moved about over the face of a yellow rosin weed flower by the roadside. "i wouldn't care if it weren't for his mother. i'd like to get some of these country ways worked out of me before i have to see too much of her. she'll never feel the same toward me if she has to tell me what to do and what not to do. if only he didn't want me so badly. if only i could have one year away." the new house pleaded for john hunter, the content of a home, life with the young man himself. elizabeth had reasoned away her distrust of the means by which her consent had been gained, but her heart clung to the desire to appear well before mrs. hunter. something warned her that she must enter that house on an equal footing with the older woman. "well, he wants me, and i ought to be glad he is in a hurry. i'll do it. i ought to have insisted last night if i meant to hold out, and not have let him misunderstand me. if it weren't for his mother, i wouldn't care." having decided to accept the terms offered her, elizabeth sat down in the shade of a clump of weeds and pictured, as she rested, the home which was to be hers. compared to those of the farmers' wives about them, it was to be sumptuous. she thought of its size, its arrangement, and the man who was inviting her to share it with him, and a glad little thrill ran through her. when elizabeth began to sum up her blessings she began to be ashamed of having suspected john hunter of duplicity in writing the letter. "he told me he had no higher desires on earth than to do things for me," she said, springing up and starting home with a song in her heart. mrs. farnshaw, called to the door by the barking of the dogs, exclaimed: "what in this world brings you home at this time of day?" mrs. farnshaw's hands were covered with the dough of her belated saturday's baking. "just had to come, mummie; just had to come," elizabeth cried, giving her mother a rapturous little hug. mrs. farnshaw ducked her head to avoid the manoeuvre, saying petulantly: "look out! can't you see i'm in th' flour up t' my elbows." elizabeth flicked her dress sleeve and laughed in merry derision. "kansas flour brushes off easily, ma," she said, "and i've got something to tell you." the corners of mrs. farnshaw's mouth twitched in a pleased effort to cover a smile. elizabeth was surprised at her own statement. she had not exactly intended to tell her mother at this time and could not understand herself in having put the idea forth, that she had come all the way home to tell something of importance. she sat down and leaned her elbows on the littered kitchen table too confused to speak for a moment. she had made the plunge; there was no other excuse for the trip that she could think of at that time, and, with a feeling that aunt susan had been defrauded of something distinctly belonging to her, elizabeth broke the silence with the bald statement. "mr. hunter and i are going to be married." "well, lizzie, that ain't much news; we seen it comin' weeks ago," the mother replied with a laugh. "you did? i don't see how you knew," the girl said, startled out of her confusion. "what's he been comin' here so steady for?" mrs. farnshaw replied, scraping the side of her bread pan with a kitchen knife, and ready to enter into this delightful bit of argument. lizzie was doing well for herself. "lots of girls have steady company and don't get married either," the girl replied hesitantly. "oh, yes, but this is different," the mother said. "when's it goin' t' be?" "some time in october," elizabeth said, her words dragging. she had consented, but the mere mention of the time made her shrink. "is th' house done?" mrs. farnshaw asked, her mind, like her hands, filled with practical concerns. "almost," elizabeth returned as she rose to get the broom with which to sweep the ever dusty floor. "it's ready to paint," she added. "is it goin' t' be painted? will it be white and have green shutters?" elizabeth laughed at the gratified pride in her mother's tone. "i don't know, ma," she said, looking for the shovel, which, when it could be located, served as a dustpan. "didn't he ask you what colour to put on it?" the mother asked, fishing the shovel out of the rubbish collected behind the rusty cook stove. "now look here, lizzie," she added with sudden suspicion, "don't you go an' spoil him right t' begin with. you let him see that you want things your own way about th' house. if you set your foot down now, you'll have it easier all th' way through. that's where i made my mistake. i liked t' give up t' your pa at first an' then--an' then he got t' thinkin' i didn't have no right t' want anything my way." mrs. farnshaw filled the hungry stove with cobs and studied the subject dejectedly. "i don't get my way about nothin'. i can't go t' town t' pick out a new dress that is bought with money i get from th' eggs, even. he'll manage most any way t' get off t' town so's t' keep me from knowin' he's goin', an' then make me send th' eggs an' butter by some one that's goin' by. he makes me stay home t' watch something if he has t' let me know he's goin' his self. i don't own my house, nor my children, nor myself." the undercurrent of elizabeth's thoughts as she listened to the spiritless tale was, "but john's so different from pa." "i reckon i'll never have no help from you now," mrs. farnshaw continued in the same whine. the girl crossed the room and put her arms tenderly around her mother's neck. "i'll live real near you, ma, and you can come and see me every few days. don't let's spoil these last few weeks by worrying," elizabeth said, her eyes opened to the longing expressed. mrs. farnshaw was heating the oven for baking, and broke away from the sympathetic clasp to refill the roaring stove. "these cobs don't last a minute," she said, and then turned to elizabeth again. "you'll have th' nicest house in th' country. my! won't it make th' cranes jealous?" "they don't count," elizabeth answered. "i believe you think more of john's house than you do of him." "no, i don't, but i'm glad t' see you doin' so well for yourself." as she finished speaking, mr. farnshaw came into the kitchen. "well, pa, how do you do?" elizabeth said, turning toward him pleasantly. she wanted to tell him of her engagement, now that she had told her mother, and she wanted to be at peace with him. mr. farnshaw mumbled a curt reply and, picking up the empty basket standing beside the stove, went out of the house, slamming the door behind him significantly. "i wanted to tell him myself," elizabeth said with a half-shamed look in her mother's direction. "i'm glad all men aren't like that." "well, he remembers that awful thing you said about partin'----" mrs. farnshaw began. "but this isn't any new thing in him, ma. he's always been that way," elizabeth objected, determined not to let her mother start on that subject to-day. "oh, i know it! they all get that way if they're let; think they own everything in sight. they get worse, too, as they get older. you do what i said an' set your foot down about that house," her mother replied, and turned to put a pan of bread in the oven. chapter vii erasing her blackboard john's attention centred about the new house and each day found him more impatient to see it finished. the creature comforts of life were his main ideals and he wanted to get settled. sunday afternoon found him early at nathan's to consult with elizabeth about the kitchen windows. susan hornby's surprised recognition of his annoyance, when he was told that she had gone home, added to the unpleasantness of the eight-mile drive. what business had that woman studying him or his moods? he asked himself as he drove away. he would not get out of the wagon when he reached elizabeth's home, though the sun was hot and mrs. farnshaw urged him to do so. he was irritated, he did not know at what, but he was. he hurried elizabeth away without ceremony. as soon as they were beyond earshot he began to voice his grievances. the point he discussed had nothing whatever to do with the real ground for his irritability, but served as an outlet for his acrid frame of mind. "if you want to go anywhere, let me know it so that i can take you. i can't have you running around the country in this fashion," he began. elizabeth, who had felt his manner, looked up in puzzled surprise. she could see nothing in that to be fretted about. it was so good to see him, to have him with her again after a night spent in her father's house, that she was ready to concede any point her lover might raise, but this seemed so trivial that she laughed a happy laugh as she answered caressingly: "i have always walked whenever and wherever i chose around here. i like it, dear." "that don't make any difference; it ain't good for any woman to walk eight miles at one time," john answered shortly. unable to see the reason for laying stress upon the danger in doing a thing she had done for years without harm to herself, elizabeth was surprised into continuing the argument without at all caring whether she ever walked again or not. "i've walked that much a hundred times in my life, and i'll probably walk it a hundred times more," she replied with a laugh. "not if you live with me," john hunter announced, standing as solid as a rock on the issue now that he had raised it. "but why not?" the girl inquired, still but little concerned, and looking her betrothed over with a girl's eye for correct combinations of collar, tie, and driving gloves. those gloves had been the chief objection elizabeth's brothers had been able to raise against the eastern man, and gave colour to the spiteful "dude" with which john hunter was mentioned by the envious. "why not?" john repeated after her. "because it don't look well." the ridiculous and inadequate reply drew the girl still deeper into the discussion. she began to reason with him quite earnestly. she had always walked a great deal; she loved it. walking was jolly fun. everybody knew she was not as dependent upon being taken as the ordinary woman. when, however, john would not give in and insisted that things were different now that they were engaged, she ceased to say more. "you see," he concluded, "people expect me to take you. they'll think something's happened and that i don't want to. if i want to take my future wife, she ought to be willing to be taken. i don't want you ever to walk home again." elizabeth farnshaw was young, the experiences of her night at home had made her covet peace, she was unaware that she was being moulded, or that her lover considered the hunter ways, as such, especially desirable. willing to pay the price, rather enjoying the masterful way in which her betrothed insisted upon serving her, reflecting that no one had ever been willing to serve her at all, and feeling that it was a minor matter, she gave up. "all right! i like to walk, but if you look at it in that way i won't do it again," she promised, and in the silence which followed stole a look now and then at john hunter, revelling in his well-groomed appearance. a vision of her father's slatternly, one-suspendered shoulders, and button-less sleeves flapping about his rough brown wrists, set against this well-shirted gentleman produced sharp contrast and made of the future a thing altogether desirable. the useless arguments between her parents arose before her also; she resolved to argue less and love more. it was something, she reflected, to know when to lay an argument down. besides, john wanted it. leaning over, she rubbed her cheek softly against his sleeve. "i never thought i could be so happy." the words were whispered tenderly, as she looked up into his face. could mortal man fail to appreciate the manner of the surrender? there was nothing left to argue about; all had been granted. elizabeth was learning, as all women have had to do before her, that the man-creature loves to be adored, that by cloaking her own desires, stroking his fur the right way, giving it little pats of approval and admitting the pleasure conferred by his presence, she could work a magic. john's arm dropped about her and she gave herself up to the delights of being cuddled. it was not possible for the inexperienced girl to measure the importance of the freedom she had surrendered. elizabeth desired to forget the unpleasant things. real issues were obscured for the girl by her desire to escape from her father's house. in addition to that, elizabeth had not yet become analytical. instead of meditating upon the manner or the positiveness of her lover's commands, she took counsel with herself how to make their lives different from her parents', and in her efforts to keep her own attitude right forgot to see to it that there was a similar attitude on the part of her future husband. as they drove along with john's arm about her they ceased to talk, and elizabeth's thoughts drifted off to her affairs with her father and the night just spent at home. mr. farnshaw had adopted the policy of contemptuous silence toward her, and elizabeth hoped devoutly that he would continue in that frame of mind. only so would she dare to spend at home the weeks between the close of school and her marriage. she had counted much upon spending those weeks with aunt susan, who daily became dearer. she was not moved to tell aunt susan girlish secrets, but she was understood and rightly valued in susan hornby's home; and now, during this one of all the critical periods in her life the most important, elizabeth desired to be with her, but mrs. farnshaw demanded uncompromisingly that her daughter come home at that time. there was no escaping mrs. farnshaw's demands on her children, and, troubled and uncertain, elizabeth pondered and snuggled closer to the man who was to deliver her from them. the pair drove to the new house before going to the hornbys' for the rest of the day. john ceased to be fretful, and by the time for leaving had arrived, elizabeth had forgotten that he had ever been so. that evening aunt susan was told of the engagement, and having divined its arrival, she was able to hide any misgivings she had about it. besides, not having anything upon which to fasten her objections to john hunter, she was wise enough to know that love must have its way, and when elizabeth pictured the life that awaited her, her lover's good points, and her satisfaction rang out in a song of glad notes with no hint of apprehension, the older woman tried to enter into the spirit of the hour. elizabeth was certain she could meet john hunter's moods as the occasion required. no doubts assailed her about the future life except where john's mother was concerned. when elizabeth got to that point in her reflections she stopped short without speaking of the matter and announced her intention of going to bed. elizabeth farnshaw loved john hunter devotedly, but his mother was another matter. there was a strong undercurrent of anxiety whenever mrs. hunter had to be considered. the nearer the time came for her arrival, the more the girl dreaded meeting her. elizabeth was loyal to john, however, and susan hornby was given no hint of that dread. mrs. hunter came west the last week of school, and when john was so busy getting her and her household goods settled that elizabeth did not see him the entire week, it was like a stab to the sensitive girl. filled with a natural sense of good-byes to all that she had known and loved in the work, the impending changes in her life took on a troubled air when john failed to come as usual and did not account for the delay. by some psychological process susan hornby's misgivings began to be transferred to elizabeth's mind. always as they sewed together elizabeth was tempted to talk about the subject, but something held her back. often susan hornby, who suspected her troubled state of mind, was moved to ask questions and could not. a week is a long time when anxiety governs the thoughts, and as elizabeth grew more lonely she crept into aunt susan's arms as well as into her heart. it became her custom to creep up to the older woman after the lamps were lighted and lay her head in her lap, while she would imprison one of aunt susan's hands so as to be able to fondle it. the evidences of affection became more and more a part of her thoughts now that the days were slipping by without receiving those evidences from the one who had educated her in them. the last day of school arrived. john had told elizabeth the week before that he expected to take her and her trunk home, but not having seen him nor had a word from him recently regarding the matter, a strange feeling of disaster made the closing school exercises unreal and uninteresting. after the children were gone, elizabeth began the task of cleaning the schoolroom and putting it in order. she set about the work slowly, making it last as long as she could. school teaching had been pleasant work. it had been the one free field of action life had ever granted her, the one point where she had ever possessed herself and moved unquestioned. the presence of john hunter's mother in the community had made the teaching seem a refuge to the young girl who was to live in the house with her. elizabeth had not understood that mrs. hunter was actually to live with them till a short time before her arrival, and then had very nearly given offence to her lover by an astonished exclamation of surprise. perceiving that she had done so she hastened to say that she would be very glad to have his mother with them. as soon as elizabeth had got away, and taken time to think it out, she saw that she had lied. john also knew that it was not exactly true, and was therefore more sensitive. it had been the first point of real difference between them. there had been no discussion of it. elizabeth would have been glad to go to him and say that she wished it, but she did not wish it and would not lie consciously. if it had to be, she would make the best of it and make his mother as welcome as she could, but with the instincts of all young things, the girl wanted to live alone with her mate. the unnaturalness of having others thrust upon them during that first year of married life jarred upon her, just as it has jarred upon every bride who has been compelled to endure it since the beginning of time. it made of the new home a workshop instead of a nest, and took from the glamour of marriage. it made the girl cling to the freedom of the country schoolhouse and fear the new life, where the examples presented to her by those who had tried it were discouraging to an observant onlooker. all this came up as she worked, and saddened the day even more than before. as she put the broom away in the corner beside the water pail, she noticed that the blackboard remained to be cleaned. taking an eraser she rubbed vigorously. "it is a rat. run, rat, run," begun as high as little arms could reach, and straggling zigzagingly down toward the bottom, was the last to be attacked. as her hand passed reluctantly over it she said aloud: "i'm erasing my blackboard too. pretty soon i won't be a girl any more. pretty soon----" she checked herself, and putting away the eraser, packed the few belongings in the drawer of the desk into a neat bundle to be carried home. with the package under her arm and her little tin dinner pail dangling from her wrist, elizabeth fitted the key into the lock. as it clicked under her fingers the thought came to her that she must turn it over to the school board. the finality of it clutched her. thrusting the key back into the door, she was about to go into the little room again for another look around, when susan hornby's voice at her elbow made her start. aunt susan saw the tears which had sprung into the young eyes at the leave-taking and drew her down on the step. "what is it?" she asked earnestly. "you ought to tell me if you are worried." the tears which had been gathering spilled themselves over cheek and chin. "will i get like the rest of them, aunt susan?--never go anywhere, never read anything, have nothing ahead but the same weary round over again every day?" she queried, when she was able to command her voice. susan hornby's face worked determinedly to control her own emotions for a moment before she could speak. elizabeth continued: "i've been--i've been so happy this summer, aunt susan, and--and i'm a little afraid of that other life. don't think i don't want to be married--i do," she felt bound to interpose. "it's just--just that--well, you can see how it is; the married women around here wear faded things, and--and their teeth get bad--and a man hardly ever wants to take his wife anywhere. look at mrs. carter, and mrs. crane, and ma. poor ma! she never gets to go anywhere she wants to." the girlish questionings and fears broke down susan hornby's control and she fell on elizabeth's neck and sobbed openly as she said: "i know, i know. i've thought of little else of late. my poor little ewe lamb! my poor little ewe lamb!" the ethics of susan hornby's generation did not permit of an outright discussion of the marriage relation. she did not have the matter clear in her own mind, but a sort of dull terror came over her whenever she thought of elizabeth becoming john hunter's wife. she could hardly have told why. she knew that somehow human beings missed the highest in the marriage relation and that the undiscussed things of life had to do with the failure; she knew also that her instincts regarding this marriage were true, but she could sound no warning because her knowledge came from the instincts and had no outward evidence of fact with which to support it. to how large a degree did these warnings apply to all? susan hornby had plenty of time to wonder and think, for elizabeth cried softly to herself without speaking further. the older woman's hand wandered over the glossy braids in her lap, and her eyes wandered off toward the carter homestead while her mind struggled with the problems of the neighbourhood. elizabeth had put into words a thing she had herself observed. she saw the irritability of men toward their wives; she saw women about them who toiled earnestly, who bore children, and who denied themselves every sort of pleasurable relation at the demand of husbands who never gave them a look of comradery or good fellowship in return. was it the weariness of the struggle to live, or was it sex, or was it the evil domination of men? this girl whose sunny hair she was caressing was to go under the merciless hammer of the matrimonial auctioneer. what was to be her fate? susan hornby saw that love had touched the highest in elizabeth farnshaw's nature and that the girl yearned toward a high ideal of family life. she had shown it in her girlish chatter as they had sewed together. could she attain to it? susan hornby thought of john hunter and stiffened. she felt that elizabeth would yearn toward it all the days of her life with him and never catch even a fleeting glimpse of it. elizabeth snuggled closer on the step and reached for the hand stroking her head. "it isn't the faded dresses, aunt susan; it's--it's the faded life i'm afraid of," she whispered thickly. susan hornby bent her head to catch the sobbing voice, and losing control of her reserve, said abruptly: "i know it, i know all about it. if i thought john hunter'd let you set at home like----" she knew while the words were still in her mouth that it was a mistake. the girl shrank away and dropped the hand she had been fondling. there was absolute silence for a moment, the older woman dumb, unable to go on, unable to explain, unable to retract, or extricate herself in any way. the discussion had promised so well at first that both had entered into it with zest, and yet the moment it had become personal, loyalty had risen between them and hushed their words and left them uncomfortable. the silence became so intolerable that elizabeth arose, and unable to look up turned and fumbled with the lock on the schoolhouse door. aunt susan rose also and waited, without speaking, for her to start home. something hurt on both sides. neither blamed the other, but both were to look back to the rough schoolhouse steps and the half-hearted discussion of man's domination and woman's inability to defend herself against it. before supper was quite finished john came to take elizabeth to meet his mother. he was all bustle and activity; in fact, john hunter was at his best. he took possession of her in exactly the way to show how unnecessary her fears had been. the reaction set in. john was fresh and clean of linen and finger-nails and pleasing to the eye. elizabeth's mood changed the moment he presented himself on nathan's doorstep. every fear of the faded life disappeared in his magical presence. john hunter at least was not faded. after all, elizabeth had been a bit piqued and really wanted to meet mrs. hunter. john whisked her off merrily and carried her to the home which was to be theirs. "mother, this is elizabeth farnshaw, soon to be your daughter," was the introduction he gave her when his mother met them at the door, and then watched narrowly to see what sort of impression elizabeth would make. mrs. hunter kissed the girl gravely, and still retaining her hand stepped back and looked at her curiously, but kindly. "i am glad you are to be john's wife, dear," she said slowly. "i am sure we shall like each other. we must--he is all i have, you know." elizabeth, who had felt herself on trial, was near tears, but her lover saved her from that embarrassment when, feeling that the hunter approval was accorded, he stepped forward and put his arms about the two, kissing first one and then the other. "my mother and my wife-to-be must certainly like each other," he said. they passed into the house, over which john and his mother conducted elizabeth, talking of its arrangement and furnishings. the girl had supposed that she had a fairly definite idea of the appearance that house would have, having overseen every feature of its building, but it was a world of surprises she entered upon to-day. in her wildest dreams of what they would do when they had become rich, as they had planned much to do, this daughter of the kansas prairies had never pictured such tasteful home-making. each bedroom had its bureau with bedstead to match, and the one downstairs had ruffled pillow-shams. "this is to be your own room," mrs. hunter whispered in elizabeth's ear, and the young girl stole a shy look at her lover, who was drumming on the window and had not heard, and made no reply, but it gave her a sense of possession in the new house which she had very nearly lost of late. it was reserved for the new cook stove in the spotless kitchen to complete the surprises of elizabeth's new world. elizabeth fingered the nickled knobs, exclaimed over the reservoir for hot water at its back and the warming closet below, and investigated all its secret places as if it had been a toy. john hunter gave his mother an approving nod behind the girl's back, and the visit was a success. elizabeth forgot that she was to share the honours of the home with "mother hunter," as she had secretly called her a few times, and in the end overstayed her time till the leave-taking at aunt susan's had to be cut short, and they were late in arriving at her father's house. the day, which had had so many variations, however, like a piece of music, was to return to the original theme before it closed. it had been a day of forebodings and anxiety. fate never permitted elizabeth farnshaw more than a short snatch at happiness, and as john hunter drove away after he had helped her deposit her trunk in a dusty corner, the girl wanted to run after him and implore him not to leave her at the mercy of the morrow. as she gazed about the cheerless kitchen she noticed a muffled lump in the middle of the table. the sponge for the saturday's baking had been warmly wrapped for the night. to-morrow would be bake day! oh, joy! elizabeth resolved to insist upon kneading the dough the next morning, and before starting up the ladder to the loft where she was to sleep she hunted around in the kitchen safe for the cook book, wondering if by any chance she could induce her mother to let her try her hand at baking a cake also. "go to bed, in there!" growled a voice from the other room, and the girl climbed to her pallet, on which dreams of cooking were to entertain her waking as well as her sleeping hours. elizabeth's cooking schemes turned out rather better than she had expected. there are some things common to all women, and mrs. farnshaw entered into her daughter's desire to learn to cater to the appetite of the man she was going to marry. she worked with the girl at the home-made kitchen table, and as they worked she talked of many things which to her mind were essential to preparations for marriage, of the dresses to be made, of the new house, which was mrs. farnshaw's pride, and of john hunter himself. by some unlucky chance elizabeth mentioned her father's name. mrs. farnshaw had been waiting for an opportunity to speak of the misunderstanding between her husband and their daughter. it is the tendency of the weak to waste much time and energy in reconciliations, and to mrs. farnshaw peace meant far more than principles. she gave little thought to the rightness of her husband's demands, but bent every faculty toward coaxing her family to accede to them. if he were angry, all must move in cautious attempt to placate his temper, and if his feelings were hurt no principle must be permitted to stand in the way of excuse and explanation. she was rejoiced when elizabeth mentioned her father's name and forced upon her at once the necessity of asking pardon for the luckless remark regarding separation which mr. farnshaw had overheard three months before. "but it isn't a particle of use, ma," elizabeth replied when pushed to the point of answering. "you know he'll hate me now, no matter what i ever do. i've only got along peaceably this far by not talking to him of anything at all. it's his way. let it alone. i'm sorry i ever said it, but it can't be helped." "yes, it can," mrs. farnshaw persisted. "anyhow, he's your pa, an'--an'--an' you owe it t' him. you owe it t' me too, t' make it right. i'll never have a day of peace with him again if you don't. you'd no business t' talk of partin' nohow! 'taint decent, an'--an' it give him th' feelin' that i was sidin' in with such talk." mrs. farnshaw had been shrewd enough to save her strongest point till the last. that was the lever by which she could pry elizabeth loose from her seated conviction that nothing could be done. those sentiments had been _elizabeth's_, not her mother's. something was due the mother who had been compelled to share the blame for words as abhorrent to her as they were to the irate husband who supposed she had instigated them. elizabeth knew that her mother would never have a day of peace with the man in any case, but she knew from her own experience with him that a remark such as she had made would be used to worry her mother and to stir even more bitter accusations than usual. in her heart she knew that nothing she could say would change her father's feelings or alter his belief about the matter, but she did feel that her mother was justified from her own standpoint in making the demand. as she stirred the cake dough and pondered, she glanced across the table to the open door of her mother's scantily furnished bedroom opposite. a vision of ruffled pillow-shams where she was soon to sleep came to her in strong contrast. the memory of muffled sobs which she had heard coming from that poverty-stricken couch in the corner opposite the door was set over against the peaceful look of the room which was to be hers. she was going away to be happy: why not do this thing her mother asked before she went? elizabeth knew that her attempt at reconciliation would be fruitless, but she resolved to do the best she could to leave all possible comfort to the mother whose portion was sorrow and bread eaten in bitterness and disappointment. she thought it out slowly. after pondering a long time, during which mrs. farnshaw studied her but did not speak, elizabeth delivered her promise. "i'll do the best i can, ma. i don't believe it'll do any good, but it isn't fair that you should suffer for a thing you hate as bad as he does. don't let's talk about it, and let me find my own time to do it. i'll--i'll do my very best." pushing the cake-bowl away from her, she went around the table, and taking her mother's face between her hands she stroked the thin hair away from the wasted forehead, and kissed her with a tenderness which brought a quiver to the unsatisfied lips. "i'll do it as well as i possibly know how. i--i'm going away to be happy, and--and i want you to be happy too." it was easier to say than to do, for things went wrong about the barn, and when supper time arrived elizabeth decided to wait for a more propitious time. in spite of her determination to get the disagreeable task behind her as soon as possible, elizabeth could find no chance at the breakfast table the next morning to broach the subject, though she tried several times. mrs. farnshaw gave her warning looks, but it was clearly not the time. when at last the family was ready for divine services and mr. farnshaw drove up in front of the house with the lumber wagon, the mother gave elizabeth a little push toward the door, admonishing her to "be quick about it. now's your time." elizabeth went slowly out. mr. farnshaw had just jumped out of the wagon and when he saw his daughter coming stooped quickly to examine the leather shoe sole which served to protect the brake. the elaborate attempt to ignore her presence made the hard duty still harder. she waited for him to take cognizance of her presence, and to cover her confusion adjusted and readjusted a strap on patsie's harness, thankful for the presence of her favourite. "let that harness alone!" her father commanded when he was at last embarrassed by his prolonged inspection of the wagon-brake. "all right, pa," elizabeth replied, glad to have the silence broken in any manner. "i--i came out to talk to you. if i--if i've done anything to annoy you, ever, i want to ask your pardon. i--ma--i want to tell you that john hunter and i are to be married this fall, and--and i'd like to be the kind of friends we ought to be before i go away." the last sounded rather good to the girl and she stopped, encouraged, also feeling that it was best to let well enough alone; but when she looked up at him and encountered his look she shrank as if to avoid something aimed at her. the tyrant detests anything which cringes before him, and josiah farnshaw was as much fired to anger by what he saw in his daughter's face as he could have been by her defiance. "oh, i know you'd like to be friends!" he sneered with the fierce hatred of a man caught in an evil act. "now that you're goin' away you'd like t' be on good terms with me, would you? how many cows would you like for your peaceable intentions? what's th' price of your friendship, anyhow? of course you don't owe me anything! you're a lady! now that you're goin' t' set up housekeepin' you'd like t' be good friends. you'll get nothin' from me; i'll let you know that right here and now. go along with you; i don't want nothin' from you, an' i don't propose t' give nothin' to you." it was so coarse, so brutal, so untrue, that the girl met him once in his life as he deserved. "keep your cows," she said in the low tones of concentrated bitterness. "i don't want them, nor money from you. i don't owe you anything, either. i've done more work and furnished you more money than ever i cost you since the day i was born. i knew no one could explain anything to you. i told ma so, but she's afraid for her life of you, and insisted. i've tried to keep the peace with you, really, but no one ever has or ever will be able to do that. i'll let you alone after this." "you damned huzzy!" the now thoroughly aroused man exclaimed, lunging forward to strike her with his open hand. he had only listened to her so far because there had been something so compelling in the rush of her words that he had been stupefied by astonishment into doing so. patsie, who was in line with the blow, reared and threw herself against her mate, knowing what that tone of her master's voice indicated, and his hands were so occupied for a few seconds in quieting the team that he could not follow his daughter and administer the chastisement he wished. "i'll thrash you within an inch of your life!" he cried, however, when he saw her disappearing through the open door of the house. "now, and what have you done?" mrs. farnshaw demanded when the breathless girl pushed rapidly past her at the inner door and faced about defiantly in the middle of the kitchen. "i don't want to hear another word about it, ever. i've done it about as bad as i could, i guess, but i'll never take another whipping from him, and you needn't expect it." "i didn't mean it the way it sounded," she moaned after the family had gone, referring to the figurative speech, "she's afraid for her life of you." that had been meant in a very different sense. the girl would have given much to have unsaid it, to have given any sort of explanation. it was not possible to explain anything to josiah farnshaw, and remembering the threat to flog her as soon as he returned from meeting, elizabeth began to put up her hair and prepare for the departure which was her only way of escape. josiah farnshaw never forgot a promise of that sort. "i'll go to aunt susan's," she resolved, and as soon as she could get her dress changed and a few things thrown quickly into the trunk which she had partially unpacked the day before, elizabeth took her parasol and started toward the south. john lived in that direction also, and would be on his way to see her, for his mother had asked elizabeth to spend the day with her. she would ask john to come for her trunk and then have him take her to susan hornby's house. aunt susan would welcome her with open arms. she was covered with perspiration when she met her lover, who was hot and uncomfortable also, and had been cursing every mile of the shadeless kansas road. john's relief was so great at meeting her a couple of miles on the way that he did not inquire why she was there at that hour till she was seated beside him. "but your father can't do anything to you," he objected when she had outlined her plan of going to aunt susan's to stay till the wedding. "everybody knows that you have left there and you'll have to explain things and get into a scandal." without going into details, elizabeth insisted that he drive on at once and get her trunk before her father and the family should get home from church. john hunter argued the matter. "if you leave home," he said slowly, refusing to drive on, "people will talk, and it isn't to be considered." there was a pause. should she explain the case fully? it could not be done. john could not be made to understand. elizabeth knew that even in the primitive community in which she had been brought up a man would be filled with disgust at the idea of striking a full-grown woman on any sort of provocation, and that a man reared as john hunter had been reared would be alienated not only from her family but from her. caught like a rat in a trap, elizabeth farnshaw let her future husband study her curiously, while she deliberated and cast about for some means of getting his approval to her scheme without villifying her parents by telling the whole truth. "i'll be nearer you, and aunt susan's always glad to have me," she said coaxingly. it was a good bit of argument to put forth at that moment. the sun poured his heat out upon them in scalding fierceness, and john hunter had cursed his luck every mile he had covered that morning. he had been accustomed to reach her in fifteen minutes, and the suggestion that she go back to the old place began to look more reasonable, yet he hesitated and was reluctant to let a breath of gossip touch his future wife. whether elizabeth were right or wrong did not enter into his calculations. it looked as if his consent was not to be obtained. she could not go back. "i'm not going home, and that is all that there is about it," the girl announced in desperation. john still hung back. when he did not reply and it became necessary for her to go into the details she had been trying to avoid, it was done reluctantly and with as little emphasis put upon the possibility of physical chastisement as could be done and convince him at all. to elizabeth's surprise john did not take much notice of that element. it did not occur to her at that time that it was a strange thing that her lover should fail to be stirred by the probability of her receiving a blow. elizabeth had never had consideration shown her by any one but susan hornby and had not yet learned to expect it. john struck the horses with the dangling lines he held and drove on toward the waiting trunk. she watched him as he rode by her side moodily thinking of the gossip threatened, and while it was not the mood she wished him to entertain, it did not occur to her that it was anything but a natural one. they rode without speaking until the house was reached. "this'll have to be explained to mother," he remarked discontentedly as he shoved the unoffending trunk into the back of the wagon. elizabeth made no reply. she had been thinking of that very thing. viii cyclones susan hornby asked no questions when elizabeth and john presented themselves at her door. their embarrassed faces warned her. she gathered elizabeth into her arms for a brief hug, and then pushed her toward the inside of the house, remaining behind to show john where to put the trunk. when it had been set beside the kitchen door she dismissed him by saying: "i won't ask you to stay for a bite of dinner, since your mother is alone, mr. hunter." "well--er--that is--mother expected elizabeth over there," john stammered, looking toward the front room. "tell your mother elizabeth will stay right here till she has rested up from that headache," the woman replied with the tone of having settled the matter. elizabeth, in the other room, noted that he did not argue about it and heard him drive away with mixed feelings. when at last aunt susan's questions were answered the girl in turn became questioner. "will she think--john's mother--that we're coarse and common?" she asked when she had told as much as she could bring herself to tell of the morning's altercation. the look on the older woman's face was not a hopeful one, and the girl got up restlessly from the trunk-top where she had dropped beside her. she remembered the fear, half expressed, on the schoolhouse steps two days before and drew within herself, sick with life. "can i put my trunk away?" she asked, to break the awkward silence she felt coming. "yes," was the relieved answer, and each took a handle, carrying the light piece of baggage to the bedroom. at the door elizabeth stopped short. a strange coat and vest were spread carelessly over the bed, and a razor strop lay across the back of the little rocking chair. "oh, i forgot!" susan hornby exclaimed, sweeping the offending male attire into her apron. "a young fellow stopped last night and asked to stay till he could get a house built on that land west of hunter's. you're going to have a bachelor for a neighbour." "who?" elizabeth asked, and then added, "what will he do for a room if i take this one?" "i don't know," aunt susan replied to the last clause of the question. "the room is yours, anyhow. i'm so glad to have you back that i'd turn him out if need be. honestly, we could hardly eat saturday. nate was as bad as i was. they've gone to colebyville together to-day. i'm glad nate's got him--he's lonesome enough these days." it was elizabeth's turn to cheer up aunt susan, for she always fell into a gloom when she mentioned nathan. it took elizabeth's mind from her own affairs, and by the time the unpacking was finished the volatile spirits of youth had asserted themselves. they took a walk toward evening, and only returned in time to meet john hunter, who had come to see his betrothed about a trip he had decided suddenly to take to mitchell county. he had spoken of it to elizabeth before, and had only waited to get his mother established and a desirable hired man to run the place in his absence. the man had come that day asking for work and giving good references and john had decided to go at once. in the excitement of preparation john seemed to have forgotten the discomforts of the morning, and though he soon took his departure, he left elizabeth less unhappy than she had been. nathan and the new man were coming in the distance as john hunter drove away, and the girl turned back into the kitchen to help with the supper. * * * * * "lizzie farnshaw! and you are the elizabeth these folk have been talkin' about? well, i'll be hornswoggled!" nathan and the new boarder had just come in. "is it really you, luther?" elizabeth asked, and there was no mistaking the glad tones. they looked each other over for changes; they sat beside each other at the table, and elizabeth asked questions and talked excitedly while he ate. "your hair is darker, and it's curly," she remarked, remembering the tow-coloured locks cut square across the boyish, sunburned neck. luther hansen's face crinkled into fine lines and his blue-gray eyes laughed amusedly. "got darker as i got older, lizzie, an' th' typhoid put them girl-twists into th' ends of it. bet you're a wishin' for it--all th' women folks do. wish you had it." they went for a walk after supper and talked of many things. he was the same luther, grown older and even more companionable. elizabeth learned that both his parents had died, leaving the then seventeen-year-old boy a piece of land heavily mortgaged, and with nothing but a broken down team and a superannuated cow to raise the debt. by constant labour and self-denial the boy had lifted the financial load, and then happening to meet a man who owned this kansas land had traded, with the hope that on the cheaper land he could reach out faster and get a good increase on the original price besides. "i remembered th' kind of land it was about here, an' didn't need t' come an' see it first," he said. "i was goin' t' hunt you up 'fore long, anyhow. i never thought of these folks a knowin' you, though, after i got here. funny, ain't it? i'm right glad t' be back t' you," was his frank confession. and elizabeth farnshaw looked up happily into his face, meeting his eye squarely and without embarrassment. it was as natural to have luther, and to have him say that he wanted to see her, as it would have been to listen to the announcement from her brother. "i'm so glad," she replied, "and i've so much to tell you that i hardly know where to begin." luther laughed. "mrs. hornby thought i'd be put out about that room, but i told 'er nothin' like that'd bother me if it brought you t' th' house. i've been sleepin' under th' wagon all th' way down from minnesoty an' i can go right on doin' it." they did not go far, but wandered back and sat on nathan's unpainted doorstep while the stars came out, and elizabeth forgot all about the trials of the morning, and told him of her engagement to john hunter. "i'm going to live right next to your farm, luther, and you must----" elizabeth farnshaw had started to say that he must know john, and somehow the words got suddenly tangled in her throat, and the sentence was unfinished for the fraction of a moment and then ended differently from what she had intended: "and i shall be so glad to have you for a neighbour, and you'll marry--now who will you marry?" luther, who had begun to like this new elizabeth even better than the girl of six years ago, had his little turn in the dark shadow of nathan's overhanging roof at the mention of this love affair, but he swallowed the bitter pill like a man. the renewed acquaintance had been begun on friendly lines and through all the days which followed it was kept rigidly on that ground. he was glad to have been told frankly and at once of john hunter's claims. in spite of the fact that elizabeth had stumbled and found herself unable to suggest that john and luther were to be friends, she talked to luther of her plans, her hopes of becoming a good housekeeper, her efforts at cooking, and of the sewing she was engaged upon. he learned, in time, of the disagreements with her father, and was not surprised, and with him she took up the subject of the marital relations at home. luther's experience was more limited than susan hornby's, but he looked the matter of personal relations squarely in the face and discussed them without reserve. there was always something left to be finished between them, and night after night they walked or sat together on the doorstep till late. nathan looked on disapprovingly, not understanding the bond between them, but susan, who heard the girl chatting happily about her coming marriage, saw that the friendship was on safe ground and laughed away his fears. nathan had found his first friend since his topeka experience, and was unwilling to see him come to harm; also, while nathan had come to love elizabeth almost as much as his own daughter, and to miss her when she was away, he was uncomfortably aware that she prized a culture which he did not possess, and was subject to fits of jealousy and distrust because of it. days passed. elizabeth could not induce herself to call on her future mother-in-law. the surety that she was cheapened by reports of her home affairs stung her consciousness and made it impossible to make the call which she knew she would certainly give offence by omitting. this, too, she talked over with luther, and he advised her to go at once. each day she would promise, and each day she would make excuses to herself and him, till at last the man's sober sense told him it must not be put off longer. one evening, after john had been gone two weeks, and elizabeth explained the fact of not having gone to see mrs. hunter because of the extreme heat, luther suggested that she go over to the "shanty" with him. "i forgot my coat, and it looks as if it'd rain 'fore mornin'," he remarked. "i kept th' harness on th' horses, so's t' drive over." as elizabeth expected, the visit to mrs. hunter was the first subject broached after they started. "you're goin' t' live in th' house with mrs. hunter, lizzie"--luther always used the old-fashioned name--"an' you must be friends with 'er," he cautioned. "i know it, luther. i'll go to-morrow, sure, no matter what happens," the girl promised, her words coming so slowly that there was no mistaking her reluctance. "i just can't bear to, but i will." luther considered at some length. "she'll be lonesome, not knowin' anybody here," he said with almost equal reluctance. "i--i want t' see you start in right. you've got t' live in th' house with 'er." the last clause of his argument was not exactly in line with the impression he wished to produce; in fact, it was only a weak repetition of what he had begun the argument with, but somehow, like elizabeth, that was the main fact in the case which absorbed his attention. he was dissatisfied with it, but could think of no way to state it better; so to turn the subject to something foreign to the hated topic, he remarked on a hayfield they were passing. "them windrows ought t' 'a' been shocked up," he said, casting his eye up at the northwest to measure the clouds. "jimminy!" he exclaimed, slapping the team with the lines. "i wonder if i've brought you out here t' get you wet?" he glanced apprehensively at elizabeth's thin print dress as the startled team jerked the old lumber wagon over the rough road, and half wished he had not brought her with him, for the signs were ominous. the breeze, which had been fitful when they had started, had died away altogether. not a breath of air was stirring; even the birds and crickets were silent. the storm was gathering rapidly. they rounded the corner, near his building place, on a full trot, and plunged into the grove of cottonwoods which surrounded the "shanty," with a consciousness that if they were to avoid a wetting, haste was necessary. the faded coat, which was the object of the journey, hung on the handle of the windlass at the newly sunk well. the dried lumps of blue clay heaped themselves about the new pine curb and the young man stumbled awkwardly over the sunbaked clods as he reached for his coat. as he turned back toward the wagon an exclamation of dismay escaped him. the storm had gathered so rapidly that the boiling clouds could be plainly seen now above the tops of the ragged trees which surrounded the place. instead of waiting to put the coat on, luther flung it into the back of the wagon, and, climbing hastily over the hub, turned the horses and drove them into the open road. one glance after they were free from the grove was enough. with a shout, he stood up, urging the horses into a gallop. boiling like smoke from the stack of a rapidly moving locomotive, the storm bore down upon the level kansas prairie. not a sound was heard except a dull roar from the north. urging the horses to their utmost efforts with voice and threatening gestures, luther looked back at the girl on the spring seat reassuringly. "we're makin' good time, lizzie," he shouted, "but i'm afraid you'll get th' starch took out of that purty dress. i never thought of this when i brought you." elizabeth, clinging to the backless spring seat with both hands, smiled back at him. it was only a storm, and at best could only soak their clothes and hair; but to luther more than that was indicated. as they rounded the corner and turned toward the north, a sudden puff of wind jerked the shapeless straw hat from luther's head and sent it careening dizzily over the stubs of the hay field at the right. hats cost money, and luther pulled up the galloping horses. hardly waiting to see whether elizabeth caught the lines he flung to her, he sprang to the ground and gave chase. the hat rolled flat side down against a windrow and stuck, so that it looked as if it were to be captured, but before he reached it the wind, which had now become a steady blow, caught it, and as the only loose thing of its size to be found, played tag with its owner. at last he turned back, gasping for breath and unable to lift his head against the blast. a fleeting glimpse of elizabeth standing up in the wagon was all that he got, for a blinding flash of lightning split the sky from north to south, followed by a terrific crash of thunder. half stunned, he fell into the deep rut of an old road crossing the hayfield at right angles to his course. as he arose a moment later, a scene never to be forgotten met his gaze. one of his horses lay motionless on the ground, the other was struggling feebly to regain its feet, and elizabeth was scrambling wildly out of the wagon. rushing to her side, luther drew her away from the floundering horse. a gust of rain struck them. "can you hold his head," luther shouted in her ear, "while i get him out of the harness?" elizabeth nodded, and together they caught the bit and laid the beast's head flat on the ground, where the girl held it fast by main force while luther worked at the straps and buckles. "at last!" he cried, when the name-strap gave way under his fingers. he flung the neck-yoke over against the body of the dead horse, and stepped back to free himself from the dangling lines. elizabeth let the horse's head loose and jumped back, still holding to the halter-strap. the frightened animal bounded to its feet with a neigh of alarm, dragging the girl out of luther's reach just as a thunderous roar and utter darkness enveloped them. what happened, exactly, the man never knew. he picked himself up, half senseless, some minutes later, covered with mud, and his clothing half torn from his body. at first he could not recall where he was; then seeing the dead horse in the road, and the upturned bed of the wagon itself, he realized that they had been struck by a cyclone. the darkness had whirled away with the retreating tornado, and a gray light showed the demoralized wagon overturned by the roadside. the wagon was in painful evidence, but elizabeth? where was elizabeth? looking wildly about in all directions, luther called her name: "lizzie! lizzie! god in heaven! what has become of you?" he remembered the fate of a girl in marshall county which he had heard discussed only last week. that child had been picked up by one of these whirling devils and her neck broken against a tree! with a wild cry, he turned and ran in the direction of the receding storm, calling her name and looking frantically on both sides of the path where the cyclone had licked the ground as clean as a swept floor. he could see nothing at all of elizabeth. realizing at last that he was wasting his efforts, and that some degree of composure would assist in the search, luther stopped and looked about him. outside the immediate path of the cyclone, which was cleared of every movable thing, the hay was tossed and thrown about as if it had been forked over the ground to dry itself from the wetting it had had. hay everywhere, but no living thing to be seen. could it be that elizabeth had been carried completely away by the storm, or was she buried in the hay somewhere? unresponsive as all nature to human emotions, the tumbled grass lay about him, a picture of confusion and ruin. the futility of human effort was borne in upon him as he scanned the waste. a pile larger than the surrounding piles separated itself from the scattered heaps at last. he regarded it eagerly. yes! there was a flutter of wet calico. half rejoicing, half terrified at the prospect of what he might find, luther hansen ran and flung himself down on his knees beside it, dragging at the half-buried form of the girl in frantic haste. she was doubled together and mixed with the hay as if, after being picked up with it, she had been whirled with it many times and then contemptuously flung aside. drawing her out, luther gathered her into his arms and listened to her heart beat to make certain that she still lived. though limp and unconscious, elizabeth farnshaw was alive, and luther drew her up and leaned her loosely rolling head on his shoulder while he considered what to do. a sharp, peppering fall of hail struck them. luther looked about quickly for shelter. the kansas prairie stretched level and bare before him. not even a bush presented itself. the size of the hailstones increased. elizabeth began to show signs of returning consciousness and to move feebly. the hailstones came down like a very avalanche of ice. it became necessary to interpose his body between her and the storm. he thought of the coat they had come to obtain, but that had probably gone with the hat and the hay and all other things in the route of the hurricane. he stooped close over her quivering form and let the frozen pellets fall on his unprotected head. the deluge was mercifully short, but at the end luther hansen was almost beaten into insensibility. when the hailstorm was over the rain burst upon them with renewed fury, and the wind blew as cold as a winter's gale. the chill stung them into activity. luther got slowly, to his feet, bracing himself against the blast as he did so, and also pulled up the now conscious girl. elizabeth's strength had not returned and she fell back, dragging him to his knees at her side. the rain ran off her hair and clothes in streams, and against the storm her thin cotton dress was of no protection whatever. luther urged her to control her shaking limbs and try to walk. it could only be accomplished by much effort. when at last she staggered to her feet, he put his arm about her and with bent head turned to face the rain, which cut like switches at their faces and cold shoulders, to which the wet cotton garments clung like part of the very skin itself. the wind blew a gale. it was almost impossible to make headway against it. had it not been for elizabeth's chilled state luther would have slipped down in a wagon rut and waited for the squall to subside, but it was essential that the girl be got under shelter of some sort at length, after struggling and buffeting with the storm for what seemed an age, alternately resting and then battling up the road toward home, they turned the corner of the section from which the hornby house could be seen. suddenly, elizabeth gave a frightened scream. luther, whose head had been bowed against the wind, looked up with a start. "good god!" broke from his lips. only a twisted pile of débris was to be seen where that house had stood. with the impulse to reach it instantly, they started on a run, hand in hand, but the fierceness of the gale prevented them. out of breath before they had gone a dozen yards, there was nothing to do but stop and recover breath and start again at a pace more in keeping with their powers. impatient and horrified, they struggled ahead, running at times, stumbling, falling, but not giving up. terrified by the thought of they knew not what possible disaster ahead of them, they at last turned into the little path leading to the ruined house. picking their way over scattered bits of household belongings, broken boards and shingles, for some distance, they at last reached the main pile of timbers. the girl's heart sank at the thought of what they might find there, and she made a gesture of distress. "this is no place for you, lizzie," luther said, quick to comprehend, and sick with pity for her. as he spoke, his foot sank between some timbers into a pile of wet cloth, and thinking that it was a human form, he shuddered and fell forward to avoid giving an injury the nature of which he could only guess. they dug frantically at the pile, and were relieved to find that it was only a ragged knot of rainsoaked carpet. it indicated, however, the possibilities of the moment, and luther ceased to urge the now frenzied girl to leave him, and together they stumbled about in their search. darkness was falling rapidly, and they called first the name of nathan, and then of his wife, beside themselves because they could not find even a trace of either to indicate their fate. had the storm picked them up as it had done elizabeth and carried them out of the wreckage? luther stopped and shouted the thought into elizabeth's ear. the wind dropped for an instant, and they stood looking about the place as well as the gloom would permit. the rain fell less noisily also. all at once they heard their names called from somewhere toward the north. turning, they saw, what they had not noticed before, that the straw sheds and the granary were untouched by the tornado. "here, luther! here, lizzie!" came another call from the granary door. nathan hornby, faintly seen, was shouting to them at the top of his voice. a new dash of rain came, and the wind redoubled its fury as if vexed with itself for having carelessly let the wayfarers get a glimpse of the harbour where it would be unable to do them further harm. with a glad cry, they ran toward the beckoning figure, and a second later elizabeth was lifted by nathan and luther into the open door of the bin-room, and literally fell across the shifting grain into aunt susan's open arms, sobbing and clinging to her as if fearing that the fierce winds would snatch her away. the relief was almost too much for the girl. "aunt susan! aunt susan! how could i live without you?" she sobbed. susan hornby drew the horse blanket with which she was covered over the shuddering child in her arms, and patted and soothed her, crying softly for joy as she did so, for the fears of the last hour had been mutual. the thought of her darling out in the storm, suffering she knew not what, had unnerved susan hornby, and brought home to her as nothing else had ever done a realization of the precious relation between them. "my daughter! my daughter! my katy's own self!" she repeated over and over. the reaction of fright and cold and wet brought on a chill which set elizabeth's teeth to chattering audibly. aunt susan was beside herself with worry. do what she would, the girl could not control herself. they rubbed and worked with her for some minutes. luther was alarmed and blamed himself for having taken her out in threatening weather. elizabeth insisted that no harm had come to her except a wetting, but could not convince the others till nathan had a bright idea. "here! we'll scoop these warm oats over you. they're as warm as toast--havin' th' blazin' sun on th' roof of this place all day." the two men were alert for any signs of the old building toppling over under the terrific pressure of the wind, and had kept pretty close to the door; but they moved over in the direction of the two women, and using their hands as shovels soon had them well covered with oats. "there you are," nathan shouted, when susan had begged them to desist because of the dust they were raising. "we'll set you folks a sproutin' if heat an' moisture's got anything t' do with it," he continued. he pulled some grain sacks out of the empty wheat bin and advised luther to wrap them around himself. "i'm some wet, myself," he announced, "but i've got warm ragin' round here like a gopher. now tell us how you folks come t' get here in all this storm. what'd you do with th' horses?" all this had been shouted at the top of his voice, for the wind rattled and tore at the old building with the noise of a cannonade, as if determined to wreck even this shelter. it was not possible to see one's hand in the darkness, for when the door had been pulled shut after the young couple, the last ray of light was shut out. besides, night had fallen now, and the darkness outside was no less dense. luther told in as few words as possible of the catastrophe which had befallen them on the road. "why, susan," nathan exclaimed, "th' same twister struck them as struck us! now don't that beat you? funny th' stables didn't go, too. that's th' way with them things--they go along an' mow a patch a rod 'r two wide as clean as a whistle, an' not touch a thing ten feet away. lord man!" he cried, turning toward luther in the dark with a reminiscent giggle, "you should 'a' seen us. sue saw th' storm a-comin', an' she run out t' git th' chickens in, an' nothin' 'd do 'er when she see th' way them clouds was a actin' but i must come in, too. we didn't even milk! i never see anything come on like it; we didn't hardly have time t' git th' winders shut till we could hear it roarin'! lord, you should 'a' heard it come! all at onct it got dark, an' th' house begun t' rock; an' then it slid along on th' ground, an' then it lifted clear up at th' northeast corner, an' we slid down in a heap on th' other side along o' th' cupboards an' th' kitchen table an' crocks we'd set out for th' milk we didn't get into 'em, an' then th' house lit over on th' other corner an' went t' pieces like a dry-goods box. that kitchen table was th' savin' of us! i don't know how it got over us, but there it was with th' safe an' water-bench a holdin' th' timbers off'n us." nathan wound up his story in a lowered tone, and there was silence for a moment as each went over his personal experience in thought. "gittin' warm there, elizabeth?" he asked after a time. "a little," the girl answered, still shivering, but with less audible chattering of her teeth. "you'll be all right in half an hour," nathan said with a relieved sigh. "i think we'll put a little more of these oats over you for good luck," he added. they heaped the warm grain thick about her, and then, because it was hard to converse with the noise of the roaring wind outside, gave up the effort. the old granary had a good roof and did not leak; they grew less frightened, and elizabeth grew warm in aunt susan's arms and slept at last. the rest lay long, listening to the angry blast, counting up their losses and planning to reconstruct so as to fit the new circumstances. for luther another horse would be needed, while nathan would have to build a house and furnish it anew. after the wind subsided the two men discussed in low tones the best way of beginning on the morrow, and it was finally decided that luther should go out and appeal to the neighbours to gather together and assist in sorting and saving such things as were worth it, and construct out of the broken timbers a habitation which would shelter them till a better could be erected. fortunately, luther had used none of the lumber of his last load, and but little of the one he had bought before. it was almost morning before they fell asleep, and the sun was shining brightly before they awoke. as they emerged from the musty oats bin into the fresh air, which had been purified by the wind and rain of the night before, a curious sight met their eyes. the house was indeed a wreck! roof, side-walls, plaster, floor, and furniture were mixed in one indistinguishable mass. the kitchen table nathan had mentioned stood as a centre-pole under a leaning pile of boards and splintered scantlings, and had evidently done much to save the lives of its owners when the roof fell. one end of the house lay, almost uninjured, on the grass, the window panes unbroken and still in their frames. other windows had been hurled from the walls to which they belonged and ground to powder. half the roof had been deposited between the road and the rest of the débris as carefully as if it had been lifted by some gigantic machinery, and was unhurt, while the other side, splintered and riddled, was jumbled together with joists, siding, and kitchen chairs. they spent but little time over the ruin of treasures, but after a hurried breakfast, consisting of such eggs as they could find about the haystacks, and coffee--rainsoaked, but still coffee, which was dug out of a stone jar where it had fallen--the men went at once for help. in spite of bridges washed out, and many hindrances, sympathetic farmers began to gather within two hours after luther had started out. the lumber he had offered was brought and many willing hands began the erection of the simple four-room house on the old foundation. the place was cleared, furniture carried to one side, while broken timbers were carried to the other and sorted, nails drawn, and every available stick laid in neat piles ready for those who had brought saws and hammers for building. susan and elizabeth sorted the soaked and muddy clothing, carpets, and bedclothes, and mrs. chamberlain and other neighbour women, around a great out-of-door fire near the well, washed and spread the clothes on the grass to dry. as if by magic, a house arose before night and, minus doors and windows, but otherwise ready for occupancy, offered its shelter to the tired but grateful family. broken bedsteads had been mended and put in place, feather-beds had been dried in the hot sun, straw ticks had been filled with clean hay; broken chairs nailed or wired together occupied their old places; the kitchen safe, with its doors replaced but shutting grudgingly, was in its old corner, and the unplastered house had a look of homey comfort in spite of the lack of some of its usual features. luther, who was a sort of carpenter, donated his services for several days, and except for patches of new weather-boarding or shingles mixed with the old there was little to indicate the path of a cyclone in the country. yes, there was a pile of splintered boards tossed roughly together not far from the back door, and the usual fuel of corncobs was below par. chapter ix "against her instincts, against her better judgment, against her will" mrs. hunter did not come to help, nor to call upon elizabeth and susan hornby, after the disaster, and elizabeth was finally obliged to go to see john's mother without any encouragement other than luther's urging. the day came at last when the call had to be made, and for the first time elizabeth came in contact with polite society which smiles and bows in polite form without any especial regard for sincerity. there was not a ripple of discontent on the surface at her future home. mrs. hunter might never have heard of the girl's family difficulties. the girl might have called the day before, so courteous and charming was the dignified hospitality with which she was accepted. elizabeth felt as if the most painful possibility of her life had been safely put behind her. she had been nervous and uncomfortable about this visit, and was correspondingly sensitive to the perfect manner of her hostess, and carried away with her a new problem to work upon: if john hunter's mother, by her poise and presence, made of his home a social unit of appearance and value, john hunter's wife must not fall below the grade of that home when she became its mistress. she pondered long upon that subtle air of good breeding which ignored real issues and smoothed communication by seeming not to know disagreeable facts. elizabeth decided that it was much more desirable than the rugged honesty with which the primitive folk about them would have humiliated themselves by explanation and apology. she would copy that suavity of manner. also, she resolved not to discuss grievances. they were a bore and it was horribly countrified. "i will not let myself think any more about it. i will be myself, and not be affected by what the rest of the folks do, and i'll not let myself sit and fumble with my buttons because some one else is going to think about them. mrs. hunter's manners are beautiful. i'd just love her if i didn't know i was going to have to live with her," she thought. mrs. hunter was a fixture in elizabeth's mental world, and her estimates were the standards elizabeth considered when she sewed alone or when aunt susan was silent. the girl was both fascinated and repelled by them. mrs. hunter's bearing was the subject of constant and delighted meditation, while the cold carefulness of it was a terrorizing nightmare. the girl kept up a conversation with aunt susan on the sewing, or a fire of mirth and jollity with nathan or luther, with this undercurrent of thought always going on. how was she to emulate that polish with so little experience in social affairs she would ask herself one moment, and the next would be harassed by the certainty that equal perfection in housekeeping and entertainment would be expected of her. there was no escaping her fate. if she was to learn these things, she must learn them of john's mother. there was no way of acquiring them beforehand. elizabeth faced her position squarely: she decided to accept her teacher. at least mrs. hunter seemed willing to make it easy for her. when elizabeth went home that night she spoke in glowing terms of mrs. hunter's friendly reception, and praised the real merit of her housekeeping, letting luther see that she hoped to acquire it, and left the little group around the supper table in great good humour because the visit had been a success. she took luther after the meal was over and went to look for the eggs about the haystacks, talking all the while of john hunter's mother in the happiest manner she could assume. the visit to john's home had made her a bit homesick for john himself. luther's presence had so completely filled the days since john's departure that she had not been lonesome for him, but the house with which he was associated had brought john back to the foreground of her consciousness with a rush, and luther saw that she was aglow with longing for the man she was to marry. they did not walk as usual after the eggs were hunted, but went back to the house, where elizabeth excused herself and soon went to bed. john was expected now at any time. when john did arrive two days later he found a welcome awaiting him that was all that the most exacting of men could have desired, a thing which astonished him somewhat, for rumour had reached him as soon as he had come into the home neighbourhood that the new swede had cut him out. john came to see elizabeth with curiosity predominating in his mind, though there was a distinct feeling of determination to master the situation if rumour had been right. luther was not at the house when john hunter arrived. elizabeth's delight over her lover's return was not a thing to be deceived about, but one thing left its impress upon his mind: elizabeth called this new man by his given name and spoke of him as one speaks of an intimate. this was soon dismissed from john's mind, however, for elizabeth was all agog to learn about the mitchell county land which he said he had bought, and john hunter stretched his legs out comfortably in the mended rocker of nathan hornby's little front room and talked enthusiastically of the pasture he would have for surplus cattle when he had got the farm in running order. no reference was made to elizabeth's affairs with her family. john was keenly appreciative of her joy in his presence, and the old relations were renewed; in fact, the relations were on a better basis than they had been for several days before john's absence. by a curious stroke of fate, luther was away from the house every time john hunter called for over a week. it whetted john's interest in the other man not to be able to see him, and it added an element to the courtship which had threatened to disappear. this other man on the scene made him apprehensive; he wanted the centre of the stage for himself, and he became more ardent. elizabeth was courted with sweet manner, and all her wishes considered. the summer was a happy one. aside from a simple white dress to be married in, and two calico dresses for house wear, elizabeth put her own sewing away and helped aunt susan repair her quilts and carpets which had suffered badly in the cyclone. two weeks had to be given up to the plastering of the remodelled house, and all the furniture was revarnished by their own hands. by the time all this was finished the girl felt a personal possession in every article the house contained, and it had indeed become a home to her. the home she had left was scarcely more than a shadow in elizabeth's mind. the work of remodelling and brightening up nathan's house was hastened because of the wedding, which they planned to have take place there. susan hornby and elizabeth had grown closer than ever since the storm, when each had feared the loss of the other. they worked and sewed together, skimping nathan and luther on the cooking till the former threatened to turn cook in self-defence. mrs. farnshaw had not come to help when the neighbours put up the demolished house. the bridges had been out and no one had gone to warn her that help was needed. when the news had arrived the omission had been taken as an offence and no effort had been made to go at all. the last week in september, however, elizabeth's mother came to see her. the girl was helping susan hornby put fresh straw under the rag carpet in the front room. the straw was carefully spread and the carpet tacked along one side of the room, and elizabeth, hammer in hand, turned over from her knees to a sitting position and surveyed her mother with a dull fear at her heart; she knew what her mother's presence meant. mrs. farnshaw resented the new carpet, she resented susan hornby, she resented the comradeship she felt existed between her daughter and this alien woman who was no relation to her by the ties of blood. ignoring aunt susan's courteous attempts to make her feel welcome, she drove straight to the object of her visit and demanded that elizabeth come home to be married. "i'm going to be married right here, ma," elizabeth replied, twisting the hammer around in the other hand and filled with apprehension. she knew her mother's tendency to hold fast to foolish demands. mrs. farnshaw's ready handkerchief went up to her eyes at once. "now look a' here, lizzie, i ain't got no other girl, an' it's a pretty how-de-do if i can't have my only daughter married from my own house." elizabeth fidgeted about, laying her hammer down and picking up a straw that had pushed its way through the loose rags of the carpet on which she sat. after a time she turned her eyes to aunt susan with a mute call for help. susan hornby was decidedly uncomfortable. "i thought of course you'd come home to be married," mrs. farnshaw continued. "you know pa 'd raise a fuss as soon as i appeared," her daughter replied. mrs. farnshaw brightened. she was strong on argument. elizabeth's silence had disconcerted her, but if she would talk--well, mrs. farnshaw began to have hopes. "you've been away all summer," she sobbed, returning to her handkerchief. elizabeth kept her eyes on aunt susan's face and did not reply again. there was another silence. mrs. farnshaw began to be desperate. "folks has talked an' talked," she said, "an' i let 'em, because i thought when you come home for th' weddin' it'd put a stop t' their tongues. you've been down here, an' you don't know how hard it's been." elizabeth had listened in a distressed silence and studied susan hornby's face for signs of assistance. "i guess they haven't talked----" she began at length, and then stopped short at something in aunt susan's eye which confirmed her mother's words. "oh, yes, they have," her mother hastened to say. "they say you ain't got no proper pride, an' they say you've got too stuck up t' live to home any longer, now that you're goin' t' marry rich, an' they say i can't make your things good enough for you t' be married in, an'----" mrs. farnshaw had voiced her greatest grievance--her neighbours criticised her. she broke into such real weeping that it was impossible not to be moved by it. forgetting her policy of silence, elizabeth argued and explained. talking to her mother, but keeping her eyes glued on aunt susan's, she went into details about the difficulty at home. "you know pa 'll find some excuse to strike me as soon as i get there," she concluded. she had a painful sense of weakness and inadequacy in the presence of her mother's determination. her own worries seemed so trivial in the presence of her mother's sorrow. "e won't, i tell you," mrs. farnshaw repeated for the twentieth time. "e'll let you alone if you do th' right thing. we love our children--if th' neighbours don't think so," she wailed. as she talked, however, she kept a shrewd eye on her daughter and soon saw that elizabeth's eyes turned to those of aunt susan. it was not enough for this hornby woman to be neutral; mrs. farnshaw decided to enlist her. "if you had a girl you'd want 'er t' be married in your own house, i know," she said, leaning forward eagerly. "suppose you only had th' one----" she saw the quick tears gathering. "did you ever have a little girl?" she asked. susan hornby's emotions mastered her. she made no attempt to reply. "then tell 'er t' come home for just two more days," she said quickly. "i don't ask for no more than that. just long enough to put an end t' this talk. i don't never 'spect t' have 'er after that, but----" she sprang to her feet and, crossing the room, dragged elizabeth to her feet also. "i've got t' have you, lizzie, an' that's all th' is about it!" they looked at each other a long time. elizabeth weakened. what could the girl do? against her instincts, against her better judgment, against her will, she consented. "see to it, then, that no new thing comes up to disgrace us," she said, stepping back to avoid the compelling touch of the hand that clutched at her sleeve, still looking across despairingly at aunt susan. all help had been taken from that quarter. bewildered, torn between her comprehension of mother love and a real knowledge of this particular case, susan hornby fumbled with the hem of her apron and did not look up. elizabeth, alone and without support, was easily victimized. "i'll go," she said briefly. * * * * * so the peaceful summer ended for elizabeth farnshaw with her promise to go home. she hated to go, but the phrasing of her mother's plea, "just two more days," helped to sustain her. it had been a happy summer, two days would not be long, and then would come john and the new home. there had been many reasons for the happiness of elizabeth's last weeks of girlhood. the days had been full of pleasant work, and john had taken regular and masterful possession of her evenings. he came always such a picture of natty cleanliness and taste that it was a joy to be the object of his wooing. when john had found that elizabeth was not in love with luther, as she had been reported to be, but accorded the old grounds of affection to him, he had spread himself comfortably in luther's presence and drawn him into conversation whenever it could be done. in addition to a desire to set his well-polished boots in strong contrast against those of busy, unobserving luther, the only dressing of which was an occasional soaking in oil to keep them from cracking, john hunter had been half forced to like honest, kindly luther hansen. luther was not a man to arouse antagonisms. he assumed his natural rôle with elizabeth even before her fiancé and let the ground of their cordiality and friendship rest on such sensible basis that they were accepted as a matter of course. john hunter had been restless and half angry when he had first come home from mitchell county--a thing he had not let elizabeth see--but his feelings had been soothed and delighted by the display of her preference for him on his return. a new buggy had been purchased, and it was john hunter's pride. elizabeth was unconscious of any rivalry. the new buggy was a great acquisition. it was the first to appear in that part of the country. she felt favoured to have it at her service, but the crown of all her felicity had been john hunter's adoration, which had been poured at her feet without stint. if she wished to go anywhere, she had but to mention it. the relations of the early summer had been reëstablished. he talked of the new land, and of the cattle to be placed on it in two or three years, when the calves he was buying would be grown. the lots in which he had held an equity since his father's death had been sold before his mother's departure from the old home, and twenty-five calves had been picked up from the surrounding farmers with the money thus secured. every evening john drove to some farm to look for young cattle, and elizabeth accompanied him. cash had been paid for the western land, and at the end of the summer most of the money that had been received from the estate had been invested. as they drove from farm to farm, discussing prices; sheds, feed, and the wintering of stock, the girl's heart swelled with gratitude that her lines had fallen in such well-provided places. the pinch of poverty was to be lifted from her life. more than the plenty, elizabeth prized the peace which seemed to be drifting in her direction. every day since john hunter's return had been a happy day. john consulted her judgment and her wishes, and it was done with that air of comradeship which was the most sought-for thing in elizabeth farnshaw's life. all her lonely days she had longed for it, and in all her girlish dreams it had been the prime factor. she had obtained glimpses of it in susan hornby's home, and now, she told herself joyfully, it was to be a permanent feature of her future life. with mrs. farnshaw's advent a series of unpleasant things began to manifest. john was glad that the marriage was to take place in elizabeth's own home. because of their engagement, he had heard little of the gossip about her, but it had been enough to make him suspect more and wish her well out of it. if now she would go home it would make the whole thing look right and stop the reports. john hunter was distinctly a man of moods and reflected the conditions in which he happened for the moment to find himself. when he came to see elizabeth the night after her mother had been to see her, he was pleased that she was to go home the next day, but he instantly partook of the discontent she showed. he took her to his mother's house for a short stay, but both were heavy of spirits and john was actually depressed. elizabeth was almost abnormally sensitive to the attitude assumed toward her, and had she been shrewd she would never have carried any doubts of her own efficiency or judgment to her lover, but she was as open as a little child. john left her at the little gate and drove away so promptly that the girl's lip quivered as she turned in the dark to go to the house. elizabeth found luther seated on the low doorstep. the shadow of the house prevented her from seeing him till she was almost upon him. "of all things! i never thought of you being here," she exclaimed, thinking of the kiss she had just received not three rods distant. luther laughed sheepishly. "i hadn't intended t' see your good-nights," he said honestly, "but i'd 'a' made a worse mess of it by runnin' than i did by settin' still. anyhow, you're goin' t' be married in three days, an' it needn't make no difference. i've been a thinkin' about you an' i waited up t' talk." he made room on the step for her to sit beside him. "thinking about me?" "yes. mrs. hornby says your mother was here to-day. she's kind of worried about it--you goin' home, i mean. i don't know about that--i hope it'll be all right. try an' make it right, lizzie. th' hunters go a good deal on looks." elizabeth was silent. luther felt it and interpreted her silence rightly. "is that something i'm not to talk about, lizzie?" he asked. the question hurt worse than the statement. "i--i--don't know why you ask me such a thing, luther," she faltered. luther arose. he was not to be offended, nor would he put away what he had waited to say. "i only wanted to say that--well, do what th' folks ask of you, lizzie. you're only home for a couple of days an'--an'"--after a long pause--"an' it won't hurt nobody." elizabeth got up slowly. "good-night, luther," she said. she wanted to offer him her hand; she was sure she was hurting him, but she could not talk to him on this point; the very truth of his suspicious that the hunter estimate of her might be affected by scandal made of it a sore point. elizabeth farnshaw would be loyal to mutual relations, even where luther's feelings were concerned. they met in the morning on perfectly friendly ground, but there was an attitude of reserve which brooked no remark on her part. luther departed early for his own house, and john hunter came before noon to take her to her father's home. after all her simple possessions were in the wagon, elizabeth went back and threw herself into the arms of aunt susan, who was crying miserably. "oh, aunt susan! i feel as if i had taken leave of you forever. i've--i've been so happy in this house--till yesterday. can i ever repay what you've done for me?" susan hornby gathered elizabeth into her arms and sobbed more vehemently. the silence was unbroken except by those sobs, and at last the girl, moved out of herself, tried to comfort her, and said coaxingly: "i'll live right near you. i'll see you every few days and--and i'll never forget how good you've been to me. it's--it's too bad these last two days had to be so--so different. i--i don't know what went wrong, but--but"--she laughed desperately--"where have our good times gone to? i'm going to be married to the man i love--and i'm going to live right near you--and--what is the matter with us, anyway?" susan hornby clung to the girl and could not cease crying, till at last elizabeth lifted her chin on one finger and with a corner of aunt susan's own apron, wiped the tears from the contorted face. "now then, don't cry," she said, kissing her again and again. "keep the folks in a good humour, dear. the hunters 'll feel awful if anything more happens," susan hornby faltered, and then, to keep the girl from, replying, and to avoid the surprise and pain in the young face, pushed her gently but firmly toward the door and john hunter, who was waiting impatiently. chapter x philosophy of elizabeth's life voiced "to-morrow," elizabeth said, significantly, as john turned back to get into the wagon after they had deposited the trunk in the house. "to-morrow," john smiled back at her. it was a reluctant smile he gave her, but the bid for affection in her young eyes was irresistible. "he had to be nice," she thought as she walked back to the house; "it was a good way." a sudden thought came to her. "did you ask luther to the wedding?" she asked of her mother as she entered. "no, i didn't. what do you want of that swede?" mrs. farnshaw asked petulantly. "i should think----" what she thought was never recorded in words, for elizabeth was out of the house like a flash, calling to john hunter as she ran down the road after him. it was a surprised john who took her message. "yes, i'll tell him, but i don't see what you want of that swede--he always seems to cut such a figure in everything you do," john said discontentedly. "well, just tell him that ma sends the invitation, will you?" was all elizabeth could say. it was john's first contemptuous remark about luther, and it disturbed her. they were to live closer to luther hansen than any other neighbour and it was essential that they be on friendly terms. she had hoped it might be that john would appreciate the good things in luther which even his nationality could not spoil. dear old luther! in spite of the observation she had seemed to resent the night before, elizabeth loved him--loved him all the more because she had been obliged to hurt him. it suddenly occurred to her that john might not deliver her message. she put the thought away from her instantly, saying aloud: "he'd do anything he knew i wanted him to do," and then was struck with the doubtful tone in which it was said. "what did you say?" her mother asked, for elizabeth had just entered the door. "nothing. i hate this wedding!" "well, now, i like that, after all i've done to give you a good time," the mother said angrily. "no, ma; you mean to give yourself a good time. you make me come home when i don't want to, and you ask people i hate to have, and then you leave out the people i want most. it isn't my wedding. i'm going to stand up and be married so as to get rid of it all, but john won't have the minister i want, you won't have the people i want, i'm most sure pa 'll kick up some kind of a row about it--and--and i was so happy till you came and made me consent to it. what did you do it for?" "do it for? you ungrateful child! what did i do it for? i'll tell you," mrs. farnshaw's eyes hardened into momentary coals of fire. "i did it because i don't like your whole goings on. minister? why don't you say preacher, like the rest of your folks? it's that hornby woman. she made you talk of divorces----" at thought of all her supposed wrongs at the hand of susan hornby mrs. farnshaw broke into a half scream and ended by throwing herself into a chair by her daughter's side and clinging to her hand with her upturned face streaming over with tears, her mouth convulsed with pain till speech was impossible. moved to repentance at the sight of the pang she had caused, elizabeth fell on her knees by her mother's side, and with her arms encircling her, cried contritely: "i didn't mean it, ma, really--that is, i didn't mean it that way. don't mind what i said. i do love you." mrs. farnshaw clung to her, so shaken by sobs that she still could not speak, and the penitent daughter soothed and comforted her with her own heart breaking at the thoughtlessness of her speech. "put it away and don't remember it; i didn't mean it. i'm tired to death--and--and----" she pondered a moment and then made the experiment. "and i want to speak of aunt susan to you. i can't bear to have you feel so bad about me liking her. she hasn't put a single notion into my head. be good and get acquainted with her. she'd like to have you. if you knew her you'd know how different she is from what you think. i'll take you to see her the very first time you come to see me. say you will." elizabeth stroked the thin hair back from the passion-worn face, and waited for her reply. mrs. farnshaw shook her head, but could not meet the offer squarely. "the two of you'd be a wishin' you could get rid of me so's you could talk your own kind of talk," she said with conviction. "'taint any use, lizzie; i ain't your kind. your pa 'd be madder at me 'n ever, too." "well, he's mad all the time, anyhow," elizabeth said. "no 'e wasn't till you said that awful thing--that is, 'e was mad often enough, but not like 'e's been since. you don't know what you done t' your mother then. be good, an' go t' 'im, an' settle 'is mind 'fore you're married. it don't matter if i know miss hornby 'r not; but what a difference it'd make t' me if he only knowed i never put you up t' that partin' business! please do it fur me, lizzie." this was an unexpected turn. elizabeth had hoped to avoid the recurrence of this issue. knowing that she was keeping her mother in cruel suspense, elizabeth hesitated and by every sign showed her disinclination to discuss the subject. what should she do? what _could_ she do? the tortured eyes of her mother studied her with an intensity which she could not avoid. to consent was to fail with her father, to refuse was to make matters much worse with the mother she had just hurt. luther had warned her to avoid collisions with her family which were liable to cause gossip; aunt susan had implored her to keep the folks in a good humour; her own instincts were against the movement, but her feelings were pleading for the mother who begged her to try once again to obtain reconciliation before she was married. ah! if this time would end it! "say you will," the mother begged with pathetic brevity. "i'd do it in a minute if there were the least opportunity to succeed, ma," elizabeth said reluctantly, and not looking toward her. "if i do it and fail, you'll be wanting me to go right on with it after i'm married, and that i won't do for anybody." the sentence ended savagely. mrs. farnshaw studied her daughter eagerly. she began to have hopes. now, if only she could get the right touch on her appeal. "if you'll do it, an' be careful-like, lizzie," she said compellingly, "if you'll be careful-like this time, i'll never ask you again. i can't live this way any longer. i won't never ask you again. please," she insisted. "speak real soft an' nice-like. please." "but, ma, are you crazy? you told me--you told me that--oh dear, what's the use to tell you what you said?" the girl cried, her judgment giving its last caution a hearing. what was the use indeed! in the end elizabeth consented--consented with kindliness of manner. since she was going to do it at all she would do it lovingly. she argued herself into that mood before she agreed to the move. her mother had a hard life; on one who knew her doubted that fact. neither would any one have doubted that mr. farnshaw led a hard life also. some devil of unrest demanded excitement and disagreement. "keep the folks in a good humour," luther had said. elizabeth had no support from any quarter. she could only consent. "i'll do it, ma," she agreed. "i am going away to be happy. john and his mother never have a word together that isn't pleasant." "i hope so," mrs. farnshaw said with relief, "but men don't always treat their wives like they do their mothers. it's something they get t' feel about their wives that's th' trouble. women think th' only way t' be good wives's t' give up--an' men think so too. women's most always afraid of what th' men 'll think, an' th' men know it." "well, ma, come on! there's lots to do; let's get at it." elizabeth was in no mood to philosophize. she hated the coming conference with her father to the utter exclusion of every other thought at that moment, and had hardly heard what her mother had said. "you'll never regret bein' good t' your old mother," mrs. farnshaw said, rubbing her hand over the girl's glossy braids as elizabeth turned away to begin the work she had suggested. "my! it don't seem like six weeks since i was your age--young an' startin' out--an' life looked good t' me, i kin tell you. now i ain't got nothin' t' be good t' me but you." "i think i'll wash my hair before the sun gets low," elizabeth said. "then i'll help you in here." she was disturbed about the promise she had given and wanted to get away from her mother before she should say some unlucky thing that would show it. she let her hair down and loosened it with a toss of her head. it was a glittering garment which covered her from head to knees in wavy strands which flew about her in lines of beauty as she moved about getting her hot water and towels. mrs. farnshaw watched her with an expression near real affection. she came over and ran her hands through the rippling mass as the girl turned to go out of doors where she could splash comfortably, and after she had gone passed her hands over her own faded locks slowly. "lizzie's always had th' best of everything," she said, shaking her head sadly. "i wisht she wasn't s' set against 'er pa. i'm goin' t' make 'er do it all th' same." the girl in the backyard pondered upon the same thing as she dried her hair in the hot sun. "i hate it," she thought, "but i'm going to do it just the best i know how. ma _didn't_ say it, nor agree with it, and i'm going to make it as easy as i can for her before i go. will we ever be like they are?" she asked herself half seriously, and felt sure it could not be. "ma has always insisted on things and never lets pa nor the rest of us forget anything or lay it down. i believe a woman can manage those things. aunt susan does." as elizabeth started to the house, she noticed her father and the boys coming from the cornfield with a wagon-load of snapped corn. joe drove the team and his father sat in the back with his feet dangling over the end-gate. they were turning into the barnyard when she discovered them. with her hair floating about her like a veil, she started at once for the barn. she could not talk this out with her mother listening, and if she did not do it now it would be forced upon her at supper, when her father was certain to be in his worst mood. mr. farnshaw always came to the table tired. seeing elizabeth coming toward him, mr. farnshaw dropped from the wagon and went to fill the swill pails. the hogs knew they were to be fed and set up their usual noisy clamour. it was his purpose to divert their attention till the boys could drive the wagon into the corral, hoping also to leave his daughter where she could not approach him. mr. farnshaw delighted in making people wait. with a pail in either hand he advanced to the fence. the hogs left the gate and ran to meet him, upsetting the trough as they came. setting the pails down, he snatched up a peeled osage stick, kept outside of the pen for that purpose, and belaboured angrily the snouts sticking over the fence. the pigs were hungry and persistent. by the time they were beaten into a respectable awe and had backed away squealing, mr. farnshaw discovered his daughter at his elbow. he had intended to ignore her; he turned red with rage. with a look of infinite contempt, he stooped and picked up a pail. "what a racket they do make," she remarked, smiling at him without offence. in spite of her smiling manner, elizabeth was half sick with apprehension. it was not a propitious time to approach him, but mr. farnshaw watched to see that a propitious moment should not arrive when he was in one of his sulking fits. elizabeth had played that game with him before. with her courage oozing away, and a feeling that there was no benefit in seeming not to know what he was thinking about, she put her hand on his sleeve saying: "don't be cross with me, pa. really i _do_ want to be friends." mr. farnshaw jerked his arm aside to avoid her touch and spilled half the pail of swill on the ground. he lurched over to the other side to right the pail; the bucket at his feet upset, pouring dishwater, milk, and potato peelings over his heavy plow-shoes as it went. to avoid the onrush of the greasy tide he sprang back, slipped in its oily overflow, and fell, the pail he held pouring its contents over him as he went. his gray whiskers, the bottom of his jersey, his very ears dripped swill as he arose. it was disconcertingly funny, and the girl helped him to his feet, laughing in spite of every effort to restrain herself. to lose his temper was bad enough, but to be made ridiculous and be laughed at at the same time was more than the man could endure. he was insane with fury. there was such a look of malignity on his face as he jerked away and turned to face her that the girl, suddenly sobered, dodged and started to run. her long hair trailed across his arm, and lost to every consideration but that of satisfying his temper, he caught it as she passed and swinging the osage stick to which he still clung, shouted: "damn you! this is th' kind of friends i'll be." he struck with all his force, jerking her hair at the same time. thrown from her feet, the full weight of the girl's body came on her hair. it hurt cruelly. she veered around on her knees and caught the now tangled hair with both hands to ease the strain. he grabbed her by one arm and rained blows on her thinly clad shoulders which hissed in tune with the man's temper as they fell. "i'll be friends with you!" he shrieked. "i'll send you t' that young smartie with some marks on you that'll show 'im what kind of a wife he's gettin'. you told your ma t' leave me! maybe you'll be leavin' him next. tell 'im i said so, will you?" cut by the flexible withe, which left welts like ribbons on her young shoulders, the girl was unable to endure more passively, and struggled to free herself. the partially successful opposition infuriated the man. he was not accustomed to defence. his fury knew no restraint. he rained the blows harder than ever and the girl finally caught the whip itself. catching the limber end desperately, she jerked it sidewise; unconsciously, she had deflected her father's hand so that it struck her head just below the ear. it stretched her senseless at his feet. josiah farnshaw was aghast. with a gulping cry of alarm and pity, he stooped to lift his unconscious daughter. he had not intended to do so brutal a thing. "now look what you've gone an' done!" mrs. farnshaw had watched elizabeth go to him with something of prayer in her heart. she knew the girl's intention was to be square about the apology and she had strained every nerve to watch the encounter. at the first blow she had started to the scene of action. "i think you might have----" the man's relenting mood vanished. he dropped the limp body and rose to his full height. "you damned fool," he exclaimed, "if you hadn't set this a goin' an' kept it a goin' this wouldn't 'a' happened. of all th' blasted, impossible things it's t' have a snivelling she-devil always at your elbow. keep your hands off of me!" he cried, shaking himself loose from the detaining hand she had laid on his arm. "i'm goin' t' git." the boys had arrived by that time. they carried the girl to the well and bathed her face and hands with fresh water, while the head of the house strode down the road toward the north. elizabeth was not seriously injured and recovered consciousness as soon as the water touched her. mrs. farnshaw left the task of resuscitation to her sons and looked after her rapidly disappearing husband with eyes that longed for reconciliation. reconciliation for one thing or another had been the most driving inspiration her twenty years of married life had known; it was her most potent incentive. cowed and broken, fear bound her fast to his footsteps. not even the daughter struggling to her feet at her side could detract her attention from his receding form. elizabeth stood balancing herself dizzily for a moment before she began really to see or grasp what was going on around her; then the full value of the mishap broke upon her. all that luther and aunt susan had hinted at had befallen her in spite of every effort to avoid it. but not even the calamity which had befallen them could stop their busy fingers. the preparations for the wedding feast were a merciful feature of the rest of the evening. the guests had been invited and must be prepared for. the hair that had been washed was braided, the mother's tears dried, and every member of the family pressed into the service. the entire house was cleaned and rearranged. not till after midnight did the members of the little group seek their beds. mr. farnshaw had not returned. they had even forgotten him a large part of the time in the hurry. elizabeth regarded the half dozen bruises which her sleeves would not cover with alarm when she was at last ready to climb her ladder. joe covered them with a liniment which he brought from the barn. as he set the dusty bottle on the kitchen table after the anointing had been done, he remarked dryly: "wonder if you an' me 'll ever do that kind of thing t' our young ones? everybody's always said we was like the old man." "take that nasty smellin' bottle out of here, an' don't begin any talk about your pa. everybody get t' bed," mrs. farnshaw commanded. even the absence of her husband could not dim the interest of mrs. farnshaw in the coming spectacle of her daughter's marriage. with the capacity of a little child to suffer from unkindness or neglect, she combined the same child-like capability to enjoy pageantry of any sort. benches for curious neighbours surrounded mrs. farnshaw's bed when she retired, and unaccustomed things filled every nook of the usually unattractive room. evergreen boughs stared at her from the corner opposite her bed; the bed was to be removed in the morning. it had been her own romantic idea to have a bower for the bride and groom. she had been so busy making that bower that she had forgotten her own troubles for an hour and more, but she remembered them now and her interest died out. with a quivering indrawn breath she turned out the light and dived into the huge feather-bed, smothering her sobs by crushing her pillow against her face. elizabeth, upstairs, had her own disappointments to go over, and her mother's sobbing coloured her ruminations. her vision had been cleared. in spite of youth, and of humiliation, she saw that the blow that had undone her had been accidental. she saw what the encouragement of temper would lead to. she saw the gradual growth and stimulation of that temper in the daily contentions of her father and mother. she rubbed her bruises and thought long on the troubles about her. accusations and defence, she decided, were at the root of them. they were the universal topics of the conversations at home and among all the people she had ever known except the hornbys and the chamberlains. "defence!" she said in a scornful whisper. "what does it matter _who_ is wrong in anything? the only thing that matters is _what_ is wrong and to find a way to make it come out better next time," and at last went to sleep quite unaware that she had evolved a philosophy which rightly applied would reorganize the world. chapter xi "wives, submit yourselves unto your husbands, as unto the lord" the day after the wedding was friday, or "sweep day," as mrs. hunter called it. anxious to begin as she expected to hold out, and to form regular habits in john's wife, mrs. hunter superintended the housecleaning processes. elizabeth had had no idea that any one could put in so many hours with broom and dust rag, but when it was done, looked about her with housekeeperly delight in the orderly, well-kept rooms. as they had worked that day the girl had been keenly observant of john's mother. she could not tell whether john had told her of the trouble in her home or not. mrs. hunter did not refer to it directly or indirectly, and this fact was the subject of much thought. this faultless manner of dismissing unpleasant things stood out in strong contrast to the endless and tiresome discussions to which the girl was accustomed. elizabeth wished she could find time to run over to uncle nate's for a chat with aunt susan, but the busy day absorbed her and there was no time to go anywhere; in fact, it was time for john to come home from colebyville, where he had gone to hunt for a hired man before the cleaning was really finished. glancing up at the clock on the lambrequined shelf in the sitting room, the girl was surprised to see that it was already four o'clock. the cleaning was finished and she ran to the kitchen to put up the rag in her hand, and then went hurriedly into her bedroom to comb her hair and get her dress changed before john should come. absorbed in her dressing, elizabeth did not hear her husband enter the house until she heard him talking to his mother in the dining room. with freshly combed hair and clean calico dress she ran with a glad little bound to meet him. john hunter and his mother stopped short with their conversation when they saw her and were plainly embarrassed. the young wife became conscious that something was wrong and stopped in the middle of the room, looking from one to the other in mute inquiry. mrs. hunter turned and went back to the kitchen. john came toward his wife. "what is it, john? what has happened?" she asked in a whisper. there was a sick look on john hunter's face. elizabeth did not put her hand on him as was her usual way. the girl-wife had an indistinct feeling that her husband and his mother were a combination for the moment of which she was not a part. "enough has happened," the man said, passing her and going toward their bedroom. "come in here!" he held the door open for her to enter, and she passed in and stood waiting while he shut it behind them. "what is it, john?" she queried, unable to wait longer. "your father has gone to colebyville and got into a drunken row," was the bald statement. "everybody in the country knows about his fuss with you." he did not offer to touch her, but walked over to the window and began to drum on the window-pane with nervous fingers. "drunk! row! my father was never drunk in his life!" was the astonished exclamation with which elizabeth hunter met this unbelievable accusation. "well, he's been drunk enough to last the rest of his life this time, and we're the laughing stock of this whole country." john hunter had gone to colebyville that morning in the new buggy, rather pleased to be the centre of observation and remark. he quite liked to swagger before these country people whom he chose otherwise to ignore. he was well dressed, his buggy was the admired of all admirers, and he was newly married. country gossip had some pleasing qualifications. when he had arrived at colebyville, however, john hunter had found that country people had little ways of their own for the edification of the vainglorious, and that trim young men in buggies became infinitely more interesting to the scorned when they could be associated with scandal. he soon found that he was the object of much amused discussion and shortly it became evident that they were quite willing that he should know that he was the object of ridicule. pretending friendship, one of them enlightened him as to the exact circumstances which were amusing them, and then sneaked back to his companions with a verbatim report of his surprised exclamations. john hunter did not enjoy being the victim of a trap laid by those he had patronized. it had been a humiliating day, and john hunter always handed his misfortunes along. he poured his disgust over his wife as if she alone were responsible for all he had suffered that day. "what was the row with you about, anyway?" he inquired with evident aversion to her presence. elizabeth had withered into a quivering semblance of the confident woman who had run to meet him five minutes ago. her knees shook under her with collapse. she sat down on the edge of the bed and stammered her explanations as if she had been a naughty child caught red-handed in some act of which she was ashamed. "it--oh, john! i only went to him to make up about--about other things. we--we didn't have any fuss exactly. it--it was just the same old thing. i--i begged ma not to make me go home. i told her what he would--i knew he'd whip me, but she would have me go." "well, he couldn't whip you for nothing," john said, with brutal inquiry. "what'd you fall out with him for? i never heard of such a thing as a girl who was a woman grown that fell out with her father till he whipped her." exasperated and miserable, john bestowed blame in the only convenient place he found. the young wife buried her face in the counterpane and did not attempt to reply, and after looking dully at her for a moment john hunter went out and left her to carry her burden of shame alone. the sound of the closing door assured her that at least she could be alone in her tears, and the humbled girl gave herself up to sobbing. luther and aunt susan would never be quite convinced that she had done her best to avoid trouble; she even wondered herself if there might not have been some fault in the way she had approached her father. as usual, elizabeth was concerned with the trouble of others. the whole dreadful thing passed before her with the vividness of actual reproduction. john's mother knew this at any rate. that was a sore point. they were in the kitchen talking it over now! with the conviction of absolute certainty, elizabeth buried her face in the counterpane of her bridal couch and sobbed in desolate abandon. after a time john came back again and looked into the room. seeing her distress, he went over slowly and lifted her to her feet with a stir of pity. "don't cry," he said gloomily. "it can't be helped. come on out to the kitchen and help mother with the supper." elizabeth knew that at that moment he did not want to caress her, but her hungry soul craved comfort beyond her power to control and she dug her face into his breast and sobbed there unasked. [illustration: "the young wife buried her face in the counterpane and did not attempt to reply"] john's arms closed about her in a relaxed sort of way, and patting her head half-heartedly, he said again: "come on, dear. mother's out there getting supper alone." he took his own pocket handkerchief and wiped her tear-stained face and, after kissing her, pushed her gently but firmly toward the kitchen. supper was not a cheerful meal. elizabeth's voice was thick from crying and she did not talk at all, while john and his mother could not discuss the topic uppermost in their minds in her presence. the feeling that there was a combination of which she was not a part grew upon the young wife, and a longing for aunt susan grew with it. "i'd like to go over to uncle nate's immediately after supper," she said. "i'll do the dishes while you hitch up." "good lord! i don't want to go over there to-night," was the reply. "i wish you'd quit calling those people 'aunt' and 'uncle'." elizabeth's face blazed with colour as he got up and went into the sitting room. the brutality of the answer was so evident to john's mother that she followed him. "you had better take elizabeth to mr. hornby's, john. i don't think you should speak to her in that way, either," she said in a low tone of voice. elizabeth could not hear mrs. hunter's remarks, but john's reply was audible enough. "i'm not going over there to-night. i don't feel as if i ever wanted to go anywhere again." she also heard mrs. hunter's low "sh!" and felt more than ever an alien. when the dishes were finished mrs. hunter went upstairs. john followed her. "i will not be hurt, because i will not see hurt," elizabeth told herself as she slipped through the house to her own room. because her lips quivered as she said it, she busied herself in taking down her hair to brush for the night. her sleeves were tight and hindered, and she took off her dress and folded it across the back of a chair carefully, and finished braiding her hair in her petticoat. john found her with her white arms uplifted as she combed the long strands. moved by her girlish beauty and freshness, he went over and put his arms about her. the girl's mouth was full of hairpins, and she mumbled something he did not understand. he kept his arms about her insistently, and rubbed his chin on her smooth shoulder with a little laugh. she struggled to free herself, but he held her teasingly, and finally accepting the playful tussle as an apology, though she knew it was not an adequate one, she gave up. she was resolved not to split hairs with her husband over small matters; she would not nurse grievances. as for john hunter, he had not thought of apology,--or of the necessity of one; he had been moved by the sight of the tempting figure of the woman he possessed. elizabeth loved her husband and wished to believe that he loved her; she was unwilling to begin her married life with any sort of whining or suspicion, so she ended the matter by resting unresisting in his arms and turning her young face up to be kissed. the next morning elizabeth washed the dishes alone, and mrs. hunter followed john to the barn and later to the pasture, where he went to catch a horse. "where are you going with a horse?" his mother asked as they passed through the pasture gate. "i have to go over to chamberlain's to help with a small stack of hay he put up in the field and wants to move, now that he's got the time. i told him he'd better let me help him before the new hired man comes to begin the husking; i'm going to need the team every day after that," john replied. "so you got a man, did you?" mrs. hunter said, catching hold of his arm to keep him from outwalking her. "if you're going as far as chamberlain's you'd better take elizabeth over to mr. hornby's while you're hitched up. i'll get dinner. you hurt her feelings last night, and that'll be a good way to make it right with her." "now look here, mother," john hunter answered decidedly, "i'll do nothing of the kind. with this story going around we'll stay at home where we belong. anyhow, the sooner she's cut away from these country jakes the better for her, and i'll begin right here and now. i don't intend--never have intended--to have these people tacked to my coat-tails every move i make. if she's hurt, she'll simply have to get over it; besides, she didn't stay mad long--you saw that for yourself. she's all right if she's managed right." it was true, mrs. hunter reflected. elizabeth had not seemed to take much offence, and was perfectly good-natured this morning. she did not intend to interfere with the affairs of her son and his wife. elizabeth seemed submissive, and promised well. she hoped that this horrid gossip would die down. that was a nasty thing to be mixed up with. mr. hunter had never had anything like that happen to him before, and she was devoutly glad they were away out here in kansas where no one who had ever known them would hear it. elizabeth would be all the better as a wife if she did not start out by running around too much. it did not occur to mrs. hunter, nor to her son, that if the old acquaintances were to be taken away from elizabeth that in all justice she must be provided with new ones. in fact, it did not occur to them at all that her opinions were of any value whatever. why should john explain his plans to her? why, indeed? as she went about her saturday morning's work elizabeth watched john and his mother stroll down the path in the pasture, certain that she herself was the subject of their conversation, and her eyes burned with unshed tears. the intimacy between john and his mother seemed so much more firmly established than the intimacy between john and herself that she was filled with lonesomeness and a longing for aunt susan. "to-morrow's sunday and there'll be nothing to do. he'll have to take me then. he was tired and upset by that horrid talk last night. oh, why do i have to be mixed up with things i can't help--and--and have him cross, and everything?" she ended with a little shuddering cry, and buried her head in the kitchen towel and gave up to the tears which, now that she was alone, she could candidly shed. how she longed for aunt susan, and yet she could not have talked to her of these things; but in spite of that she wanted her. * * * * * "will you go over to--to mrs. hornby's with us to-day?" she asked mrs. hunter at the breakfast table the next morning. "why--yes--if you're going," mrs. hunter answered with a hesitant glance at john. the tone and the hesitancy struck elizabeth. she looked at john as she had seen the older woman do. "mother spoke yesterday of your going," john said quickly, "and i said--well, i want to get some more cleaning done about that barn before the man comes. there's plenty of time about that. let them come here if they want to see us." "but i want to go," elizabeth persisted. she had been accustomed to dictating where john hunter should take her. john himself had taught her to do so. "well, there's plenty of time. i'm busy to-day, if it is sunday," was all that her husband thought it necessary to reply. the hope that aunt susan would come to see her if she found that they were not coming over helped elizabeth to accept the brusque refusal better than she otherwise would have done. john was cheerful and pleasant, and the hurt that she had felt at first died away. he asked her to go to the barn with him and was merry and full of small talk and chatter, such as lovers appreciate, and the girl finally concluded that that must be his naturally decided manner when suddenly approached on a subject to which he could not consent. elizabeth was aware that there was little consideration shown her at such times, but was resolved not to find fault unless the question were a vital one. altogether it was a happy day. gratitude was a large feature of elizabeth's make-up, and there was something about being in the atmosphere of refinement and beauty which made her accept many little evidences of inattentiveness on the part of her husband. as she helped with the cooking, she was conscious of the difference between the kitchen utensils of this and her own home; as she swept she contrasted the red-and-green ingrain carpet of the sitting room with the worn and ugly rag carpet of her mother's house; as she set the table she reflected that no other house of that community boasted a dining room, and certainly no other young wife could say she had napkins and a white tablecloth every day in the week; and there was yet a larger item than these for which the girl was thankful: no girl she had ever known had married so cultured a man. elizabeth looked across the table as she served the pie at dinner and in spite of every snub was humbly thankful to be a part of that family. nor was she a mere snob and deserving of what she got in the way of ill treatment because she submitted to it; elizabeth was a young girl of artistic temperament, craving beauty, and longing for the companionship of those who talked in terms comprehensible to her at the same time that they advanced her æsthetic education and possibilities. in proportion as she valued this thing was she to pay her price. the price elizabeth was to pay came at strange and unexpected moments. the hired man, when he appeared, proved to be jake ransom, now a man, and ready to do a man's work in his simple station. jake of course knew for whom he was to work and came into the kitchen to his first meal with his face wreathed in a sheepish grin. "i'd better 'a' taken your advice an' gone t' th' high school," he said, extending his calloused hand to shake. "only i wouldn't 'a' been workin' fur you." he laughed his great hearty guffaw, partly in embarrassment and partly because he really enjoyed the joke of the possibility of him being an educated man. it was a cheap country pleasantry, and said with genuine good-fellowship, but mrs. hunter, who heard it as she turned to the dining room with the coffee pot in her hand, disapproved of the familiarity of it. mrs. hunter had disapproved of the plate laid for jake at the family table and was out of sorts with the country life into which she had been plunged. after jake had gone to bed upstairs--and that was another grievance of mrs. hunter's, this having the hired man in the room next to her own--she took up the matter of his position in her son's house seriously. "all the hired help in the country eat at the table and are accorded the privileges of any member of the family, mother," john replied to her objections. "you don't mean that you'll have to have them at your table day after day--always?" his mother exclaimed. "you'll never have any home life at all." "as long as we farm, mother, we'll be in exactly that position," john said, stirring the fire in the sitting-room stove, about which they were gathered for the evening. "but they eat so awfully much," mrs. hunter continued, "and they drink out of their saucers, and suck their teeth till it makes one sick!" then happening to look across at elizabeth she caught the flush on her young face and stopped so short that all were embarrassed. john got up suddenly and left the room and the house. the two women sat in an uncomfortable silence for some minutes, and then the elder of them went upstairs to bed, leaving the younger to her mortifying thoughts. elizabeth remembered the scorn of the young teacher in her own childhood for the same offence and reflected that she had been unable to break her family of similar habits. as far as she was concerned, however, the presence of the hired man at her table was far less disturbing than that of her husband's mother. part of the time she was happy to learn from mrs. hunter, but more of the time she was restless under her supervision. the week had been an uncomfortable one in both tangible and intangible ways. elizabeth had often found john and his mother talking and have them drop the conversation when she appeared. she had had many humiliating hours over the disgrace she knew they were discussing. the fact had come out that mr. farnshaw had returned to his home, but nothing beyond that. another week passed, and again john refused to take elizabeth to see aunt susan. this time he said that the team had worked all week, and that he felt that the horses needed rest. a new team was added to the farm assets and the next sunday john said he was too tired himself to go away from home. never once did he say that he had any motive which extended beyond the time at hand. each sunday the excuse fitted the circumstances of that particular day, and he talked of going in a general way as if it were a matter of course that they would go soon. it was clearly the duty of the young couple to make the first visit, and as clearly nathan hornby and his wife were waiting for them to do so. elizabeth was puzzled by her husband's refusal. at the end of a month she became alarmed for fear their neglect would give offence to the dear couple who had sheltered her when she was in need. it had not occurred to her to discredit john's reasons, though she began to suspect that she had married the sort of man she had heard much about--the husband who never wanted to go anywhere. early in december mrs. hunter was called east by the serious illness of a sister in illinois. the day she left a heavy snow fell. elizabeth went out into the still yard and let the white flakes fall on her uncovered head with such a sense of freedom as she had never felt since her marriage. "the house is mine," she whispered ecstatically; "the house is all mine, and now i can go out of doors if i want to and not be criticised." elizabeth had been far more accustomed to barn life than the life of the house. this was a thing that mrs. hunter could not understand. it was not the correct thing for a woman to go about the barn where a hired man was employed, even if her husband worked at his side, and elizabeth's trips to the cow stable and granaries had been discouraged. jake ransom had been shrewd enough to see that his first joke in the hunter house had been unpleasant to the mother of his employer and had never trespassed upon the grounds of familiarity again, but elizabeth had been criticised until willing to give up her trips to the scene of her husband's work. john might be impatient, but elizabeth loved him; his mother was patient but critical, and elizabeth did not love her; therefore the first feeling of relief when the older woman had gone away included the delight of being free to go where she wished--at his side. the barns were a source of great interest to elizabeth. the pride of the girl, accustomed to straw stables and slatternly yards and unhoused machinery, in the well-kept barnyard of her husband was natural and commendatory. john had order well developed in his scheme of things. john's cribs did not stand open to the weather. now that mrs. hunter was away, elizabeth spent most of the day going about the place, looking into every bin, and making the acquaintance of each new animal they possessed. jake was helping silas and it left the girl plenty of time to explore. the amount of new stock struck her as surprising. here too she was glad. john was evidently going to be a man of large affairs. elizabeth had a sudden desire to run over and talk it over with luther as she had done when she drove out with her affianced husband to buy the calves. she was surprised to see how the little bunch of calves had grown, not only in size but in numbers. the thought of luther carried her back, as she stood looking over the calf yard, to the matter of visiting aunt susan. of late the feeling had grown strong upon her that mrs. hunter had had something to do with john's reluctance to making this visit. the calves ceased to interest her and she wandered slowly back to the house thinking about it. there were so many phases of her domestic affairs to consider: aunt susan's right to the evidences of her love and her inability to show that love because of her husband's reluctance to take her; luther's evident offence, and the possibility that the wedding invitation had not been extended to him by john, since he had never paid them a neighbourly visit; the close alliance between john and his mother and the brusqueness with which john disposed of any request of hers if he did not choose of himself to do the thing she wanted--all called for examination. elizabeth shook the snow from her hair and cloak and built up the fire, intending to sit down by it and think over her situation, but john arrived in the middle of her preparations and supper had to be hastily prepared, for the afternoon had gone and much of the regular morning's work still remained to be done. with flying feet, elizabeth attacked the task of getting things in order, and it was a relief when john, who had left the last chores to jake, came in and helped her. they had hardly ever been left alone in the house in all the three months they had been married, and to elizabeth it was working in fairyland to have john make one side of a bed's clothes lie smooth while she pulled and straightened at the other. with mrs. hunter gone, john took up the task of drilling his young wife in the hunter ways. to elizabeth he was a model husband. she contrasted her father's stupid inability and unwillingness inside of his home with the orderly and systematic way in which john hunter helped her. john took part in whatever household function was taking place in his presence. he wiped the dishes if she washed them; if a carpet was to be swept he handled the broom if he were there to do it, and he never went to the field without filling the reservoir and water pail as well as the coal scuttle and cob basket. he assumed the management of cooking and housework so subtly that the unsophisticated girl saw only his helpfulness; in fact, he had only helpfulness in mind. john had ideas of neatness and order which made of housekeeping a never-ending process, but john himself laboured steadily toward their accomplishment, and he was so successful in inspiring her with those same ideals that her pride helped her over many a weary day's cleaning. she entered into them week after week and became expert at ironing, baking, and all the little offices of the domestic altar. all her strength was given to her work each day, and for a time she succeeded comfortably, but as the days shortened and the routine became more exacting she longed for the out-of-door freedom in which she had been raised. christmas passed, and still elizabeth had entered no house except her own since her marriage in october. this would not have disturbed her, for she was not a girl who cared for visiting, if it had not been that aunt susan was being neglected. mrs. farnshaw came and did not fail to let elizabeth know that the country gossips were concerned with tales supposed to account for her secluded way of living. some said that she was too "stuck-up" to associate with her old friends, while others said that john hunter had married her to keep his house, but that he was not proud of her and preferred to leave her at home. luther had completed his "shanty," and elizabeth knew by the smoke she could see rising from his chimney that he no longer lived with aunt susan; also elizabeth heard bits of gossip about him from jake, who had taken a great liking to luther and often spent his evenings with him. luther hansen had come to borrow a scoop shovel when he had shelled his corn, but john had managed to accept it as a barnyard call and had not invited him to the house, and after the scoop was returned luther did not come again. elizabeth had days when she wanted his cheery presence and sensible ways of looking at life, but she was almost glad he did not come; she could not have explained her seclusion to him nor could she have refused to explain. the girl's pride was cut to the quick. january passed, and february. one afternoon in early march elizabeth sat at the dining-room window sewing and meditating sadly upon john's growing irritability whenever she mentioned aunt susan. she was unable as yet to force him to take her as she requested; neither had she been able to get her own consent to going the first time to the house of this old friend alone and have aunt susan's questioning eyes looking her over for explanations. she was puzzled still, for john usually spoke of her friends with respect, and there was nothing to indicate his reasons for opposition except that he was simply averse to visiting on general principles, and even then why should he so resolutely refuse to accommodate her when he was so reasonable on all other subjects? "i don't care, i'm going this week if he's ever so cross," she muttered. almost at the same instant she looked up and saw a bobsled coming into the side lane. "aunt susan's very self!" she cried, pushing away the little garment on which she was sewing, and running to the door. she met the muffled figure halfway down the path, called to nathan to take his team to the barn, where they would be out of the cutting wind, and bundled susan hornby into the house with little shrieks of delight and welcome. susan hornby knew that she was wanted at the end of that five minutes. "however could you know that i was wanting you so bad to-day?" elizabeth said finally, as she thrust her guest down into a rocking chair and then went down on her knees to unfasten her overshoes. "land sakes! what are you trying to do--and you----" the sentence stopped and the speaker looked embarrassed. elizabeth, still on her knees, looked up. a soft blush covered her face as she gave a happy little laugh. "yes--it's true," she whispered. "oh, aunt susan, i'm so happy!" outside, nathan hornby seized the opportunity to look around the barns. "good cattle sheds," he remarked to himself. "good bunch of pigs, too. i hope 'e ain't goin' into debt, as they say, but i swan, it looks like it." nathan's survey of the barns had given the two women inside the house time to talk over the affair so close to their hearts, and the little sitting room had been turned into a temple by the presence of a young mother that was to be and that older but childless mother who loved her as her own. elizabeth, still on her knees, laid her head in aunt susan's lap as of old, and susan hornby, with every hurt buried, listened to her confessions, with her free hand feeling its way over the thick braids as she prayed earnestly in her heart that her beloved child would go through the travail awaiting her without harm and not be left childless in her old age. when nathan's heavy boot crunched on the snow-covered doorstep, elizabeth ran to meet him with the broom and a whole world's wealth of welcome in voice and manner. "i'm so glad you came to-day. i've been wanting aunt susan _so_ of late. isn't it a heavy snow for this late in the season?" she rattled busily along to carry the impress of welcome, for the old man had not responded to her as his wife had done. "well, now," said candid nathan, "you don't exactly give one th' impression of pinin' t' see folks when you never come over at all." elizabeth knew that though he regarded the broom with which he brushed at his boots with extra attention, he was listening closely for her answer. "there's john!" she cried, seeing her husband as he drove a bunch of calves into the lane. she hastened to tell her guest that her husband had been some miles to the west to attend a sale, and pretended to have forgotten nathan's awkward remark. she was glad to see that john left jake to turn the calves into the yards and came to the house at once, with cordiality shining out of every line of his face. he made nathan hornby so welcome that every sign of displeasure faded from nathan's countenance. he gave a hasty brush at his boots and came in to shake hands with susan hornby. he stirred the fire briskly, and remarked to nathan: "ain't that a dandy bunch of calves? i had a chance to get them at that irishman's sale--i forget his name--oh, yes, tim--tim--you know? i ought to know myself since i just signed a note to him. averaged eighteen dollars a head--forty-three of 'em. with corn at thirty cents, they'll turn quick money." the fire roared under his vigorous poking, and he applied himself to putting more coal in the stove without looking up. elizabeth hunter's face lost the happy expression with which she had been regarding him as he welcomed the old couple and stirred the fire, presumably for their benefit. he _had_ been glad to see them: they had helped him over an awkward announcement. he had not told her he meant to get these cattle, and he had let her think that he meant to take her advice and not go into debt any more than he had already done. john hunter heard his wife's low exclamation of surprise. he was glad it was over. susan hornby heard it too and caught the sick look on her face, but though she wondered about it she asked no questions, for elizabeth hunter was a woman of reserve. elizabeth hunter had developed a power unknown to elizabeth farnshaw. "got a good many sheds built a'ready, i see," was the next remark the girl heard. "yes," john replied, still devoting himself to the fire. "i expected to get the stock sooner--haven't used it all this year--but it's there for next season. i've got about all the cattle i'll get now. i told carter i'd take seventeen head of his. he was going to put them up at his sale next week, but i persuaded him to let me have them in a bunch. i'll get them home to-morrow. got 'em on per cent. they'll grow into money every day this summer--mostly two-year-olds. don't you think so?" "that's all owin'," nathan replied slowly. "cattle take a lot of cover, an' you ain't usin' straw sheds." "oh, my sheds ain't cost so very much," john replied easily. "they're substantial too. i don't think much of the straw-shed business. it'll do for hansen, now, that ain't got anything to put under cover, but when a man's got anything----" john filled out the sentence with an expressive gesture, and then before any one could speak said casually: "by the way, i hear the swede's going to be married to-morrow." "married?" elizabeth hunter exclaimed. every word of the conversation had been a stab, but to have luther called a swede was too much. "yes, dear," aunt susan said, laying a hand on her arm. "i meant to have told you and i hadn't got to it yet. nate and i are invited to the wedding. it's sadie crane, you know." elizabeth fell into the nearest chair utterly limp. "sadie crane?" she said over and over. "i knew you'd hate to have it sadie, but any woman could be glad to get a man as good as luther, and she's crazy over him. he'll make her a good husband whether she makes a good wife or not. she'll have her own way a good deal further than most wives." john hunter suspected that the latter was said for his benefit. nathan and susan hornby disagreed, as much as it was possible for them to do, on the way home. "you may say what you please, if she don't come it's because she don't want to. you couldn't ask for a more rousin' welcome 'n _he_ give us," nathan said as he watched the forefoot on the off horse to see whether it was a cake of snow that made it limp or a more serious trouble. "it wasn't any more rousing than hers was when i went in and--and look how he spoke of luther," susan replied hesitatingly. she hardly dare point out the weakness of john, however angry she was at him, for she had had trouble enough to get nathan to bring her at all. "that's so," nathan admitted. "they're a pair of snobs, anyhow. you think she treats you all right, but you saw how she shied round th' subject when i put it straight to 'er. i went because you wanted me to--but i ain't sure----" nathan hornby ceased to speak before his sentence was finished. elizabeth's neglect had been another nail in the coffin of his friendly trust. susan had had hard work to persuade him to bring her to-day and had hoped that some lucky circumstance would help to dispel his suspicions. this had looked possible at first, but she saw that he still nursed his grievances. susan had her suspicions also, but they were of john, not of elizabeth. elizabeth had been as glad to see her as she had always been, whatever there might have been that was unexplainable on the surface. susan hornby knew with a knowledge that was unassailable that elizabeth hunter loved her as much as elizabeth farnshaw had done. "i don't care, i'm going again some day before long," she said; "she won't be going out much now for a while." "well, now, look here," nathan said, stubbornly sticking to a conviction from which he was unable to get away. "you think hunter keeps her from coming. he give us more of a welcome 'n she did, a good sight." susan hornby glanced around at her husband in astonishment. she had never said that she thought elizabeth was prevented by john from coming to see them. nathan had measured her better than she had realized. "no-o, he didn't," she replied slowly. she resolved to speak frankly. "you didn't see her when she took me into the house. honestly, nate, it was better than a whole revival service to have that girl tell me of--of----" "i didn't see that," nathan interrupted, "i only know he _was_ glad t' see us; you saw that for yourself." "i was just going to say----" susan considered a moment and then said firmly: "he was glad to see us because there was something about those cattle he hadn't told her. didn't you see the look on her face?" "that wouldn't make no difference with th' way he'd do by us. 'e was as glad as could be, an' asked you t' come back 's if you'd been 'is mother. it's some stuck-up notion of hers--this thing of them not visitin' their neighbours." susan looked up at him indulgently. "you won't refuse to be good friends with her--for my sake, nate. she was as glad to see me as a little child." "why don't she come t' see you then?" nathan asked sternly, able only to see the one point. "i don't exactly know, nate. i couldn't crowd her on that matter--she looked so worried when i brought it up that i just let it go. i only _know_ she wants to come." they dropped the subject and rode along over the smooth road, too absorbed in their own thoughts to get pleasure out of this last sleighride of the season, both endeavoring to solve the problem from their own viewpoint, nathan full of distrust and suspicion, his wife too well versed in human nature to doubt elizabeth's honesty or believe that she was spoiled by a fine home or an advanced social position. at last she spoke her conclusions: "there's something in her face i like better'n ever, but there's a worried something there i don't like to see." nathan was sorry he had criticised elizabeth. sue loved the girl. nathan and susan discussed, but never argued. if susan remained of her first opinion after talking a thing over, nathan conceded within himself that she had some good reason for her convictions even where he could not agree. "sue 'll have t' see it for herself," he meditated. "i'd be glad t' see 'er right. we'll see how it turns out." but as he tried to get himself into that frame of mind he remembered how many days had been spoiled for his wife that winter because she longed for elizabeth, and he involuntarily muttered: "dirty little huzzy!" and ground his straggling teeth as he thought of it. * * * * * after nathan and susan hornby had turned into the main road, john walked slowly back to the house. "what'd i say that mrs. hornby didn't like?" he asked, as he entered the kitchen where elizabeth was preparing the supper which nathan had declined to stay and eat. elizabeth's brow was drawn into a puckered wrinkle. she followed her own laborious thinking, unaware that her husband had spoken. "what'd i say that riled mrs. hornby?" he repeated. elizabeth heard the question now and looked up. it was hard to answer. to mention the tone in which he had spoken of luther was useless she knew. her hesitancy annoyed her husband. "well, what's wrong?" "nothing--that is----" elizabeth could not discuss it. john hunter resented her silence. he turned without speaking and picked up the water pail quickly. john heaped coals of fire by performing household duties. reflecting that he was going to be angry whether she talked out or not, elizabeth laid a detaining hand on his arm and spoke of what she felt she could get his attention fixed upon. "i was thinking of all that money we're going to have to pay some day, john. i--i've tried before to make you understand me. oh, john, dear, don't you see--but then, no, of course you don't, you've never had the experience of it. you see, dear, i've had it. it takes the heart out of people. you never get rid of it after you get into it once. you just go on, you get old and quarrelsome--and--and you never have any good times because you're afraid of something--of the interest that's got to be met, and things. why won't you let me help you? you didn't tell me about these last cattle, nor the carter lot. why----" "now look here, elizabeth, a man can't run to the house and consult a woman about every little thing he does, before he does it. i always tell you when i can. i told you about this." irritability was john hunter's strongest weapon. "i don't want you to run to the house to tell me about every little thing you do," the young wife explained patiently, "but these debts will not be little things when they come to be paid off, dear. really, you don't know how they will sap you and me later on; they may even take the farm right out from under our feet. there are so many things that can happen to cattle--and interest _has_ to be paid. that's the awful part of it, and----" john fidgeted uneasily and did not look at her. he wanted to get away. he had not come in to talk of this. elizabeth held his sleeve and he had to say something. "i haven't failed to get what you need out of this money," he said at last. "i can't have you shutting out opportunities for business. i'll raise the interest. if i furnish the money i ought to be free to make a living the best way i see how. what do you know about a man's business?" desiring only to convince him, which she could not do if he were irritated, elizabeth laid her paring knife on the kitchen table and put her arm about her husband's neck coaxingly. "of course you get everything i need, dear; that isn't the trouble. i don't want to shut out opportunities for business either, but i gave up my education to help pay interest. i know how hard it is to raise. the calves die, and the cows don't give milk enough to make up the difference. the loss---- oh, i know," she said putting her hand affectionately over his mouth to still the objection he had started to offer. "you think beef cattle will be different, but black-leg gets into a herd of beef cattle just as readily as into the cows and calves, and frosted corn is a liability kansas farmers always have hanging over a crop. i'm not complaining about the cattle that are paid for--it's those we'd have to pay for that were dead. the money was yours and you had a right to spend it as you chose, but the debts will be _ours_. the skimping and saving will fall on me as much as on you, and skimping makes people mean and penurious. promise me you won't go into debt without telling me again." "forget it, little woman," john replied, patting her face and kissing it many times. "i'll never do anything to disgrace you." he had not replied to a single argument; he had not made a single promise. elizabeth submitted to his caresses with a sigh. it was useless. she could not fall out with him for the sake of the child that was coming. she resolved to accept what she could get and try to be patient. "i'm glad you were so nice to aunt susan," she said, trying to get away from the impossible and make as much as she could out of the possible. "we'll go over sunday. i'd begun to think you'd never do it. we'll take them by surprise." john hunter laughed indulgently. "you think you got me that time," he said, and escaped to the well without further remark. elizabeth looked after him, and pondered, with a quivering lip, on the wilfulness of the refusal to promise. she had been so sure that she was escaping the hell of mortgages and interest when she married. the farm was already carrying every cent the loan companies would give on first papers. if anything should happen to the stock they would have to put a second mortgage on part of it. john was determined to work on a large scale. she had tried many times to show him how hard it would be to raise large incumbrances, but whenever she did so he became fretful and for days spoiled the home comfort for which she strove. elizabeth tried to model their home life after that of aunt susan, and leave her husband free to use his own judgment, but this matter of indebtedness was alarming. she knew how slowly money came in on the farm and how impossible it was to raise a mortgage once it was plastered over a piece of land. already she saw the day of payments, note-renewals, and chattel mortgages staring them in the face. elizabeth's pride had suffered a fall. she saw the weary years stretch ahead of them without joy and without hope other than that which those about them had, unless some special providence assisted them to avoid the common lot of farmers. as she went about her table-setting, however, the quality of the linen, of the dishes, of every object in the room differed from anything she had ever known, and the hope of youth came to her aid. this home should be different from the rest; she would make it so by patience as well as by its possessions. the black-leg was not an immediate danger, and she would look for the best. * * * * * winter passed, and spring. the patience elizabeth had vowed to command had been tried to the utmost in some particulars. john had never taken her to see aunt susan. sometimes he said "wait till next week," sometimes he said he was tired, more often he retired into his accustomed irritability, and at last because of the evidences of her pregnant state she ceased to desire it. the winter had not been totally unpleasant. if she did not irritate her husband they were very happy together. john had pleasant little ways about the house and was as helpful as the most exacting woman could demand. the spring had been harder because elizabeth had less strength and the house and garden work had increased. it took three hired men to keep the farm work done, and there were many mouths to fill. one particularly hot day in june john unloaded on the kitchen table an armful of groceries he had just brought from town, remarking as he did so: "i brought home some dried blackberries for pies, elizabeth." hepsie brown, the lately acquired hired girl, stood at elizabeth's elbow, and began to put the parcels away in the cupboard. elizabeth took a couple of letters he was handing her and went into the sitting room to read them. john followed her in. "be sure you make the pies," he said with an emphasis which showed he meant to have it remembered. "all right, dear." "you'd better cook the fruit to-night," he added. "all right. i'll tell hepsie." "better do it yourself," he cautioned. "she can do it. i'll tell her," elizabeth said without looking up, but she knew that that would not end the discussion the moment it was out of her mouth. she recognized john's most unpleasant insisting mood. "mother always tends to her own pie-baking. girls never get things right," he said emphatically, waiting for her to raise her eyes to his. "yes, yes, dear," the girl answered, looking up as he required. "she can do it just as well as i can; it don't hurt her to stand on her feet." she had given the sign of submission and he was ready to be pleasant about it, but he reiterated the demand. "i know, dear," he said, kissing her, "but i can't bear to have things coming on the table not right when we have men about. it don't take long to make a few pies." elizabeth rose wearily, put the letters down and went to the kitchen. her face was drawn and there was a fagged, weary droop to the shoulders. john demanded that the house and cooking be kept up to the city standard, forgetting that there was a garden to keep in order also, besides little chickens to feed and butter to be made. if elizabeth had said she were sick and had gone to bed, john would have had the doctor come to see her twice as often as necessary, and would have exhausted the little town of colebyville to supply such things as she could eat, but it never occurred to john hunter that as long as his wife was able to go about the house that she might know what she should do much better than he. elizabeth was unable to defend herself. she coveted peace, and she could not have peace unless she responded to john's suggestions. also, at this time elizabeth was determined that she would not be cross. the coming child absorbed her mind as much as it absorbed her body. she would not let one hour of discord or inharmony affect its life. elizabeth had no idea how to manage her husband so as to get him even to listen to her side of an argument. the girl was worn out by useless things which she could not avoid doing. elizabeth was extremely nervous at this period of her life. john went to bed full of healthy fatigue and slept soundly till morning, and knew nothing of mental and physical strains which left his wife more tired in the morning than when she went to bed at night. elizabeth had been a strong girl, but she was supporting the life of another; she tossed and moaned through the two or three short hours in which she could sleep, and for the rest lay wide-eyed, staring into the darkness, filled with terror at what the rapidly approaching future held for her. in her girlish imaginings and fears, ignorant of the facts a young mother should have known, she had magnified the sufferings of childbirth till life was a network of horrors, and her nerves were at the breaking point. the next morning elizabeth, with aching back and trembling knees, her face flushed from the heat of the stove, stood at the kitchen table rolling out the pie crust. a tear rolled down her cheek. hepsie, who stood near and was regarding her sympathetically, laid firm hold on the rolling-pin. "i knew you'd no business t' do it. now you go in an' set down in th' rockin' chair while i finish this here batch of pies." hepsie was older than elizabeth and making pies had been her business; the crust was mixed and the fruit had been cooked the night before. reflecting that not much could happen to a pie after getting that far on the road to perfection, elizabeth let the rolling-pin be taken from her hand and went in wearily to throw herself on the lounge to rest. john came into the kitchen and his face darkened. "tell mrs. hunter that i look for hansen to help with the grain to-day, and that i told him to bring his wife with him," he said to hepsie, and went out, banging the door after him. elizabeth had heard him come in and had risen to explain, but stopped short when she heard that luther had been asked to help. her first feeling was of a joy which brought the tears to her eyes. john had been persistently cool whenever luther had been mentioned since their marriage. the next feeling of which she was conscious was an intense distaste to having sadie in the house with her all day, and this was followed by the thought that john had known that luther and sadie were coming since the day before and had said nothing about it to her; but small time was given her to think about any phase of the matter, for luther's familiar, unpainted wagon was at that very moment coming into the side lane. with a conviction that she had not been told till it was absolutely necessary, elizabeth walked promptly out to meet her young neighbours. it was the old luther which greeted her. "you know my wife, lizzie," he said with such a happy look in sadie's direction that elizabeth's heart responded to the call for open friendship. luther never nursed suspicion. "i should just say i did," elizabeth replied warmly, extending her hand to the little woman luther was setting on her feet. luther climbed promptly into the high seat from which he had just lifted his wife and held his own hand down to elizabeth from there. "it was mighty fine for you to send word for her t' come along." and elizabeth did not let him gather from any hint of expression or word that so far from sending word for sadie to spend the day with her, she had not known till in these last ten minutes that either of them was expected. john came and talked to luther, mounting the spring-seat at his side to ride to the field, but did not look at elizabeth, though she looked at him longingly and everything in her cried out for reconciliation and openness. john had a way of ignoring her when explanations had to be made. luther's attitude toward his wife had influenced elizabeth in sadie's favour as nothing else had ever been able to do. she began to feel less hostile, and as they turned toward the house asked her interestedly how she was "coming on" with her garden and chickens. this was common ground, and sadie warmed to the real welcome she was accorded. she stopped beside elizabeth's coops in the backyard and examined the little groups of begging, downy balls with the animation of a true farmer's wife. here was something she knew as well as elizabeth; in fact, when a count was made it was discovered that sadie's broods several times outnumbered those of the neighbour she envied. it was an absorbing topic of conversation, and the two women stood for some moments with the hungry little beggars clamouring lustily about them. suddenly they became conscious of the smell of burning sugar. "oh, my goodness!" elizabeth exclaimed, and ran to the kitchen, leaving her guest to follow as she chose. hepsie had gone upstairs, and as elizabeth opened the oven door a cloud of smoke rolled out which nearly blinded her and set her to coughing. sadie followed her in and somehow her mood changed as she looked over the well-kept kitchen. something in the tidy order and tasty arrangement of its shelves hurt. sadie was not a natural housekeeper. "bet she just thinks she beat us all," she thought as she laid her bonnet on the sitting-room sofa, where she had felt of the pillows, and the lambrequin which hung from the long shelf where the clock and vasts stood, on the opposite side of the room. "bet she don't put on no airs about me just the same." she looked at the small bookcase below the mantel in a perfect rage of envy. elizabeth was surrounded by the things which befitted elizabeth, and sadie realized as she had never done in their childhood the chasm which separated them, and knew nothing of the anguish of the young wife as she laboured with the disfigured pies, nor that elizabeth thought of the look of love she had seen sadie receive with something very like envy in her heart. elizabeth thought long upon the joy in luther's face as he greeted her. john must have made some move about the request for help which covered the neglect of all these months adequately to luther. sadie finished her inspection of the inner regions and returned to the kitchen primed with things to be said to her rival, and elizabeth fared badly at her hands. her innate refinement would not let elizabeth strike back in the coarse way in which she was attacked, and she listened to hints and pretended sympathy on the subject of farnshaw domestic difficulties, of reported debts which john hunter had contracted, and neighbourhood estimates of the fact of her own secluded manner of life since her marriage, till her head swam and her memory was scorched for many a day. but though her head ached and her knees almost refused to perform their office, elizabeth remained in the kitchen and superintended every dish prepared for that harvest dinner. the fact that the pies had scorched left her with the feeling that john had had a foundation of real fact for his demand that she give them her personal attention, and left her humbled and ready to beg forgiveness. every fibre of her cried out for the trust she had seen in luther's glance at sadie. _there_ was true marriage, and the state which she laboured daily to establish. at dinner john did not look at elizabeth, though her eyes sought his constantly, and when the pie was passed around she remarked on its trimmed edges shamefacedly. silas chamberlain wiped his knife on a piece of bread and slid it under the section nearest him. "you never mind about them edges. it looks like a good pie t' me, an' john here will eat his share of it, i'll warrant you. th' rest of this company can survive if he does. i just been a thinkin' as i set here what a stunnin' cook you've got t' be in these ten months. i used t' think you'd have a lot t' learn after you was married, but you seem t' 'a' learned it short off--eh, john?" john hunter had to reply. "i've been sorry mother had to go away. elizabeth's done pretty well, but mother would have been a great help, with her fixed ways of doing things," he said reluctantly. luther had been looking earnestly at john, but spared elizabeth when he saw her confusion by looking quickly down at his plate and saying nothing. "don't know's lizzie needs any help as far as doin' things is concerned, though she may need more rest," silas returned; and sadie took up the subject. "i think my stove bakes a little better on the bottom," she remarked critically. "i low t' taste your pies to-morrow if it don't rain," silas answered her without looking up from the bite he was severing with the knife upon which it was to be conveyed to his mouth. luther hansen's laugh rang out heartily. "don't," he said, winking at sadie. "she'll be keepin' me out of th' field t' fire th' oven." the sting of the criticism was drawn by luther's merry acceptation of it. sadie laughed too, but the hint left its rankling point. these same men would harvest for them on the morrow, and as sadie looked over elizabeth hunter's well set table she knew that she would not have the advantage on her side. "lizzie's always had th' best of everything," she thought. silas chamberlain thought over the day's events as he rode slowly home. while unhitching, old queen nipped angrily at bob, who had sniffed at her collar pad, and silas cuffed her ears. "whoa, there, you spiteful beast! you'll be wantin' pie that's a leetle better done on th' under crust next. drat 'er! i could 'a' fit right there, only--well you kin allus hit harder with that kind of folks if you don't let yourself git riled. pore little woman! not little, neither--but a year ago so young an' glowin' with happiness. used t' make me think of a bob-white, trottin' up an down these roads s' contented like, an' allus so friendly an' sociable. looks 's if she didn't have spirits enough t' laugh at nothin' these days. looks 's if she'd had a peep into a den of wild beasts an' was afraid they'd break out an' get 'er. liza ann's got t' go an' see 'er, an' i'm goin' t' tell 'er so." as silas went toward the house, he stopped suddenly and looked back at the wagon, which stood in the same place he had left it that rainy afternoon over a year ago. "she looked that peert with 'er red lips an' bright eyes, a askin' if th' school board was t' meet. pore little woman--she ain't a goslin' any more, an' 'er new feathers ain't turnin' th' rain very good neither," he reflected, shaking his head. the long day ended at last and john came to the house after the evening chores were finished. elizabeth waited for him in her bedroom. throughout the entire evening she had been telling herself that she must make this thing right. for the sake of the expected child she must not let her mind be disturbed with the hurt feeling she had been unable to put away since john had gone out without letting her explain about the morning's baking. she allowed herself no angry or resentful thought for the prolonged and cruel reproach. dry-eyed, she sat by the open window in her nightdress, making buttonholes in a tiny slip as she waited. she heard him deposit the basket of cobs beside the kitchen stove, which he never forgot to bring in at night, and by the rattle of the dipper which followed and the chug, chug, chug of the pump knew that he was filling the reservoir. breakfast on the farm was an early meal and greatly facilitated by small preparations. john never forgot nor neglected his part of the household duties. elizabeth sighed. john had the appearance of right on his side when he demanded her highest efforts at the household altar. she put away the little slip as she heard him coming toward the bedroom and rose to meet him. the tears came in spite of every effort to stay them, and to hide her face she dug it deep into his shoulder while she sobbed out her story. it was a full minute before john's arm went about her, but at last reflecting that something was due one in her condition, he patted her heaving shoulders and said as if addressing a child: "there, there now, i never thought of you feeling so bad," and after a minute's thought added, "but you see, dear, the part of the dinner you saw to yourself was all right, and the pies had to be apologized for." chapter xii "pore little woman" silas chamberlain answered to a loud knock on his door at the midnight hour. it was the first week of august. "from hunter's, you say?" there was a mumbled conversation at the door. "why, yes, of course. come right in--glad t' have you. when was you called--an hour an' a half ago? now you come right upstairs, an' we'll have you in bed in two shakes. there now--them covers'll be too heavy, i 'spect, but you kin throw 'em off if you don't want 'em. jest keep that light. i'll git another downstairs. good-night. oh, yes! jake's gone for th' doctor, you say? started an hour an' a half ago? guess 'e ain't there yet--seven mile you know. well, good-night!" silas stumbled down the steep stairs. "liza ann, it's come! pore little woman!" he got back into bed and lay so still that his wife thought him asleep. "pore child!" she heard him say just as she was drifting off to dreamland. an hour passed. an hour and a half. there was the sound of wheels. "that's th' doctor, liza ann." there was no reply. the old man fidgeted for fifteen minutes more; he had grown nervous. he slid out of the bed quietly and went to the barn. "thought i heard a noise," he told himself by way of excuse for his action. "wonder if old queen's loose?" he felt his way along the manger carefully. unaccustomed to midnight visitors, queen snorted and shrank from his hand when he touched her. "whoa, there! you needn't be so blamed 'fraid--nothin's goin' t' hurt you. you ain't a woman." silas found a nail-keg and sat down on it across from the nibbling horses, and thought and waited. "he's there by this time," he murmured presently. "wisht they'd 'a' sent for liza ann. no, i guess it's better not. she wouldn't know what t' do, havin' no experience." he debated with himself as to whether he should go back to bed or not. "couldn't sleep," he concluded. "lord! how long the nights is when a feller's awake!" the horses ate on uninterruptedly and the soft breeze stole through the old barn, while everything in nature was indicative of peace except the old man, whose mind worked relentlessly on the situation of the young wife whose certain suffering racked him almost as much as if he had stood in its presence. "gosh-a-livin's!" he exclaimed as a new thought struck him. "i wonder which one of 'em jake got. now that young doc stubbins ain't got no more sense 'n a louse. i ought t' 'a' told john an' i forgot. lord! lord! th' chances th' poor critters have t' take!" mrs. chamberlain was awakened in the gray light of morning as her husband crept shivering into bed. "where you been?" she asked. "out t' th' barn. heard a noise an' thought i'd better look into it," was silas's reply. * * * * * as the sun rose the new life was ushered in. doctor morgan did not start home till after nine o'clock. "who is to have charge of your wife, mr. hunter?" he asked as he paused in the door and looked back at his patient anxiously. seven miles was a long distance--and she might need him suddenly. "why, i thought hepsie and i could care for her," john replied. trained nurses were unheard of in those days. "it simply cannot be," answered the old man. (doctor stubbins had not been engaged.) "another attack like this last one would--well, you _must_ have some one of experience here. it's a matter of life or death--at least it might be," he added under his breath. "couldn't you stay?" he asked susan hornby, who sat with the baby on her knee. "the girl's liable to slip away from us before i could get here." it was arranged that aunt susan should stay with the young mother, who was too weak to turn her head on the pillow it lay upon, for as the old doctor had said she was a desperately sick girl. they had but just kept her with them. the presence of aunt susan was almost as delightful to elizabeth hunter as the head of the child on her arm. weak and exhausted, she was permitted such rest as she had not known in all the days of her married life. the darkened room and the quiet of the next three days were such a mercy to her tired nerves that she would have been glad to lie there for ages. doctor morgan let susan hornby return to her home and husband at the end of the week, confident that with care, hepsie could perform the little offices required, but he was to learn that country people have little judgment in serious cases of illness, and that the young mother's room would be filled with company when he came out the next day. mr. and mrs. crane were the first to arrive on sunday morning, and when john announced that they were driving up to the hitching post, elizabeth begged weakly for him to say that she was too ill to see any one that day. john would have been glad to deliver that message, remembering the wedding day, but sadie was with her mother, and john had found luther a convenient neighbour of late. "we can't offend them," he said. "but i can't have them. please, john--with my head aching already." "don't speak so loud," john said warningly. mrs. farnshaw came and had to have her team tied to the barnyard fence. she walked to the house with the rest of the company, and even in their presence could not restrain her complaints because she had not been notified of her daughter's serious illness and the arrival of the child. elizabeth's protest that they had been absorbed by that illness, and too busy to think of anything but the most urgent and immediate duties, did not quiet the objections, for mrs. farnshaw had the habit of weak insistence. her mother's whine was never so hard to bear. "where's mr. farnshaw?" mr. crane asked. "he's grandpa now." elizabeth shrank into her pillows, and mrs. farnshaw bridled angrily. "he's busy," was her tart reply. "i should think he'd want t' see his grandson. lizzie, you haven't showed me that boy," mr. crane insisted. and elizabeth, weak and worn, had to draw the sleeping child from under the quilts at her side and show him off as if he had been a roll of butter at a country fair, while constant reference was made to one phase or another of the unpleasant things in her experience. her colour deepened and her head thumped more and more violently, and by noon when they trooped out to the dining room, where hepsie had a good dinner waiting, the girl-wife was worn out. she could not eat the food brought to her, but drank constantly, and was unable to get a snatch of sleep before the visitors assembled about her bed again. at four o'clock doctor morgan arrived and luther hansen came for sadie. sadie saw him drive in, and laughed unpleasantly. "luther wasn't a bit for comin', but i told him i'd come over with ma, an' he could come after me. he's always chicken-hearted, an' said since lizzie was so sick we oughtn't t' come. i don't see as you're s' sick, lizzie; you've got lots of good colour in your face, an' th' way you pull that baby around don't look much like you was goin' t' kick the bucket just yet." elizabeth made no reply, but watched john help doctor morgan tie his team. "how's mrs. hunter?" doctor morgan asked john as he came around to the gate after the horses were fastened. "all right, i guess. she's had a good deal of company to-day. i didn't want them, but you can't offend people." "we usually have a good deal of company at a funeral," the old doctor said dryly, as he viewed the extra horses and wagons about the fence. when he entered the sickroom his face hardened. "i'm not as much afraid of your neighbours as you are, mr. hunter," he said, and went to the middle door and beckoned luther to come with him into the yard. a few words was all that was needed with luther hansen, and the doctor returned to his patient. * * * * * sadie was more sarcastic than usual as they drove home. "i wouldn't 'a' come if i'd a known i wasn't wanted," she remarked sulkily. "but, sadie, doc morgan says she's worse! i'd turn 'em out quick enough if it was you." poor little sadie hansen caught the spirit of the remark. nothing like it had ever before been offered her in all her bitter, sensitive experience. she looked up at her husband mollified, and let even elizabeth have a season of rest as she considered this astonishing thing which marriage had brought to her. susan hornby, who had thought her darling resting on this quiet sabbath day, was reëstablished at the bedside, and it was not till the morning of the tenth day that she again left the house. at the end of that time she was dismissed reluctantly by the good old doctor himself. it had been such a good excuse to be with elizabeth that aunt susan had persuaded the long-suffering nathan that her presence beside her was a thing not to be denied, and nathan, glad to see sue so happy, ate many a cold meal that haying season and did not complain. it was a great event in susan hornby's life. gentle and cordial to all, susan hornby lived much alone--alone most of all when surrounded with her neighbours. elizabeth was her only real tie. "oh, child! i'm so glad you've got him," she said one day as she laid the beautiful brown head on elizabeth's arm. elizabeth patted the hand that was drawing the little white shawl over the baby's head. master john hunter--the babe had been named for its father--had had his daily bath, and robed in fresh garments, and being well fed and housed in the snuggest of all quarters, the little triangle made by a mother's arm, settled himself for his daily nap, while the two women watched him with the eyes of affection. never again do we so nearly attain perfect peace in this turbulent life as during those first few weeks when the untroubled serenity of human existence is infringed upon by nothing but a desire for nourishment, which is conveniently present, to be had at the first asking, and which there is such a heaven of delight in obtaining. we are told that we can only enter the kingdom of heaven by becoming as little children: no other kingdom of heaven is adequate after that. the life in this little room had taken susan hornby back to her own youth, and as often as otherwise when master john was being put through his daily ablutions it was the little katie of long ago that she bathed and robed fresh and clean for the morning nap. at other times elizabeth was her katie grown older. it was the flowering time of susan hornby's life. the fact that elizabeth had never crossed her threshold since her marriage to john hunter had faded out of aunt susan's mind. elizabeth's every word and look spoke the affection she felt for her. other people might sneer and doubt, but susan hornby accepted what her instincts told her was genuine. * * * * * elizabeth got about the house slowly. the days in bed had been made tolerable by the presence of those she loved, but she was far from strong, and she looked forward with reluctance to the time when aunt susan would not be with her. john complained of hepsie's work only when with his wife alone, for aunt susan had been so constant in her praises that he would not start a discussion which he had found he brought out by such criticism. susan hornby looked on, and was as much puzzled as ever about the relations of the young couple. elizabeth was evidently anxious about john's opinions, but she never by so much as a word indicated that they differed from hers. she spoke of him with all the glow of her early love; she pointed out his helpfulness as if he were the only man in the world who looked after the kitchen affairs with such exactitude; she would have the baby named for no one else, and all her life and thought centred around him in so evident a manner that aunt susan could not but feel that she was the happiest of wives. she talked of her ideals of harmony, of her thankfulness for the example of the older woman's life with her husband, of her desire to pattern after that example, of everything that was good and hopeful in her life, with so much enthusiasm as to completely convince her friend that she had found a fitting abiding place. and, indeed, elizabeth believed all that she said. each mistake of their married life together had been put away as a mistake. each day she began in firm faith in the possibility of bringing about necessary changes. if she failed, she was certain in her own mind that the failure had been due to some weakness of her own. never did man have a more patient, trusting wife than john hunter. there had been much company about the house of late, and there had been no difficulties. elizabeth was not yet analytical enough to reason out that because of the presence of that company far less demand had been made upon her by her husband. she thought that they were really getting on better than they had done, and told herself happily that it must be because she was more rested than she had been and was therefore not so annoyed by small things. it was ever elizabeth's way to look for blame in herself. the baby was a great source of pleasure also. he was a good child and slept in the most healthy fashion, though beginning now when awake to look about him a little and try to associate himself with his surroundings. elizabeth had begun to look forward to silas's first visit with the child. silas had quaint ways with the young, and it was with very real pleasure that she dragged herself to the door and admitted him the first week she was out of bed. elizabeth led the old man to the lounge on tiptoe. "i want you to see him, mr. chamberlain; you and he are to be great friends," she said as she went down on her knees and drew the white shawl reverently from the sleeping face. "isn't he a fine, big fellow?" she asked, looking up at the old man. "'e ought t' be, havin' you for his mother," silas said with an attempt at being witty, and looking at the baby shyly. the baby roused a little, and stretched and grunted, baby fashion. "lordie! what good sleep they do have!" silas said, holding out his finger to the little red hand extended toward him, and then withdrawing it suddenly. "now, liza ann sleeps just like that t' this day." he spoke hesitatingly, as if searching for a topic of conversation. "she does 'er work regular like, an' she sleeps as regular as she works. i often think what a satisfyin' sort of life she leads, anyhow. she tends t' 'er own business an' she don't tend t' nobody else's, an'--an'--she ain't got no more on 'er mind 'n that there baby." elizabeth gathered the child into her arms and seated herself in a rocking chair, while the old man sat stiffly down on the edge of the lounge and continued: "now i ain't that way, you know. i have a most uncomfortable way of gettin' mixed up in th' affairs of others." "but it's always a friendly interest," elizabeth interposed, mystified by his curious manner and rambling conversation. silas crossed his knees and, clasping his hands about the uppermost one, rocked back and forth on the edge of the lounge. "most allus," he admitted, "but not quite. now i'm fair ready t' fight that new mis hansen. i've been right fond of luther, for th' short time i've knowed 'im, but what he see in that there sadie crane's beyond me. _he's_ square. he looks you in th' face 's open 's day when he talks t' you, an' you know th' ain't no lawyer's tricks in th' wordin' of it. but she's different. they was over t' our house sunday 'fore last an' i never knowed liza ann t' be's near explodin' 's she was 'fore they left. it done me right smart good t' see 'er brace up an' defend 'erself. i tell you mis hansen see she'd riled a hornet 'fore she got away. liza ann 'll take an' take, till you hit 'er just right, an' then--oh, my!" silas ended with a chuckle. "after they left, she just told me i could exchange works with somebody else; she wasn't goin' t' have that woman comin' t' our house no more." "sadie is awfully provoking," elizabeth admitted, "but--but--luther likes her, and luther is a good judge of people, i always thought." "yep," silas admitted in return, "an' i don't understand it. anyhow, i never knew liza ann come s' near forgettin' 'erself. it was worth a day's travel t' see." they talked of other things, the baby dropped asleep in its mother's arms, and silas took his departure. "how unlike him," elizabeth said to herself as she watched him go to his wagon. silas rode away in an ill-humour with himself. "now there i've been an' talked like a lunatic asylum," he meditated. "i allus was that crazy about babies! here i've gone an' talked spiteful about th' neighbours, an' told things that hadn't ought t' be told. if i'd a talked about that baby, i'd 'a' let 'er see i was plum foolish about it--an' i couldn't think of a blessed thing but th' hansens." he rode for a while with a dissatisfied air which gave way to a look of yearning. "my! how proud a man ought t' be! how little folks knows what they've got t' be thankful for! now i'll bet 'e just takes it as a matter of course, an' never stops t' think whether other folks is as lucky or not. she don't. she's in such a heaven of delight, she don't care if she has lost 'er purty colour, or jumped into a life that'll make an ol' woman of 'er 'fore she's hardly begun t' be a girl, nor nothin'. she's just livin' in that little un, an' don't even know that can't last long." there was a long pause, and then he broke out again. "think of a man havin' all that, an' not knowin' th' worth of it! lord! if i'd 'a' had--but there now, liza ann wouldn't want me t' mourn over it--not bein' 'er fault exactly. guess i ought t' be patient; but i would 'a' liked a little feller." * * * * * when john came home that night elizabeth told him of silas's visit. "he hardly looked at baby at all," she said disappointedly, "and i'd counted on his cunning ways with it more than anybody's. i thought he'd be real pleased with it, and instead of that, he didn't seem interested in it at all, and sat and stared at me and talked about sadie. i thought sure he'd want to hold it--he's got such cute ways." "how could you expect an old fellow like him to care for babies?" john said, smiling at the thought of it. "a man has to experience such things to know what they mean." he took the child from her arms and sat down to rock it while he waited for the supper to be put on the table. "say," he began, "i saw hepsie setting the sponge for to-morrow's bread as i came through the kitchen. i'll take care of baby, and you go and see about it. the bread hasn't been up to standard since you've been sick. you'll have to look after things a little closer now that you are up again." elizabeth, whose back was not strong, had been sitting on the lounge, and now dropped into a reclining position as she replied: "the bread has not been bad, john. aunt susan was always marvelling at how good it was compared to the usual hired girl's bread." "it was pretty badly burned last time," john observed dryly. "that didn't happen in the sponge, dear, and anybody burns the bread sometimes," she returned; "besides that, it makes my back ache to stir things these days." john hunter did not reply, but every line of him showed his displeasure. it was not possible to go on talking about anything else while he was annoyed, and the girl began to feel she was not only lazy but easily irritated about a very small thing. reflecting that her back would quit hurting if she rested afterward, she arose from the lounge and dragged herself to the kitchen, where she stirred the heavy sponge batter as she was bidden. mrs. hunter was expected to return in a little over a week, and the first days when elizabeth was able to begin to do small things about the house were spent in getting the house cleaning done and the entire place in order for her coming. it happened that a light frost fell upon kansas that year weeks before they were accustomed to look for it; and the tomato vines were bitten. it was necessary to can quickly such as could be saved. in those days all the fruit and vegetables used on kansas farms were "put up" at home, and elizabeth, with two, and sometimes more, hired men to cook for, was obliged to have her pantry shelves well stocked. the heat of the great range and the hurry of the extra work flushed the pale face and made deep circles below her eyes, but elizabeth's pride in her table kept her at her post till the canning was done. by saturday night the tomatoes were all "up," and the carpets upstairs had been beaten and retacked. mrs. hunter's room had been given the most exact care and was immaculate with tidies and pillow-shams, ironed by elizabeth's own hands, and the chickens to be served on the occasion of her arrival were "cut up" and ready for the frying pan. sunday there was a repast fit for a king when john and his mother came from town. every nerve in elizabeth's body had been stretched to the limit in the production of that meal. too tired to eat herself, the young wife sat with her baby in her arms and watched the hungry family devour the faultless repast. she might be tired, but the dinner was a success. the next morning, when the usual rising hour of half-past four o'clock came, it seemed to the weary girl that she could not drag herself up to superintend the getting of the breakfast. "mother'll help you with the morning work and you can lie down afterward," john assured her when she expressed a half determination not to rise. but after breakfast mrs. hunter suggested that they scour the tinware, and the three women put in the spare time of the entire morning polishing and rubbing pans and lids. as they worked, mrs. hunter discussed tinware, till not even the shininess of the pans upon which they worked could cover the disappointment of the girl that her mother-in-law should have discovered it in such a neglected condition. "really, child, it isn't fit to put milk in again till it's in better condition. how did you happen to let it get so dull and rusty?" "now, mother, it isn't rusty at all. it is pretty dull, but that's not hepsie's fault. it was as bright as a pin when i got up, but we've had the tomatoes to put up and the housecleaning to do and it couldn't be helped," elizabeth replied, covering up any share the girl might have had in the matter. she knew the extra work which had fallen on hepsie's shoulders in those last weeks, and particularly since she herself had been out of bed, for the girl loved elizabeth and had shielded her by extra steps many times when her own limbs must have ached with weariness. "you don't mean to say you used the tin pans for any thing as corroding as tomatoes!" mrs. hunter exclaimed in astonishment. "we used everything in sight i think--and then didn't have enough," elizabeth said with a laugh. "but you should never use your milk pans for anything but milk, dear," the older woman remonstrated. "you know milk takes up everything that comes its way, and typhoid comes from milk oftener than any other source." "there are no typhoids in tomatoes fresh from the vine," elizabeth replied testily, and mrs. hunter dropped the subject. but though she dropped the subject she did not let the pans drop till the last one shone like a mirror. with the large number of cows they were milking many receptacles were needed and john had got those pans because they were lighter to handle than the heavy stone crocks used by most farmers' wives. elizabeth was more appreciative, of those pans than any purchase which had been made for her benefit in all the months she had served as john's housekeeper, but by the time she was through scouring she was ready to throw them at any one who was foolish enough to address her upon housekeeping; besides, she plainly discerned the marks of discontent upon hepsie's face. hepsie was a faithful servitor, but she had learned by several years of service to stop before her energies were exhausted. it was the first sign of dissatisfaction she had ever shown, and elizabeth was concerned. the next morning elizabeth's head was one solid, throbbing globe of roar and pain. mrs. hunter brought her a dainty breakfast which it was impossible for her to eat, and said with genuine affection: "we have let you do too much, my dear, and i mean to take some of this burden off of your shoulders. you're not yourself yet. john tells me you were sicker than people usually are at such times. i ought to have helped the girl with that tinware yesterday and sent you to bed." elizabeth listened with some alarm to the proposition of mrs. hunter taking the house into her own hands, but she was touched by the real sympathy and concern evident. "it's good of you, mother. you'll have to be careful about hepsie, though. you must not call her 'the girl' where she hears you. you see she is one of our old neighbours, and--and--well, they hate to be called that--and they aren't exactly servants." "well, i'll get the dinner for her--it's wash day. don't try to get up," mrs. hunter said, taking the breakfast away with her. "be careful about hepsie, mother," elizabeth called after her in an undertone. "she's a good girl, if you understand her and--and they leave you at the drop of a hat." hepsie's going came sooner than even elizabeth had feared. she brought a cup of coffee to her at noon, but avoided conversation and went out at once. elizabeth called her mother-in-law to her after dinner was over and cautioned her afresh. "but i haven't had a word with her that was ill-natured or cross," mrs. hunter protested indignantly. "i don't suppose you have, mother," the miserable girl replied, puzzled as to how she was to make the older woman understand. "it's--it's a way you have. i saw that she was hurt about that tinware. she's been very satisfactory, really. she takes every step off of me that she can. she's the best in the country--and--and they hang together too. if we lost her, we'd have a hard time getting another." "well, it makes me cross to have to work with them as if they were rotten eggs and we were afraid of breaking one, but if i have it to do i suppose i can. i only looked after the clothes to see that she got the streaks out of them. i knew she was mad about something, but i rinsed them myself; i always do that." after mrs. hunter was gone elizabeth thought the matter over seriously. neither hepsie nor any other girl they could get in that country was going to have her work inspected as if she were a slave. they were free-born american women, ignorant of many things regarding the finer kinds of housekeeping in most instances, but independent from birth and surroundings. in fact, there was a peculiar swagger of independence which bordered upon insolence in most of the homes from which kansas help must be drawn. elizabeth knew that their dignity once insulted they could not be held to any contract. mrs. hunter went back to the kitchen and tried to redeem the mistakes she had made, but hepsie would not be cajoled and the unpleasantness grew. saturday night the girl came to elizabeth and said, without looking her in the face at all: "jake says, if he can have th' team, he'll take me home. i--i think i won't stay any longer." "do you have to go, hepsie?" elizabeth said, her face troubled. hepsie avoided her glance because she knew the trouble was there. hepsie had been very happy in this house and had been proud of a chance to keep its well supplied shelves in satisfactory condition. gossip hovered over whatever went on in the hunter home, and there was a distinction in being associated with it; also hepsie had come to love elizabeth more than she usually did her country mistresses. she saw that all the unkind things which were being said about elizabeth's stuck-up propensities were untrue, and that elizabeth hunter was as sensible and kindly as could be wished when people understood her. "i'll be up and around hereafter," elizabeth continued. "you don't understand mother. she's all right, only she isn't used to the farm." "i guess i understand 'er all right," hepsie said sullenly; "'t wouldn't make no difference, you bein' up. she'd be a-tellin' me what t' do just th' same, an' i'm tired enough, washdays, without havin' somebody t' aggravate me about every piece that goes through th' rench." she stood waiting for elizabeth to speak, and when she did not, added resentfully: "you an' me always got along. we had a clean house, too, if mr. hunter didn't think i knew much." elizabeth's surprise was complete. she had not supposed the girl knew john's estimate of her work. john was usually so clever about keeping out of sight when he insisted upon anything unpleasant that it had never occurred to elizabeth that hepsie was aware that john insisted upon having her do things which he felt that hepsie could not be trusted to do unwatched. there was nothing more to be said. she reckoned the girl's wages, and told her that jake could have the team. before hepsie went that night, she came back to the bedroom and cuddled the baby tenderly. "i'm--i'm sorry t' go an' leave you with th' baby so little, lizzie. 'taint hardly fair, but--but if you worked out a while you'd learn t' quit 'fore you was wore out." she stood thinking a moment, and then cautioned elizabeth sincerely: "i'm goin' t' say one thing 'fore i leave: you'd better ship that old woman 'fore you try t' get another girl around these parts. i'll be asked why i left an'--an' i'll have t' tell, or git folks t' thinkin' i'm lazy an' you won't have me." elizabeth's heart sank. she would not plead for the girl to keep still. it would have been of no use; besides, her own sense of fairness told her that there was room for all that had been hinted at. * * * * * monday john spent the day looking for a girl to take hepsie's place. tired and discouraged, he came home about four o'clock in the afternoon. "could you get me a bite to eat?" he asked elizabeth as he came in. "i haven't had a bite since breakfast." elizabeth laid the baby on the bed, and turned patiently toward the kitchen. an hour was consumed in getting the extra meal and doing the dishes afterward, and then it was time to begin the regular supper for the rest of the family. when john found that she had thrown herself down on the bed to nurse the baby instead of coming to the table for her supper, he insisted that she at least come and pour the tea, and when she sat unresistant through the meal, but could not eat, he sent her to bed and helped his mother wash the supper dishes without complaint. the next morning, however, he hailed her forth to assist with the half-past four o'clock breakfast relentlessly, unaware that she had spent a weary and sleepless night. "are you going to look for a girl to-day?" she asked as he was leaving the house after the breakfast was eaten. "oh! i suppose so, but i haven't much hopes of getting one," he answered impatiently. then seeing the tears in her eyes at the thought of the washing waiting to be done, he kissed her tenderly. "i'll do the best i can, dear; i know you're tired." "well, the next one i get i hope mother 'll let me manage her. if hepsie wouldn't stand her ways of talking about things none of the rest will." after a moment's reflection she added: "i cannot do all this work myself. i'm so tired i'm ready to die." john slipped his arm about her and said earnestly: "i'll do all i can to help you with the dinner dishes, but you are not to say one word to mother about this." it was gently put, but authoritative. "then you needn't look for one at all," she said sharply. john's arm fell from about her and he looked at her in cold astonishment. "i don't care," she insisted. "i can't keep a girl and have mother looking over every piece of washing that is hung on the line." "mother kept girls a long time in her own house," he answered, taking offence at once. "i don't care; she dealt with a different kind of girls." then with a sudden illumination, she added: "she didn't have such quantities of work to do, either. if we go on this way we'll have to have help and keep it or we'll have to cut down the farm work." she brightened with the thought. "let's cut the work down anyhow, dear. i'd have so much an easier time and--and you wouldn't have all those wages to raise every month, and we could live so much more comfortably." she leaned forward eagerly. "i don't see but we're living as comfortably as folks usually do," john replied evasively. "i know, dear, but we have to have the men at meals all the time and--and----" "now see here, elizabeth, don't go and get foolish. a man has to make a living," john said fretfully. the girl had worked uncomplainingly until her last remnant of strength was gone, and they were neither willing to do the thing which made it possible to keep help, nor to let her do the work as she was able to do it. with it all, however, she tried patiently to explain and arrange. something had to be done. "i know you have to make a living, john, and i often think that i must let you do it in your own way, but there are so many things that are getting into a snarl while we try it this way. we don't have much home with strangers at our table every day in the year. we never have a meal alone. i wouldn't mind that, but it makes more work than i am able to do, it is getting you into debt deeper every month to pay their wages, and you don't know how hard it is going to be to pay those debts a few years from now. but that isn't the worst of it as far as i am concerned. i work all the time and you--you aren't satisfied with what i do when i do everything my strength will let me do. i can't do any more than i'm doing either." "i _am_ satisfied with what you do," he said with evident annoyance at having his actions and words remarked upon. "besides, you have mother to help you." he had ignored her remarks upon the question of debts, determined to fasten the attention elsewhere. the little ruse succeeded, for elizabeth's attention was instantly riveted upon her own hopeless situation. "it isn't much help to run the girl out and then make it so hard to get another one," she said bitterly. instantly she wished she had not said it. it was true, but she wished she could have held it back. john did not realize as she did how hard it was going to be to get another girl. she had not told him of hepsie's remarks nor of her advice. elizabeth was not a woman to tattle, and the "old woman" hepsie had referred to was his mother. "don't think i'm hard on her, john. if we could only get another girl i wouldn't care." she waited for him to speak, and, when he did not do so, asked hopelessly: "don't you think we can get another girl pretty soon if we go a good ways off from this neighbourhood?" "i don't know anything about it, and i don't want to hear anything more about it either," was the ungracious reply. "i am in the wrong. you will hear no more on either subject." the tone was earnest. elizabeth meant what she said. john went from the house without the customary good-bye kiss. we live and learn, and we learn most when we get ourselves thoroughly in the wrong. chapter xiii "ennobled by the reflected story of another's goodness and love" it was on a saturday, three weeks after mrs. hunter's return, that elizabeth asked to make her first visit with the baby. "aunt susan was here so much while i was sick, john, that i feel that we must go to see them to-morrow." "oh, my goodness!" john replied, stepping to the cupboard to put away the pile of plates in his hands. "i'm tired enough to stay at home." they had just finished washing the supper dishes together, and elizabeth considered as she emptied the dishpan and put it away. she had been refused so often that she rather expected it, and yet she had thought by the cordiality with which john had always treated aunt susan that he would be reasonable about this visit now that she was able, and the baby old enough to go out. elizabeth was never clear about a difficulty, nor had her defences well in hand upon the first occasion. with those she loved, and with john in particular, any offence had to be repeated over and over again before she could protect herself. she felt her way slowly and tried to preserve her ideals; she tried to be fair. she could not tell quickly what to do about a situation; she took a long time to get at her own attitudes and understand them, and it took her still longer to get at the real intentions of others. as she brought out her cold-boiled potatoes and began to peel them for breakfast, she reflected that aunt susan had come as regularly to see them as if she had always been well treated, until mrs. hunter's coming. at that point the visits had dropped off. "baby is nearly three months old, and i promised aunt susan that i'd take him to see her the first place i took him. we owe it to her, and i'm not going to neglect her any more. we can leave a dinner of cold chicken and pies for the men, and i'll get a hot supper for them when i come home. i'd like to start about ten o'clock." it sounded so much as if it were all settled that the girl felt that it really was. "that leaves mother here alone all day, and i'm not going to do it," john returned with equal assurance. "mother can go with us. i should want her to do that, and i'm sure aunt susan would." mrs. hunter was passing through the room with the broom and dustpan and paused long enough to say pleasantly: "don't count on me, children. i'll take care of myself and get the men a hot dinner besides. i'd just as soon." "we'd like to have you go, mother, and i'm sure aunt susan would want us to bring you," elizabeth replied with a little catch in her breath. if mrs. hunter refused to go, john would not take her if she begged on her knees. "no, i don't want to go. i'll get the dinner though, and you needn't hurry back." she went on upstairs contentedly and with the feeling that she had arranged the matter to everybody's liking. "let her get the dinner then," elizabeth said, exasperated. "i'll leave everything ready for it." "i shall not go and leave her alone all day. she has a hard enough time out on this farm without getting the feeling that we care as little as that for her comfort. besides that, the buggy is not mended yet." "we can go in the lumber wagon. we didn't have a buggy till long after we were engaged," elizabeth said, not going into the matter of leaving his mother at home, which she knew would be useless. "i should think you'd want to rest when you did get a chance. you talk all the time about having too much to do," john replied evasively. "i wouldn't get any rest," elizabeth replied quickly. "i'd get a dinner--that's what i'd have to do if i stayed at home. i'd be on my feet three solid hours and then have to nurse the baby. that's the rest i'd have." "the devil!" was the answer she got as john went out. the weeks flew past, and still elizabeth served hot dinners and mourned in secret over susan hornby's neglected kindness. aunt susan had been cheerful as well as discreet during those weeks when she had helped them. she had been so happy over the evident friendliness of john hunter that she had felt sure that the old cordiality was to be resumed. after what seemed to elizabeth endless weeks, a curious circumstance aided her in getting to aunt susan's in the end. mrs. hunter, who was not greatly concerned about her disappointment, heard constant reference to mrs. hornby's assistance at the time of the baby's coming, and knowing that there would be discussion of their neglect to her in the neighbourhood, joined authoritatively in elizabeth's entreaty the next time it was mentioned, thereby accomplishing through fear of gossip a thing which no amount of coaxing on elizabeth's part could ever have done, and at last the trip was to be made. susan hornby's home was so unchanged in the year that elizabeth had been gone that, but for the baby in her arms, she could hardly have realized that she had been away. aunt susan sent her to the bedroom with the wraps when they were taken off. it was the same little room the girl had occupied for half that year, the same rag carpet, the same mended rocking chair which had come to grief in the cyclone, and the knitted tidy which the girl herself had made. with the hot tears running down her cheeks the girl-mother threw herself upon the bed and buried her face in the baby's wraps to stifle the cry she was afraid would escape her. in the sanctuary of her girlhood's highest hopes, elizabeth sobbed out her disappointments and acknowledged to herself that life had tricked her into a sorry network of doubts and unsettled mysteries. for the first time she sunk her pride and let susan think what she would of her prolonged absence, and went openly to the kitchen to bathe her face in nathan's familiar tin basin. a sudden suspicion of john's reception at nathan's hands made it possible to go back to aunt susan with a smile on her lips. indeed, elizabeth's suspicions were so far true that they were a certainty. nathan, by luther's marriage to a woman the old man suspected of every evil, had cut himself off from every friend. nathan had been thrown in upon himself and had pondered and nursed his suspicions of all men, and of john hunter in particular. he finished the milking without offering to go into the house; and john, who had insisted upon coming at night instead of on a sunday, was obliged to stand around the cow stable and wait, or go to the house alone. he chose the former course and was made happy by the arrival of jake, who had not known where his employer was going when his team was hitched to the wagon. "i've just been over to luther's, mrs. hornby," jake said when they finally stood around aunt susan's fire. "did you know sadie was sick? luther's awful good to 'er, but i know she'd be glad t' see a woman body about once in a while." "wisht she'd die an' get out of th' way," nathan hornby said bitterly. "a body could see luther once in a while then 'thout havin' 'is words cut up an' pasted together some new way for passin' round." no one spoke, and nathan felt called upon to defend his words. "i don't care! it's a god's pity t' have a woman like that carry off th' best man this country's ever had, an' then fix up every word 'is friends says t' him so's t' make trouble." nathan's whole bitter longing for companionship was laid bare. elizabeth's eyes filled with tears; elizabeth was lonely also. the call was a short one. john moved early to go home and there was nothing to do but give way. it was not till the next day that elizabeth suspected that nathan's remarks had offended john hunter, and then in spite of her eagerness to keep the peace between the two men, she laughed aloud. she was also somewhat amused at the insistence on a call upon sadie which john wanted that she should make. the perfect frankness of his announcement that luther was a convenient neighbour, and that they must pay neighbourly attention to illness, when he had never encouraged her to go for any other reason, was a new viewpoint from which the young wife could observe the workings of his mind. something about it subtracted from her faith in him, and in life. while she was still washing the dinner dishes john came in to discuss the visit. elizabeth was athrob with the weariness of a half day spent at the ironing table, and to avoid dressing the baby had asked mrs. hunter to take care of him. with no other visible reason but his customary obstinacy, john insisted upon the child being taken. "i've got to get back early and get the coloured clothes folded down. every one of the boys had a white shirt and two or three collars this week, so i asked mother to keep him for me," elizabeth said. "now see here," john argued. "mother 'll fold those clothes and you can just as well take him along and make a decent visit. they're the nicest people in the country, according to some of the neighbours." elizabeth's laugh nettled her husband. when he appeared with the wagon, she was ready, with the baby in her arms. the wind was keen and cold, the laprobes flew and fluttered in derisive refusal to be tucked in. "take the buggy in and have it mended the next time you go to town," she said, with her teeth chattering, as they drew near to luther's home. "i want to go up to see ma before long and it's almost impossible to keep a baby covered on this high seat." she thought a while and then added, "i haven't been home since i was married." "i shouldn't think you'd ever want to go," john replied ungraciously. tears of anger as well as mortification filled her eyes, and her throat would not work. it was to stop gossip as much as to see her mother that the girl desired to make the visit. the world was right: john was not proud of her. the sight of the "shanty" as they turned the corner near luther's place brought a new train of thought. dear, kindly, sweet-souled luther! the world disapproved of his marriage too. he was coming toward them now, his ragged overcoat blowing about him as he jumped over the ridges made by the plow in turning out the late potatoes he had been digging. "you carry the baby in for lizzie, an' i'll tie these horses," he said, beaming with cordiality. "got caught with sadie's sickness an' let half th' potatoes freeze 's hard 's brickbats." it was so cold that elizabeth did not stand to ask about sadie, but turned to the house to escape the blast. "i'll come for you at five if i can get back. i'm going over to see about some calves at warren's," john said as they went up the path. "is that why you insisted that i bring the baby? you needn't have been afraid to tell me; you do as you please anyhow." "h-s-sh! here comes hansen," john hunter said warningly, and turned back to the wagon, giving the child into luther's arms at the door. luther hansen cuddled the child warmly to him and without waiting to go in the house raised the white shawl from its sleeping face for a peep at it. "we lost ours," he said simply. the house sheltered them from the wind, and elizabeth stopped and looked up at him in astonishment. "you don't mean it? i--i didn't know you were expecting a child, luther. i'm so sorry. i wish i'd known." the expression of sympathy escaped her unconsciously. elizabeth would always want to know of luther's joys and sorrows. a glad little light softened the pain in his face, and he looked at her with a steady gaze, discerning the feeling of sound friendship behind the words. "i believe you are," he said, expressing the confirmation of a thing he had never doubted. "i ain't askin' you any questions, lizzie, i just know--that's all." with something like a glow about his heart, he opened the door of his simple dwelling. he had never doubted her, nor believed the nonsense he had heard about her, but he had just had his faith refreshed. he carried the baby to the one little bedroom of his house, scuffing a wooden rocking chair behind him across the rough floor. he established elizabeth in it beside sadie, and then placing the sleeping child in its mother's arms went back to the potato field, hurrying his work to finish before dark. he understood in a measure why this was elizabeth's first visit to them, and he did not resent it. luther never resented. he lived his own kindly, industrious life. if people did not like sadie he accepted it as a fact, but not as a thing to be aggrieved about. he could wait for sadie to grow, and others must wait also. in the meantime, luther watched elizabeth and desired growth for her; her smallest movement was of interest to him. elizabeth as a mother was a new feature. he remembered the deft way she had nestled the baby to her as he had relinquished it a few moments before, and thought with a sigh, of the cowhide-covered trunk filled with little garments under the bed by which she sat. not even sadie knew what the loss of that first child meant to luther. a new love for women's ways with babies grew up in him as he thought of elizabeth's cuddling. in the house, elizabeth was getting into touch with the young mother who was childless. sadie, in spite of a determination not to do so, was warming to that touch reluctantly. after all, it was pleasant to be telling elizabeth about it, and to have her asking as if she wanted to know. "yes--i took bad about a week ago," she was saying. "i'd been kind of miserable for several days. i got a fall that last rain we had, an' i didn't seem t' get over it." "i'd have come sooner if i'd known it," elizabeth said, thinking of luther's acceptance of a similar statement. "jake didn't even tell us last night what was the matter." "i guess he didn't know. would you 'a' come if you'd 'a' known, lizzie?" before elizabeth could reply, she continued, "ma used t' think it'd be kind o' nice for me t' live close t' you, but i knew you wouldn't never come t' see me. i used t' be kind o' jealous cause luther liked you s' much. i said everything mean i could think of about you, t' him--but law! luther ain't got no pride. he don't care. he defends you from everybody, whether you come t' see us 'r not." it was a curious little confession and one sadie had not intended to make. something big and sweet in elizabeth had forced it from her. it embarrassed elizabeth hunter, and it held things which could not be discussed, and she turned the subject without answering. "when did you lose the baby?" "oh, it only lived a couple of hours. you see it was too soon an'--an' it wasn't right. th' doctor didn't expect it t' live as long as it did, but luther would have it that it could, an' kept 'em a tryin' everything that could be thought of." sadie's voice died away gradually and she lay looking out of the window retrospectively: the last two weeks had brought food for much thinking. "i didn't know, lizzie, that a man could be as good as luther. i'd always kind o' hated men, an' i thought i'd have t' fight my way through, like th' rest of th' women, an'--an'--he's that good an' thoughtful of me, an' of everybody else, that i'm clean ashamed of myself half th' time. he nearly had a fit when' he found out that i'd slipped with that wood. 'twas ironing day, an' th' box got empty--an' then, when th' baby died, it just seemed as if he couldn't stand it." she looked up at elizabeth earnestly: "i never heard any one but th' preacher pray out loud, lizzie, an'--an'--somehow--well," she stumbled, "luther prayed so sweet, when he see it was gone--i--i ain't thought of much else since. it--it seemed like th' baby'd done something good t' both of us." the spiteful, pettish face was for the moment ennobled by the reflected glory of another's goodness and love. elizabeth caught a glimpse of a condition which makes heaven here upon earth. there was the harmony here in the "shanty" such as she coveted and strove in vain to establish in her own home. of course there would be harmony where luther hansen was concerned: luther _was_ harmony. ignoring his part in the little drama, she was wise enough to touch the other side of the story in her reply. "these little ones bring blessings all their own, sadie," she said, giving the hand on the patchwork quilt a little squeeze. there was that in the impulsive little touch which was to be a lasting reminder to sadie hansen that elizabeth hunter responded to the things which were making of her life a different story. they had found common ground, where neither scoffed at the other. "did your baby make you feel that way?" she asked earnestly. * * * * * when luther came at five o'clock to say that john was waiting he found them, at peace, with the baby between them. luther tucked elizabeth and her child into the unprotected wagon seat with concern. "this wind's a tartar. pull th' covers down tight over its face, lizzie. what's become of th' buggy, hunter?" luther saw elizabeth's face harden in a sudden contraction of pain, and glanced across at john, but whatever there was about it that hurt belonged to elizabeth alone, for john hunter pulled at the flapping laprobes without seeming to have heard clearly and evidently thinking that the remark was addressed to his wife. dusk was falling, and luther watched them drive away with a premonition of trouble as the night seemed to close in about them. he turned his back to the wind and stood humped over, peering through the evening at their disappearing forms. he saw elizabeth snatch at the corner of the robe as they turned into the main road, and dug his own hands deeper into his pockets with his attention turned from elizabeth and her possible trouble to that of the child. "hope th' little feller don't ketch cold." he turned to the house filled with his vision of a baby being cuddled close in a mother's arms, and with a new understanding of the comfort of such cuddling. his breath flew before him in a frosty stream when he entered the kitchen, and he hastened to build a fire and set the teakettle on to heat. he lighted a lamp and set it on a chair, and also stirred the fire in the little stove in sadie's room before he went to milk. "wisht lizzie'd come oftener. wonder why she don't. she don't seem near as stuck-up as she used to. say, luther, lizzie told me th' queerest thing: she says th' way a mother feels before a baby's born makes a difference. she says if a woman's mean before a child comes it'll make th' young one mean too. she told a lot of things that showed it's true, about folks we know? i wonder how she learns everything? ain't she smart! i wisht she'd come oftener. say, if i ever get that way again----" the sentence was unfinished. "wisht ours 'd 'a' lived," luther said longingly. "did lizzie's baby make you feel that way too?" luther went to milk with a song in his heart. the little word "too" told more than all the discussions they had ever had. sadie had not been pleased about the coming of the child they had lost. "if i could get 'em together more," he said wistfully. "it was a good thing t' have 'er see lizzie an' 'er baby together. i hope th' little tad don't ketch cold. that laprobe didn't stay tucked in very well." as he rose from milking the last cow, his mind went back to his visitors. "somethin' hurt lizzie about th' buggy 'r somethin'--she's too peaked for her, too." luther's premonitions about the hunter baby were only too well founded. the cold was not serious, but there was a frightened skirmish for hot water and lubricants before morning. the hoarse little cough gave way under the treatment, but the first baby's first cold is always a thing of grave importance to inexperienced parents, and elizabeth knew that her chances of getting to go home, or any other place, that winter, were lessened. her growing fear of neighbourhood criticism outgrew her fear of refusal, however, and at the end of the next week she reminded her husband that she had planned to take the child to see her mother. "you may be willing to take that child out again; i'm not," he replied severely. * * * * * a bright idea struck elizabeth's imagination after she had gone to bed that night. why not ask her own family, the chamberlains, aunt susan's, and luther hansen's to a thanksgiving dinner? she was so elated by the idea that she could hardly get to sleep at all, and before she could settle herself to rest she had killed in her imagination the half dozen or more turkeys she had raised that season. a big dinner given to those who could act as mouthpieces would silence a lot of talk; also, it would take away a certain questioning look the girl feared in luther's and aunt susan's eyes. the latter was the sorest point of her married life, and the conviction that they were thinking much worse things than were true did not make her any more comfortable. all sunday she planned, and sunday night went to bed with the first secret thought she had ever harboured from her husband's knowledge. mrs. hunter entered into the plan with zest when on monday afternoon it became necessary to tell her. she had begun to love her son's wife in spite of her family history. had elizabeth known how to manage it she could have made of john's mother a comfortable ally, but elizabeth, with characteristic straightforwardness, sought no alliance except the natural one with her husband. the two women planned the articles to be served in the dinner, and then turned to the discussion of other preparations about the house. elizabeth was proud of the home of which she was a part, but her strength was limited since baby's coming, and after looking about her critically decided that there would be no necessity for any more cleaning than the regular weekly amount. "we'll have to get the cleaning done on wednesday instead of friday, but i think that will be all that will be needed. the carpets were put down fresh the week before you came home, and i don't intend to take them up again till spring." "i think so," mrs. hunter agreed, "but you'll have to have the curtains in the dining room washed, and the tidies and pillow-shams done up fresh." "now, mother!" elizabeth exclaimed, "don't begin to lay out work i can't get done. the tidies are not hard, and i could do the shams, but those curtains are not to be thought of. i'd be so tired if i had to go to work and wash all that, after the washing i put on the line to-day, that i just wouldn't be able to get the dinner on the table thursday. talking about the dinner, i think we'd better have two turkeys. i can roast two by putting them in the one big pan." mrs. hunter was willing that the younger woman should prove her talent as a cook, but she planned to take some of the necessary things upon her own shoulders, and to take her son into her schemes for brightening things up a bit. accordingly, the next morning she asked john to help her take the curtains down. elizabeth had been so full of her own plans that she had forgotten to tell john's mother that she intended to keep them secret till she had all her preparations made. the next morning when she heard the thud of some one stepping down from a chair, and her husband say: "there you are! how do you happen to be taking the curtains down at this time of the week?" she realized as she had never done before how much afraid of him she really was, for her pulses bounded, and her ears boomed like cannon, long before john had time to appear in the door to inquire who was coming, and why they were to do so. with a look very much like guilt, elizabeth told over the names of her proposed guests, but with mrs. hunter in the next room she could not tell him why it meant so much to her to ask these people to dine with them. the customary protest was offered without delay. "i don't believe i'd do it, dear. thanksgiving is a day for home folks, not neighbours, and, besides, see all the work it will make." "the work is just what we choose to make it. if i'd known mother was going to clean house i wouldn't have said anything about it," elizabeth answered sullenly. "sh!" john hunter said in a low tone and with a look of anger that was direct and full of meaning. elizabeth was ready to cry. she was angry. in every move she made she was checkmated; not because it was not a good move, but because it was hers. she could readily have given up any one thing as it came along, but the true meaning and spirit of these interferences were beginning to dawn upon her. however, once more she yielded to the unreasonable wishes of her husband and the dinner was given up. she made no attempt to finish the mincemeat they had planned to chop after dinner, but after putting the baby to sleep threw a shawl about her and slipping out of the house ran to the barn and down the creek in the pasture while john was helping his mother rehang the freshly ironed curtains. they were only having two meals a day now that the corn was all picked, and dinner came so late in the afternoon that there was already a blaze of sunset colour in the west as she passed around the barn and started down the bank of the stream. the sun had set, but was still reflected on the heaps of billowy gray clouds just above the horizon. it made the snow in front of her a delicate pink. the girl had not got far enough from the house to see a sunset for months. the freshness and keenness of the air, the colours in the sky, the grandeur and sublimity of it all chased away her anger and left her in a mood to reason over her situation. she followed the cow-path down to the bed of the stream and then threaded her way along its winding route for a greater distance than she had ever gone before. a broken willow barred her way after a time, and she climbed up on its swaying trunk and let her feet dangle over the frozen streamlet below. the snow made lighter than usual the early evening and extended the time she could safely stay so far from the house. the colours faded rapidly from the sky and the bewildered girl returned to her own affairs, which were puzzling enough. of late she had found herself unable to maintain her enthusiasm. she found herself increasingly irritable--from her standpoint the one thing most to be despised in others and which she had supposed most impossible in herself. there were so many unforeseen possibilities within herself that she devoted her entire attention to her own actions and impulses, and was completely drawn away from the consideration of the motives of others by her struggle with the elemental forces in which she found herself engulfed. the temper aroused by john's objection to her thanksgiving company had indications in spite of the fact that she had controlled it. elizabeth knew that she had but barely kept her speech within the limits of kindliness and consideration for mrs. hunter, who had not wished to frustrate her plans at all, and she knew that she would be less likely to do so if the offence were repeated. she knew that mrs. hunter tried with real honesty of purpose to keep on good terms with her, and yet she also knew that she was increasingly annoyed with whatever she did. there was an element of unfairness in her attitude toward the older woman which alarmed her. "i'm just like pa, after all," she thought as she swung her feet and looked in a troubled way down at the frozen stream below. elizabeth reflected that when aunt susan, or silas, or luther hansen came into the house she became instantly her own buoyant, optimistic self: not that she intentionally feigned such feelings for the benefit of her company, but she felt the presence of trust, of faith in herself and her powers. she did not recognize that such trust was necessary to the unfoldment of character, nor even that it was her birthright. the girl watched the gathering twilight and deliberately let the time pass without attempting to return to the house until compelled to do so by real darkness, realizing that some beneficial thing was happening in her in this free out-of-doors place, for she was less annoyed and more analytical with each breath she drew in it. "if only i'd take time to do this sort of thing i'd be more as i ought to be," she meditated when she had at last risen to go home. "i won't be like pa! i won't! i won't!" she reiterated many times as she walked back, over the frozen cow-path. "i'll come here every few days. ma and pa were born to be happy, only they never took time to be." and though john was cross because the baby had cried in her absence, elizabeth felt that she had been helped by getting away from him. she accepted her husband's reproaches without reply, and was able to forget them even while they were still issuing from his mouth. she kept her temper down all that week, and though the thanksgiving invitations were not sent, she cooked the dinner and put as many hours into its concoction as if she had had all the people she had hoped to have about her board to eat it, and she was so sunny and natural as she served it that john did not even guess that she was governing herself consciously. she stayed at home the next sunday and the next, and john hunter was unaware that she was endeavouring to surrender herself to his will. "she'll get over wanting to run somewhere all the time," he told his mother, and mrs. hunter, to whom these people were not pleasing, agreed with him, and thought that it was just as well if it were so, not realizing that the girl lived alone in their house and that she might have an attitude toward these people distinctly different from theirs. this winter, like the preceding one, passed with elizabeth at home. there was no peace to be had if she thought of going anywhere for any purpose whatever. elizabeth went nowhere and required few clothes. the cold the child had caught on that first trip to luther's was sufficient excuse to prevent any further foolishness on the part of its mother. however, a trip to town was in waiting for elizabeth hunter and was proposed by john hunter himself. there had been a "warm spell" in the month of february and john had asked elizabeth to help him with the pump in the barnyard, which had been working badly for days. it was saturday evening, and jake and the other hired man had been granted time off that day; the pump had refused to work at all after they were gone, and with a hundred cattle waiting for water it was necessary to impress any one available with the duty of helping. elizabeth was more than willing to help: it meant a couple of hours out of doors. they had worked industriously and their efforts were about crowned with success when mrs. hunter came out to them with the baby wrapped in a warm shawl. john tossed aside the extra piece of leather he had cut from the top of an old boot and fitted the round piece in his hand about the sucker. "now, mother, you shouldn't bring that child out here; you'll have him sick on our hands again," he said. "oh, lots of children go out of doors in winter. i took you out whenever i wanted to, and you've lived to tell the tale," his mother said easily, seating herself on the end of the trough. "well, i don't want anything to happen to him for a few days, i can tell you. i want you to keep him and let elizabeth go in to town with me and sign the mortgage on this eighty, monday," john replied, examining the valve with great attention. "why, i thought this eighty was already mortgaged!" mrs. hunter exclaimed. "well, it is," john replied uneasily, "but i've got to raise the interest before i can get that bunch of shoats ready to sell, and i've got to do it that way." he did not look at either of the two women, but kept himself very busy about the rod and sucker he was manipulating. mrs. hunter seldom remarked upon anything that was done about the farm, but this was surprising news. _a second mortgage_ on part of the land! she had just opened her mouth to speak, when she happened to glance across at her daughter-in-law. elizabeth's face was white. something in it implored mrs. hunter to go away, to leave them to have the matter out together, and the older woman took her cue from it and went with a haste which caused her son to look up from the piston with which he fumbled. "she's gone to the house; i motioned to her to go," elizabeth announced. "she don't know much about mortgages, but she knows this won't do. you told me last week that the hogs would be ready in time. my soul alive, john! do you realize what you are doing? this is the home-eighty! what's happened to the hogs?" "say, look here! if i want to mortgage this eighty, i'm going to do it. those hogs are just where it pays to feed them. if i sell now, i'll lose half the profits." john got up and faced her ready to fight, if fight he must on this question. he had chosen an opportune time to tell it, but he meant to do as he wished about those hogs and the land and whatever else they possessed. he hated to open a discussion, but he did not hate to continue one after he had made the plunge. he had feasible reasons for all that he did. elizabeth saw that he meant to insist and she resented the deception he had practised in securing this loan without telling her, but the danger was so great that she could not afford to let her feelings blind her, nor to put the thing in a bad light by seeming to wrangle about it. she looked at him steadily, so steadily, in fact, that john was disconcerted. the work in hand gave excuse for withdrawing his eyes and elizabeth watched him arrange the knot of the rope so that they could lower the pipe back into the well. the girl did not begin to speak at once: she marshalled her forces and considered what manner of argument she would put forth. she knew that every piece of land they possessed except the mitchell county pastures was covered with one third of its value in incumbrances. if the interest was hard to meet now, what would it be three years hence? she had come to understand that the man she had married was not a farmer. she helped him lower the long pipe into the well, and watched him try the pump handle to see if the sucker would work. it was slow in drawing, and she filled a small pail from the trough and poured it into the pump head. after a few sputtering strokes the water began to come freely, and then she had to wait for the pumping to stop before she could make herself heard above its rumblings. john hunter knew perfectly well that elizabeth was waiting and prolonged the work till the great trough was full. when it began to overflow and there was no further need for drawing water, he turned abruptly toward the gate where the cattle were. elizabeth had waited in the frosty air till she was chilled from standing and could not remain for the stock to drink before she had a chance to go to the house. "i want to talk to you before those cattle come out here," she said, more hurt by his avoidance of her now than she had been by the original deception; he was really ignoring her as a factor in their mutual affairs. "i have to protest against this mortgage, john. we ought to keep a small home free at least, and instead of putting more on this eighty we ought to sell enough of the stuff to pay off on this part. every farmer in this country has his nose on the interest grindstone, and my life has been spoiled with it ever since i can remember. please, dear, let's not put a second mortgage on this eighty." in her anxiety to get john's attention elizabeth went forward and put her hand on his arm, forgetting in her earnestness the slight he had just shown toward her in ignoring her claims to a voice in the matter. john hunter shook off the detaining hand impatiently. "if you're going to run this business you may as well do it without my help and i'll quit," he said, his body braced away from her with the plain intimation that he preferred that she should not touch him. elizabeth hesitated. her impulse was to turn and leave him without further words, but the farm, their future comfort, the whole scheme of family peace and harmony depended upon obtaining a hearing. "i don't want to run things--really, i do not. i've never tried to, but i've lived on a farm, and i know how impossible it is ever to raise a mortgage if you get it on a place. i--let's sell enough to raise the one we have on this eighty while we can, instead. i'm willing to live on a little; but, oh, john, i do so want to have one place that is our own." "there's money in those cattle," john answered sullenly. "a woman don't know anything about such things. you'll go and get mother started on it too, i suppose. i'm going to do as i see fit about it, anyhow. i know there's money to be made there." with a great sob in her throat, elizabeth turned to the house. "look here, elizabeth," john called after her peremptorily. elizabeth stopped respectfully to listen, but she did not return to his side. john waited, thinking she would come to him. "cattle ain't like ordinary farming," he argued with a flush of anger. "a man simply has to take time to let steers grow into money. we haven't been at it a long enough time. those big steers will be ready to feed this fall, and corn's going to be cheap. we'd be cutting off our noses to spite our own faces to sell now." "perhaps," the girl replied bitterly, and went on to the house. she knew that john had argued with the hope of getting her to admit herself in the wrong, not to hear her side of the case. john hunter gazed after his retreating wife in vexed petulance for a moment and then, with a sigh of relief, turned toward the waiting cattle. "she'll be ready when i want to go to town all the same," he reflected. chapter xiv mortgages of soul the mortgage was signed. the fine weather had brought many people to colebyville. elizabeth had not been in town for a year, and the sight of pleasant, happy folk greeting each other cordially and wandering from store to store bartering eggs and butter for groceries and family necessities, and exchanging ideas and small talk about their purchases, had accentuated her isolation. those people who knew her spoke to her also, but with an air of suspicion and reserve. a puzzling feature of the day had been that john had received a more cordial reception than she had. the main suspicion had been directed against her. there seemed to be a certain acceptance of john's "stuck-upness." he had some reason for his attitude toward them which they were inclined to accept, but elizabeth saw that to this community she was a "beggar on horseback." instead of seeing that the man who had thrust her into this false relation was utterly inadequate to realize it, or that if he realized it he was utterly indifferent to her sufferings in it, she inquired into her own failure to get his attention, and felt that he was after all a better husband than any she had ever known, with few exceptions. john had managed to add to her confusion where he was concerned that day by being floridly insistent upon her spending a generous sum upon her purchases and taking as much interest in what she bought as a woman. there had been so much to buy that elizabeth's economical soul had been torn by the desire to cut down the expense. the baby was ready for short clothes and there had been materials for little dresses, stockings, little shoes, a hood and cloak, to get for him alone, and elizabeth saw in every dollar spent a dollar lost at interest-paying time. john had been happy and genial on the way home and had altogether treated her so much better than her mood had permitted her to treat him that there was a bit of self-accusation in her meditations. everything had gone wrong. the waters of human affection ran everywhere in the wrong direction. she desired understanding between herself and her husband; her attitude toward the community in which they lived had been one of friendliness, her attitude toward aunt susan and luther one of whole-hearted love, her attitude toward this family of which she found herself a part that of a devoted slave, yet nowhere had she been able to make proper alliances. some curious defeating element had crept into every relation life offered her. while the rest ate supper that night, elizabeth, who had no appetite and was too sick with a sense of failure to eat, nursed her baby and meditated upon the indications of the day's occurrences. forgetting her surroundings, she drew in a fluttering, sobbing breath. jake ransom, across the corner of the table, caught the sound of that sob and flashed a quick glance in her direction. his eyes were as quickly withdrawn, but elizabeth knew without looking up that he had heard. with a desire to escape observation, she made an excuse of putting the baby away and went to the bedroom with the child. slipping him into his little nightdress she made him comfortable for the night, after which she went back to the dining room to keep jake from thinking she had anything to cry about. there was an added hum of voices, and she went in with some curiosity. silas chamberlain stood beside the stove with his old cap and his home-knit mittens under his arm, while he leaned over the welcome fire. the blues were gone instantly. there was such a glad light in her eyes as she advanced to meet him that jake ransom wondered if he had been mistaken in the quivering breath, and there was such genuine pleasure in her surprised greeting that silas chamberlain was warmed and fed by it. "where's that baby?" he demanded. "you ain't gone an' tucked him into bed this time o' night, have you? i come special t' see 'im." for months elizabeth had wanted to see silas and the baby in a "free for all tumble" and her eyes danced with delight at the idea. she had not had such a thrill in many weeks; the young mother spoke in every line of her young face. as if by magic her troubles fell away from her. crooking her finger beckoningly at the old man, she crept on tiptoe to the bedroom door. she had left a lamp lighted in the room and it was possible to observe the baby without him being aware of their presence. silas had crept behind her like an indian stalking a deer, and she caught his suppressed breath as she turned with her finger on her lips at the door. the rest of the group trailed behind with anticipatory grins. master john hunter lay on the bed, very wide awake, making sputtering efforts to devour his thumb, while he kicked his little feet as vigorously as the confines of the pinning-blanket would allow. silas chuckled. hearing a noise at the door, the heir of the house rolled his head on his pillow till his mother's face came within the range of his vision. her absence that day had made the child more than usually eager for her presence. the little feet kicked more wildly than ever, and forgetting the generous slice of thumb still to be devoured, he grinned such a vast and expansive grin that the hand to which the thumb was attached, being free, joined the other in waving salutations of such joyful pantomime that the object of his industrious beckonings, completely carried into the current, rushed at him and, sweeping him up in her arms, tossed him on high as gleefully as if she had not been weighed down by care but a moment before the old man's advent into the room. "there, mr. chamberlain, was there ever another like him?" she cried. baby, who had come down from a point as high as his mother's arms could reach, doubled his fat little body together with a smothered, squeezed off little gurgle of delight. silas was aquiver with sympathetic glee. those were not the days when babies were raised by scientific rules, and silas caught the child from its mother's arms and repeated the tossing process, while the baby shouted and struggled. at last the three, followed by the family, retired to convenient chairs about the sitting-room fire. "now, jack horner, you can pare that thumb down a leetle more if you want t'. you've swallowed enough wind to give you the colic for a day or two," silas said when the child began to hiccough. elizabeth clapped her hands delightedly. "you have named the baby!" she exclaimed. "how's that?" silas asked. "oh, john can't bear to have him called johnnie, and john is too awfully old for him now. little jack horner--no, little jack hunter. i'm so glad! i just do love it; and we had called him baby till i was afraid we'd never quit it," elizabeth said. they kept the old man as long as they could induce him to stay, and when he did go home it was with the settled conviction that he had been wanted. he described the visit enthusiastically to liza ann and tried to induce her to go over to see elizabeth the next sunday. silas craved the privilege of that baby's presence. "i know, si," his wife replied, "but she could come here if she wanted to. it's her fool notions. john was th' greatest hand t' go you ever saw till he married her, an' now he don't go nowhere, an' when i asked him about it, he said she wasn't well! she's as well as any woman that's nursin', an' she's got his mother t' help 'er too." "well, i don't pretend t' know th' why's an' th' wherefores of it, but i do know there ain't a stuck-up bone in 'er body--i don't care what nobody says," loyal silas chamberlain replied. the new mood stayed with elizabeth hunter and called for much perplexed introspection. it had been a perplexing day. there was no reason that she could assign for her contradictory actions. she found herself even softened toward john and able to enter into his attempt to be sociable after silas's departure. he seemed to be anxious to set himself before her in a kindlier light and she was able to meet the attempt as he wished. elizabeth lost faith in herself as she saw her apparent whimsicalness and began to lash herself into line as john and his mother wished. she asked no more to be taken places. in may, luther came to help john with his team, and for the first time in months elizabeth saw a neighbour woman. luther lifted sadie down from the high seat with as much care as if she had been a child. "sadie's lonesome at the house alone all day, an' it was good of you, lizzie, t' ask 'er," he said as he climbed back into the wagon. elizabeth wanted a visit with luther, himself, but was less fearful of a day with sadie than she had been. she took her guest into the house and at the sitting-room door paused to point to master jack, who sat on an old quilt with a pillow at his back, digging his little heels into the floor and holding out dimpled hands imploringly. "you darling child!" sadie cried, going down on her knees at his side and hugging him till he sent up an indignant howl. "isn't he cunnin'? isn't he?" she cried, releasing him and subsiding into a doubled figure by his side. "honestly, lizzie, why don't you bring him over?" she looked so insistent, that she had to be answered. "i don't go any place, sadie," elizabeth answered truthfully. "is it so, that mr. hunter won't take you?" sadie asked, and then at sight of the anger in elizabeth's face rose to her knees and laid her hand on her arm hastily. "i didn't say that to hurt; honestly, lizzie, i didn't. i'm trying not to do that this time." elizabeth's indignation was cooled slightly by the genuineness of the speech, but she did not understand the last sentence till her eye happened to fall on sadie's form. in a flash she saw what was meant. forgetting her hurt, she was silent from pure delight. she knew what a child would mean in that home. the other misunderstood her silence and hastened on with her apologies: "honest, lizzie, i didn't want to hurt, but they do say such mean things about it that i want you t' know. why don't you ever take mrs. hunter and th' baby and go t' meetin'?" elizabeth's face went white as she realized that she must continue to answer since she had begun. "i don't care in the least what they say, sadie, and i don't want you ever to mention this to me again," she said sternly. sadie's face worked in silent misery till she could control her voice. "you won't be mad at me, lizzie? i told luther i wouldn't be mean t' nobody till _it_ was born," she said with quivering lip. elizabeth took some seconds to consider the thing that had been told to her. it was of far more importance than the gossip sadie had just hinted at, but the gossip must be answered first. "i won't be mad at you at all," she said after a moment. "that is, i won't if i never have to listen to such things again. i don't care in the least, if i don't have to hear it. don't ever come to me again with anything that anybody says. now, then, tell me about yourself. i half believe you're glad of it." "glad?" sadie told her secret, which could be a secret no more. luther had wanted the child, and she had come to the point of wanting it for his sake, and the sight of chubby jack hunter had aroused the latent mother love in her till, as she talked, her eyes shone with the brightness of imaginative maternity. she implored elizabeth to come to her aid when the day of her labour arrived in september, and rambled along telling of their preparations for its coming, and little home incidents, disclosing a home life of so sweet a character that if elizabeth hunter had not been sincere and utterly without jealousy she would have drawn the discussion to a close. the incident had a peculiar effect upon elizabeth. she began really to like sadie, and all her old desire for harmony in the home welled up in her anew. the old attitude of self-blame was assumed also. here was sadie crane, the most spiteful girl that had ever been raised on these prairies, able to command the love and respect of the man she had married, to do things because her husband desired them, even so difficult a thing as the bearing of children, and she, elizabeth, had failed to accomplish any of these things. there was a renewed resolve to be more patient. elizabeth hated sulking, and the remembrance of the day when she had gone to sign the mortgage and had been unable to respond to john's good-humoured willingness to get abundant supplies because she saw the money going out so fast was fixed in her mind with new significance. here was sadie doing the things that her husband wished of her and obtaining not only his love but her own self-respect, while she, elizabeth, was able to command neither. instead of reasoning upon the differences between the two husbands, elizabeth reasoned on the differences between her own actions and those of sadie, and from the results of that reasoning entered upon a period of self-denial and abject devotion to the man of her choice. john hunter accepted this new devotion with satisfied serenity, and, not being obstructed in any of his little exactions, became more cheerful and agreeable to live with. this added to elizabeth's conviction that the difficulty had been somewhat within herself. she ceased to ask for the things which caused friction, and there was a season of comparative peace. in july, however, a new phase of the old difficulty arose. nathan and susan hornby were driving past the hunter house one sunday afternoon. elizabeth saw them and with a glad little shout ran to the road to greet them. susan hornby's delight was fully equal to her own. the two persuaded nathan to wait till aunt susan should have time to go into the house and see the baby. nathan would not go in, but sat waiting in offended aloofness in the wagon. "why don't you come to see me, elizabeth?" aunt susan whispered as they went back to the wagon. "he's always loved you so, but he thinks--well, he's always been so good to me about everything else, but his feelings are awfully hurt about you. can't you come soon?" she looked into the girl's face with such a wealth of pent-up love that elizabeth answered positively: "i will come next sunday, aunt susan. you may look for us, for we'll be there." the glad look in susan hornby's eyes was a sad reproach to the younger woman, and though elizabeth wondered how she would get her husband's consent, she made up her mind to force him by every means in her power to comply. all through the week she had it upon her mind, but elizabeth had learned not to open a discussion till the necessity of action was upon her, and it was not till sunday morning that she mentioned the visit to john. nothing but the pleading in susan hornby's face could have induced elizabeth to ask to be taken to see her at this time, but the troubled whispering of aunt susan about this visit had awakened elizabeth to the tragedy of her neglect. susan hornby had never before whispered where nathan was concerned before. elizabeth at last saw the loneliness of the old couple. it would never do to continue such treatment of those who had befriended her when she was in need. jack was fretful that sunday morning and john walked the floor with him while elizabeth finished her breakfast dishes. the breakfast had been late and it was time to get ready if they were to go. her heart sank as she approached the subject. jack had not slept well of late. he was not ill, but teething. always a light sleeper, elizabeth had kept the fact of his indisposition to herself, hoping that john, who slept soundly, might not be aware of it, but the baby had fretted in the daytime and was now tossing restlessly in his father's arms. elizabeth was worn out from the loss of sleep and was half afraid to trust herself to make the request, because it would require politic treatment to get john in the mood. if she became vexed or upset by his opposition she would lose her opportunity. elizabeth was weaker than john when her feelings were ruffled. she had planned and waited till the last moment, afraid of herself and afraid of her husband. she looked at him as he paced back and forth, back and forth, with a torrent of longing swelling up in her and threatening to bring her tears. she must find a way to get his ear. "let me take jack," she said, hoping that something in the conversation would give her a natural opening for what must come. "poor little chap," john replied, releasing the child. elizabeth was bathed in perspiration from the hurry of having late breakfast and the fact that she would never dare to ask to be taken before all the work was done and the kitchen ready for close inspection, and she thought indignantly of the scrubbed floors of yesterday and wondered how the child could be expected to be well when he was fed on overheated milk day after day. instantly she put the thought away from her. she must be cool and careful if she were to get to aunt susan's to-day. "i'll sponge him off with soda in his bath and he'll be all right. i told aunt susan we'd take dinner with them to-day, and it's nearly half-past ten now. they have dinner at noon on sunday as well as other days; so run and hitch up, and i'll be ready with baby. i'll have your things laid out so you can jump right into them when you come in." she looked down at the baby so as not to meet his eye, but the offhand assumption of his readiness to go seemed to her to be encouraging. "with that child?" was the astonished exclamation. "it won't hurt him as much as for me to stand over the stove and cook a dinner at home," elizabeth answered firmly, "and, besides, john, i promised aunt susan we'd come. now don't be cross. i've got to go, and that's all there is about it." john hunter was actually astonished now. he had started out with his usual pretenses, but this was something new. elizabeth had promised without consulting him! what was happening? "you may be willing to take that child out in his condition--i'm not," he said severely. "i don't understand what you're thinking about." "_i'm_ thinking there'd be less harm to him in a day of rest for his mother than anything else," she said bitterly, "and i am not allowed to get a minute of it in this house. _you'd_ let me heat his milk to the boiling point to get dinner and think it was what we both deserved!" she was instantly dismayed at what she had done. she had spit out all the actuality of her convictions in spite of every effort not to reply unkindly when he was unfair to her. she could not afford to retort sharply to-day. she must resort to other tactics if she were to win to-day. besides, the truth was only a half-truth. john did not in his heart wish either of them harm; he was just a blind sort of bossing creature who had somehow got into command of her and enjoyed bullying her and setting tasks to keep her occupied. he owned her, however, and she must court his consent to this visit. "please, dear. i told aunt susan we'd come. i'd--i'd have told you before--only--only i was afraid you'd not be willing--and then i'd get to crying and give up--and i've got to go. now don't be cross. go this once good-naturedly." to get close to him she put her hand on his arm and put up her face coaxingly for a kiss. john hunter ignored his wife's signal for tender relations and shook off her hand impatiently without looking at her. "even if jack were well i wouldn't go away and leave mother alone all day." john moved restlessly away from her. elizabeth would not give up. "i'll manage mother. she'll go if i insist." john was edging toward the door. "anyhow i told aunt susan i'd come." john was going through the door. "please hurry. we must be on our way pretty soon," she called after his receding back. elizabeth's lips tightened with vexation at the contempt shown by his refusal to answer, and then loosened and spread into an amused smile. "he can be just as mad as he wants to. i stuck to it and am going to get to go. it's better than to give up to him all the time." she turned into the sitting room and putting the baby on the floor emptied the clothespin bag in his lap to keep him occupied, and flew up the stairs to mrs. hunter's room. "mother, we're going to aunt susan's to-day and you are to go with us. now don't say you aren't, for it is settled," she said, slipping her hand over the older woman's mouth to prevent the objection she saw coming, but nothing she would do or say would persuade the older woman to go. "i'll settle that with john when he comes in," mrs. hunter said, slipping away from the restraining hand. "there's no reason why you should stay at home on my account and i will not have it done," was all that she could get out of her. "but john will not go without you!" elizabeth cried in dismay. the girl was tempted to tell her of the gossip she had heard, but it suddenly seemed small and not worth while. she had already told her that aunt susan had her promise to come in time for dinner; it occurred to her to tell her of nathan's attitude toward them for their unfriendly neglect, but that too seemed unnecessary and trivial since they were going. on that point elizabeth did not intend to give in an inch: she was going, even if john _was_ cross about it. "yes, he will go without me, for i'll see that he does," mrs. hunter assured her, and with that elizabeth was content. taking the baby to her own room, she undressed and bathed him and then arrayed him in the daintiest white dress she had for him, determined that aunt susan should see him at his best. as she nursed him so that he would drop off to sleep till they were ready to go, she looked long and earnestly at the soft skin and dark lashes of his baby face and realized as she had never done before the loneliness of the old couple whom they were going to visit. the little katie of that house had been taken from them at about this age. a sob arose in elizabeth's throat when she considered how they had besought her for an opportunity to pour the dammed-up stream of their love at the feet of this child, and how slighted their efforts had been. jack was wide-eyed and would not sleep, and after losing much valuable time his mother set him in the middle of the bed and began her own preparations. as she looked about for something suitable to wear, she saw a simple white percale with red dots scattered over it, which she had worn the summer she had lived in aunt susan's house. so little had she gone out and so free from personal vanity was she that it was still eligible to best wear. besides, it had associations that were pleasant. "why, i made it in aunt susan's own house," she said aloud. she looked down at it wistfully; those had been happy days. a sudden impulse made her drop her heavy hair from its coil high on her head and, picking up her comb, divide it with deft movement. brushing it into shape, she braided it as of old, in two braids, and then fished with rapturous fingers in her ribbon box for the bows she had always worn with that dress. when the bows were tied she put the braids back with a characteristic toss of the head and stood looking at herself in the glass. "there now, he can't be cross after that," she said, feeling more as if she were her real self than she had done for many months. jack was restless and cried. elizabeth turned to him with a start. "you blessed baby! your mother was way off and had forgotten that there was such a small person as you." she sat down and nursed him again to fill in the time till his father should come and dress. this time he seemed sleepy, and elizabeth sang happily to him, kissing his pink palm and satisfying the maternal instinct in her by softly stroking his plump body. he had never looked so fair to her in all the months that she had had him. john was long in coming and she fell into a dreamy state of maternal comfort as she rocked, and forgot the hour and the place and the dinner that would soon be waiting at aunt susan's, till the baby went to sleep in her arms. when jack was at last soundly asleep she placed him on the bed, covering him with a piece of white mosquito netting to keep the flies from disturbing him, and, rearranging dress and ribbons, went into the sitting room to see what time it was. an exclamation of dismay escaped her. it was but ten minutes to twelve o'clock! she had dreamed much longer than she had been aware. in a fever of hurry she ran back to the bedroom and laid out john's best suit. that had pleasant associations also. but what could be keeping him so long when it was time to go? as soon as everything was in order she ran to the barn to see what the trouble was. john came out as she neared the barn door, talking to jake, who followed leisurely. "are you ready to dress?" she asked hastily, vexed at the signs of loitering. "dress? why--what? oh, i forgot. i told you i didn't want to go," he said impatiently. "well, you're going to take me if it is late," she said firmly. "aunt susan was told that we'd come, and she has dinner waiting this minute. jake, put the horses in the wagon while mr. hunter dresses, and be as quick about it as you can." "the horses--th' horses are in th' pasture, lizzie," jake said hesitantly. "i didn't know an'--an'--i--an' we turned 'em out an hour ago." jake ransom saw the colour die out of the young face and understood exactly what had happened. he saw her turn without a look at her husband and start to the house, bowed and broken and without hope. jake understood that a trick had been played on her, for he had been slow about turning the horses out and john had untied and led the team used for driving to the pasture gate himself. "i don't know whether i kin ketch 'em 'r not, but i'll try," he called after her. elizabeth turned back hopefully, but john said "now look here, elizabeth, those horses have been playing like mad for half an hour, and you could no more catch them than you could fly." turning to jake, "i'll take mrs. hunter next sunday if she's just got to go. a man wants to rest when sunday comes," he added under his breath. jake ransom watched elizabeth drag her listless feet up the steps and shot a look of disdain at the back of john hunter as he followed her. "you dirty cuss!" he exclaimed under his breath. "lizzie's as good a woman as th' is in this country, an' she don't git nothin' she wants. i bet i see t' gittin' them horses ready next sunday myself." going into her bedroom, elizabeth hunter laid off the finery of girlhood, and with it her girlhood also. "i'll never ask him again," she told herself, and put her hair back into its woman's knot and went to the kitchen and began dinner. * * * * * susan hornby shaded her eyes with her hand, and looked up the road for the fortieth time. "the baby must be worse, nate," she said to her husband when at last there had to be a discussion of the matter. nathan hornby followed her into the kitchen and helped to take up the dinner which had been waiting over an hour. his head burned with indignation, but there was something in susan's defeat which brooked no discussion on his side. they had come as near quarrelling over this invitation as they had ever done about anything in their married life. as they sat at the table eating their belated dinner, a lonely horseman appeared coming down the road from the west. "it's jake! i wonder if he's going for the doctor?" susan exclaimed. "you never can tell what anybody has to contend with." and the meal was left to cool unfinished as the old couple left the house and hailed the rider. "i didn't hear nothin' about th' baby bein' worse," jake was obliged to answer when put under question. he was so conscious that elizabeth would not approve of the truth being told that he stammered and made his listeners feel that something was left untold. in fact, jake's reticence was of the exact quality to add to the distrust already aroused. he edged away at last and left susan hornby looking at her husband in such a state that nathan was moved to say: "never mind, sue, i'll take you over after dinner and you can see for yourself." susan hornby turned and started to the house. nathan followed her aquiver with the slight that his common sense told him had been put upon her by those whom she had so faithfully and fully served. susan stumbled and put her hands to her head with a harsh laugh. nathan hurried forward a step and looked searchingly into her face. with a great sob, he put his arms about her. susan paid not the slightest attention to him, but let herself be guided along the path without actual resistance. her face was flushed and her eyes did not see. she went docilely to her room and permitted the stricken husband to place her on the bed, where he loosened her collar and, removing her clothing, dressed her for bed as if she had been a little child. when nothing more could be done, he knelt by her and fondling her unresponsive hand let the tears he could no longer control pour over his ashen cheeks. "don't you know me, sue? don't you know your old nate at all?" he quavered, but there was no reply except the puffing breath which was every moment growing more and more laboured. nathan knew what it meant--she had been so once before. as the hunter family sat about the dinner table on tuesday, silas chamberlain drove up to the side gate, and after tying his team came to the door. he entered when bidden, but would not sit down, and looked about him with an effort to adjust his impressions with what he saw before him. "ain't you goin' t' th' funeral?" he asked when he saw that there seemed to be no air of mourning in the house. "funeral?" john hunter exclaimed. "who's dead?" "i told nate hornby you didn't know nothin' about it." "hornby? we haven't heard of any one being dead. who is it?" john hunter asked, puzzled at the reticence of the old man, who stood with his straw hat in his hand and slid his fingers about its greasy brim uneasily. "is--is it possible you all didn't know mrs. hornby was sick?" he asked, unable to lift his eyes. there was a low cry from elizabeth hunter, the noise of her escape to the privacy of her own room, the sound of moans and cries after the door was shut, and silas chamberlain paid bitter toll for delivering his message. the family sat stunned and silent in the presence of those sounds of grief. the bowed head of the old man told his comprehension of the news and left jake ransom with an understanding of him which words could never have given. as soon as elizabeth could get control of her feelings and command her scattered senses, she snatched her bonnet from the chair beside the bed where she had dropped it before dinner and flew to the dining room again, her one impulse to get to the side of the friend whose spirit had gone from her. going to silas, she clutched him by the arm with fingers that sank into the flesh like a vise. "take me to her!--take me now!" she cried, pushing him toward the door. "i'll take you, elizabeth," john hunter said, rising, and jake ransom saw the look of nameless horror she took on at thought of her husband's presence. "take me to her at once, mr. chamberlain. do, for god's sake, take me to her!" she cried, and pulled the old man through the door with nervous hands, and then ran down the path before him and began to pull at the straps with which the horses were tied. john followed them out, still protesting that he would take her himself if she would wait, but without a look in his direction she urged silas on. "hurry! hurry! do!" she implored, and silas gave the horses such a sharp slap with the lines that they started on a swift trot almost before they were seated, leaving john hunter in the midst of his expostulations. "i'll bring her back safe," silas called over his shoulder. now that no further action was possible, elizabeth sat with her hands clasped, her teeth set, and her eyes looking into vacancy, numbed beyond words, asking no questions and making no complaints. silas's heart beat with an anguish of sympathy. he stopped at his own house a moment to tell liza ann that he would come back for her within the hour, and still elizabeth gave no sign of realizing what was going on about her. at last a terrible thought took hold of silas, and he pulled up his team, which was sweating heavily. "you ain't fit t' go, lizzie. you ain't fit t' go, child. i'm goin' t' take you back home." he began to turn the horses' heads toward home, and then stopped for her wandering wits to gather. "why, oh, why don't you hurry?" elizabeth exclaimed when she realized that they were standing still. the old man's heart was torn with pity, and it was in the voice of a mother that he addressed her. "you ain't fit t' go," he repeated. "i'm going t' take you back home." there was a white look about her mouth that frightened him. the girl grasped his arm with fingers that closed with a grip like a drowning person. "i couldn't see her when she was living--surely i can see her dead." then with a wail, "oh, no--no, not dead! oh, my god!" she sobbed in a dry sort of way that contracted silas's throat to witness, and left the old man almost as undone as herself, and without further argument he drove on to nathan hornby's desolated home, where he lifted her tenderly down from the high seat, with a mist before his eyes that blurred her image till it was unrecognizable, and stood watching her go up the path. a woman met her at the door, but she did not know who, and brushed past her hurriedly and ran into the kitchen, where she could see nathan hornby sitting with his head on his arms beside the kitchen table. going down on her knees with a swift movement, elizabeth threw her arm across his shoulder, and laid her head beside his, sobbing convulsively. nathan raised his head in dull surprise, and seeing who it was, shook her arm off resentfully and rose to his feet. elizabeth crawled after him on her knees and clasped his own with both arms, turning her stricken face up to his and crying: "oh, i know! i know how you feel, but truly, truly, uncle nate, i am not to blame. for god's sake--for god's sake, forgive!" he looked down on her coldly and was tempted to spurn her from him with his foot, but there was such anguish in voice and eye as he himself had hardly felt, and his wife's words, her last words, flashed through his bewildered brain: "we can't tell what anybody has to contend with." he stood irresolute while she rose to her feet. when he did not answer her, elizabeth threw herself down in the chair from which he had just risen and bowing her head on the table moaned in such bitterness of spirit that nathan was moved to pity, and would have comforted her if he could. silas, having tied his team, came to the kitchen door, but on seeing its occupants turned hastily and went out to his wagon again, where he stood choking and swallowing in helpless misery. presently, nathan hornby, at a loss to check her grief, laid a hand on her shoulder and said: "come and see her, elizabeth." elizabeth hunter arose like one walking in her sleep and followed nathan to the sitting room. the black casket resting on two chairs in the middle of the room was a worse shock than any she had yet had, and with a horror-stricken cry of fright she fled to the kitchen again, and when nathan reached her side, her teeth were chattering and great beads of sweat covered her quivering face; she sank into nathan's chair unable to support herself. when at last she was assisted tenderly to her feet, she begged feebly to be taken home. "but you can't ride that far," silas protested, pityingly. "you just naturally can't ride that far in th' big wagon, child." for answer she dragged herself forward and staggered to the chair where they had put her bonnet. nathan saw that her strength was returning and gave silas a little nod. they each took an arm to steady her, and so elizabeth passed from the presence of her one dear friend into a life as colourless as the form she left behind. * * * * * "he's an awful sick child, mrs. hunter, but we may--i believe we will pull him through." it was thursday, and doctor morgan sat opposite elizabeth, holding the hand of the shadow of the baby of three days ago. "you see that milk has not agreed with him. mr. hunter says you took a drive over to hornby's the day of the funeral. the heat and excitement has been too much for you. you nursed him immediately on getting home?" "yes," she replied lifelessly. "well, we'll have to wean him now," the old doctor said, looking the unresponsive mother over sharply. "it won't do to try any experiments with him. your milk may be all right now, but he wouldn't stand a relapse." elizabeth made no reply and listened patiently to his directions for preparing the new food. after he was gone, she laid the shrunken little body on the bed and went to the kitchen to prepare the milk. she took up the new bottle with the rubber on the end and looked at it in stupefied, aimless disgust. her impulse was to fling it out of the open door, but remembering that she would but poison him by putting his lips to her own breast, she turned to the table and placing the bottle in a pan covered it with cold water and set it on the stove to come to a slow boil. going back to the bedroom she picked up the pillow--the child was so limp that they had to handle him on a pillow--and sat down, holding it close to her heart. john came in. she did not look up. he came over to her and stooped to look at the half-conscious child, who lay with half-open eyes and under jaw dropped down. there were deep greenish rings under those eyes, and a great sob broke from john hunter's throat. elizabeth stirred dully and looked up, but did not speak. there was that about her which made her unapproachable. she showed no resentment, no anger, no emotion of any sort. she had come home from nathan's house as she was now. she had refused to go to the funeral, but she had had supper ready when john and his mother had returned from the graveyard, and it had been as orderly and as well cooked as usual, but she had not talked at the meal, nor seemed to hear when she was spoken to, but there was evidently no pouting. john had tried to explain, and she had given silent opportunity, and when it had been finished had said, "yes," in a hollow voice, and had moved on about her work without looking up, but there had been no apparent resentment. before bedtime that night the baby (who had gone to sleep while she had nursed him when she had come home), awoke crying. she had taken him up and had offered her breast, but it had turned away as if sickened, and had continued to cry till, presently, it had doubled its little body together with a sharp scream and vomited till its breath was nearly gone. there had been a sour odour to the contents of its stomach that had struck terror to their hearts, and before morning doctor morgan was at its side. he had noted the leaden movements of the mother and calling john outside had questioned him regarding her. john, troubled at her indifference to him and the lifelessness of her attitude even toward the babe, had told him all he knew--as he understood it. "of course she boarded with them two years ago," he had said in concluding, "but i don't see that that needs to cut such a figure." "were your wife and mrs. hornby great friends?" doctor morgan asked, studying john hunter and puzzling over the evident mystery of the situation. "ye-e-s-s!" with perplexed deliberation; "that is, she liked her better than any of the rest of the neighbours around here. she wanted to go there last sunday and i thought the baby wasn't fit to take out. it looks now as if i was right." "well, she's had a shock of some kind, and if you don't look out she'll be down on our hands too. you'd better get a girl or let your mother do the work for a couple of weeks," doctor morgan advised. and john hunter had looked faithfully for some one to take his wife's place in the kitchen and had found what she had told him when hepsie left to be true. in many places where there was no excuse given and girls were at home he had met with a sort of refusal which stung him to the quick. elizabeth rocked the baby with a mechanical dead sort of care. john was emotional enough to be badly broken up by the child's looks, but elizabeth's unresponsiveness at such a time made of it a tragedy which he could not understand; he wanted greetings and discussion, and attentions showered upon him as usual, and they were not forthcoming. he could not understand what had brought this state of things to pass, but no more could he question one who was so evidently removed from present conditions. with a sense of forlornness he had never known, he fell on his knees by her side and laid his head against her arm, seeking comfort, and when she still did not speak, the fullness of his misery became apparent, and he got up unsteadily and left the house. slowly life and returning interest awakened in the child; still more slowly did the mother take up her threads in the web of living. the old routine was established, with a few exceptions. elizabeth arose early and prepared breakfast before sunrise as before, the washing and ironing were as well done, but when she prepared to clean the kitchen floor the first washday after aunt susan's death, she took the mop down from its nail on the back porch and used it as she had done that first winter. john and his mother came in with the clothes basket as she started to wring out the mop to wipe the first corner finished. "hadn't i better get down and scrub it for you with the brush?" john asked. "there will be no more of that in my kitchen," replied elizabeth, and she had quietly continued her work without looking up. "why not?" had been the astonished query. "we will not argue it," she had said in the same spiritless tone in which she always spoke those days, and had been so quietly determined that she got her way. john could not argue with a woman who was so unresistant of manner: to him, manner constituted argument. elizabeth went her own quiet way and took no part in the things that went on about her unless her services were required, then she served faithfully and uncomplainingly, but she held converse with no one in the happy way of old. thus summer passed, and autumn also. little jack walked now and was beginning to lisp an occasional word, making of himself a veritable fairy in the household. with the close of the warm weather he grew less and less fretful, and when the first snow fell he became as happy and active as a kitten. the mother had kept him with her every minute, and when her work had been done, which was seldom, was satisfied to rock him and listen to his baby chatter. elizabeth had not been angry in the whole six months, neither had she been glad. she never vexed john by asking to be taken places. gladly would he have taken her, if by so doing he could have brought back her old enthusiasm and girlish glee, for elizabeth had been the life of the household, and things had settled into a dead monotony that made of their home but a house since susan hornby's death. sometimes, vexed by her passive acceptation of whatever came, john would throw out stinging observations about women who made their husbands turn to others for their society, and then be left in an uncomfortable situation by the fact that he had aroused neither anger nor annoyance, for elizabeth would inquire in her lifeless tones what he wished her to do which was left undone. puzzled by her real meekness of spirit, the man was compelled to admit that she made no vexatious demands upon him and that she laboured unceasingly to keep the soulless home in order. one of the strange and contradictory things in the situation was that john hunter did not turn to the mother whom he had ever been ready to exalt for consolation in this time of trouble; the demand his feelings made was for the companionship which while it was his he had not desired. the revelation of the months showed him what he had lost. mrs. hunter was as much in the dark about the real cause of elizabeth's changed condition as was john. "the ride to mr. hornby's had something to do with it," she said dubiously when talking the matter over with her son after the baby began to get well and elizabeth showed no improvement in a mental way. "it comes from that ride in the hot sun. you see it made the baby sick too; but it ain't any use to say so to her," john replied, but in spite of the firmness of his tone there was a puzzled look on his face and the last word dragged with indecision. "she was very fond of mrs. hornby, too, and that may have had something to do with it," mrs. hunter observed. "ye-e-s-s-s!" john replied. "but she couldn't care for that kind of people enough to make herself sick about them," he said more firmly. mrs. hunter considered slowly for some moments. "i guess you're right," she said at last. "she seemed to be attached to them, but she don't ask to go to see him since his wife's death; and i should think now's when her love for them would show out." "i wish to god she would ask to go anywhere. i'm tired of the kind of life we're leading," john said in a manner which supported his words. the weariness of life was modified, or at least shifted from one shoulder to the other for john hunter by the increasing burden of financial worries. in this also he was denied any comfort or assistance from elizabeth; she asked no questions, and if he talked of notes which were falling due, or of interest soon to be paid, she listened without remark, and moved about her endless round of cleaning, cooking, or sewing apparently absorbed in the work in hand. if he complained about expenses, the only reply he received was for the food on the table to be of a plainer quality and a lessened grocery bill the next time he went to town. this he would not permit, being sensitive about the opinions of the men who worked for him. elizabeth never remarked upon the matter of keeping three men through the winter as she would have done a year ago when there was little to do which counted in farm affairs. she left her husband free to do as he chose on all those matters. she did not sulk; she had lost hope, she was temporarily beaten. in that first hour after her return from aunt susan's death chamber she had meditated flight. she longed to get away, to go anywhere where she would never see her husband's face again, but there was jack. jack belonged to his father as much as to her, and elizabeth was fair. besides, she was helpless about the support of the child. her health was quite seriously interfered with by the ache in her back which was always present since the baby's coming. she had told her mother but two short years before that she would not live with a man who would treat her as her father treated his wife, and here she found herself in those few months as enmeshed as her mother had ever been. aye! even more so. hers was a position even more to be feared, because it was more subtle, more intangible, more refined, and john's rule as determined and unyielding as that of josiah farnshaw. having failed to act in that first hour of her trouble, elizabeth drifted into inaction. even her thoughts moved slowly as she pondered on her situation; her thoughts moved slowly, but they moved constantly. under all that quiet of manner was a slow fire of reasoning which was working things out. gradually elizabeth was getting a view of the real trouble. two things absorbed her attention: one was the domination of men, and the other was the need of money adjustment. to live under the continual interference of a man who refused to listen to the story of one's needs was bad enough, but to live without an income while one had a small child was worse. she would leave this phase of her difficulties at times and wander back to the character of the treatment she received and compare it to that accorded to her mother. it occasioned great surprise to find herself admiring her father's manner more than that of her husband. mr. farnshaw had the virtue of frankness in his mastery, john used subterfuges; mr. farnshaw was openly brutal, john secretly heartless; her father was a domineering man, her husband even more determined, more inflexible. while considering the possibility of escape by running away, many things were clarified in elizabeth's mind regarding her position as a wife, and the position of all wives. she, for the first time, began to see the many whips which a determined husband had at his command, chief of which was the crippling processes of motherhood. she could not teach school--jack was too young; neither could she take any other work and keep the child with her. as she meditated upon the impossibility of the various kinds of work a woman could do, another phase of her situation arose before her: even if the baby were older, and a school easily obtained, the gossip that would follow a separation would be unendurable. having accumulated a reputation for snobbishness and aristocratic seclusion, people would not neglect so rare an opportunity to even old scores. she would be a grass widow, a subject for all the vulgar jest and loathsome wit of the community. country people know how to sting and annoy in a thousand ways. however, the possibility of this sort of retribution was put entirely away by the baby's illness. by the time jack had recovered, the young mother was worn to a lifeless machine, compelled to accept what came to her. her youth, her health, her strength were gone; worse than all that, her interest in things, in her own affairs even, had almost gone. john wandered about the house disconsolate and dissatisfied, and made amends in curious little ways, and from john's standpoint. he opened relations with elizabeth's family and insisted upon taking her home for a visit. elizabeth went with him, and accepted the more than half-willing recognition of her father, who wanted to get into communication with the baby. he was offering for sale a young team and john, thinking to do a magnanimous thing, bought patsie. elizabeth accepted the visit and the horse without emotions of any sort, and left her husband annoyed and her family floundering in perplexity at her passive attitude toward life. at home that night he said to her sneeringly: "no matter what a man does for you, you pout, and act as if you didn't like it. if i don't offer to take you you're mad, and if i do you set around and act as if you were bored to death by having to go. what th' devil's a man to do?" "i was perfectly willing to go," was the reply, and she went on dressing jack for bed without looking up. john cast a baffled look at her as she carried the child out of the room, and returned to his uncomfortable thoughts without trying to talk of anything else when she returned and sat down to sew. the sitting room in which they spent their evenings was in perfect order; the whole house was never so orderly, nor their table better served, but john pined for companionship. the work he had worn her out in doing was never better performed, but there was no love in the doing, and when he addressed her, though her answer was always ready and kind, there was no love in it, and he was learning that our equity in the life of another has fixed and unalterable lines of demarkation. thus matters progressed till february, when jake was called home to iowa by the death of his mother. jake had lived such a careless, happy-go-lucky sort of life that he was obliged to borrow a large part of his railroad fare from john hunter, who was himself so badly in debt that he was wondering how he was to meet the interest which would fall due in may. john gave him the money with the understanding that jake would come back in time for the early seeding, and prepared to take him into town. jake was the only man left on the farm, and there was consternation in john's heart at the prospect of having all the chores thrown upon his own shoulders in cold weather. jake had been the only reliable man he had ever been able to hire. the more independent sort of hired men resented john hunter's interference in the farm work, which they understood far better than he, and seldom stayed long, but jake ransom liked elizabeth, was close friends with luther hansen, and since he saw the mistress of the house drooping and discouraged, doubly appreciated the home into which he had fallen. jake had been devoted to elizabeth with a dog-like devotion since his first meeting with her in the little schoolhouse six years before. he was more than glad that he could secure his return to the hunter home by the simple method of borrowing money. more nearly than any one else in her whole circle of acquaintances, jake ransom had elizabeth's situation figured out. he wanted to come back to her service, and it was with a satisfied security that he helped prepare the bobsled for the trip to town. they went early and took mrs. hunter with them to do some shopping for herself and elizabeth. john hoped to find a man who could come back with them that afternoon and help with the work of watering and feeding the hundred and fifty head of cattle that made of their farm life a busy round of daily toil. chapter xv hugh noland doctor morgan folded his stethoscope and thrust it into his inner pocket. "your heart's been pounding like that for seven years, you say?" he asked of the man sitting before him. "seven years in may," was the brief answer. the patient got up from the office chair and adjusted his waistcoat. the waistcoat was ample and covered a broad chest. the face also was broad, with a square chin, and eyes set well apart. the man was twenty-eight or thirty years old and nearly six feet in height. "i know all you've got to tell me," he said, going to the mirror to brush his tumbled hair. "they sent me out to find a place on a farm because medicine wouldn't do anything for me. i'm tolerably comfortable if i don't overdo--that is, if i stay out of doors while i'm doing. i don't expect you to make a new man out of me; i only thought i'd have you look me over the first thing, because i might need you suddenly, and it's better for you to know what sort of patient you've got beforehand." he paused for an inspection of his well-groomed hands. "you may not need me for years," doctor morgan interrupted hastily. "that kind of a heart outlasts the other organs sometimes. the doctor twisted the heavy-linked watch chain which dangled from his vest pocket as if calling upon it for words. of course an out-of-doors life is best. what have you been doing of late?" he asked. "teaching in the old university since i got my degree, but they've sent me out like a broken-down fire horse. i'll get used to it," the young man said indifferently. he was accustomed to signs of hopelessness when his case was discussed, and was unmoved by them. "have you family ties?" the doctor asked. he liked the grit this man's manner indicated. "none that need to be counted," was the brief reply. the doctor noticed that his patient wasted no extra words in self-pity. "that's good! it lessens a man's worries. and--where are you staying, mr. noland?" "at the hotel, till i get a place on a farm. before i invest i'm going to get my bearings about farms, by working around till i get on to things. you don't know of a place where a man could work for his board for a month till the spring seeding and things come on do you?" he was pushing the cuticle back from his finger-nails as they talked, and doctor morgan smiled. "those hands don't look much like farm work," he said. the man laughed easily. "oh, that's habit. i'll get over it after a while." "you will if you work for these yahoos around here much. why don't you invest in land and have your own home right from the start? a man like you can't live in the kind of houses and do the kind of work you'll find in this country." "i wouldn't work for myself--i've nothing to work for. when you take away a man's chances to marry and live the normal life, you make a sluggard of him. i've got to have a partner, and have his interests to serve as well as my own, or i won't work, and in the meantime i want to look about a bit before i pick up some one to go into business with. i won't be long finding some one." "no whine in him," was the doctor's mental comment, but what he said was: "well, you'll find life about here a bit dull. come in, and make yourself at home in this office while you're in town, and i'll see what i can do about finding a place for you." after he had watched his patient swing off up the street he considered the case seriously. "college athletics do just about that sort of thing for a boy," he said aloud. "now i believe silas chamberlain would take him for his board, and there ain't any children there. children's the devil in a farmhouse: no manners, and they set right on top of you, and if you say anything the folks are hurt. he's a nice fellow, and i intend to hold on to him. it was like old times to talk for a while to a man that knows chemistry and things. i'll see more of him. i'm gettin' old altogether too fast in this blamed hole. i need some one to talk to that's more like a man ought to be." chapter xvi revivifying fires it was butchering day at silas chamberlain's and liza ann had the household astir early. luther hansen was master of ceremonies in the backyard, and relieved silas of the heavy lifting. it was a day for visiting and neighbourly activity as well as hard work. hugh noland had been sent to silas the week before by doctor morgan, and assisted in rolling the pork barrel from the cellar door to a convenient post near the out-of-door fire, where they sunk the bottom of it into the frozen earth and carefully tilted it to the proper angle for scalding purposes. "it's fifteen years since i've been at 'a killing,' and i feel as if i were ten years old again," noland said as he watched the hard earth give way under the mattock luther wielded. "go hunt a straw in that case, and i'll see that you get the bladder. shall i save you the pig's tail?" luther said as he settled the barrel into the cavity. they swung the great iron kettle over the pile of kindling and corncobs laid ready for lighting, and then carried water to fill it. as the last bucket was emptied into the kettle, luther turned and swung his cap at john hunter and jake, who were passing in the bobsled. "hunters," he explained. "have you met them yet?" "no," replied noland. "who are they? he drives a good team." "nearest neighbours on th' west over there," luther said, pointing to the roofs of the hunter place, plainly to be seen over the rise of land between. "they're th' folks for you t' know--th' only ones with book-learnin' around here. goin' t' stay with th' chamberlains long?" "no," replied the other, with a look of reticence; "that is, only for a time. he don't hire much, he tells me. i'm just helping him till he gets his fencing tightened up and this work done. why?" "well, i was just a thinkin' that that's th' place for you. hunter hires a lot of work done, and--and you'd like each other. you're th' same kind of folks. i wonder how he come t' be takin' 'is man along t' town with 'im? th' was a trunk in th' back of the sled too, but that may 'a' been for mrs. hunter. that was 'is mother with 'im." there was not much time to speculate about future work, there was much to be done in the present, and before noon five limp bodies had been dragged from the pens to the scalding barrel, plunged into the steaming water, turned, twisted, turned again, and after being churned back and forth till every inch of the black hides was ready to shed its coat of hair and scarf-skin, were drawn out upon the wheelbarrow. then a gambol-stick was thrust through the tendons of the hind legs and the hogs were suspended from a cross pole about six feet from the ground, where they hung while the great corn-knives scraped and scratched and scrubbed and scoured till the black bodies gradually lost their coating and became pink and tender looking and perfectly clean. they were then drawn and left to cool and stiffen. the sloppy, misty weather made the work hard because of the frozen earth under the melting snow, and the steaming, half foggy atmosphere was too warm for comfort of men working over an open fire and a steaming barrel of hot water, but by noon the butchering was finished. to the new man it was a journey back to childhood. how well he remembered the various features of preparation: the neighbours asked in to assist, the odours pleasant and unpleasant, the bustling about of his mother as she baked and boiled and stewed for the company, the magic circle about the pens from which he was excluded when the men went forth with the rifle, and the squeal which followed the rifle's crack, and the fear which gripped him when he thought the poor pig was hurt, but which was explained away by his father, who, proud of his marksmanship, assured him that "that pig never knew what hit it." in addition to the fact that the man had spent his childhood on a farm, he had the happy faculty of entering into the life of the people among whom he found himself. he entertained the little group at the dinner table that day with a description of his mother's soap-making, and discussed the best ways of preparing sausage for summer use as if he himself were a cook; and as luther listened he was convinced that the hunter home was the proper place for him to settle down. at two o'clock luther started home with some spareribs, wrapped in one of liza ann's clean towels, under his arm. it was early, but nothing more could be done at silas's house till the carcasses were cold enough to cut and trim, and, besides, there was an ominous looking bank of dull gray cloud in the northwest. luther swung along the road toward the west energetically. the wind gave a little twisting flurry, and dropped completely when he was about halfway between chamberlain's and the hunter place. a few minutes later there was a puff of wind from the opposite direction, succeeded by a feeling of chill. luther scanned the horizon and stepped faster. when the advance guard of fine snow began to sift down from the leaden sky above, he started to run. he had lived in the north, and knew the meaning of the rapidly darkening sky. the signs were unmistakable. presently the fine flakes began to rush along toward the south with greater force. the wind came on steadily now. luther looked about anxiously, making a note of the location of things. it was still a quarter of a mile to hunter's. as he peered ahead, wishing himself nearer protection, with a roar the blizzard fell upon him, blotting out the landscape before him as completely as if a curtain had fallen between. with all his might luther struggled forward. the wind came from the right side and almost carried him from his feet. he had been standing over a steaming kettle and scalding barrel most of the day, and the icy blast went through him, chilling his blood instantly. luther knew his danger. this was not a cyclone where men were carried away by the winds of summer; this was a winter's storm where men could freeze to death, and men froze quickly in blizzards. the driving particles of snow and ice made it impossible to look ahead. he shielded his face with his right arm, and tried, as he hurried forward, to keep in mind the exact direction of the hunter house. if he could only reach that he would be safe. the road was a new one, recently opened, and not well defined. it was almost at once obliterated. little needles of ice thrust themselves at him with stinging force, and he could not see; the blinding snow whirled and whistled about his feet, and in five minutes luther hansen realized that he had got out of the road. he stopped in alarm and, turning his back to the storm, tried to see about him. the gray wall of snow completely obscured every object from his sight. he had a sense of being the only thing alive in the universe; all else seemed to have been destroyed. his every nerve ached with the cold, but peer about as he would he could not possibly tell where he was. he remembered that there had been a cornfield on his right, and thought that he must have gone too far south, for he was certainly in the meadow now. the pressure of the wind, he reflected, would naturally carry him in that direction, so he faced around and started on, bearing stubbornly toward the north. every fibre in him shook; no cold he had ever felt in minnesota was equal to this; there was a quality in the pressure of this cold that was deadly. the wind pierced in spite of every kind of covering. real fear began to lay hold upon him. he stumbled easily; the action of his limbs began to give him alarm. the package of spareribs fell from under his arm, and he stooped to pick it up. as he bent over the wind caught him like a tumble-weed and threw him in a shivering heap on the ground. he had worn no mittens in the morning, and his hands stung as if tortured by the lashes of many whips. to ease their hurt he remained huddled together with his back to the wind while he breathed on his freezing fingers, but remembered that that was the surest way to add to the nip of the cold in a blast which condensed the breath from his mouth into icicles before it had time to get away from his moustache. staggering to his feet, he stumbled on toward the hunter house, trying as hard as his fast benumbing senses would permit to bear toward the wind and the cornfield at the right. he had not picked up the package--had forgotten it in fact--and now he tried to beat his freezing hands across his shoulders as he ran. the bitter wind could not be endured, and he crossed his hands, thrusting them into his sleeves, hoping to warm them somehow on his wrists; but with eyes uncovered he could not gauge his steps, and stumbled and fell. unable to get his hands out of his sleeves in time to protect himself, he tripped forward awkwardly and scratched his face on the cut stubs of the meadow-grass. evidently he had not reached the road as yet. he knew the road so well that he could have kept it with a bandage over his eyes but for the wind which thrust him uncertainly from his course. it was that which was defeating him. try as he would, he could not keep his attention fixed upon the necessity of staying near that cornfield. determined to find it before he proceeded farther toward the west, he faced the wind squarely, and, bracing his body firmly, hurried as fast as he could toward the stalkfield. after a time he seemed to wake up; he was not facing the wind, and he was aching miserably. luther hansen knew what that meant: he was freezing. already the lethargy of sleep weighted each dragging foot. he thought of the nest an old sow had been building in the pen next to the one where the killing had been done that day. with the instincts of her kind, the mother-pig had prepared for the storm by making a bed where it would be sheltered. luther's mind dwelt lingeringly upon its cozy arrangement; every atom of his body craved shelter. death by freezing faced him already, though he had been in the grip of the storm but one short quarter of an hour. he had lost consciousness of time: he only knew that he was freezing within sight of home. nothing but action could save him. nerving himself for another trial, the bewildered man turned toward the north and walked into the very teeth of the storm, searching for the lost trail. sometimes he thought his foot had found it; then it would be lost again. he wandered on hours, days, weeks--he wandered shivering over the meadow, the road, the state of kansas--over the whole globe and through all space, till at last a great wall shut off the offending wind, the roar of the planets lessened, and the numb and frozen man fell forward insensible, striking his head against a dark obstruction thrusting its shoulder through a bank of dirty gray snow. the sound of a heavy body falling on her doorstep brought elizabeth hunter to the door. she opened it cautiously. the snow swirled in as it was drawn back and the heated air of the sitting room rushed out, forming a cloud of steam which almost prevented her from seeing the helpless figure at her feet. she could not distinguish the features, but it was a man, and the significance of his presence was plain. seizing him about the body, elizabeth dragged him into the house, and shut the door behind him to keep out the blast. "luther hansen!" she exclaimed. finding that she could not arouse him, she pulled the relaxed and nerveless form to the lounge, but when she attempted to lift the limp figure to the couch she found it almost more than all her woman's strength could accomplish. luther stirred and muttered, but could not be awakened sufficiently to help himself, and it was only after some minutes and the putting forth of every ounce of strength that the girl had that he was at last stretched upon the lounge. elizabeth brought blankets to cover the shivering, muttering, delirious man, and having heard that the frost must be drawn gradually from frozen extremities, and being unable to get his hands and feet into cold water, she brought and wrapped wet towels about them, and chafed his frozen face. it was a long time before the white nose and cheeks began to show colour; then the ears became scarlet, and pain began to sting the man into consciousness. the chafing hurt, and luther fought off the hands that rubbed so tenderly. gradually luther hansen awoke to his surroundings. delirium and reality mixed helplessly for some moments. he remembered his struggles to reach the hunter house, but the gap in the train of his affairs made him suspect that this was a phase of delirium and that he was in reality freezing. he was stinging all over. he wanted to find out where he was, and tried to get upon his feet. "you are right here in my house, luther," elizabeth said, holding him on his pillow. luther relaxed and lay looking at her for some time before he asked: "how did i get here, lizzie?" "i don't know, luther," she replied. "i heard you fall on the doorstep. i never was so surprised. how did you come to be out--and without mittens too?" she removed the wet towel from one of his hands, and he drew it away with a groan. "i expect, lizzie, it's frozen. you better rub it with snow." the question of how he reached her house puzzled luther throughout the long afternoon and evening, while they listened to the roar of the wind and talked of the unsheltered cattle in the many kansas stalkfields. "the only thing that kept our cattle from being out of doors was the fact that jake had to go to iowa and john had to take him to town," elizabeth had said at one point. "has jake left for good?" luther asked hesitatingly. he knew john's unpopularity with the men who worked for him and was a little afraid to ask elizabeth, who might be sensitive about it. "no. jake has lost his mother, but he'll come back for the spring seeding. jake's a good man; he and john seem to get along pretty well." it was elizabeth's turn to speak hesitatingly. she did not know how much luther knew of john's affairs with his men, nor what opinion jake might have expressed to luther. "jake's a curious cub! he's been your dog, lizzie, ever since that school business. i've heard 'im tell it over twenty times." "i wish we could find another like him," elizabeth said wistfully. "john isn't able to take care of all this stock unless he gets a man in colebyville to-day, and--and if he did, the man, as likely as not, wouldn't stay more than a week or two." luther hansen looked up eagerly. "lizzie, i've found th' very man for you folks. he'll stay too. he's a fellow by th' name of noland--workin' for chamberlain, an' wants a job right soon--got a lot of book-learnin'--just your kind." "i'll have john see him when he gets home," elizabeth answered indifferently. "my! i wonder when they will be able to get back?" she added. "they wasn't through tradin' when this thing come on," luther replied. "anyhow, houses was too thick t' get lost th' first half of th' way. listen to that wind, though! i'm glad t' be here if i do look like a turkey gobbler with these ears," he laughed. it was so cold that elizabeth had built a roaring fire, and to keep the snow, which penetrated every crack, from sifting under the door, she laid old coats and carpets across the sill. she brought coal and cobs from the shed, stopping each trip to get warm, for even to go the twenty steps required to get to the cobhouse was to experience more cold than she had ever encountered in all the days when she had plowed through the snows of kansas winters while teaching; in fact, had the fuel been much farther from her door she would hardly have ventured out for it at all in a wind which drove one out of his course at every fresh step and so confused and blinded him that the points of the compass were a blank, and paths could not be located for the drifts, which ran in every direction the swirling wind chose to build them. she had gone around the shed to the back door, knowing that the front door being on the windward side could not be shut again if once opened, and the few extra steps necessary to creep around the building froze her to the bone, for the eddying wind had carried the snow deep at that point and, being enough sheltered to prevent packing, had left it a soft pile into which she sank almost to her waist. she was obliged to hunt for a shovel and clear the snow out of the doorway when she was through, and her hands were completely numbed when she reached the house after it was over. with the feeling that she might not be able to reach the shed at all in the morning, or that the doors might be drifted shut altogether, elizabeth had taken enough cobs and coal into the kitchen to half fill the room and was ready to withstand a siege of days, but she paid toll with aching hands and feet that frightened luther into a new realization of the nature of the storm. when at last the one fire elizabeth thought it wise to keep up was rebuilt and dry shoes had replaced the wet ones, she settled down beside the lounge, with her feet in another chair to keep them off the cold floor, and turned to luther expectantly. "this storm's awful, as you say," she said in reply to his observation that it might hold for days, "but i'm just so glad of a real chance for a visit with you that i'm quite willing to bring cobs and keep fires." "if that's true, why don't you come t' see us as you ought t', lizzie?" luther said, looking her searchingly in the eye. "i never meddle in other people's business, but you ain't th' stuck-up thing folks says you are. honest now, why don't you do as a neighbour should?" elizabeth hunter's face flushed crimson and she leaned forward to tuck the old coat, in which she had wrapped her feet, more closely about them while she took time to get herself ready to answer the paralyzing question. the longer she waited the harder it became to meet the kindly questioning eyes bent upon her, and the more embarrassing it became to answer at all. she fumbled and tucked and was almost at the point of tears when jack, who was asleep on a bed made on two chairs, began to fret. seizing the welcome means of escape, she got up and took the child, sitting down a little farther away from luther and hugging the baby as if he were a refuge from threatened harm. luther felt the distance between them, but decided to force the issue. he came about it from another quarter, but with inflexible determination. "i hope sadie got her kindling in before the storm began. it'll be awful cold in th' mornin', and--i do wish i could 'a' got home. sadie's fires always go out." "your cobs are closer to the house than mine; sadie 'll get along all right." "how do you know where our cobhouse is now, lizzie? you ain't seen it for over a year," luther observed quietly. and when elizabeth did not reply, said with his eyes fastened on jack's half-asleep face: "i wonder how janie is?" glad to talk of anything but herself and her own affairs, elizabeth answered with feverish readiness the last half of luther's observation. "you never told me what the baby's name was before. isn't it sweet?" "do you know, lizzie, that sadie 'd most made 'er mind up t' call it after you, if it was a girl, if you'd 'a' come t' be with 'er when it was born, as you said you would?" luther looked at her almost tenderly, and with a yearning beyond words. "after me? she didn't send for me when she was sick, luther." "no, but she would 'a', if you'd 'a' come as you ought t' 'a' done them months when she wasn't goin' out." he looked at her penetratingly. "i haven't been anywhere since aunt susan's death," elizabeth evaded, determined not to recognize his trend. "you could 'a' come before her death, there was plenty of time. now look here, i ain't goin' t' beat about th' bush. i'm talkin' square. you can't git away from me. you've had th' best chance a woman ever had t' help another woman, an' you didn't take it. sadie was that took by what you said about bein' glad for th' chance t' have your baby, an' th' idea of helpin' him t' have th' best disposition you could give 'im, that she didn't talk of nothin' else for weeks, an' she looked for you till she was sick, an' you never come. i want t' know why?" elizabeth hunter had come to the judgment-bar; she could not escape these cross-questions, neither could she answer. her face grew white as luther hansen looked searchingly into it, and her breath came hard and harder as he looked and waited. this chance to talk to luther was like wine to her hungry soul, but john hunter was her husband and she refused to accuse him even after the long months of despair she had suffered at his hands. luther let her gather herself for her reply, not adding a word to the demand for truth and friendship. how he trusted her in spite of it all! he watched her indecision change to indignation at his insistence, and he saw her head grow clear as she decided upon her course. "i will not discuss the past with you, luther," she said slowly, as one who comes to a conclusion as he proceeds. "i cannot tell you all the things which have led up to it. i am going to ask you not to mention it to me again, but i will try to do it better next time. i had no idea that sadie cared whether i came to see her or not; she had always seemed to dislike me." elizabeth added the last hesitatingly lest she hurt luther's feelings. "lizzie, i won't be put off. if you don't want t' tell me _why_ you've done as you have, i won't ask you t', but you've got t' let me talk t' you about it all th' same. i ain't a man t' let myself mix up in my neighbours' affairs, but, lizzie, you ought t' live up t' th' things god's put int' your power t' do. now, then, you let folks get a wrong idea of you. you've got more education 'n anybody else's got in this country, an' you've got more money, an' you've got more everything 'n th' rest of us, an' what's it been give t' you for if it ain't goin' t' come t' nothin'? here you've had th' best chance t' do somethin' for a neighbour woman a woman ever had: sadie's been that took with th' things you said about children that she was ready t' listen t' you on anything, an' you won't let 'er have a chance t' get at you at all--an' ain't she come out? you'd have t' live with 'er, lizzie, t' know what that little woman's done fur herself this last year--an' it was you that helped t' do it. honest, now, don't you see yourself that if you've had things give t' you that th' rest ain't had that you owe somethin' t' th' rest of us?" in all the weary discordant time when she had struggled for better conditions elizabeth hunter had never thought of anything in the situation but the bettering of her own surroundings. it had been the suffering of blind stupidity, of youth, of the human being too deeply submerged to think of aught but personal affairs. luther drew her attention to the main facts of her life, drawing her away from self. it was a simple occurrence, a simple subject, a simple question: it was in itself the reason for the perpetuation of their friendship. the winds blew, the snow found its way under door and sash and heaped itself in ridges across the floor, and in spite of the roaring fire they were not always warm, but throughout the night elizabeth sat beside her lifelong friend and drew in a revivifying fire which was to remould and make over a life which had almost flickered to a smouldering resentment and inactivity. chapter xvii adjusting domestic to social ideals the next morning the wind blew the fine snow in one vast driving cloud; it was impossible to see a hundred feet. elizabeth knew that the stock was suffering, but was almost certain that she could not reach them. it would not be hard to reach the barn, since the wind would be with her, but to return would be a different matter. to feel that she had done all that she could, she went as far as the gate, and when she could not see the house from that point was sufficiently warned and struggled back to safety. no sound but that of the storm came to her even at the gate, but she was certain that the famishing cattle were calling for food. her day was consumed in the care of luther's inflamed hands and feet. the only remedy she knew was wet cloths and she worked anxiously to reduce the swelling and congestion. about four o'clock the wind dropped. though the air was still full of fine snow, elizabeth wrapped herself in john's old overcoat and muffler, and putting a pair of jake's heavy mittens on her hands, and taking the milkpails on her arm to save a trip back for them, she went to the barn. the barn door stuck, with the snow which had collected in the runway, and she had to fumble for some time before it would come open. a perfect babel of voices greeted her. jake had left the south door of the barn ajar when he left that morning, and the eddying snow had banked itself along the entire centre of the building. patsie stood in the stall nearest the door, humped up with the cold, and with a layer of snow on her hips and spreading black tail. she turned sidewise and pawed furiously, giving shrill little whinnies as elizabeth seized a half-bushel measure and waded through the snow to the oats bin. "no, corn's better this cold weather," the girl said aloud, and hurried to the other bin. soon the horses were making noise enough to inflame the appetites of the other animals, who redoubled their cries. she investigated the pens and found the hogs in good condition, but the drifts so high as to make it possible for them to make neighbourly visits from pen to pen, and even into the cattle yard. it was a struggle to carry the heavy ear corn from the crib to the pens, but it was done, and then elizabeth turned her attention to the excited cattle. taking time to rest and get her breath, elizabeth noticed that a few of the hogs had not come to get their feed, and went to investigate the cause. they seemed to be fighting over some choice morsel on the far side of the cattle yard. at first she thought that it was one of their number that they were fighting about, but as she approached the knot, one of them ran off to one side dragging something, its head held high to avoid stepping on the grewsome thing it carried. one of the young cows had lost her calf in the freezing storm, and the hogs were fighting over its torn and mangled body. elizabeth sought out the little mother, and segregating her from the herd, drove her into the straw cow-stable, where she would be sheltered. the other milch cows had been left in their stalls by the men the day before, and snorted and tugged at their ropes as the newcomer appeared. elizabeth tied the heifer, and then shut the door after her and returned to the unprotected herd outside. the fodder was so full of snow that it was impossible for the girl to handle it at all, so she dug the ladder out of the snow and placed it against the long hayrick beside the fence and forked the hay over into the racks below. it required every ounce of strength she had to throw the hay clear of the stack and in line with the racks where the cattle could reach it, but the girl worked with a will, while the cattle fought for best places, or any place at all, and reached hungry tongues for the sweet hay. elizabeth worked with joy and energy. the mood of the storm was upon the girl. not before in all the months she had been married had she ever moved in perfect freedom in her native out-of-doors element. it was a gift of the gods and not to be despised or neglected, for to-morrow would come john--and prison bars. before she had begun, she faced the wind, and with bounding joy looked over the drifted fields toward the north and northeast. the air was clearing. the world looked different from this lofty position. she was elizabeth again, elizabeth transformed and made new. the lethargy of recent months had slipped away; something about the rush and motion of things in the last twenty-four hours inspired her; the fierce winds of yesterday and to-day stirred her spirit to do, to be in motion herself. they had communicated their energy, their life, their free and ungoverned humour. elizabeth's thoughts ran on as fast as her blood. she thought of luther, and of all he had said to her, of her neglected opportunities which he had pointed out to her, and wondered modestly if he were right, and then knew that he was. she thought of how she, the out-of-door prisoner of her father's home, had become the indoor prisoner of her husband's home. she had thought that to marry and escape her father's grasp was to possess herself; but elizabeth hunter saw that as a wife she was really much less free. she thought of the sacrifices she had made in the hope of securing harmony, and she thought of the futility of it all. she decided that if a woman were enslaved it was because she herself permitted it, that to yield where she should stand fast did not secure a man's love, it only secured his contempt and increased his demands. in the three years she had been married she had not been permitted an hour of real companionship until the accident of this storm had brought an old friend to her door and kept him there till she had had a chance to realize the mental depths to which she had fallen in her isolation. in all the time she had been married she had not thought of anything but the bare details of their daily life. a woman had to have the association of congenial people to keep her from falling into housekeeping dry-rot. for thirty-six hours she had possessed herself, and in that time she had renewed her youth and acquired a new outlook. as she stood looking across the fields, her eyes fell on nathan hornby's chimney. the wind had dropped so completely that the air had cleared of snow, and the curling smoke from a freshly built fire arose in the frosty air, sending a thrill of homesickness through her as she pictured the orderly kitchen in which that fire was built. was it orderly now that its guardian angel was gone? the hideous cruelty of a neglect which kept her from knowing whether it was well kept swept over her. once she would have spent herself in emotionalism and tears at remembrance of it, but elizabeth had advanced. "i'll go and see him to-morrow, or as soon as the roads are fit," was her resolve. "luther's right; he usually is." the cattle calling from below brought her back to the necessities of the hour. laying hold of the frosty pitchfork she renewed her attack upon the hay and continued till the racks were filled. by the time the ladder was put away again her hands were stinging till it was impossible to work, and she ran to the barn where she could put them against patsie's flank while she blew her warm breath upon them. patsie was ticklish, and twitched her loose hide nervously and gnawed at her feed-box with little squeals of excitement. the feed-box was of two-inch lumber instead of the usual sort. it was like all john did: so much attention put in one place there was no time for the rest; well done, but much left undone. everything about john's barn was orderly and well built. there had been a time when she had rejoiced at what seemed to be thrift, but to-day she saw it from a new angle; mr. farnshaw had wastefully let his machinery rot and his stock perish from cold, but here was wastefulness of another sort; elizabeth speculated on the cost of this barn and thought of the interest to be paid. on her way to the cow-stable where the little mother whose calf had fallen a victim to the cold awaited her, she thought of the toolroom where she had gone for her feed. a forty-dollar set of harness hung there: carter's harness had chains instead of leather tugs, and would outwear them several times over. it was an orderly toolroom: the bridles occupied a row over the collars, hames and back-bands came next, and on the other side of the room, on six-inch spikes, hung extra clevises, buckles, straps, and such materials as accidents to farm machinery required. john's mending was well provided for and well done. elizabeth would have loved just this sort of order if it had not been so costly. the little cow was so hungry that she hardly knew that she was giving her milk into a foreign receptacle till a voice at the stable door made her jump so violently that the pail was knocked over and elizabeth had to scramble hastily to avoid a similar fate. "well, now, there you be! gosh-a-livin's!----" silas chamberlain never finished that speech. the milk from the rolling pail spattered over his feet as he sprang to elizabeth's rescue. the little cow tore at the rope that held her, and every mate she had in the stable joined her in snorting and threatening to bolt over the mangers. the old man, "so-bossied," and vented all the soothing cattle talk he could command while he looked on in embarrassed confusion. "now ain't that jes' like me?" he queried in dismay. "look what i've gone an' done!" he picked up the empty pail and handed it to the man that was with him to keep it from being trampled upon by the plunging cows, while he tried to establish confidential relations with them. "never mind, mr. chamberlain. she's only a heifer and never milked before. she wouldn't have let me get that far without trouble, anyhow, if she hadn't been so hungry. the hogs killed her calf last night or this morning and i thought i'd milk her before i began on the rest. i don't suppose john can get home before to-morrow night, and the chores had to be done. here, there's an extra bucket or two. do you want to help milk? they'll quit fussing in a minute." "course i do. that's what noland an' i come for. this is mrs. hunter, noland," silas said, remembering formalities at the last moment. "we thought john wouldn't 'a' got back 'fore th' storm come on. now let's get this milkin' done 'fore dark or we'll be havin' t' ask for a lantern." "oh! mr. chamberlain, i forgot to tell you that luther hansen got caught in the storm and nearly froze," elizabeth said when they had settled themselves to the work. "he's at our house now; his feet and hands are awful. i think they're all right, but i wish we could get at doctor morgan." the old man nearly upset the milk a second time in his astonishment, and the milking was cut as short as could decently be done so as to get to the house. the early winter night had settled down and the sting of the cold was paralyzing as they hastened in. silas went straight to luther, and elizabeth and the new man brought a fresh supply of coal and cobs before they went in. they met silas coming out as they carried the last basketful from the shed. "i'm goin' right over t' tell sadie," he announced. "i brought noland over to help, but luther says you're goin' t' need 'im right along, an' i'll jes' leave 'im for good. you'll like each other an' he'll want t' stay as bad as you'll want 'im." silas had poured the whole arrangement out, and as it was about what was necessary it was accepted. the presence of a stranger necessitated more formal housekeeping, and when the new man came back from helping silas saddle patsie he found the kitchen in order and the savoury smell of fresh biscuits and ham. a small table was placed beside luther, and the ham and hot things had a seasoning of brilliant, intellectual conversation, for the man from college was adept at entertaining his fellow men and showed his best powers. elizabeth was too tired to stay awake long and she left him and luther chatting, after she had shown mr. noland where he was to sleep and had filled the cold bed with hot flatirons to take the chill from the icy sheets. however happy she may have been while feeding the stock, she had to acknowledge that the loss of sleep the night before and the unaccustomed use of the pitchfork had made of her bed a desirable place. she awoke when the stranger went up the stairs, but was asleep before his footsteps had reached the room above her. a tantalizing remembrance of his face disturbed her for a moment, but only for a moment, and then tired nature carried her back to the land of dreams. she had seen him somewhere, but where, she was too sleepy to think out. the next morning silas came with his bobsled and they helped luther into a chair and carried him in it to the sled and so to his home. john and his mother came a little after noon, and the girl watched to see how her husband would like the new man, half afraid that because she had secured him in john's absence that he would not like him, and she wished it might be possible to keep him with them. she need not have worried, for hugh noland had looked about the place and decided to make himself so necessary to its proprietor that his presence would be desired, and he had gifts which favoured him in that respect. besides, john had been unsuccessful in obtaining help and was overjoyed to come home and find the cattle fed and everything at the barn in good order. patsie and her mate were hitched to the lumber wagon and stood waiting in the lane when john came and jack was being wrapped in his warmest cloak. "where on earth are you going?" john asked in profound astonishment. "i told mr. noland to hitch up and take me to uncle nathan's, but now that you are here, you can go if you wish," elizabeth replied quietly. "i should have gone a long time ago. will you go along mother, or will you stay at home after climbing these drifts all day? i think now that you're at home we'll take the sled instead of the wagon. you won't mind making the change, will you?" she ended by addressing the new man, and it was all so naturally done that john hunter swallowed whatever was uncomfortable in it. he would not go himself, and elizabeth set off with the stranger, glad of the chance to do so. "i'll drive right home and help with things there. what time shall i come back for you?" noland asked as he set her on the ground as near nathan's doorstep as he could get the team to go. "not till after five. mother's there and i'll let her get your suppers, and i'll get mine here with uncle nate." it was such a perfectly normal arrangement that hugh noland did not guess that there was anything new in it. he drove away with a feeling of disappointment because he had been unable to draw her into conversation on the way over. she had proven herself a good conversationalist at meals and he looked forward to a time when he would be a permanent part of that household. luther and silas had been right. here was the partner he was looking for if he could only make himself appreciated. he had laid out every faculty and put it to the best use for that purpose and had been a bit disconcerted to have her suddenly become uncommunicative. nathan was at the barn; he saw them stop and recognized his visitor. "humph!" he snorted in disgust. however, a man could not leave a woman with a baby in her arms standing on his doorstep on a raw february day. "how do you do, uncle nate?" the girl said timidly as soon as he was near enough to accost. nathan's greeting was short and inhospitable. he did not offer to shake hands, nor pretend to see the hand she extended to him. instead, he opened the door and invited her gruffly to enter. closing the door behind them, he went to the stove and began to stir the fire industriously. elizabeth saw that she must have the difficulty over at once or her courage would wilt. setting jack on the floor, she went to nathan and put her hand on his arm detainingly. "you have fire enough, uncle nate. let me talk to you." "well?" he said briefly. the girl was staggered by the nature of her reception. it was worse than she had expected. luther hansen's estimate of the real situation had been only too right. she stood before nathan hornby trembling and disconcerted by the wall of his silence. the old kitchen clock ticked loudly, she could hear her own pulses, and the freshly stirred fire roared--roared in a rusty and unpolished stove. dust lay thick on the unswept floor. nathan needed her. she would win her way back to his heart. "uncle nate, i don't blame you one bit if you aren't nice to me. i haven't deserved it, but----" "i guess you needn't 'uncle nate' me any more," he said when she paused. his speech was bitter and full of animosity, but it was better than his compelling silence. "i don't blame you one bit for being mad at me----i should think you would be. i don't know what i'm going to say to you either, but i've come to beg your forgiveness," she stammered. nathan hornby did not speak, but waited coldly for her to continue. there was plainly no help offered her. "i--i can't explain, uncle nate--i am going to call you so--you--you shall not put me away. i have come for your forgiveness and--and i'm going to stay till i get it. i--i can't explain--there--there are things in life that we can't explain, but i'm innocent of this stuck-up business you think i've had. i--i've loved you and aunt susan. oh, uncle nate, i've loved her better than i ever did my own mother," she ended with a sob. there was the voice of honesty in what she said, but nathan remembered his wrongs. "if that's so, why didn't you come t' see 'er?" he said. "if you loved 'er, why'd you let 'er go down to 'er grave a pinin' for you? she looked for you till she was crazy 'most, an' she never got a decent word out of you, nor a decent visit neither. if you loved 'er, what'd you act that way for?" the memory of that last day, when his wife had yearned so pitifully for this girl, arose before him as he stood there, and shook his faith in the honesty of elizabeth's purposes in spite of the earnestness of her manner. "that is the one thing i cannot explain, uncle nate," elizabeth answered. "i--i was all ready to come that day and--and--then i couldn't." she buried her face in her hands at the memory of it and burst into tears. "is it true that hunter won't take you anywhere?" he asked pointedly. "you have been listening to the cranes," she answered. "i've been listenin' t' more'n them," he said with the fixed purpose of drawing her out on the subject. "i've been listenin' t' some as says you're too high and mighty t' associate with th' likes of us--an' i've heard it said that your husband won't take you nowhere. now i just naturally know that a man can't shut a woman up in this american country, so's she can't go anywhere she wants t', if she wants t' bad enough; an' i remember how hunter was 'fore 'e married you; 'e was always on th' go--an' there's a nigger in th' woodpile somewheres." elizabeth was for the moment staggered. what he said was so true. and yet, how untrue! it was hard to think with the eye of suspicion on her. appearances were against her, but she was determined not to discuss the privacies of her married life. she paused and looked nathan squarely in the face till she could control her reasoning faculties. "that is neither here nor there," she said quite firmly at last. "i shall not defend myself to you, uncle nate, nor explain away bad reports. it would not help me and it would not help you. what i am here for is to offer you my love _now_. what i want you to believe is that i mean it, that i've wanted to come, that i'm here because i want to be here, and that i never mean to neglect you again. i--i couldn't come to see her--but, oh, uncle nate, mayn't i come to see you? i can't tell you all the little ins and outs of why i haven't come before, but you must believe me." elizabeth ended imploringly. the man was softened by her evident sincerity in spite of himself, and yet his wound was of long standing, his belief in her honesty shaken, his beloved wife in her grave, assisted to her final stroke by this girl's neglect, and he could not lay his bitterness aside easily. he did not speak. the silence which followed was broken only by the ticking of the old-fashioned seth thomas clock and the roar of the fire. elizabeth looked around the familiar room in her dilemma, entangled in the mesh of her loyalty to her husband's dubious and misleading actions. nearly every article in that room was associated with some tender recollection in the girl's mind. not even the perplexity of the moment could entirely shut out the reminiscent side of the occasion. the bread-board, dusty and unused, leaned against the flour barrel, the little line above it where the dishtowels should hang sagged under the weight of a bridle hung there to warm the frosty bit, the rocking chair, mended with broom wire after the cyclone, and on its back aunt susan's chambray sunbonnet where it had fallen from its nail: all familiar. with a little cry elizabeth fell on her knees by nathan hornby's side. "oh, uncle nate! you can't tell what others have to contend with, and--and you must not even ask, but----" she could not proceed for sobs. nathan hornby's own face twitched and trembled with emotion. the girl had unconsciously used susan's own last words. his heart was touched. susan's great love for elizabeth pleaded for her. "can't i come, uncle nate? won't you be friends with me?" and nathan hornby, who wanted her friendship, answered reluctantly: "yes-s-s--come along if you want t'. you won't find it a very cheerful place t' come to, but she'd be glad t' know you're here, i guess." jack, sitting in his shawls and wraps on the floor, began to cry. he had been neglected long enough. his mother got suddenly to her feet. both stooped to take the baby. elizabeth resigned him to nathan, instinctively realizing that jack was a good advocate in her favour if nathan still retained fragments of his grievances. she let the old man retain him on his lap while she busied herself about him unpinning his shawls. it was home-like and companionable to have a woman and baby in the house, and nathan hornby had been lonesome a long time. he clucked to the baby and began to trot him up and down on his knee. with a relieved sigh elizabeth dropped into a chair and watched them. jack, unaccustomed to whiskers, put his hand out to investigate. nathan waggled his chin to shake its pendant brush, and jack started nervously. nathan looked across at elizabeth and laughed. that little laugh did a world of good in aiding elizabeth's plans. it was not possible for nathan to catch her eye in good-natured raillery and remain cool of manner; that laugh and the glance that went with it did much to wash away his hurt. in his secret soul nathan had craved elizabeth's love and elizabeth's baby. she had been like a daughter in the house. he had missed her almost as much as his wife had done, but he had resented her long absence. he had come to the house determined not to forget his wrongs, and here he was, in less than fifteen minutes, smiling at her over the head of the baby in friendly amusement. he was puzzled now at the readiness with which he had given in, but nathan found his love stronger than his grievances. "take off your things, lizzie; th' house's yours if you--if you really want it to be." elizabeth took off her wraps and prepared to begin work on the disorderly kitchen. aunt susan's limp apron hung on the nail from which the bonnet had fallen, and she put it on, looking about her, undecided where it was best to commence. "i've come to help--where shall i begin?" she said. "if i could tell you what t' do i could 'a' done it myself," nathan said ruefully. elizabeth thought of the orderly wife who was gone and a sob arose in her throat. "oh, uncle nate! you don't know how i miss her sometimes." and nathan hornby replied sadly: "i kind a think maybe i do." * * * * * the night was cloudy and the long diagonal drifts made it hard to drive after dark. the chores had kept noland later than he had thought and it was dusk when he arrived at nathan's for elizabeth. hugh noland had been spending the afternoon with john hunter about the barn, measuring him and talking of farm prospects. here was the place for him to settle down, if he could arrange for a partnership. he was so much convinced of this that he was endeavouring to make the alliances of friendship before he led up to the more serious one. it had baffled him to have elizabeth answer in monosyllables both going to mr. hornby's and again during their return; he wanted to talk. her home was the first farmhouse he had ever entered that he felt could be home to him; its evidences of culture and refinement had made as lasting an impression upon hugh noland as that same home had done upon elizabeth when john hunter had taken her to see his mother in it. it was an oasis in the rural desert. he meant to exert every effort to establish himself in it. when elizabeth did not respond to his attempts at conversation, he fell back upon the analysis of herself and her husband which had been going on in his mind all day. they were evidently not people who felt above their neighbours on account of their superior education, for she had gone to spend a whole afternoon with that plain old farmer and she had shown the liveliest interest, even friendship, for the swede on the other side of the farm. he liked them the better for that. if a man or woman lived in a community he or she should be a part of that community. hugh noland never doubted that the friendly interest he had witnessed was the regularly established course of action and that it was mutual in the household. coming into the household at this transition point, he was to make many such mistakes in his estimates. john hunter was at the side gate to assist his wife and baby out of the sled. he left elizabeth to carry jack to the house and went to the barn to help noland put the team away. this man, who took milking as a lark, and all farm work as a thing to be desired, and yet was a gentleman, was to john hunter, who scorned these things as beneath himself, an anomaly. it had never occurred to john that labour of that sort could have dignity, nor that a man could choose it as a livelihood unless driven to it. it had never occurred to him that if driven to it one should enter into it as a real participant. to him it was a thing to endure for a time and never refer to after it could be put behind him. the beauty of the dawn, the pleasant odours of new-mown hay, the freshness of the crisp air, the association with the living creatures about him, the joys of a clean life, all escaped him. hugh noland had enumerated these things, and many more, while they had worked together that afternoon, and john hunter accepted the enumeration, not because it was fundamentally true, but because it was the estimate of a cultured and well-educated man. john hunter had been vexed at elizabeth for the sangfroid with which she had walked away from established custom in ordering the team prepared for her to be taken to nathan's, but with noland present he had accepted it without remark. here was a man before whom john would always, but instinctively rather than premeditatively, endeavour to show his best side. hugh noland went to the house with john, talking farm work and prices of produce as if they were matters of pleasant as well as necessary importance, and he set john to talking in his best vein and without superciliousness; he had the faculty of bringing out the best in the people he met. he brought some of his books--he had stopped at the chamberlain homestead for his trunk on their return that evening--and added them to those already on the hunter shelves. while arranging them, he sat on the floor before the bookcase and glancing over the titles of those belonging to the family, opened an occasional one and read aloud a verse or a paragraph or two. he read with zest and enthusiasm. he was fresh from the world of lectures and theatres, and the social life of the city, and became a rejuvenating leaven for this entire household. * * * * * luther was on elizabeth's mind when she awakened the next morning, and as soon as the breakfast work was finished and she had time to get the house in order, she decided to move from her new standpoint and go to see him. to this end she asked mrs. hunter to keep jack while she was gone, and to the older woman's objections that she should let the men hitch up the sled and drive her over she answered firmly: "i don't want a word said about it. i will go whenever i please without arguing it with anybody." in her secret soul she was glad to get past the barn without john seeing her. she would not have permitted him to stop her, or delay her visit, but a discussion with her husband was apt to hold surprises and she to become confused and angry, and worsted in the _manner_ of her insistence. to get away without having to explain put her in good spirits. the sun shone brightly and the air, though snappy and cold, was brisk and fresh. it was the first free walk of a mile elizabeth had ever taken since her marriage. elizabeth was herself again. she skirted around the long drifts as she crossed the field humming a snatch of tune with all her blood atingle with the delight of being alone in the vast silent fields. the mere passing of time since aunt susan's death had gradually worked a change in her condition, which luther's presence and the stimulating quality of his words, john's absence, the intoxication of the wild and unfettered storm, the visit to nathan hornby's, and the invigorating personality of hugh noland had combined to rejuvenate in the crushed and beaten girl. life held meanings to which she had long been blind. elizabeth set about the reorganizing of her life with no bitterness toward john, only glad to have found herself, with duty to herself as well as others still possible. sadie hansen met elizabeth at the door with such evident uneasiness that elizabeth was moved to ask: "luther's all right, sadie?" "yes-s-s!" sadie replied slowly, and with such reluctance that elizabeth was puzzled. sadie took her to the bedroom and shut the door behind her as tight as if she hoped to shut out some evil spirit in the action. her manner filled elizabeth with curiosity, but she crossed to luther and held out her hand. "before you 'uns begin," sadie said with the air of burning her bridges behind her, and before any one had had a chance to speak, "i want t' tell you something. i could 'a' told it in th' kitchen," she stammered, "but i made up my mind last night that i'd have it out with both of you. i've done you th' meanest trick, lizzie. luther said you was goin' t' hornby's yesterday. did you go?" elizabeth, standing at the head of luther's bed, nodded in her surprise, feeling that her visit with nathan was not a subject to which she could lend words. "now look here, lizzie, if what i said t' th' hornbys has made any difference, i'll go t' him an' take it back right before your face." elizabeth's eyes opened in astonishment. "uncle nate did not mention it to me," elizabeth replied. "well, i've made up my mind i want t' tell it, an' have it off my mind." sadie considered a moment and then plunged into her tale hurriedly, for fear that her courage would cease to support her. "well, when i was to your house last summer, an' you told me about th' effect it had on a baby t' have a mother that never got mad, i come home an' tried t' do everything i thought you meant an'--seems t' me i never was s' mean in my life. mean feelin' i mean. i got along pretty well at first--i guess it was somethin' new--? but th' nearer i got t' th' time, th' worse i got. i scolded luther hansen till i know he wished he'd never been born. th' worst of it was that i'd told 'im how--what a difference it made, and he was that anxious----?" luther raised his hand to protest, but sadie waved him aside and continued: "oh, you needn't defend me, luther!" she exclaimed. "i've been meaner 'n you know of." turning to elizabeth again, "i used t' look over t' your house an' feel--an' feel 's if i could only see you an' talk a while, i'd git over wantin' t' be s' mean, but you wouldn't never come t' see us--an'--an' i didn't feel's if--i didn't feel free t' go any more, 'cause ma said you didn't want t' be sociable with our kind of folks." sadie paused a moment to crease the hem of her apron and get the twitching out of the corners of her distressed mouth. "well, at last, when you didn't come, an' i couldn't git no help from no one, i just said every mean thing i could. i told hornby a week 'fore his wife died that you said you didn't want t' change visits with us country jakes, 'cause you wanted your boy t' be different from th' likes of us. ma'd heard that somewhere, but i told it t' 'im 's if you'd said it t' me. sue hornby put 'er hand on my arm an' said, so kind like, 'sadie, ain't you 'fraid t' talk that way an' you in that fix?' an' i just cried an' cried, an' couldn't even tell 'er i'd tried t' do different." luther hansen had been trying to interrupt the flow of his wife's confession, and broke in at this point by saying: "sadie's nervous an' upset over----" "no, i ain't," sadie replied hastily. "i've been as mean as mud, an' here she's took care of you, an' i've gone an' got hornby mad at 'er. he believed what i told, if 'is wife didn't. they say, lizzie, that 'e lives there all by 'iself an'----" sadie choked, and waited for elizabeth to speak. "i guess you've worried about nothing," elizabeth said brightly. "i've been to see him, and we're good friends--the best kind in fact, and no one could ever make us anything else hereafter." she looked down at luther and smiled. "will it make any difference with my baby?" sadie asked anxiously, her mind working like a treadmill in its own little round. "no, sadie--that is, i guess not. i've been thinking, as i listened to you, that the way you tried would have to count--it's bigger than anything else you've done." sadie hansen dropped into a chair sobbing hysterically. elizabeth's hand went to the girl's shoulder comfortingly. "god does not ask that we succeed, sadie; he asks that we try." * * * * * elizabeth was back in her own kitchen in time to get dinner. john had seen her as she came home, but made no remark. at the end of three weeks there was a consultation between hugh noland and john regarding a possible partnership. not only did noland like john hunter, but he was delighted with the atmosphere with which he found him surrounded. "this is a home," had been hugh's secret analysis of the household. in fact the home was the main feature of the hunter farm, the main reason for wishing to stay. to john the offer of partnership was a blessing from heaven itself. the matter of interest was pressing on him far more than he had acknowledged to elizabeth. it galled him to discuss things with her since she had ceased to ask about them or even to show any concern. he did not realize that she had been compelled to consider the matter hopeless. it was agreed that hugh should lift the indebtedness and have one half interest in the concern, land and stock. there would be about five hundred dollars left over after all the debts were paid, and john gleefully decided to buy some more calves with the residue. "but we shall need every cent of that for running expenses this summer," noland objected. "oh, well, if we do, we can always get money on sixty or ninety day loans," john replied easily. "i'd rather not go into debt, with my health," the new partner said decidedly. he happened to look across at elizabeth and caught the alert sign of approval in her face. he had heard silas and some others discuss the hunter mortgages, but here was a still more significant evidence. elizabeth had not signalled him, but the look told the story; in fact, it told more than the girl had intended. "i should consider it a necessary condition of any business i went into," he added steadily. "i am an uncertain quantity, as i have told you, with this heart, and i could not be worried with debts." elizabeth did not look at him this time, but he saw the look of satisfaction and heard her indrawn breath. and now the really lovable side of hugh noland began to show out. feeling now that he was a real member of the family, he began to give himself to its pleasing features. the evening's reading became a thing to which the whole group looked forward. the flow of companionship exceeded anything any member of the family had ever anticipated. jake arrived in time for the spring work, as he had agreed, and was astonished by every feature of the family life which he saw about him. elizabeth was cheerful, even happy, while john hunter was another man. jake figured out the changes about him wistfully, craving a part in the good-fellowship. here was contentment such as jake had never witnessed. not a trace of the old tragic conditions seemed to remain. jake had missed the key to the situation by his absence at the time of the blizzard, but he was keenly aware that some change had been wrought. he studied hugh noland and was even more enthusiastic about his personality and powers than the family. all called the new man by his given name, a sure sign of their affection. elizabeth had worked a radical change in her life. jake watched her come and go without remark from her husband, give her orders to hugh to hitch up for her if she chose to drive, or if she walked, going without permission, and was almost as pleased as she. he saw that she had learned to keep her own counsel and not to speak of her plans till the time for action had arrived. he felt a something new in her. elizabeth had, in fact, learned that while openness was a point of character, nevertheless, if she dealt openly with her husband it led to quarrelsome discussions. she saw that john did not know why he opposed her, that it was instinctive. as she studied him, however, she found how widely separated they were in spirit. the calm which jake saw, was all there, but there were other things fully as vital which had not been there before. the self-questioning of those months previous to aunt susan's death had been productive of results. while a certain openness of attitude had disappeared, there was the strength which has all the difference between deceit and reserve in elizabeth hunter's face. chapter xviii the child of her body in the spring elizabeth's affairs, which had promised to straighten out, were complicated from a new quarter. she was now to test her strength against the greatest of all problems for women and to find out if she could put her precepts into practice. the probability of a second child had become a certainty; the necessity of adjusting her good-will to accidental child-bearing was upon her. often and often her words to sadie--"i always wanted my baby"--rose up to accuse her. only of late had suspicion become a certainty. elizabeth did not greet that certainty with joy. life was hard; she had more work to do already than she was able to perform; try as she would she could not get her mental consent. why must she have this undesired child? when the thought first wormed its way into her head, elizabeth passed from disappointment to self-accusation. by every law of god and man a mother should want her child; if she did not, then she stood accused at nature's bar. "for its sake i've got to want it; i'll make myself," she decided. but she did not want it, and found to her growing dismay that she could not make herself satisfied about it. instead of becoming reconciled, the question enlarged and grew and gained in point and force. the girl decided that she would be glad in spite of every opposing thing, but her resolution was formed with tears in her heart, if not in her eyes, and the weary ache in her back never ceased. "it must not be so. my child must be welcome!" elizabeth told herself each morning, but she was too tired; it was not welcome, and all her efforts failed to make it so. john was vexed when he found her in tears. "the idea!" he exclaimed. "now if we were too poor to feed and clothe it there'd be some excuse, but----" he made his pause as expressive as he could. "it isn't that. i--i'm so tired and--i ought to be glad--and--and i'm not," she began. "well, i suppose with mother gone"--mrs. hunter had returned to her old home on a visit--"you _have_ got a good deal to look after, but i've got to get to the field now. you're always raking something up that looks wrong to you. if you'd stick to your work and not run around looking for trouble you'd be able to want it, maybe." the force of her husband's suggestion struck the girl. perhaps it was true that she had missed the very highest for herself in loving ease and comfort enough to seek them. to put discontent away from her and to keep her thoughts occupied she began the spring housecleaning. there was so much regular cooking and milk work that only one room could be attacked at a time, but she kept busy, and the plan worked admirably during the day. she was not sleeping well, however, and found that nights have a power all their own. when the lights went out, thought held the girl in its relentless grip. it was of no use to lengthen her working hours in the hope that sleep would come more promptly, for the more exhausted elizabeth became the less able was she to sleep, and thought stared at her out of the darkness with eyes like living coals. wherever elizabeth turned this monster confronted her, this monster whose tail was a question mark, whose body obscured everything on the horizon of the immediate future except its own repulsive presence, and threw her back upon the suffering present and the much to be deplored past. was it right to permit a child to come when joy had gone out of relations between its parents? this question grew and ripened and spread, and whenever she summoned up enough will-power to weed it out for an hour it would spring up anew, refreshed and more tenacious than ever. "whether it's right or not for john and me to have a child after we've quit loving each other, if i can only be glad it's coming, or even be willing to have it, i won't mind, now," she told herself. but she was not glad, and she was not even willing. she dragged herself about, keeping busy day after day as her husband had advised; it was her only refuge, and one which could not avail very long, for already she was worn out. on the last day of the cleaning, hugh noland came to the door of her room and speaking from the outside said: "i came in to see if i couldn't help you a little in getting ready for those shellers, mrs. hunter." hugh had noticed her weary look of late, and, as all the men about the house did, tried to help whenever there was time to be spared from the fields or when extra work was required of her. "shellers?" elizabeth backed out of the closet she was cleaning, and came around to the door. "shellers? are we going to have shellers?" "to-morrow," he said in surprise. in spite of her exclamation of astonishment elizabeth noted a familiar look on hugh noland's face which had something in it that always caught her attention. always when an unexpected thing came upon hugh, elizabeth had a sense of having had past relations with him. "you don't tell me you didn't know?" "i surely didn't. when did john go to see the men about it? why, i haven't even bread baked!" she exclaimed. "that's funny! well--i suppose he forgot to tell you. the men passed here before dinner and he went out to the road and engaged them. we've got a little corn left over, and prices seem to be up this week." "well, it's only one of many things," she said, trying to smile. her eyes wandered over the disordered bedroom as she considered. clothing, boots, shoes, and other articles of apparel lay scattered over the bed. her orderly soul could not leave them without finishing. "i'll tell you what you do--i'll straighten up here. you go over to uncle nate's and get me some yeast. i'll have to bake. i made him some yeast the last time i made for myself, and he'll have some left. it's been too damp and cloudy to make any of late. then i'll see what you can do," she said wearily. "i surely will need help if i've got to have a dozen extra men without notice. i suppose john forgot. he's usually thoughtful about the cooking for strange men." something in the hurt, weary look of her went to hugh noland's heart. "i'll run over to hornby's and back in half an hour unless he's at the far side of the field. anyhow, i'll get back the very first minute i can. i have to start to mitchell county to-morrow, early in the morning, so i won't have any time to do anything except to-night. i can kill the chickens for you, and bring things up out of the cellar. what on earth made anybody put a cave as far from the kitchen door as that for is more than i can see," he said, taking vengeance on the first unpleasant feature of her circumstances that presented itself. hugh did not at all understand why she was sick and unequal to the demands made upon her strength, but he did see that she was so, and that her tired young face wore a discouraged expression. "i'll take jack with me; that'll help some," he said as an afterthought. "if you would----" the relief in her voice told the strain it was upon her to work and watch the toddling child. "i'll tell you--hurry back and tack this carpet down for me. i'll have the room and closet straightened up so that you can do it by then." she wiped jack's dirty face with the end of a towel she thrust into the water pitcher on the washstand and sent him off with a kiss to the welcome ride. as she worked after they were gone, she ran over in her mind the supplies on hand for the feeding of fifteen men on such short notice. threshing and corn-shelling meant hard work to the men who followed the business, but it meant feasting and festivity as well, and it was with the prospect of much cooking on the morrow that elizabeth furrowed her forehead, and hurried with the replacing of the contents of the closet. there was a sponge to be set to-night and bread to bake to-morrow; there was a cake to be baked, beans picked over and set to soak, and dried fruit to stew; also, and what was more annoying, she had let the churning run over for twenty-four hours in order to finish her cleaning. "if i can't get around to that churning, i'll just let it go if it does sour," she decided at last. when hugh came back she set him to work at the carpet and went to the kitchen to look after things there. nathan had offered to keep jack when he heard of the unexpected work his mother was going to have thrust upon her, and hugh, remembering elizabeth's relieved expression when he had offered to bring the child, was only too glad to leave him in such good hands. "how long is that child going to stay at hornby's?" john demanded the next morning. he set the heavy cream jar on the table and faced elizabeth, who was kneading the bread on the big bread-board which rested on the top of the flour barrel. "i don't know--till uncle nate gets time to bring him home to-day, i suppose." elizabeth did not look up. "well, i don't want this thing to happen again. a child that age has no business away from home. what was your idea, anyhow?" "ask hugh. i didn't have anything to do with it. i didn't even know it till he got back. he knew you had engaged the shellers without giving me any notice, and he knew i had too much for any woman to do. uncle nate knew it too. go on, and don't bother me this morning; i'm so tired i can't talk about it, anyhow." john hunter was instantly apologetic. "oh, well, if hugh did it i suppose he meant well. he got off all right. i look for some results with that mitchell county land if he goes into it right. i'll send the cattle down as soon as he has time to get the fences in line and a man to look after them. i brought this cream up; it won't keep any longer." john lifted the lid of the cream jar and sniffed with disapproval. "i'll just put it into the churn for you." "oh, dear! what did you bring it up for to-day? i can't churn with all i've got to do. take it back." "it won't keep!" "well--i can't churn, and i won't, so there! i've got all i can do to-day. i should not have let it go, but the cleaning dragged so; besides, i didn't know i was going to have all these men to-day and i thought i could get it done. take it back. i can't have the churn around in the way to-day. i've never let a churning go to waste in my life, but if this gets too sour it won't cost any more than to have hired a girl to help with the work this week. go on, and take it to the cellar and let me alone." elizabeth turned her back to show him that the argument was over, and did not see that he went out without it, leaving it on the back of the one small kitchen table she had. the pies she had just finished baking were ready to be taken from the oven, and when she turned to put them on the table she was confronted by the cream jar. the table was not large and she must have room for the food to be cooked that day, so elizabeth lifted the heavy jar from the table and, after the pies were out, brought the churn. she could not carry it to the cellar again and there was no other way. the sour cream refused to yield, and the girl churned on and on while she watched the dinner cook. the dinner boiled and bubbled, and the stove was working as actively in the kitchen as the corn-sheller was doing in the barnyard, when nathan set jack in the doorway and followed him in. nathan sniffed appreciatively. "smells pretty good in here," he said, and then surveying the room in surprise added, "what on earth be you churnin' for? ain't you got enough t' do, child?" elizabeth stooped to gather jack into her arms and made no reply. "it's as hot as th' devil in here," nathan said, taking his coat off. "here let me have a turn at that churn. you ought t' be in bed. that's where sue'd put you if she was here." he took the dasher into his own hand and began a brave onslaught on the over-sour cream. the butter gave signs of coming, but would not gather. he churned, and the sweat of his brow had to be wiped frequently to keep it from where he would literally have it to eat; it ran down inside his prickly blue flannel shirt, it stood out on his hair, hands and arms like dew on the morning grass, and the old man looked out to the wheezing corn-sheller and envied the men working in the cool breeze where life and courage could be sustained while one laboured. "i wouldn't be a woman for fifty dollars a day," he announced with grim conviction. "it'd make a devil out of anybody t' work in this hell-hole. no wonder you're s' peeked, child." * * * * * john came back to the house almost immediately after leaving it to go to work in the afternoon. "you'll have to bake more pies, elizabeth. the men have been put back by a breakdown. they won't be able to get through before five or half-past," he said, coming into the kitchen to investigate the larder. "they can't?" elizabeth exclaimed, longing for the rest she had planned to get after the dinner work was finished. "no. it's too bad, but it can't be helped. now you get the oven going and i'll come in and help you about beating the eggs. you'll have to make custard pie, i guess, for there ain't enough fruit to make any more. hurry, and i'll be in in a few minutes." "i'm not going to make any more pies to-day," elizabeth replied. "you'll have to. men like pies better than anything you could put on the table. how are you off for meat? have you chicken enough left or shall i bring up a ham?" elizabeth faced this second meal with a dread she could not have expressed; she was so tired that she could scarcely stand; her back ached, and there was a strange pain pulling at her vitals. "i'll attend to the supper. go right on out of here. i am not going to bake any more pies. you crowded that churning on me this morning and you'd make my work double what it ought to be if i let you help. go on!" john brushed past her and lifted the bread-box. the fierce heat of the cook stove, the pain in her back, the certain knowledge of suggestions to come, broke down the poise the girl was trying to maintain. "i don't want any remarks about that bread-box! i've got sense enough to get supper. go on out to your own work and let me attend to mine." john hunter stepped back in astonishment. he had been sympathetic, and had really wanted to be helpful. he was insulted and struck an attitude intended to convey the fact, but his wife closed the oven door with a bang and left the room without looking at him. john punished his wife that night by letting her wash the supper dishes alone. the next morning john continued to be aloof of manner and went to his work without attempting to empty the skimmed milk as usual, or to strain the new milk which stood at the top of the long cellar stairs. elizabeth skimmed and strained and put the shelves in order. her head ached, and her back never ceased hurting. when the last crock had been carried from the cave, the half-sick girl dragged herself to the bedroom and threw herself down on the unmade bed. "i don't care--i won't do another stroke till i feel better, if it's never done. it wasn't nice for me to scold yesterday when he really wanted to help, but he makes so much extra work that i _can't_ get it all done. it don't hurt him any more to be scolded than it does me to be kept on my feet after everything in my body is pulling out. he won't run off again and leave me to carry that heavy milk. i don't know why i didn't just leave it." elizabeth did not realize that she had done more than waste useful strength on useless tasks. she had yet to find out that it would have been cheaper to have left the entire contents of the cellar to sour or mould than to have worked on after she could do no more in comfort. it took doctor morgan to point out to her that farmers and their wives place undue value on a dollar's worth of milk, and that they support those of his profession at a far greater price than their butter would cost if they fed the milk to the pigs; also that they fill the asylums with victims and give younger women the chance to spend what they have worked to save after they are transplanted to other regions. they had been obliged to send for the doctor at noon. the name of peritonitis did not impress the young wife with any importance when the old doctor warned her to lie still and rest. the fierce pain was eased by getting off her feet and she was so glad to rest that she took his advice, but she had had no illness and little experience with chronic ailments. he hoped to pull her through without the threatened disaster, but warned her solemnly. "i'm glad we have you where you can't carry anything more out of that confounded hole in the ground," he said savagely. "you'd never quit till you were down, anyhow. now don't you lift that child, no matter whether he cries or not." he took john aside and talked to him seriously about his wife, and demanded that there be a hired girl procured. john listened as seriously and went to the kitchen and got the supper and prepared for breakfast. he worked diligently and took elizabeth a dainty bite to eat, but when the question of a girl came up, he had his own say about that. "i'll do the work in this house till you can get around yourself, but i never intend to look for a girl in this country again. you'll be stronger after a bit and then you can look for one." he put jack's nightgown over his little head and buttoned it in the back while he talked. "this 'll pass over, and you'll be better in a week's time. i don't care if you have two girls, so i don't have to hunt them. here, jack, let me slip that shoe off." "i can't seem to get well, though, with the drag of the housework on my mind," the girl said drearily. elizabeth wanted a woman in the kitchen. she lay without speaking for a moment, thinking that as usual she was unable to get the thing that her own judgment demanded. john would wash his dishes clean and keep the cooking and sweeping done as well as she, but she knew that the first day she would be out of bed she would be dragged to the kitchen to consult and oversee continually. "doctor morgan said i might not be able to get around much all summer," she ventured, exaggerating the words of the old doctor somewhat in her determination to get help at all costs that would leave her free to get well. "at least you can wait and see," john replied indifferently, already concerned with his own problems. he pushed jack from his lap and sat lost in thought. elizabeth made it a rule never to argue unless there was hope of righting things. to say one word more was to lose her temper and that she tried not to do. the girl was really very ill; her head ached, and her body was sore and tender. she had not had a whole night's sleep for weeks and every nerve in her body cried out for rest; she wanted the light put out, she wanted to get quiet and to forget the house, and to be freed from the confusion; she was so nervous that she started at every noise. the night was cool and jack, who shivered in his thin gown, crawled into his father's lap. john wanted to think at that moment, and to get rid of him put him firmly down on the foot of the bed, moving over to give him room at his side as he did so. "oh, don't shake the bed!" elizabeth exclaimed, with such concentrated irritation that john set the child on the floor hastily. "i only thought you could watch him a minute. i can't keep him on my lap all the time," john replied. "well, put him in the bed then, or tie him up or do something. i don't want to watch him, and his climbing around on the bed sets me crazy!" she exclaimed, pushing the child away from her pillow. "we don't tie children up in the hunter family," john replied, as usual falling upon the unimportant phase of the discussion and, instead of putting the child in bed, carried him off to the sitting room, where he fell into another brown study and let the baby slip from his lap again. jack, as soon as released, ran back to the bedroom and threw himself up against the side of the bed, stretching his arms up to be taken. "don't, dear; go to papa," elizabeth said, trying to reach him. jack sidled away toward the foot of the bed, where he regarded his mother with stolid eyes, and beat a tattoo on the bed-rail with his hard little head. "jack! don't do that!" she commanded sharply. it was torture for her to have the bed jarred. jack, baby fashion, raised his head and gave the bed-rail another whack. elizabeth sat up suddenly and gave the child such a resounding slap that he sat down, shaking the whole house with the impact, his screams quite in keeping with the occasion. john carried the crying child out of the room, shutting the door with such a bang that the house and bed shook anew, and the girl had to bite her lip to keep from screaming. it was the first time elizabeth had ever struck her child in anger. usually gentle and patient with his baby wilfulness, her heart recoiled at the deed. she knew that the possibilities of that action had been growing upon her of late. nothing could excuse it to the accusing judge of elizabeth's own soul. it was as if she were fenced around with a thousand devils; turn where she would there was no help and but little hope. she had come to understand herself enough to know that with sufficient provocation she would almost certainly do it again. the girl thought of her father. the deed was so like things that she had seen him do that she almost tore her hair as she prayed to be spared such a soul-destroying fate. it was jack's future estimates of her that caused her so much distress. the things emphasized by the mother in a home, she knew, were the things emphasized in the lives of her children. she had only to look at jack's father to see the evidences of that truth. mrs. hunter's cleanliness and order, her tendency to over-emphasize details, were her son's strongest watchwords. it was absolutely imperative that she do the right thing by jack. as she pondered she decided that she would rise up and make one more effort for the child. then, like a creeping serpent, the thought of her attitude toward the child of her body suddenly presented its forked tongue and demanded that its future be reckoned with. from what principle was she dealing with it? elizabeth knelt before the shrine of that child, not in joy and adoration, but with a fear which had almost become a hatred. elizabeth did not realize that it was the work and worry which she had gone through in these last weeks which made her irritable. she did not recognize the difference between nerves and temper, but she had come to understand that the unborn child was draining her strength. the prayer in her heart as she lay there thinking it out was for help to adjust her life to the conditions which she must meet, for strength to control herself, and for the power to so order her mental attitude toward this new child that she might be able to love it as it certainly deserved to be loved. but even as she prayed a horrible thought took possession of her: "if only it would die and be prematurely released, as doctor morgan had said there was danger of it doing!" it was then that elizabeth hunter realized the possibilities in herself. that was murder! if john complicated her work throughout eternity it would not warrant such an attitude. but this second child! it was the absorbing topic of her thoughts as she vainly tried to rest. she was so worn out that she could face no more work than she already had to do, and ever as she thought this serpent of temptation thrust its head out at her and said: "if the child would only die!" elizabeth had only to get out of bed and go to work to rid herself of the hateful burden in the present state of her health, but under no circumstances would she have done it. she would have parted with her right hand before she would have helped to destroy a life she had permitted to spring into being, and yet---- the thought occurred, and recurred, in spite of every effort, "if only----" and she knew that if it happened without her assistance she would be glad. elizabeth's distress increased, and when john brought her dinner on a tray covered with a fresh napkin and beside the plate a violet he and jack had found in the pasture she brightened with pleasure at the dainty arrangement, but did not touch the food. "now be good to the baby; he's been asking for you all morning," he said, kissing elizabeth with an effort at kindliness and understanding. elizabeth's head was aching wildly, and she was so nervous that she could scarcely endure being spoken to at all. "then don't leave him here, john, for i can't bear to have him fussing around," she said, trying to be appreciative. "oh, well, if you don't want him at all, i'll take him out again," he said crossly, setting the tray on a chair beside the bed. he was able, however, to see that the girl was not altogether herself, and shut the door behind him carefully. the door shut so softly that the latch did not catch. when jack finished his dinner he came running to his mother's room at once. the door gave way under his hand and he stood looking into the room curiously. after a glance around, he advanced confidently toward the bed with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. elizabeth set her teeth hard. she was unable to reach out and lift him to a chair where he would not jar the bed, so it was her intention to be patient. jack's eyes fell upon the tray as he passed it, and he wheeled around and took stock of the contents of this new form of table. frantic with irritability and knowing that she would be at fault in the manner of correcting the child, his mother let him eat out of the plate she had left untouched, rather than have a scene with him. presently, however, jack laid down the spoon with which he had been eating and attacked a dish of berries with his hands, letting the drops from the ends of his fingers trickle down the front of his clean gingham dress. elizabeth happened to look up and saw what he was doing. there was no telling when she could get another washing done and her impulse was to spring at him and snatch him from harm's way, but she was trying to be more gentle and, drawing in a deep breath, she spoke as quietly as she could command herself to do. "don't do that, jack," she said, reaching out her hand to take him by the arm. jack clutched the dish in sudden haste and raised it to his mouth, letting a stream of the purple juice dribble from it to his own bulging front before his mother could get her hand on him. then, fearing a repetition of the blow of the night before, the baby threw himself on the floor, screaming loudly. john came excitedly from the kitchen. "what have you done to him now?" he asked, and without waiting to hear her reply went out, flinging the door back with a crash. it was nearly dark when doctor morgan came, but although he was anxious to get back to his office he saw at once that he must stay with the suffering girl. in the morning he called john out to the buggy and had a little talk with him. "i feel, hunter, as if i'd been a little to blame for this thing," he said as he picked up his lines to start for home. "i thought you'd be able to see that noise and worry were bad for her. i ought to have impressed the gravity of her condition on you and warned you that she must not be worried by that baby. you can see every muscle in her set hard when the bed is jarred. that child's got to be kept out of there. those things hurt a woman in that condition like a knife." "she's been awfully cross and cried about everything this week, but she hasn't complained much--that is, of anything but a little backache," john replied, fingering the whipstock of the doctor's buggy and not able to connect the present serious illness with any real reason. "little backache!" doctor morgan exclaimed with exasperation. "i never seem to be able to get you men to understand that noise hurts a woman sometimes worse than if you'd hit her with a ball-bat. hurts, mind! it ain't imagination; it hurts, and will send a fever up in no time. have i made it clear to you?" he asked doubtfully. "i guess you have," john said, relinquishing the whipstock. "she's been awfully fretful, but i never thought of her being sick enough for this." "well," the old doctor said emphatically. "you've lost the child, and you'll lose your wife if you don't look out. you get a girl in that kitchen, and see to it that she tends things without mrs. hunter having to look after her. she won't do another day's work for a good long time--and mind, i say, you'll lose her yet if you don't keep that child off her till she has a chance to get well." as doctor morgan drove away he said meditatively: "think i got him that time. blamed fool!" chapter xix "her wages, food and clothing she must accept" luther hansen was at the door when john returned, and they entered the sitting room together. jack was leaning against the bedroom door, and john, who remembered doctor morgan's parting advice, went to close it. the baby ran to his mother, escaping the outstretched hands of the father, who was after him, but the child had miscalculated the opposition this time and was taken firmly into john's arms and lifted free from the bed. "tell luther to come to me," elizabeth whispered. "doctor morgan said----" john began. "tell luther to come to me," elizabeth repeated, putting every particle of strength she had into her voice so that by having luther hear her john would be obliged to comply. luther came without having to be told. "luther, could you get hepsie back for me, if you told her mother hunter was gone and would not come back?" she asked, falling back into a whisper from sheer weakness. luther bent to catch her words. elizabeth's illness showed plainly in her pinched face this morning; he would have done anything she asked of him. "of course," he answered cheerfully. luther really did not know whether hepsie could be had, but he meant to have her if she was not already at work somewhere else. he listened to the directions and promised without equivocation that hepsie would come. he understood that for some reason the thing elizabeth asked of him she could ask of him alone, but was careful to couch his replies so that that fact was not indicated even to her. when it was arranged, elizabeth closed her weary eyes as a sign that she wished to be alone, and the men retired from the room, leaving her in the first real peace she had known since her illness began. with hepsie in the house, she could look forward to the days to come with less dismay. she resolved that if she did get the girl back that she would keep her as long as there were hired men to cook for. with the assurance that hugh would keep john from falling into debt again there would be funds to pay her and there was as much need of a girl in the kitchen as of men in the field. hepsie came gladly. she had always liked elizabeth, and the well-furnished hunter house, with the equally well-furnished pantry, was desirable. elizabeth's life was in grave danger and when john at last grasped the fact he looked after her needs rigorously. he tiptoed about the house, looking to it personally that no discomfort assailed the wan patient. jack learned the note of authority in his father's voice, and incidentally the weight of his hand also, and quiet prevailed. john reflected the mood of the sick room in every step he took. much of the time elizabeth was too ill to observe john's changed attitude, but the second week she began to awake to things about her. she went over the situation again and again. something had to be done. things had promised to straighten out since hugh's coming, but the very day of his first absence the old coercion was renewed. john would not have brought the cream jar up without asking if hugh had been there, or if he had done so she could have mentioned the inconvenience of its presence before hugh and got it carried back to the cellar. the importance of hugh's presence loomed up before elizabeth as she lay considering her situation; hugh was her only hope for better conditions. she had accepted hugh as a happy feature of the family life and of the business, but she had not thought of him as a factor in her personal affairs. there was another feature of the weariness which came from being pushed beyond the amount of work she was momentarily able to do: she became irritable with jack when tired, and then john interfered. here again, her only hope lay in hugh. with hugh present john was suave, polite, and apt to treat her as a man is supposed to treat his wife. considering all these things, elizabeth began to look forward to hugh's return eagerly. as if to favour elizabeth's plans, hugh noland found mitchell county a lonely place to stay and as soon as the fencing was finished put a man in charge and returned with all possible speed. "oh, john, you brother!" he exclaimed when he met john hunter at the kitchen door the day he arrived. he held out both his hands. "i haven't had such a sense of coming _home_ since my mother's death." they greeted, and looked at each other long and earnestly, and john hunter allowed himself to enter into closer relations of friendship and love than he had ever done in the twenty-seven years of his life. "i'm glad you're here," john said when he had recovered from his surprise over this unusual demonstration of affection. "we're going to lift elizabeth out into a chair for the first time to-day. she'll be glad you've come too." "how is she? you didn't say much about her in your last letter." "wasn't much to say," john replied. "she's better--that's the main thing. come on into the sitting-room till i can get her ready and get a quilt in the rocking chair." "got a girl, i see!" hugh remarked in a whisper as they closed the door behind them. "yes, and a good one fortunately. too much milk and butter. i found that out when i got at it. no more buttermaking in mine. i had the whole thing on my hands for over a week. i turned half those cows out to grass," john said, bringing forward the chair for the invalid. "i was afraid the morning i left that she had too much to do with all those shellers on such short notice." hugh stooped to pick up the baby. "how are you, partner?" he cried, swinging the delighted child up to the ceiling. jack was wild with joy. hugh stood with legs wide apart and cuddled the baby to him for a squeeze. this was part of the homecoming too. he was still hugging jack tenderly when john beckoned from the bedroom door. hugh drew the rocking chair into the bedroom and then stopped to stare at the wasted figure wrapped in a quilt who had to be supported while he adjusted it. "john! you didn't tell me she was like this!" he took the thin hands in his, both of them, just as he had done john's a moment before, and was moved almost to tears by the pallid face. elizabeth's brown eyes had fallen back into her bony, sharp-lined head, and her nose was thin and drawn. "words fail me, mrs. hunter," he said feelingly. but though words failed to express hugh noland's sympathy his eyes did not, and the girl, who had not had an hour's sympathetic companionship since he had been gone, caught the fact and was cheered by it. hugh noland was vital and invigorating. elizabeth listened to his account of the adventures in mitchell county. he was a good story-teller and his incidents were well selected. she was too weak to sit up a whole hour and was carried tenderly back to her bed, where the family life centred now that she was becoming able to stand the noise and confusion of it. during the days which followed, hugh, at john's suggestion, brought his books and read aloud to them in that little bedroom in the warm spring evenings, and life in the hunter house took on a brighter complexion than it had ever before assumed. john, who had been sleeping in hugh's room since elizabeth's serious illness, returned to his own bed. he looked about him for jack the first night and asked where he was. "i sent him up to hepsie's room," elizabeth said quietly. "to sleep!" "yes." "the children in the hunter family are not put into the servants' beds," john hunter replied. the unexplained statement was offensive to a man accustomed to being consulted. to punish her john went to sleep without giving her the usual good-night kiss. "he'd have been cross, anyhow," was all the thought she gave that part of the circumstance. could john hunter have known that the absence of that kiss was a relief, and that he made of his presence sometimes an intolerable nightmare, he might have saved for himself a corner in her tired heart against the days to come. john's zeal and passion had gone into the pursuit of their courtship days. now they were married, possession was a fact: elizabeth was his wife. elizabeth understood that john was whimsical and tyrannical, but not intentionally evil, but in spite of the fact that she had john's character summed up and understood that much that he did was not deliberately intended to do her injury, that little of it was in fact, she felt a growing disinclination for his presence. the unloved, undesired child which she had lost was a warning guidepost pointing its finger away from a continuance of marital relations. no conditions could make it right for her to have another child till love again existed between them. she saw that nothing could excuse or make decent the child of wornout conditions; nothing but affection made marriage worthy, and when that affection had departed from a man and woman, to thrust life upon a child was a crime against that child, a crime against nature and a crime against themselves and society; yet, what could she do? her health was broken, and she without means of support. after aunt susan's death the girl had seriously considered separation; she still considered it, but not seriously. though she cried "fool! fool!" many times, she had given her youth, her health, her strength to john hunter, and her wages--food and clothing--she must accept. chapter xx the cream-jars of her life while elizabeth progressed toward health the work on the hunter farm progressed also. because of taking the cattle to mitchell county it was possible to get in a greater acreage of small grain and corn. patsie had a small colt at her side, as did her mate also, and there was an extra man needed in the field most of the time, but after repeated consultations it was decided that by using care the teams they had would be able to plow the corn, and that they could hire help for the harvesting cheaper than they could buy another pair of horses. however, in spite of the discussions which were supposed to have settled the matter, john came home from colebyville one saturday with a new team. "what do you think of them?" he asked hugh, who opened the gate to let him into the barnyard. "i just made up my mind that it wasn't economy to push the horses we had so hard. i got them at a bargain." "you've bought them, you say?" "yes," was the brief answer. "i'd take them back," hugh said slowly but decidedly. "horses and dogs talk with their tails, and i don't like the way this one acts." "i can't take them back. i got them from a mover. i got them for a song, and we're going to need them for the binder. i know what we said," he went on, interrupting hugh, who was trying to speak, "but there was a bargain in them and we do need them." "but we haven't the money! how did you buy them? you couldn't pay for them outright." hugh noland had been feeling his way down the foreleg of the horse nearest him. the animal was nervous and had crowded over against its mate in an endeavour to get away. both its ears were laid back, and there was a half-threatening air about its movements. as hugh straightened up to continue the discussion of finances, it jumped aside, quivering with fright. "i gave a check on the bank," john replied uneasily. hugh had never criticised him before. hugh was taken up with soothing the nervous animal for a moment. "you'll run out of money before the summer's over," he said warningly. "oh, i've had to borrow a little already. with elizabeth's illness and all, i saw we weren't going to get through, so i just took out a loan of five hundred and paid doc morgan while i was at it. i meant to have told you. i've got some calves coming from over west to-morrow too." john poured it all out while he was at it, with a relief in having it over. there was a pause. when hugh noland again spoke it was with a distinct note of firmness and almost of authority. "the plain understanding in our partnership--the one i laid the most stress upon to start with--was that there should be no debts. i'm willing that you should be free to select a team; it isn't that. did you borrow this money in the firm's name?" "yes-s-s. i didn't think you'd care about a little sum like that," john said slowly. he was very uncomfortable. "i turned my personal note in on the account book for the doctor's bill. you can see it on the book." "i don't doubt at all but that you did, john. you're not called into question, old boy, on any other matter than the one of debts, but you'll never put this firm five cents in debt without coming to an instant understanding. i came to this country to get well. i won't get well, but i won't allow myself to get into anything that will run me down quicker with worry. you knew it before you went in with me--and you agreed." that was the final word john hunter felt as he tied the skittish brute he had just purchased in the stall beside the door, and turned to put the hay down from the loft above. the sound of plunging feet and snorts of wild terror when the hay fell into the manger turned his mind to the probable truth of hugh's opinion of the lately purchased horses. "i wonder if the blamed brutes are going to be too maggoty for our use after all," he thought. "it'd be just my luck. he was fair about it though," john admitted reluctantly. "oh, well, after all, he's worth having around, and i'm going to do a deal better than i would if he hadn't come along. elizabeth was right--i did get in too deep." and with this astonishing admission, john hunter finished haying the horses and walked slowly to the house, thinking about the new horses, and half prepared to admit that he had made a mistake in buying them outright from a man who was able to get away before they could be proven, but elizabeth and hugh were already sitting by the table in the living room and he knew he was wanted. he went to the bedroom to wash his hands--john could not form the habit of washing in the kitchen as other farmers did--and as he washed, meditated, and as he meditated he found himself ready to accept this reproof from hugh noland, ready to live up to agreements if hugh imposed them, ready to listen to hugh and love him. something in hugh noland was so fundamentally square that the principle of squareness took on a new meaning to john hunter. "here you are! you're the one that's insisted on these readings most, and you're always late," hugh cried as john came from the bedroom, fresh and well groomed as if he had not done barn chores a few minutes before. the reading was part of john hunter's play world. john was not a man of scholarly tastes, but reading, like the use of the hairbrush he had just laid down, was good form: they were both part of the world to which john wished to belong. a book might or might not relate to that world, but it was a book and seemed to do so, and while john hunter might or might not get much intellectual advancement out of a book, he got advancement out of sitting in hugh noland's presence and opening his heart to the love and respect hugh commanded from him. john did not close himself off from hugh's influence as he did from elizabeth's, and the things he refused to take from her he adopted and readily set into action at hugh's suggestion. it was destined to be the last night in which john was to be permitted the comfort of this new feature of home life, however. as they were gathered about the breakfast table a man rode into the lane and called john hunter to the door without getting off his horse. "doc morgan was goin' past my house this mornin' an' asked me if i'd bring this over t' you. 'e said it came after you left town, an' th' agent didn't know how t' git over t' you 'thout he was comin' this way this mornin'. hope it ain't no bad news." he waited to see john tear open the envelope and read the telegram. "my mother's sick," was john's hurried statement as he turned toward the house. hugh drove john hunter to the station. the sun was hot and he had read till nearly midnight the night before, and, busy season though it was, he thought it best not to start home till toward night. doctor morgan had returned home and hugh, as was his custom, went to the office for a chat. it was one of the chief delights of both to have an hour together. "do they get along well together--hunter and his wife?" doctor morgan asked after he had taken hugh's health into account. "you'd think so if you'd heard the directions i received for her care just now," hugh answered with a laugh. "well, i don't care--i couldn't make him understand about her when she was sick. he let that squalling brat crawl over her, and let her do baking and things she wasn't fit to do till she was worn out," the old doctor said resentfully. then added as an afterthought, "say! you're not letting him run you into debt, are you?" "no debts in mine. there's one note and it'll be cleared up as soon as the small grain can be disposed of. i put the clamps on that as soon as i heard of it. it won't happen again. i think his wife was about as glad of the end of the credit business as any of us," hugh said, and then added with a laugh: "i think you're mistaken about his treatment of her, though. you should have heard the directions he gave me about her as the train was about to pull out; you'd have thought she was his favourite child and that i was going to neglect her." doctor morgan snorted contemptuously. "oh, yes, i know him. hunter loves to give directions to anything from a puppy dog to a preacher. that's what's the matter with her. he directs _her_ all the time as if she didn't have sense enough to cook hot water or wash the baby. he ain't any worse than a lot of men i know of, but you expect more of a man that's half-educated. i tell you, noland, the trouble 's in this business of men owning women. i've practised in these parts ever since this country's been opened, and i see a good deal of husbands--and they're a bad lot." hugh noland watched the old doctor with a twinkle in his eye. "you aren't going to give us men all a knock, are you?" he said amusedly. "i'm not saying anybody's bad," doctor morgan said, following out his own reasonings. "the trouble 's in men owning everything. theoretically, a woman shares in the property, and of course she does if she gets a divorce, but as long as she lives with him he's the one that has the money and she has to ask for it if she has ever so little. you take mrs. hunter: she don't spend a cent he don't oversee and comment on; she's dependent on that man for every bite she eats and for every stitch she wears and he interferes with every blessed thing she does. give that woman some money of her own, noland, and where'd she be? john hunter 'd treat her as an equal in a minute; he'd know she could quit, and he'd come to terms." doctor morgan swung the stethoscope with which he had been listening to hugh's heart, and proceeded without waiting for hugh to speak. "oh, we doctors see a side of women's lives you other men don't know anything about. we see them suffer, and we know that the medicine we give them is all knocked out by the doings of the men they live with, and we can't raise our hands to stop the thing at the bottom of it all. why, that woman's just lost a child i know she was glad to lose, and--oh, don't misunderstand me! she never told me she was glad she lost it, but how in god's name could she be otherwise? she couldn't do all he required of her without it. she had butter to make, and shellers to cook for, and then the damned fool 'd shove that heavy baby on her--and he actually talked to me about her being cross!" hugh noland was beginning to feel that living in a man's house did not constitute a knowledge of him, and yet there were the things he himself had seen and heard. "but, he's looking after her now as if she were a baby herself," he protested. "he urged me to look after her, and see that she didn't have to lift jack yet for a while, and to humour the hired girl for fear they'd lose her, and he even insisted that i keep up the reading aloud that i've been doing for them." "i don't doubt that," the old doctor said, a bit nettled. "he's not all bad. he's a right good fellow--that's the very point i'm trying to make. it's because he _owns_ her and thinks he has a right to run her affairs--that's the trouble at the bottom of the whole thing. now that she's sick he'll see that she don't have to lift the baby. if she owned herself she could stop lifting the baby before she got sick; a man can't tell when a woman feels like working and when she don't. what i want to say is, that a man browbeats a woman because she hasn't any money and can't help herself. give a woman a home of her own that he couldn't touch, and then give her an income fit to raise her children, and he'd come into that house and behave, or he'd be sent out again, and she wouldn't age ten years in three, nor be dragged down to the hell of nagging to protect herself against him. i tell you, noland, kansas would be a stronger state right now, and a damned sight stronger state twenty years from now, if the women owned and run half of its affairs at least." doctor morgan ended quite out of breath. "i guess you're right, doctor, but i've got to get some barb wire loaded to take home, and you've preached the regulation hour and a half," hugh said. he was living in the hunter home, and he really loved both john hunter and his wife, and honour demanded that he should not gossip about them. "right you are, my boy. and i see your point too; i've no business to talk professional secrets even to you." he laid his arm affectionately across the younger man's shoulder and squared him around so that he could look into his face. "this is only a side of life i battle with in almost every home i go into. i'm almost glad you can't marry; it'll leave you where i can respect you. think of a woman having a child she don't want! and think of a man respecting himself afterward! it destroys a woman's body, but the men--well, it's the most damnable, soul-destroying thing in a man's life; he's lost and don't even know it. run along," he said after a pause, "or i'll hold forth for another hour in an unprofessional way. it makes me swear to see a pretty girl made old before she's twenty-five." but elizabeth hunter was not to be an old woman before she was twenty-five, for elizabeth had hepsie in the kitchen, she had learned to protect herself by refusing to be oppressed about the work she did do, and the weeks of rest that followed john's going were filled with the things which rested and restored her. it was not long till she was as attractive as she had ever been in all the years of her girlhood. elizabeth was barely twenty-three, and there was a good constitution back of her which rest could set right; she was one of nature's favourites to whom colour and spirits return quickly. every charm of person she had was enhanced by her present surroundings, for the brightness and freedom which came from john's absence were the crowning things needed to complete her recovery. hugh noland read to elizabeth nightly, and in the daytime her comfort was his first thought. the work of cooking for those shellers had been his work as much as john's, but it had all fallen on her, fallen, according to doctor morgan, at a time when a man shielded even the mare in his harness from overwork. as he watched the colour come back to the girl's face day by day he recognized that the miracle was brought about by rest. in the return of elizabeth's beauty there was a new element which hugh noland saw but did not recognize as new: to the roundness of girlhood was added the strength and experience of womanhood, to the mere physical charm of youth the maturity and poise of the woman who has fought, if not conquered, self. john had set the example of late hours, and the two read throughout the long, early summer evenings quite as much from habit as from inclination. it had been the established custom of the house for so long that hepsie and the hired man accepted it as a matter of course. the men saw little of it because one of the first things hugh had done when he had returned from mitchell county had been to partition off a room in the well-built barn for the accommodation of the men. jake, who loved elizabeth with a dog-like fidelity, came and went about the house more freely than the rest, and saw the two seated about the sitting-room lamp, and was as glad as if he had had a place among them. "it's hers, god bless 'er!" he had said the night after john's departure, "an' i'm mighty glad she's got it. she ain't had much t' make 'er glad since i've been around these diggin's." those were evenings never to be forgotten. as hugh read, elizabeth listened with the open-mouthed joy of girlhood, but the substance of what they read was viewed from the standpoint of a woman. hugh found the girl's mind keen and alert. they began to turn to the classics, and hugh noland, whose profession it had been to teach, was surprised and delighted with the aptitude and viewpoints of his pupil. elizabeth pursued literature with her usual thoroughgoing absorption; the dictionary was brought out and laid upon the table, and with it she spent long hours when hugh was in the field. the second week in june, hugh noland was brought to a sudden stop in the delicious holiday experience by a remark of elizabeth's. the book had been finished earlier than was usual for them to stop reading, and it had been decided that it was too late to begin another that night. hugh was not ready to go to bed, and sat watching her as she straightened up the littered table. a book of poems they had once read fell open and the girl picked it up and began to read to herself. in a moment she was literally engulfed in it, and he watched her deep abstraction in full sympathy with the mood it represented. presently she began to read aloud. elizabeth read on and on, and hugh dropped back into his chair and listened, studying her as she stood before him reading so intently that she forgot that she stood. when the end was reached she dropped the book on the table with a rapturous indrawn breath. "i never knew what real happiness was before," she said. "i wonder if they read in heaven?" "they'd have to let us read in our heaven or it wouldn't be heaven," hugh noland replied. with the words still in his mouth he realized what he had said. the serpent had invaded their paradise: henceforth they would wander outside of its confines. with a self-conscious flush, he shifted the eyes into which she was looking, and arose to say good-night. although she did not understand it, elizabeth also turned hastily away; hugh noland's embarrassment communicated itself to her. her confusion puzzled her. glancing at the clock, she saw that it was near midnight; she had read longer than she had thought. in her surprised consideration of what hepsie would think if she should hear hugh pass her door at that hour, she got the first burst of light on the subject. until now she had gone along night after night reading with hugh noland, absorbed in the books, and without any sort of attitude toward the man except that of good-fellowship, but now she stood revealed to herself and was covered with shame. that hugh might be in love with her did not occur to her, but that he knew that she had feelings out of keeping with her vows of marriage she felt certain, and with her usual intensity elizabeth went over the mark in her shame and contrition. "what must he have thought i meant? what must he think of me as a woman? worse yet, what must he think of me as a wife?" she asked herself, and each question left her more bitterly humiliated, more self-distrusting, more unhappy. they were to learn, however, that three months of continual association over the books had formed a habit not easily laid aside. to the habit of intellectual companionship had been added the joy of close and reciprocated affection, and the sudden breaking off of this daily communication left both of them, especially hugh, in a condition of almost tragic loneliness, but honest of heart and true of purpose, both avoided further readings. the nights were hot now; "good corn weather," jake called it, and the time had come to "lay by" the early planting. john's absence had retarded the plowing, for try as he would the chores kept hugh late in the morning and had compelled him to quit early at night. it had not been his intention to take the place of an active field worker, but the season had come on so rapidly that the weeds threatened to get the better of the hired men, and though it was all to learn over again, hugh had gone out with the intention of doing good work and had succeeded, to jake's astonishment and great admiration. it served hugh's plans at this point to put in the long hours away from the house, knowing that otherwise he would fall back into the old life of the book at once. at first the heavy cultivator handles absorbed his time and thought, for it was fifteen years since hugh noland had cultivated corn, but when the work became more mechanical his mind wandered back to forbidden ground and the days were harder than any he had ever known. one frightfully hot day, near the end of the plowing of the first field, which lay near the house, hugh found it necessary to rest the horses frequently. with each period of rest his thoughts returned to elizabeth with new force and longing; his mind worked continually on the reading matter they had gone over, and constantly he wanted to elaborate or discuss some subject left unfinished. it was the devil with which he had to wrestle. also, she showed the strain of disappointment when he met her at meals, and he found himself struggling with doctor morgan's observations on her health, her husband, and her happiness. as far as john was concerned, he thought the old doctor was mistaken, and be it remembered, hugh noland had a genuine liking for john hunter. that liking added to the seriousness of his situation in john hunter's home. he mopped his perspiring brow, while little wet lines showed in the creases of his sleeves and across the back of his thin summer shirt. the fierce heat parched his mouth and his whole burning body called for a drink. tying his team to a post an hour after noon he vaulted over the fence and walked to the creek, picking his way down to the narrow stream. the heat of summer was drying the brook up rapidly; already there was but a tiny rivulet, but such as was left curled and trickled between grassy banks in a manner to attract the eye of a thirsty man. hugh knelt on a hummock with his hand on the opposite bank and drank as only the man who plows corn on a hot june day can. as he stood up he paused with his handkerchief halfway to his face and listened, while the water dripped from nose and chin unheeded. the continuous tones of a voice reading aloud reached him. it was such a curious place to encounter such a phenomenon that he listened intently for a moment. "elizabeth!" he whispered. every pulse in hugh noland's body pounded suddenly. on the first impulse he was away in her direction, walking rapidly and without effort at concealment. without taking time to think, without knowing or caring whether it were wise, he walked as straight toward the spot as the laden bee to the hive. hugh's coming fell upon elizabeth suddenly, but the perfect naturalness of her joy put him at his ease. "i heard you reading," he said simply. "what are you working on now?" he threw himself down on the grass beside the willow trunk on which she was seated and held out his hand for the book. after running his eye over the page he handed it back to her with the request that she read on. the heat of the summer day shimmered along the horizon outside, but here in the cool shade of the willows the delicious afternoon air lulled his senses and made of the spot a paradise of comfort and contentment. the girl was the embodiment of everything sweet and womanly to him, and the joy of the moment, bringing added colour to her cheeks, made the utmost contrast imaginable to the dust and drudgery of the afternoon in the corn rows. hugh's coming had been so obviously voluntary and joyous that the fear she had entertained, that he would think ill of her as john hunter's wife, was set at rest. the old confidence, sympathy, and companionship were retendered, and the girl met it with her habitual openness. she accepted the book from his hand and read as asked. hugh noland watched her earnestly, and recalled the things he had been told about her and her affairs. on more than one occasion he had been told that she had been neglected, and at the time had put the tale away as foolish farm gossip, but doctor morgan was no fool, and his gossip was usually not only true but had on this particular occasion fallen out with vehemence and conviction. as he looked at her he asked himself how any man could neglect a woman of elizabeth's sincere qualities. she was so true that the only indication that he had ever received of even a slight difference of opinion with her husband had been the accidental one regarding debts. he remembered a remark of sadie hansen's to the effect that john hunter never took his wife anywhere, and he remembered that in the four months he had been in the house he had never heard him offer to do so, and then hugh noland remembered that he had no right to think about it at all. however, his mind recurred to it in spite of all he could do, and presently he was immersed in the old consideration. loyalty must be one of her qualities: four months he had been in her house and she had never been taken anywhere except to nathan's, where he himself had taken her, and she had never remarked upon it, and she was but twenty-three! "twenty-three!" he said under his breath. "what was it you said?" elizabeth asked, looking up. "nothing," he replied guiltily. elizabeth became conscious and embarrassed. "i've kept you all afternoon!" she exclaimed, getting suddenly to her feet. "i wanted to be kept," hugh admitted slowly, rising also. "it's frightfully hot in the middle of the afternoon. i'll work late, and milk after dark." "i'll bring up the cows and do the milking," she volunteered. "let me see you!" he protested, and went to his work again. hugh noland had never even guessed that he would walk deliberately over and spend a whole afternoon with a woman he had no right to love after becoming aware that he was already in love with her. for the first time he stood in the limelight of strong emotions and knew himself for what he was, not only that he was a mere man, but that he was a man who was not showing the proper control over feelings and emotions which thousands of men and women alike controlled every day. he worked his problem over as he worked the mellow soil about the corn roots and made himself late, but with contradictory impulses hurried the milking when he did get at it so as to get down to the book again. elizabeth had taken time to think out her side of their position, and told herself that she hoped that hugh would not offer to read to-night, but as the time approached she trimmed the lamp and arranged the books on the sitting-room table with a slight sense of worry for fear he would not come, and conscious that the evening was going fast. it was late when they began, and correspondingly late when they finished the reading that night. the next night hugh sat on the upturned manure cart talking to the men till he saw elizabeth put out the light in the sitting room, and then, in spite of the fact that he had been strong enough to stay away, was sorry that he had not had one more night's reading with her before john came home. john was coming in the morning, and hugh was to meet him, and hugh noland did not like himself, nor the position he would be in when he thought of greeting john hunter as a friend. the better to think things out and decide what he would do, hugh sat down on the doorstep and did not go in. the night was perfect. there was a full moon and the soft breeze was a delicious reminder of the coolness of the leafy bower among the willows where he had spent the afternoon with elizabeth. there was to be no more of elizabeth for him, god bless her! elizabeth was a wife and honour demanded that not even a glance of affection pass between them. this hugh noland believed, and yet when they were together their little embarrassments cried their love aloud, and neither could mentally avoid the issue. each had known that the other had resolved and suffered and fallen into the temptation of the reading. the book was becoming a delicious torment. he could not stay in that house. plainly, it was going to be necessary for him to go away. the business demanded his attention, and he decided to go to mitchell county. at that point hugh stopped in his calculations to consider how things would run at this end of the line if he did so. in summing the business up, hugh summed up his impression of john hunter along with it, and found himself reluctant to go away and leave everything in his hands. john was industrious and tidy about his work. dear old john! he had come very near hugh's heart in the short time they had been together. the daily consideration of possible death had mellowed hugh noland's naturally fine nature, and given him the tenderness of attitude and thought that the sublime and inevitable impose upon those who live in its shadow. actions considered as final are warmer and less likely to be inconsiderate than those where there is a feeling of indefinite time to correct mistakes. hugh sat now and let his heart run out to john with all the love of a more than usually affectionate nature. in his heart he wanted john back home, and yet it made him uneasy. there was a peculiar sense of being a traitor as he considered the meeting with this man who had trusted his home in his hands. in regard to the business, he, hugh, would have to let things take their own course. all he had on earth was in this farm now, but he would get away as soon as he could possibly do so; he would sacrifice that much to the man whose home he had entered. hugh knew to a nicety how necessary it would be for his interests in a business way to be here on the ground and keep john hunter from going into debt. hugh had his own judgment, neighbourhood gossip, and doctor morgan's plain instructions on that point, but was resolved to go if he lost all that he had in so doing. "well, at any rate, he can't mortgage anything without consulting me, and i'll get as much of the stock out there as i can after next year--that is, if there is any next year for me," he said, as he got up to go to bed long after midnight. the morning of john's return elizabeth asked hugh to take her as far as nathan's on his way in to town. hugh had not sat on the step till midnight the night before to let himself fall into temptation the first thing in the morning, and suggested that since the shafts of the buggy were mended that she drive over to nathan's alone, giving as his reason that he might be unable to come back promptly. the girl fell into his plan so readily that hugh in his contradictory frame of mind wondered about it and was half hurt. as he hitched patsie into the shafts, however, he reasoned it out that elizabeth hunter was probably making the same fight that he was making. he tied the mare in the side lane and left her there without going to the house as usual to help with jack. if she were fighting for her own esteem, as he was doing, hugh resolved not to be the cause of temptation; it made him feel a little better about meeting john. could he have known, as elizabeth did, that it was the first time since her marriage that she had had the privilege of driving alone and that the precedent once established would settle the possibility of demanding a horse whenever she wanted it, it would have put a different complexion on the matter. in order for elizabeth to use the buggy, however, hugh was obliged to drive the strange team. jake had been using them since john's absence, but had come in from the field the night before with the announcement that he did not intend "to risk his neck with them broncos any more." before hugh got to colebyville he was thoroughly displeased with them, and spoke of his dislike of them to john on the way home. "a few days on the harvester 'll fix them," john replied. "well, they're acting better than they did on the way in. they're hot and tired, and maybe the harvester will do it, but they're a bad lot," hugh replied wearily. "i feel that i've got to get away to mitchell county. the cattle have been on my mind for days. you'll have this team on your hands, for none of the men but jake would try to use them, and he told me last night he'd used them for the last time." "aren't you well, hugh?" john hunter asked with such concern that hugh was covered with humiliation and shame. "oh, yes-s-s. but you can run the place and i'm not hanging out like i thought i could--and i like it down there; it's more like the life i've been ordered to lead." "wait till the rye has been cut. did you say silas wanted us to cut his too?" john hunter asked. "yes. he stopped me as i drove over this morning. the boys will lay the early corn by to-day; we can get the binder out to-morrow and see that it is ready by the day after. we might have been through with the corn to-day, but i've been lazy of late. i knocked off and rested and read most of the hot part of yesterday afternoon," hugh replied slowly. he wished in his heart that he could tell all. "that's the thing to do. i'm not going to have you going down to mitchell county while it's so hot. you'll lay around the house and read, that's what you'll do, and i'll run this farm for a while." the thought of that took hugh noland's breath. that was what he was running away from, but he could think of no reason but his health, and dropped the subject to get away from it. john hunter asked questions about every feature of the farm work, and as he asked watched hugh's face, looking anxiously for signs of breaking health. under no conditions would he let hugh get sick. hugh had been the happiest circumstance of this farming experience. there was a discouraged note in hugh's voice that john did not like. "did you see morgan to-day?" he asked after he had had all the farm work explained to him. "oh, now, don't you get to worrying because i happen to mention my health. yes, i saw morgan, and he agreed with me that the other place would be better for me. i can run that and you can run this, and with care we ought to make some money pretty soon." "but that takes you away from us and--and we want you here!" john exclaimed with such fervour that hugh winced under it. hugh smiled so sadly back at the eager, boyish face turned to his that john was more than ever sure he was ill. his hand shot out to him with an almost womanish sympathy. "we'll see to it that you're kept busy where you belong, and the work won't wear you out either, my boy," he said. hugh saw that he was getting deeper in at every word he uttered and went back to a discussion of the farm work. elizabeth waited intentionally till she saw the men pass nathan's house before she started home. try as she would, she did not yearn for her husband's return. life was short, her youth was going fast, and her fear of the faded life grew as she looked forward to an old age spent with john hunter after hugh's departure. hugh must go, there was no question about that. he had told her night before last that he thought of it; had spoken of it incidentally enough, but in such wise that the girl knew why he was going. she had felt at the time that hugh listened for her reply, but there was none she could make, and her silence added the final word to his decision. elizabeth knew that it was the only honourable course; she consented to it in her mind, and yet, as she looked ahead to a time when she could not have him to take shelter behind with the cream jars of her life, she was sick at what she must face. even to-day she hoped that he would be present when she drove patsie into the yard. fortune favoured elizabeth in getting home with the horse and buggy. john had said that he was going to the pasture to look over the stock, and when hugh saw elizabeth drive through the gate they had left open, there was nothing for him to do but go forward to take her horse. john had seen her coming and had come back from the pasture gate, and the three met. "see how brave i have become in your absence," she said. "well, i guess you've driven horses as long as i have," john hunter replied happily, and kissed the astonished wife and the child in her arms with such real pleasure in returning to them that it was good to meet him after all. "if he'd always be like that," elizabeth thought wistfully, and hugh noland felt more like a criminal in the presence of that kiss than he had ever done in his life. "here, i'll tie patsie up after i give her a drink. you go in with elizabeth and i'll follow as soon as its done," john said to hugh, and turning to elizabeth said, "you haven't taken very good care of him since i've been away, dear. go on in and get a book and i'll listen for an hour before i go to the pasture." "i'll do no such thing. i'll go to that pasture with you--that's what i'll do. i'm not sick. rats! elizabeth knows i----" hugh noland stopped short, "i beg your pardon, mrs. hunter," he added confusedly. "i don't know why you shouldn't call me by my first name; i do you," elizabeth answered, glad in spite of herself. hugh went away with john, and elizabeth had a long time to think about it. it was the first time hugh had ever dropped into the least familiarity in addressing her, and no amount of reasoning could keep her from feeling a thrill of pleasure over it. she did not approve of herself, but the thrill was there. she hated herself, but the thrill remained. she wondered bitterly if she would ever be able to approve of herself again; every turn of life's wheel brought out some new and hitherto unsuspected characteristic, and try as she would she could not make herself do as her code of morals demanded that she should. she thought of her various friends; none of them had ever been guilty of the things elizabeth found herself culpable of. sadie had rebelled against her first child, but when shown the consequences had cheerfully applied the lesson, while she, elizabeth, had been unable to put into practice later the very precepts she had so glibly given her neighbour. none of her friends had ever committed the folly of falling in love with men who were not their husbands. elizabeth would not stay for the reading that night, and had a bad hour before she fell asleep. her love for hugh looked even worse to her since john's arrival than it had done before. this new phase of her life was even less able to command respect than any which had preceded it. why was she vexed with such unheard of temptations? it did not comfort her to reason it out that this thing had fallen upon her without any wish of hers, that the thrill which had followed his use of her name was not a thing she had deliberately fostered within herself; she demanded of herself that she should not thrill at his voice, not knowing that she demanded the impossible. the rye was to be cut at silas chamberlain's. john suggested to elizabeth that she had better go over to help liza ann, since she was alone, saying that he would take her over when he went. hugh was to go with the machine. jake would drive the extra team over, and the other two men would plow corn at home. a few minutes before nine o'clock john announced that he was ready. he had come in to carry jack to the buggy for her. john had gone away with the impressions of elizabeth's illness still upon him, and looked out for her with the same care he had accorded her when an invalid. "how long?" he asked, dropping down on the foot of the bed beside the machine upon which she had been putting in the spare time. "just this one little seam; i'll have it done then." she stooped over the machine to finish the seam quickly, not liking to keep john waiting when he was already somewhat late. jack slipped from his father's lap, and fascinated by the swiftly moving wheel on a level with his face, put out a pudgy little forefinger to feel of it as it went around. his mother saw it and stopped short with a little cry of alarm. "don't do that, jack!" she said sharply. "it'll take your finger right off of your hand if you get it in there." jack put his hand behind his little back, and stood in round-eyed wonder watching the wheel as she started to sew again. john was getting restless and wanted to go. "aren't you about----" elizabeth looked up at him as he started to speak, and jack's finger shot out to the forbidden wheel on the instant. elizabeth saw it at a point when she could not control the pedal with her foot. mother love brought a scream to her lips, and to save the child she gave him a shove with her hand. jack fell on the floor in a heap, striking his head on the bedpost as he did so. john had clutched at him ineffectually as he fell and caught him up as soon as he could get hold of him, turning him over in his arms to see where he was hurt. the blood spurted from the little nose, giving an appearance of serious injury to the matter all out of proportion to the exact nature of the damage sustained, but as usual, when excited, john saw only surface indications. "what does possess you when you're cross?" he exclaimed as he relinquished his hold on the baby, who, however badly he might be hurt, was struggling to get to his mother's arms. elizabeth carried the screaming child to the kitchen to bathe the bruised nose and apply a wet cloth to the nasty blue ridge beginning to form where the little cheek had encountered the bedpost. "i never saw any one act like you do with a child," john said with his usual irritation. "i didn't intend to knock him over, but i couldn't stop my foot and i thought he'd get his little finger taken right off before my very eyes." "well, you shouldn't go at him so rough. you always treat him as if he were a block of wood." elizabeth's lips closed down tight, and to keep jack from hearing further criticisms of her management she went back to the bedroom. when john was ready to go he called to her from the lane, and she carried jack to the door instead of laying him down. "take hepsie with you. tell mrs. chamberlain that i got ready to come. he'd probably be cross if i went now. hepsie's in the potato patch," elizabeth said in a low voice, and went back so promptly that john could not reply. john took hepsie with him, and explained to liza ann, as elizabeth requested, that she was unable to come because jack had hurt himself. the day was dry and hot, and john hunter consumed water like a fish upon all occasions. the discovery that the water-jugs had been left at home called for instant action when he arrived in the field. silas had put his team on the binder and patsie was free for use on just such errands as this. the machine had just been driven up to where hugh could ask for water also. john crossed over and laid his hand on the lines. "here, you take the horse and go for the water. i forgot the jugs; you'll have to go clear home after them." "why don't you do it?" hugh asked. john hunter looked him over rather sharply and replied: "because i'm going to drive this binder to-day. i don't like your voice very well since i got home, hugh." "you won't hear very much more of it if i can get away day after to-morrow," hugh replied, smiling at the turn he had given to john's sympathy. john hunter grinned back at him, but kept his hand on the lines, and hugh got down. "you can't start day after to-morrow, for we won't get this rye done, and you won't start then, my boy, with such a note in your voice as that. i've spoken to jake about it and he'll go. i don't propose to have you that far away when you are not well--it ain't what we want you for. go on and get that water," he added when he saw the expression of protest in hugh's face. hugh went without argument, but his determination was as strong as ever. instead of going around the road he drove across the field to the fence between the two places, and, tying patsie, walked through the cornfield to the pasture and on toward the house. the hot sun blazed fiercely down on his thinly clad back, and he noticed as he struggled through the tasselling corn that the leaves were already firing about the roots. rain was essential, but he reflected that enough rain to do the corn any good would ruin the small grain now ready to cut. "kansas luck," he muttered as he crossed the deep ridges thrown up by his own cultivator a few days before. not a breath of air was stirring, and by the time he had reached the house he was hot and tired. reflecting that john had taken elizabeth to chamberlain's, he decided to rest before he started back with the heavy water-jugs. he stopped in the kitchen for a drink and took a small bottle out of his pocket. "two, i guess, this time," he said as he poured the tablets into his hand. he dropped his finger on the other wrist a moment, and then swallowed both pellets. elizabeth heard him settle himself in a rocking chair with a long-drawn breath of comfort. she was giving jack little pats to ease him off to sleep and the house was very quiet. she decided to keep still and let him return to the field without seeing her tear-stained face, but jack roused with a low whimpering cry which she felt sure hugh must have heard, and as soon as the child was asleep she walked out without further effort at concealment. at the noise of the opening door hugh noland sprang to his feet in surprise; he had been half-asleep. "why, i didn't know that you were here!" he exclaimed when he saw that it was elizabeth. "i thought you went to chamberlain's." his eyes riveted themselves upon her swollen eyelids, and when she stood embarrassed before him and did not reply readily, conscious only of his searching gaze, he misunderstood and added gravely: "elizabeth, there is something i must speak about. i cannot have you worried over matters between us----" elizabeth hunter's eyes ceased to be shy and troubled and came up to his in such complete astonishment that he broke off in confusion. there was a pause for one short second, and then elizabeth spoke in nervous haste, and as if to ward off something. "i--i--i wasn't crying about--that is, i hurt jack accidentally and--and john misunderstood." even while the words were still in her mouth, she realized by his expression that what she was saying sounded like a complaint, as if she were exposing a difference between herself and her husband, and that was the one thing that under no circumstances had she ever done. she made a frightened stop without ending the sentence. as if to save his mother from needless embarrassment, jack slipped to the floor and came stumbling out on sleepy legs, tired and cross, and rubbing his sweaty little face with hot, sweaty little fists, and demanding his mother's attention. elizabeth turned to him with a relief beyond words. hugh noland, who had always loved the child, was never so glad to see him, and slipped away while he was being soothed and petted out of his tears and discomfort. both hugh and elizabeth knew that but for jack's timely interruption words would have escaped hugh that they both preferred should not be uttered. both knew the situation, but both saw that it would be easier, as well as safer and more honourable, not to discuss it. "i'll not think any more about going away--i wouldn't do it if i had money," she decided as she watched hugh return with his jug. "i married john hunter in good faith, and i'll live with him in good faith and straighten things out." the thought of her love for hugh came up and she added, "i don't care! i didn't go out to hunt up a love for him and i can't help it if it has come to me; but i hope he gets away to mitchell county day after to-morrow." chapter xxi bound to the stake the harvesting dragged out to the third day, and silas, who had a felon, could not give help when john came to the point of cutting his own grain. it was almost impossible to get help, for the reason that the dry weather had hastened the reaping of all early crops. it was decided that elizabeth should drive back and forth with the water, and john take a hand at the shocking. this left hugh on the machine, a thing john disliked to do, but hugh made no complaints and accepted the post readily. hugh had seen that he could not refer to his health without endangering his chance of getting away. john looked him over critically as he mounted the binder, realizing fully that he was unfit to ride in the hot sun all day. "i'll take his place this afternoon if the shocking never gets done," was his mental resolve as he turned to his own share of the work. the men had taken one jug of water with them, so that it was not necessary for elizabeth to go with a fresh one till ten o'clock. she tied patsie to the fence and, taking jack with her, crawled under and started across the field to a point where she could meet the oncoming binder, so that hugh could take the heavy jug on the machine around to the other side of the field where the shockers were. jack's short legs had hard work in the stubble, and she kept a tight hold on him with one hand while she carried the jug with the other. hugh saw them coming and called to her to wait till he could come for the jug. doctor morgan had especially cautioned against heavy lifting. the new team which john had bought was hitched to the pole of the harvester, and as he drew them up, a botfly buzzed suddenly about the forelegs of the off-wheel horse. the animal struck at it angrily with its foot, giving a shrill snort. its mate threw itself to the other side, rattling the double-trees of the leaders against their heels. there was a frightened spring on the part of one of the horses in front, and at that the wild and half-broken wheel horses began to plunge ahead. thoroughly frightened, the four horses became unmanageable at once, and the one nearest the revolving reel got its tail over the line, where it held firmly to it as it reared and kicked. almost before it was clear what had happened, the horses were on a full run down the field, with a barbed-wire fence ahead. hugh could do but one thing. he circled them about toward the outside of the field by the one line he could control, while he frantically jammed the lever down, which threw the machine out of gear, but at the speed at which the machine was going the lever would not act. the one line swung the horses around in a short circle, and as the thoroughly alarmed man raised his head he was horrified to find that elizabeth, encumbered with the jug, and so thoroughly frightened that she held on to it and to jack's hand with equal tenacity, was within the radius of the circle. the baby, the mother, and the heavy water-jug were in the centre of that narrowing ring, and the natural and spontaneous thing to do was to run in the direction away from the careening harvester. they ran, but only for a few yards, for by the time they thought that they were nearing a point of safety at the circumference of the circle, the horses were nearing that point also, and to attempt to cross it was suicidal. "go back!" shouted hugh, his whole body breaking into a cold sweat as the woman and child turned to run in the opposite direction. had presence of mind been possible at that moment, elizabeth could have slipped quickly behind the binder and passed outside the ring the charging animals were making, but as it was, she simply ran blindly back once more to another and more dangerous point inside their lessening orbit. one more such run and both mother and child would be exhausted. with the cold sweat of terror breaking over him, hugh noland slackened his hold on the line and flung himself off the high seat to run to her assistance. as he jumped, the horses of their own accord turned sharper yet, and the bull-wheel, striking a badger hole, threw the machine over sidewise and completely upside down. the wheel horses, released by the coupling-pin falling from the main clevis, kicked themselves loose from the other team and tore madly across the uncut grain. elizabeth hunter escaped death by the overturning of the heavy binder, but when she arrived at the twisted and broken harvester, hugh noland lay pinned under the wreckage, white and insensible. it took but a few moments for the men, who had come running at the first sounds of the commotion, to lift the heavy machinery from the limp body and lay the wounded man down under the shade of a large shock of rye. while luther bent to examine the senseless form, john rushed one of the men frantically off for doctor morgan. "no! wait--i'll go myself!" he called as the man was driving away, and flinging himself into the buggy, which elizabeth had left at the fence, laid the whip on the back of the frightened patsie. it was not till john was halfway to colebyville that hugh noland opened his eyes. luther was stooping over him, bathing his face with water from the jug which elizabeth had so unconsciously provided. the girl also knelt at his side rendering such assistance as was in her power, and when hugh actually showed signs of being alive she buried her face in her hands and sobbed with an abandon which luther hansen could not mistake. the hired men had gone to get the leaders, which, being reliable horses, had got over their fright and were nibbling the fresh grass by the fence. the other team was completely out of sight. they covered hugh from the scorching sun till the men could bring the wagon from the barn, and then the sad little cavalcade returned to the house with the injured man. doctor morgan arrived with john in his own buggy two hours later, and then a strange thing was discovered. no bones were broken, and no internal injuries were in evidence which would necessarily give cause for alarm. the examination pointed to an excited heart chiefly, the weakest link in hugh noland's system and the place where new troubles centred and aggravated old ones. that the man's life had not been instantaneously crushed out was due to the fact that the long steel levers had stuck in the hard earth and held the machine up. but the trouble with the heart had been accentuated acutely before the binder had even capsized, for that horrible nightmare of galloping down upon the girl had evidently begun what the later catastrophe had carried to a farther and really dangerous stage. hugh was placed in the downstairs bedroom by the men, whose hearts were wrung at every step they carried him, and, as luther remarked, because elizabeth would have the care of him and stairs were deadly things in case of sickness. doctor morgan came again before night, intending to stay with the patient till morning. john met him at the gate. with the feeling that he had been responsible for this terrible accident to hugh, whom he loved as he had never loved any other human being, john had spent an afternoon of agony. the rest of the men could look for a neighbour to finish the grain with another machine, but for him, he spent the time at hugh's side. "how is he?" doctor morgan asked almost before he was within speaking distance. "resting. we don't trouble him, but he seems quiet." "that's good!" the old man exclaimed. he had come with his heart in his mouth, as they say in that country. "i wish i had as good a report for you," he added. "why--what's happened to me?" john asked in surprise. "the young mare you drove in died in the stable. it's hot weather, and i guess you were pretty badly excited. i told the men in the livery to shut the colt up; it kept nosing around the carcass and it isn't good for it. you'd better get in as early as you can and look after it yourself. those stable men don't care for anything that ain't their own." john hunter stood speechless till the end of the story, and then helped tie the doctor's team. "that all comes from that miserable team! i'm glad one of them did have to be shot. i've half a notion to shoot the other one; it's all cut up by the wire and 'll take no end of trouble to cure. hugh said horses and dogs talked with their tails, and i guess they do. say, will you tell elizabeth about the horse? it's one i got from her father and she's terribly fond of it." elizabeth met doctor morgan as he came from hugh's room a few minutes later with the unspoken question so plainly evident in her face that he answered it without waiting to be asked. "no signs of further trouble, little woman, thank god! they tell me you were near being run over by that binder too." elizabeth evaded the last remark. "that's nothing. but are you sure about hugh?" she asked in a voice that quavered a little. "now look here," the doctor said, concerned at once for her welfare. "we can't have you go and get upset. it looks as if noland got out of that pretty lucky. the only thing that's worrying me is that infernal heart of his." john came in at that point and the old doctor addressed himself to him. "this woman'll have to take care of noland, hunter, and i want you to see to it that she don't have another thing to do. she can't have that child dragging on her, and we'll have to look out that she don't overdo, or we'll have her down on our hands too. the trouble with peritonitis is that it don't get well as fast as it looks to. a slight thing will often start it up anew, and peritonitis is the devil if it gets to recurring." "we'll all help take care of hugh," john promised readily. doctor morgan looked at john hunter and back to elizabeth dubiously. he reflected that the same lack of caution which had killed the mare yesterday might kill a man in case of excitement. "it isn't necessarily help that she's going to need. it won't be so hard to take care of him, if she isn't worried by a lot of other things. i don't want another soul to touch that medicine. we've got to be mighty careful about that. heart remedies are poison and as quick as lightning in their action, and we can't afford to take any chances on that kind of stuff. i'm right glad to put your wife at the helm in this thing; she's definite and dependable, two things we doctors don't often find when we need them most." turning to elizabeth he said: "it may be rather hard on you, but our main care is to pull this man through the next ten days. if he don't have some one to look after him right, he may slip through our fingers." "why--i thought you said he was all right," elizabeth faltered. in his efforts to impress the need of care with the medicine, doctor morgan had gone over the mark and added to the fears he had started out to allay. elizabeth was as white as if all the blood in her body had been taken away. "now don't begin to worry till i tell you there's need, child," he said half irritably. "all that's necessary is for you to look after that medicine. noland 'll come out all right with you to nurse him. i wouldn't mind being sick myself, hunter, with her to hold the spoon," he said, trying to put a merry face on the matter. "did it ever occur to you that you were a lucky dog to come into this country and run off with the nicest girl in it the first year you were here?" as the doctor drove home the next morning, he said to himself: "i guess i fixed it about that medicine;" then, his mind reverting to the conversation at the gate, he added, "i wasn't goin' to tell her about that horse; let him tell her himself. blamed fool! i think i headed off his issuing orders about that sick-bed too. poor little girl! now if she'd only married noland!" the old doctor gave a long, low whistle as a sudden thought struck him, but he put it away, and being a busy man thought no more about it for weeks. chapter xxii "there are some things we have to settle for ourselves" john's being away from home those first days of hugh's illness--he had gone to colebyville to dispose of patsie's body and secure a new team to finish harvesting--kept him from getting the run of the affairs of the sickroom, and enabled elizabeth to assume the care of the invalid in her own way. an idea once fixed in john hunter's head was fixed, and having accepted the plan of doctor morgan that elizabeth was to be in sole charge of care and medicine, he went his way without thrusting his suggestions upon her, and elizabeth, having learned not to discuss things with him, did not speak of her work nor of anything connected with the invalid. in fact, as soon as john entered the sickroom she went out, as one of the best ways she knew of to avoid accidents of conversation. john came to hugh's bedside but little, supposing that he needed rest, and willing to sacrifice his all to the comfort of the pale invalid. with the tears of a woman in his heart if not in his eyes, john watched from afar the face of the man he had been the unconscious means of injuring, and tiptoed about the outer rooms with a fear of death which only john could feel. another thing kept him out of the sickroom: impressed with the idea that his carelessness in the purchase of the first team had led up to this trouble, he had gone to the other extreme in replacing them, and had paid three hundred and twenty-five dollars for one of the best and most thoroughly proven teams in the country. there were no available funds and he had been obliged to give a note for them; this must in time come to hugh's notice, and john had a distinct remembrance of a former note, and did not wish to repeat the experience. luther, who came often to see hugh, had spoken to john of patsie's death in elizabeth's presence, and after the first pained expression of surprise and grief, elizabeth had never mentioned it again. john had noticed also that elizabeth had never asked the price of the last team, nor seemed to take any interest in them, and he hoped by the same means to avoid confessing to hugh. john hunter was glad at this time to escape discussions of an unpleasant nature; he was more broken by the accident than he ever admitted; he accused himself more bitterly than any one would ever accuse him; he had broken up a working team, he had killed his best horse, and he had been all but responsible for the death of his best friend, and when john hunter's own misdeeds hit hard enough, he would face things squarely, and no matter how hard he worked to avoid owning up to others, would acknowledge to himself that he was in the wrong. hugh's white face grew whiter each day and accused him enough without further words. to escape it, john worked busily, and there was need of work, for the rapidly drying fields required his entire attention during the day, and he left hugh to his wife's care, glad to do so. there were times, however, when john was alone with hugh, and at such times, because he was full of self-blame and humiliation, he listened to what hugh said with a peculiar attention. hugh saw that john worried himself half sick over his misfortune, and reached out the hand of love and fellowship for which john hungered at this time. he talked of his possible death as if it were but a journey, which always convulsed john's face with child-like emotions. he talked of the farm work, and kept close track of what was done. he knew that john had had to go into debt for the team, and he wanted john to tell him, without being asked, that a note had been given. when he did not, hugh passed the matter over without reference and with a sigh. hugh noland was not criticising john hunter or any of his actions these days, but hugh studied john and found his weaknesses, and tried to give him such help as he thought possible. hugh had long days to think, and he began to yearn over this man to whom he had been a sort of traitor. he saw john's wilfulness with elizabeth--heard many things without being able to avoid hearing them, being pinned to his bed--he saw where john's irritability lost good help during the busy season and left double duty for faithful jake, his supercilious attitude toward luther, and his illy concealed contempt for the farmers about them, and one of his ways of keeping his mind off john's wife was to keep it on john and john's needs. hugh kept luther with him whenever luther could be spared from his home in the evenings, and he spoke to john of luther with growing affection. when he grew stronger, he discussed farm work and farmers with john in a way that savoured of interest in their problems; he asked nathan and silas and carter and bob warren in and talked to them of fertilizers and drainage, and when john insisted that those things were in the future, he said: "yes, but they will come up in our time; you see i come from a place where those things were already a necessity to the farmers. i am a farmer myself now and i think about those things." hugh knew that his consideration of fertilizers was superfluous in a country that was hardly past the sod-corn stage, but he longed to dignify this work to john hunter, since john would give his formative years here and be unable to do other things if he ever made money enough to get away, as he hoped. hugh had had enough work in the agricultural department of an eastern university before he had come to kansas, to make it possible for him to interest these men in the future development of their state. doctor morgan, who had been rather unwilling that serious subjects should be discussed in the sickroom, asked curiously one day: "what the devil do you want to prate such nonsense as that to these folks for? they won't need any kind of fertilizers in this country for twenty years. you'd better be resting instead of shooting such useless stuff as that at _them_." "i want to talk farming to john hunter as if it were a respectable business to engage in, doctor. i don't have to tell you how he views it." "what in sam hill's the difference how he views it?" the doctor asked in astonishment. "he's nothing but a cheap skate, and you can't make anything else out of him." hugh noland looked at the doctor and made no reply; he understood that the unfortunate vision of john hunter which doctor morgan had got would prevent him from seeing the point he was trying to make, and so let the matter drop, but he kept john with him evenings and worked along on his own lines and with persistence. he wanted to feel right about his stay in john's home, and one of the ways of doing it was to get close to john's heart on important matters. he spoke of jack as a future farmer, and when john indignantly resented the implication and said that he expected his son to be an educated man, hugh replied: "why, of course you do, but an educated farmer is exactly the thing to make of him. look at the clean life you'd place him in." and so the days ran on in the sick-chamber. if john was with hugh, elizabeth busied herself about the house elsewhere, and john rarely saw them together, unless there was medicine to administer, and then the girl gave it without remark. a growing fear had taken possession of her lest john should fly out at her in unpleasant fashion before hugh. the situation between the two had been made so much more acute by hugh's accidental reference to it when he had thought that she was crying about him, that she was supersensitive regarding her half-formed complaint in explanation. but for that reference, they could have gone along indefinitely with a pretence of indifference, but enough had been said to tear away the veil and leave them self-conscious and mutually humiliated. their little avoidances of touch or tenderness spoke in a language not to be misunderstood, and their eyes told unconsciously all that they refused to say with their tongues. elizabeth, in her own way, worried herself half sick in her endeavours to care for him gently and yet give him no cause to think she was making a demand for a love of which neither approved, but which having once been put into words was a constant factor in their association. once when she was bathing his face, hugh thought she lingered longer over it than was necessary and drew himself back on his pillow suddenly, saying: "don't elizabeth. i should have my arms about you in a minute if you did that, and you are john's wife--and i couldn't look him in the face if i did a thing of that sort." elizabeth turned away without replying, her eyes full of tears. he had misunderstood her cruelly. the one thing elizabeth hunter was trying to do was not to show her affection for this man who was not her husband, but as she became worn and tired from duty at the sick-bed it became more and more evident that she could not accomplish it. hugh had the daily fear of her peritonitis coming back upon her; doctor morgan had warned him while john was away. unable to lift his head from his pillow without assistance, hugh saw her growing thin and discouraged, and knew that it was the enforced condition of caring for him which made her so; yet when she tried to avoid his sympathetic eyes, he instantly misunderstood her and was hurt. that she was not really strong enough to assume the care of him added to his uneasiness, and often when he was on the point of saying so, she mistook his glance and was so distant that it died on his lips. and so the days ran into each other with the pair. if for any reason one advanced, the other retreated, and at last the condition became unbearable. elizabeth gave much and consuming thought to the issue brought about by the fact that her husband, still living in the house with her, had no idea that she could be in love with another man, even though her husband no longer loved her. any sort of love-making was a violation of her marriage vows, and for her to put love for another man into words was to fall to a level to which she had never in her life thought of doing. what was she to do? john never saw anything except in the light of his own instincts and emotions, and an idea or a prejudice once fixed in his mind could be uprooted by nothing but death; therefore to confess to him and thereby make it possible to get away from hugh would prejudice him against hugh, whom he would be certain to think had stolen something to which he alone had the right, and against her whom he felt that he possessed, and upon whom he could wreak almost any form of public revenge. hugh had tried to get away and john had himself held him, but john could not remember that nor listen to it if told. every effort had been made by hugh to avoid elizabeth since he had found out the true situation, but nothing would convince john of that. had john hunter the right then, being the kind of man he was, to a confession from her that would confuse the whole issue and do vital wrong to everybody concerned, including the baby, who must suffer with the mother who would be made to seem much worse than she was. this elizabeth hunter asked herself daily, and with the fear that her conscience would force her to confession should she permit any demonstration of affection, and to avoid any possibility of it, she became colder and colder in her manner toward the sick man. the effort to keep off dangerous ground was disastrous, for hugh instantly misunderstood it, and the gloom which settled over him increased the difficulties with which elizabeth had to contend. doctor morgan saw that his patient, who had seemed slightly better, fell back again, and he worried about his despondent condition. "cheer him up, mrs. hunter! read to him! anything!" he would exclaim. "he's got to have peace of mind, or there's no hope in the world of his recovery. something more 'n staved-in ribs is keeping him down," the doctor urged, not knowing that he laid impossible burdens on shoulders too young to bear them. the two duties, the one to her husband and the one to her patient, stared her in the face, and she had no one with whom to advise or consult. "i don't care! his life's worth more than for me to approve of myself as a wife," she decided at last, and yet when she gave hugh his next dose of medicine she was colder and more on her guard than ever. luther hansen came to see hugh that afternoon. elizabeth received an inspiration when he started away and followed him out of the house. "luther, will he die?" she asked. "i don't know, lizzie," luther said quietly, not knowing what to say to such a question, and too honest to evade. at the time of the accident to the binder, when elizabeth knelt, broken with exhaustion and terror, looking at the man she loved who lay under the mass of machinery with the colour of death upon him, no one but a blind man could have mistaken the utter abandonment of her grief, and certainly of all men luther was not blind. now he recognized the heartache back of elizabeth's question and with an instinct to cheer was almost persuaded to answer in the negative. in his heart he thought hugh would die. the rapidly failing strength of the man indicated that he would do so unless something came to buoy him up. "i don't know, lizzie," he added, as if squaring his conscience, "he looks so weak and troubled like." luther realized the moment it was out of his mouth that he had said the wrong thing. elizabeth's lips grew white and she held her breath a moment as if preparing to accept what she knew must be the truth. "lizzie," asked luther gently, "would you like to talk to me about it?" the girl's face tensed strangely and her quivering lips refused to do her bidding for a full minute, the relief was so great. "i--i came out for that," she said simply when she could speak. "it's so good of you to understand and make it easy for me. i'll walk over toward home with you." they walked slowly through the barnyard, across the creek, and over the pleasant pasture land. neither spoke. elizabeth, now that she had decided to talk to luther about the circumstances with which she contended, could not bring herself readily to do so. luther had always the insight of true wisdom, which let others gauge their own inclinations. when they came to the fence which was the boundary line between luther's and john hunter's farms, they stopped. there was a line of willow trees running at intervals down the fence, and luther waved his hand in the direction of a shady spot beside them. "set down, lizzie," he said, seating himself half-facing her. elizabeth hunter crumpled up on the grass with her back against a fence post, and thought while luther got out his knife and looked for something to whittle. "tell me about it," he said at last. "you want to--and--and i'm a safe person." she looked up at him, glad that he had assumed it, and smoothed the path to confession. "i know you're safe, luther. you're more than that, god bless you!" and to this man whom she had always trusted elizabeth poured out all her fears, her feelings, and her frantic cry for help. "i've had no one to talk to, luther," she ended, "and i don't believe a human being can go on always and not put things into words." they talked on and on. having started, she let him see the consuming struggle between right and wrong which she waged every day. "doctor morgan says, 'cheer him up! cheer him up,' and what am i to do?" she closed in desperation. elizabeth hunter had told far more than she supposed. she had bared a yearning, struggling heart to luther's gaze, a soul seeking a right path where there seemed no sure road, nothing but confusion. luther longed to help, but the problem presented insurmountable difficulties; to adopt a rigid code of morals as such was to come out at the end of the journey with something in herself and society satisfied, and hugh noland's life sacrificed, as doctor morgan had said; to adopt a sympathetic attitude would spare the life of a useful man, but with her code shattered. if only she could take john into her confidence both might be possible. "lizzie, you couldn't tell hunter, could you?" even as he asked it he knew it could not be done. "i would tell john instantly if he were like you, luther," was her reply. "i think hugh himself would have been glad to. if he could have explained, he could have got away. no--john isn't the kind of man. he wouldn't understand, and he'd make it a great deal worse than it is to everybody. he'd accuse me and spoil jack's life, and----" the hopelessness of it left her silent for a minute, and then doctor morgan's warnings came up to be reckoned with. "the doctor says he'll die if he's worried, luther. what am i to do?" she demanded, wanting him to settle the question for her, and letting the tears run unrestrained down her cheeks. luther hansen looked at her pityingly and shook his head. "there are some things we have to settle for ourselves, lizzie, and this is one of them for you. i do know," he said trustfully, "whatever you do 'll be right." the interview was ended. luther helped elizabeth to her feet, and went away to his own house and waiting chores, leaving the question with her--elizabeth hunter--whose life had been punctuated with interrogation points. elizabeth walked back slowly, going over every hint and suggestion to be gained from luther's discussion of her situation. nothing was clear except that whatever her decision, it must be the nearest right of anything she was able to understand. she remembered as she stopped to fasten the barnyard gate behind her that luther had said as he left her: "he'll go away as soon as he is able, you say, lizzie," and she remembered the lingering tones of fondness in luther's voice when hugh's name was mentioned. it was not easy for luther to say, let him die, either. elizabeth remembered at that point that hugh's medicine was long overdue, that medicine was more important just now than any of the questions with which she had been struggling. with a frightened little cry she ran to the house and to the sick-chamber. "never mind, elizabeth," hugh said when he saw her shuffling the papers about in search of the bottle. "jack came in and i had hepsie give it to me. i've decided that it isn't a good plan to have it there, and i'll keep it under my pillow hereafter." "i--i went out with luther, hugh, and i didn't realize that i was gone so long. you've missed two doses!" she noticed that hugh called her by her given name altogether now. hugh laughed a sad little laugh. "well, i've had the one for this hour at least. i--i tried to take it alone. i guess i won't try that again. it stuck in my throat and i got a strangling spell. i coughed till--well, i thought i was going to get out of taking medicine altogether. it's a terrible fear that grips a fellow when he gets something stuck in his throat and knows that he can't lift his head off his pillow. it isn't so much that he's afraid to die--it's the death struggle he's afraid of." absorbed in his own thoughts, hugh noland closed his eyes and did not see the effect his words produced upon elizabeth. by some sort of psychological process he had placed that death struggle before her very eyes. hugh, all unconscious that he had made any impression, unconscious that her attitude toward death differed from his own, or that his death could mean much more to her than deliverance from the presence and care of him, lay with his eyes closed, thinking his own bitter thoughts. there was indeed enough in hugh noland's appearance to terrify the girl as he lay before her, wasted and woebegone, his low forehead blue-veined and colourless, his hands blue-veined and transparent, and all his shrunken figure sharply outlined under the thin summer covering of the bed with ghastly and suggestive significance. instantly she wanted to go down by his side and with her arms about him give him the sympathy and comfort his lonely heart craved, but because it was so deliciously tempting she distrusted the impulse and, turning hastily, walked out of the room and out of the house, going on a run to her refuge in the willows. but though she agonized till dark she found herself no nearer a solution than before. hugh felt the distance elizabeth maintained and also the fact that she was not well. how he hated it when she had to lift him for his medicine. doctor morgan had especially talked about her lifting when she was at first convalescing. his heart was very bad that night. about three o'clock the next afternoon elizabeth tiptoed in to see if he slept. "i'm awake," he said without opening his eyes. always when hugh did not open his eyes elizabeth was filled with premonitions. he was very pinched and wan to-day. with a pain at her own heart, elizabeth brought a fresh glass of water for his medicine. she had to speak to him to get him ready to take it from her hand. kneeling, she put her arm under the pillow to raise his head while he drank. hugh fumbled with the little bottle as he tried to return the extra disks he had accidentally poured out into his hand. elizabeth waited till he had the cork in place, with her arm still under the pillow. he turned his face toward her as he thrust the bottle back, and accidentally touched her hand under his head. he glanced up consciously. her breath, fresh, warm, full of the life man adores, came to him from her parted lips, and to get away from the impulse to say things he was resolved not to say, he closed his eyes and turned his head feebly. a gasp of fright came from the girl as she saw the contortion of his haggard face. "hugh!" she exclaimed. the glass she held fell from her fingers and rolled to the foot of the bed, scattering its contents abroad unobserved, as she threw her other arm across him and lifted him for the air she supposed he needed. their breaths mingled. human nature is but human nature, man is but man and woman is but woman in the final analysis: they were in the hands of a fate stronger than either of them at that moment. elizabeth struggled no more; right or wrong, it had happened, and she brought her rocking chair and with her free hand clasped in his, read and took life as it came. after that, sin nor sickness could keep them from being happy. if the girl talked of the better course of restoring the old reserve, hugh's hand would reach out imploringly: "only till i get well, dearest; i won't trouble your conscience after that. i know you don't feel right about this, but i can't go back to a life without any affection again while i'm here," and elizabeth always responded to that call. she reflected that even luther could not condemn her for it. yet when john was in the house or whenever she was obliged to be careful about hepsie, as she often was, she was outraged in her own sight, and her colours trailed in the dust of humiliation, for she saw that the path she was treading was one of unaccustomed duplicity. "if i could only approve of myself," she said to hugh, and then was sorry she had spoken, for hugh noland's face grew more white and he closed his eyes with a little sob. "oh, my darling," he said when he could speak again, "you long for that and i like you for it too, but i'm weak. i want to be loved and petted, and--i'm so tired that i don't want to think about it at all. kiss me, sweet," and elizabeth kissed him, and was glad in spite of herself. "you shall not have to think till you're well," she promised, and the days ran on throughout the blazing summer, and hugh improved, and elizabeth won doctor morgan's admiration as a nurse. in the midst of the deceptions which elizabeth hunter was called upon to practise, however, she followed the natural trend of her character in ways which proved how fundamental truth and outrightness were in her make-up. having discussed hugh with luther, she told hugh that she had done so. this gave hugh a wrong impression of affairs between the two which she was obliged to set right. "no, luther never loved me--that is, he never said that he did. that isn't the way we feel about each other. we've just been good friends always. we herded cattle together and told each other things all our lives. i could tell luther anything." "well, he couldn't love that black-eyed thing he lives with," hugh said. "i don't know how it is myself, but he does, and luther never lies. you can see that he's square with her. he gives her a kind of companionship that will keep her out of the position i'm in, too," she said with conviction, and then saw the kind of blow that she had dealt, and covered her face with her hands for shame. elizabeth heard the invalid sigh deeply. when she could speak again, she slid down on her knees by his bed and, laying her arm across the shoulders of the man she had hurt, faced herself and her deeds squarely, as was her way. "it's of no use, hugh. we've got to face it. i didn't intend to hurt you, but i'm in a serious position. i must think of this thing all my life--and i shall shrink whenever i do. i shall see everybody in the light of my own life. i made no comparison between you and luther. there's love and love in this world, as i've found out. john thought he loved me and i thought i loved him--and look at us! i don't know what luther would do if he were placed where we are, but that is not the question. i hurt you just now; but, oh, hugh! i love you too--god help me, and in the midst of it all i want my self-respect back till i could almost die to get it. sometimes i think i'll go and tell john yet." when for sheer want of breath elizabeth stopped and looked at hugh noland inquiringly, he asked eagerly: "could we?" and for a long time she looked at him, till her eyes took on a faraway look which said that she was going over details and experiences of the past. in the light of those experiences she finally shook her head. "no," she said with simple conviction. "you don't know john. he'd never understand that---- well, he'd mix everything uselessly. it would fall hardest on jack; his future would be spoiled by the humiliation of having everybody think i was worse than i----" elizabeth could not finish her sentence for the pain on the face before her, and hid her face on the same pillow and cried out her grief and heartache till hugh had to warn her that hepsie might come in. it was well that elizabeth's mind was occupied with hepsie while she bathed and cooled her swollen eyelids. long afterward she remembered hugh had laid his arm across his white face at that moment, but she was never to know the fulness of the self-reproach nor the depths of the despair which hugh noland suffered--hugh, who loved her. for himself, he did not so much care, being a man and accustomed to the life of men in those things, but he saw the endless round of her days, carrying with her through them all the secrecy and shame of it; she who loved openness! if she had been a woman who looked herself less squarely in the face it would have been less hard. "i think i'll talk to luther too," he said at last. "you couldn't drive patsie over for him this evening, could you?" he asked. elizabeth looked down at him in surprise as she wiped her hands. "why--why, i thought you knew about patsie," she said hesitatingly. "patsie's dead." "dead?" "yes. she died the night you were hurt. john drove her for doctor morgan," the girl said, wishing that she could keep the news from him. after that first startled exclamation hugh did not remark on the mare's death; he noticed that elizabeth never blamed john for things when talking of him, and he liked her for it. "what became of the horses that day--the ones on the binder? you kept me so stupefied at first that i sort of forgot about them." he forced from her all the vital details of the purchase of the new horses. after he had received the answers she felt obliged to give he did not comment upon any feature of the story. they never criticised anything john did between them; in fact, they rarely mentioned his name, but hugh was struck with the necessity of knowing methods and facts regarding the business and asking such simple questions as he was warranted in asking. when the discussion was finished he asked again for luther, and she promised to get him as soon as possible. hugh noland had a long afternoon to think out the situation into which he had thrust elizabeth, for when elizabeth arrived at luther's house he had gone to town and the sun was so hot that she rested before starting home. hugh was only disturbed by hepsie, who came once an hour to give him the drink necessary when medicine time came around. it was lonesome with elizabeth away, but it let him think more clearly. hugh saw that he had entangled elizabeth in a life which contained something altogether extraneous to her whole character. because she was perfectly open, the greater would be the damage which must result to her if this life went on. one wild moment of hope had been granted him when they had discussed the possibility of telling john. how well hugh remembered the searching thought elizabeth had given his question before she had shaken her head. the time taken to think soberly of confession told more plainly than all her words how much she desired it. the one thing in life which elizabeth most disliked was duplicity, and yet so long as he remained an invalid their relations would be kept up. for this alone he would have been glad to crawl on his knees to colebyville, though he died on the way. something must be done to free the girl and put her back into a life of which she could approve. with self-respect restored, elizabeth was the kind of woman who would take hold of the merely unpleasant features of her life, and in time find a way of overcoming them. a plan began to formulate in hugh noland's head. the next morning hepsie came and asked for a few days off to get some needed sewing done. with hugh's illness and the extra work of it she had let her own work drag till she felt that she could neglect it no longer. elizabeth let her go, thinking guiltily that there would be less danger of the discovery she seemed to be ever fearing these days. how they had gone so long without it she could not understand. to get her dinner dishes out of the way early she put jack to sleep immediately after they were through eating and then hurried the dishes so as to get in a long afternoon's reading. the dishes took a long time in spite of her efforts to hurry. when at last she did finish she hastened to the bedroom with a glass of water in her hand. hugh had been thinking seriously and was worn out with the tangle of wrongdoing in which he found himself, the solution of which involved such unsatisfactory changes, and now just weakly wanted to be loved. he did not speak, but after the tablet was swallowed invited a kiss by a glance of the eye, and when it was given, drew her head down on his breast and lay patting it. jack had wakened and toddled into the room on his sleepy little legs. the child staggered over to his mother and laid his head against her arm, murmuring sleepily: "love oo too!" elizabeth hunter sprang to her feet as if a clap of thunder had unexpectedly sent its report through the hot afternoon air. her guilty eyes sought hugh's. jack encircled her knees with his fat little arms and, standing on his tiptoes to be taken, repeated: "love oo too!" there was a noise at the well and elizabeth, glad of a chance to escape from the room, went out. john was pumping water over a jug to cool it before he filled it. the sight of the man who was her husband had a curious effect on elizabeth; everything in her, mentally and physically, became chaotic, her ears buzzed, her temples throbbed, and there was an inner shrinking which could scarcely be controlled. john had seen her and waited for her to come out to the well. when the jug was full, john leaned forward to kiss jack and a sick sort of fear took hold of her lest he would offer to kiss her also. his breath fell hot on her neck as he sought jack's face on her shoulder, but he did not offer to kiss her, and she turned away with an unspeakable relief. "take jack and i'll carry the jug out to the boys while you have a chat with hugh," elizabeth said suddenly. john was very tired, the field where they had been cutting shock corn was very hot, and the house looked cool and inviting. "well, i guess i will." the jug was heavier than elizabeth had thought and she sat down to rest on the way, observing as she did so that doctor morgan was driving into the lane. "i am not absolved from blame because he scolds," she told herself. as she thought of her duties in life, jack's affectionate little speech of half an hour ago came to mind. aye! there was the crux of the whole difficulty. she was jack's mother! a line of emerson's which she had read with hugh once came to her mind: "in my dealings with my child, my latin and my greek, my accomplishments and my money, stead me nothing. they are all lost upon him: but as much soul as i have avails." her whole mind was taken up with the quotation as soon as it came before her. "as much soul as i have avails!" over and over she repeated it, and when she at last saw john bearing down upon her she got up guiltily and waited instead of going on with the jug alone. "was it too heavy?" he asked. "i'll take it over and come back for you. doctor morgan wants to see you. i'll come back; it's too hot for me; i'm going to rest." the cool house had appealed to john hunter. at the house hugh noland was asking searching questions of the old doctor. "when do you intend to let me get out of here, doctor?" he asked. "out of here?" the doctor exclaimed. "not till you're well enough. just what do you mean by 'out of here?'" he asked in return. "just what i said. when will i be well enough to go to mitchell county?" there was an intensity about it which caught the doctor's attention. "now look here, noland, you won't go to mitchell county for a year with such a heart as that--it's too far from your friends, my boy. be good and don't you get to worrying. you've got to stand it. be a man." had doctor morgan shown any tenderness hugh noland would have told him the real reason for wanting to get away, but something in the banter of being admonished to be a man took away the thing which made it possible. "then can't i be taken into town?" hugh asked when he had had time to swallow the bitter pill. "into town? now? well, not that anybody knows of at this time. now look here, you've got a splendid place to stay; why can't you be sensible and lay here and get well? you worry till i might as well go and turn this medicine down the gullet of one of hunter's pigs. be a man," he repeated, hoping to whip the discouraged patient into line with good sense. "it isn't a case of being a man, when a woman's got to take care of you that had better be taking care of herself," hugh said bitterly. "is mrs. hunter getting down on our hands too? that won't do. i'm glad we sent for her." hugh noland knew that he had played his last card, and he knew that he had lost. elizabeth walked in at that moment, followed by john. doctor morgan addressed himself to her, taking her aside while they talked. "all moonshine, noland, old boy," he exclaimed when he followed elizabeth back to the sickroom a few minutes later. "this girl's as sound as a dollar. noland's been thinking he's too much trouble, mrs. hunter." doctor morgan saw hugh noland's colour die out, and dropped his finger on the patient's wrist apprehensively. neither spoke. to change the subject, and also to get a chance to observe the sick man under less conscious circumstances, doctor morgan addressed john: "by the way, hunter, that man you bought the team of got in a pinch and asked me to shave the note for him. it's all right, is it?" a sort of electric thrill ran from each to all in the room. doctor morgan understood that he had unwittingly opened pandora's box; hugh gave no sign, but though john answered promptly and positively in the one word, "surely," a warning was somehow conveyed to john that this was more than a merely unfortunate moment. he had been uncomfortable about the note, and under ordinary circumstances would have been glad to have the first knowledge of it come to hugh in the presence of a third party, but now, by some indefinable thing which was neither sight nor sound, he knew that the news was not news to hugh, and by the same intangible, vague thing, by some prophetic premonition, john knew that this matter of the note was a disaster. there was a long pause, finally broken by hugh. "will you be going home by hansen's to-night, doctor?" "i can as well as any other way," the doctor said, glad to hear voices again. "will you ask hansen to come over in the morning, then?" hugh asked. both doctor morgan and john hunter looked over at hugh sharply, wondering what he could want of luther, but the sick man closed his eyes as a way of ending the argument. doctor morgan dropped his finger on the patient's wrist again and looked at john warningly: "i think i'll be going. you stay with noland, hunter. i want a word with mrs. hunter before i go. i'll stop at hansen's, noland." doctor morgan took elizabeth out and questioned her closely about the diet and other important matters, but was able to elicit nothing new. "i've been encouraged of late," the old doctor said, shaking his head, "but here he is as bad as ever--that is, as discouraged and restless. have you been reading to him lately? what's on his nerves, anyhow?" when the doctor could get no additional information regarding hugh's condition from elizabeth, he gave it up and turned his attention to the girl herself. "i told him you were as fine as a dollar, but i'm not sure about you. i'm going to bring you a tonic to-morrow. i'll be out in the morning, early, and i'll try and see him to-morrow night late. i don't like the way he looked to-night. say, you don't know what he wants of hansen do you?" "no. he asked me to go over yesterday afternoon after him, but luther wasn't there and hasn't come in since. it's a busy time and he probably thought very little of it. hugh often sends for him. do you think he's worse, doctor?" she asked anxiously. "no, not specially," the old doctor answered gruffly, as he turned toward luther hansen's house. he was a bit annoyed because he thought hugh showed too little backbone, as he termed it. john hunter sat long beside the invalid, cut to the quick by the languid air and shrunken frame. he wanted to talk about the note now that it was not a secret, but hugh lay absolutely silent and did not open his eyes until the lamp was brought in. at that he shifted uneasily and asked that it be kept in the other room till needed at medicine time. john finally gave it up and went softly out, convinced that hugh wanted rest and quiet. john was broken in many ways by the continued illness for which he felt himself responsible, and had particularly wanted a chance to talk to-night. when all had gone to bed but elizabeth, hugh called her to him. elizabeth answered the call, but stood at a distance from the bed. it had come. hugh had always known it would, but now that it was here it was hard to face. "you mean it, i know you do, elizabeth," he said. "i want you to do it, but--o god! how hard it's going to be!" he held out his empty arms to her for a last embrace. elizabeth shook her head. "now's the time to begin, hugh. 'too,' jack says. that tells the whole story. i shall pollute his life also. i shall stand, not for what i think i am, but for what i am, in that child's sight. i reasoned it out when you were so ill, and i thought this was justifiable, and oh, hugh! i've dragged myself down in my own sight and i've dragged you down with me. it isn't enough for me to seem to be right, i've got to _be_ right," she said in a low tone, and with added shame because she had to keep her voice from john's ears--john who slept upstairs and trusted them. "it would be easier for you, elizabeth, if i were not here," hugh noland said sadly. "you could kill it out alone." "but i am not alone. you are here, and have got to help me. tell me that you will--at any cost," she leaned forward, and in her eagerness raised her voice till he pointed upward warningly. when she had given his medicine without a touch of tenderness, he said to her: "you have bid my soul forth. i will give you that help, at any cost." he made the last sentence stand out, but in her earnestness she did not notice it or think of it again till it was significant. she went back to her bed on the sitting-room couch and to the broken rest allowed to those who watch with the sick. chapter xxiii "at any cost" the old doctor delivered the message to luther, and the next morning he appeared at the sickroom door. while he was talking to hugh, nathan hornby came and was called into the sickroom also. elizabeth was too busy with her own work to think much about this visit, and before it was finished doctor morgan was with her questioning her about the night spent by her patient. nathan came to the kitchen while they were talking. "i think i'll take that youngster home with me if you're goin' t' be alone t' day," he announced. doctor morgan looked relieved. "that's about the kindest thing you could do for this girl," he said. "noland isn't as well as i'd like to have him, and she's up every hour in the night. it takes a hired girl to run off at a time like this." elizabeth defended hepsie at once. "hepsie's pure gold. she waited a long time for hugh to get well. please, doctor, don't make any such remark as that outside of this house or some one 'll tell her i said it. really, she's the best help a woman ever had. she'll come back the first of next week. she said she'd come back any day i'd send for her. she'd do anything for me." "i guess you're right, little woman," doctor morgan laughed. "i wish all the same that you had some one with you so that you could stay right with that boy." all through the forenoon elizabeth kept out of the sickroom except when the medicine was due, and then got away as fast as she could, though it was not easy to do so, for doctor morgan had urged her to entertain the invalid and keep him cheered up, letting her see that he was more than usually worried. she meant to live up to her resolutions, but in the afternoon hugh was so quiet that it seemed ominous and began to worry her. "oh, hugh! how can i do right if you take it this way?" she cried in despair, and would have stroked his hair if he had not shrunk from her hand. "don't, elizabeth. you have asked for help. i have to give it in my own way. i have done harm enough to your life. make it as easy for me as you can, for i'm only a man and--well, i've promised to help you--_at any cost_. you've nothing to worry about. i'm no worse than i've been," he ended in a whisper, and closed his eyes, as was his way when he did not want to talk. the girl tiptoed out, and left him to his thoughts. her own were anything but satisfactory. he was more wan and tragic than ever before, and doctor morgan had especially cautioned her. she worked in the kitchen most of the evening, keeping out of his presence, and so the long, hard, unsatisfactory day passed, was recorded in the annals of time, and forever gone from the opportunity to alter or change its record. luther hansen came in after dark. elizabeth answered his knock. "alone?" he asked in astonishment when he entered the sitting room. "yes. mr. chamberlain wanted john to bring the men over and load hogs for him. it's been too hot to take them to town in the daytime. hugh's asleep, i think," she said in a low tone. "i didn't take a light in, because he likes to be in the dark, but i spoke to him two or three times and he didn't answer. are you in a hurry? i hate to waken him." doctor morgan came as they talked. he stopped to look elizabeth over before going to the sickroom, and then took the lamp she handed him and, followed by luther, left elizabeth standing in the dining room. she heard the doctor's sharp order, "take this light, hansen," and ran to help. the horror, the anguish, the regret of that hour are best left untold. the number of disks gone from the bottle under the pillow gave the doctor his clue. one final effort must have been made by the desperate invalid to secure for himself the drink which would wash them down without the dreaded coughing spell. the old doctor, who loved them both, and luther hansen also, witnessed elizabeth's despair, and listened to her story. as luther had said a few weeks before, he was a safe person, and her secret remained a secret. luther led her away into the night and sat silently by while her grief spent itself in tears; it was a necessary stage. when john and the men came, he led her back, and himself met them at the gate to explain. the morning and the evening were the first day; the comings and goings of the inquisitive and the sympathetic were alike unremarked by elizabeth. only for that first hour did her grief run to tears; it was beyond tears. at the coroner's inquest she answered penetrating questions as if they related to the affairs of others, and when at last the weary body, whose spirit had been strong enough to lay it aside, had been buried on the bare hillside, the neighbours and those who came to the funeral from curiosity agreed that elizabeth hunter could stand anything. so little evidence of emotion had she given that mrs. crane remarked to mrs. farnshaw as they rode home together: "i declare, lizzie's th' coolest hand i ever met. she couldn't 'a' liked mr. noland very much. she wasn't near as broke up as mr. hunter was, an' when i asked her if she wouldn't feel kind of spooky in that house after such a thing, she just looked at me, funny-like, an' says 'why?' an' didn't seem t' care a bit." doctor morgan drove home from the graveyard with the family. "i suppose you know, hunter, that there's a will," he said before he helped elizabeth into the buggy. "no! who's got it?" john exclaimed. "he gave it to me, with a note asking me not to read it till after he was buried, if he should die." john and elizabeth followed the doctor's rig home across the long stretch of prairie. "did you know that hugh left a will?" john hunter asked elizabeth, after driving a long time in silence. "luther told me last night. i didn't think much about it and i forgot to tell you," elizabeth returned briefly, and fell back into her own sad thoughts again. john hunter looked at his wife in surprise. "luther!" he exclaimed. "yes," she answered indifferently, not looking up, and unaware that john was regarding her with a surprise which amounted almost to suspicion. john let the subject drop, but as they rode home he had an uncomfortable sense of unpleasant things to come: first of all why had the presence of the will been concealed from him, hugh noland's partner and closest friend? secondly, why had luther hansen been told? thirdly, why had elizabeth declined just now to discuss it with him after knowing about it for some time? he could not put his finger on the exact trouble, but john hunter was affronted. the truth of the matter was that elizabeth had only heard of the will the night before, and had been too stunned by other things to care much about it. if she had thought about it at all she would have supposed that john had been told also, but elizabeth had been occupied with troubles quite aside from material things, and now did not talk because she was concerned with certain sad aspects of the past and almost as sad forebodings for the future. "you better come in too, hansen," doctor morgan said to luther, when they arrived at the hunter house. sadie had stayed with hepsie at the house, and luther had expected to take her and go straight home. the two women had been busy in the three hours since the body of hugh noland had been taken from the house. the mattress which had been put out in the hot sun for two days had been brought in, and order had been restored to the death chamber. there was a dinner ready for the party of sorrowing friends who had loved the man that had been laid to his final rest, and it was not till after it was eaten that the subject of the will was mentioned again. they sat about the table and listened to doctor morgan's remarks and the reading of the important document. "i have," doctor morgan began, "a letter from mr. noland written the day before his death, in which he tells me that he has made a will of which i am to be made the sole executor. in that letter he enclosed another sealed one on which he had written instructions that it was not to be opened till after his death. i opened the latter this morning, and in it he states frankly that he has decided to voluntarily leave his slowly dissolving body, and spare further pain to those he loves. perhaps--perhaps i could have helped him, if i'd known. i can't tell," the old doctor said brokenly. "he asked me to do something for him that i guess i ought to have done, but i thought he was all right as he was, and i wouldn't do it. however, he asked me as his executor to see to it that every provision of this will, which i have never seen, be carried out to the letter. hansen, here, is one of the witnesses he tells me, and hornby is the other. it is unnecessary for me to say that i shall have to carry out these instructions as i have been commanded to do." turning to john, he added: "i hope, hunter, that there's nothing in this that will work any inconvenience to you, and i hardly think it will." john hunter sat through the opening of the envelope and the rapid survey which doctor morgan gave its contents before he began to read, stirred by varying emotions. suspicion crawled through his brain, leaving her slimy trail; why had there been need of secrecy? why had all these people been told, and he, john hunter alone, left out? nathan hornby and luther hansen witnesses! but most of all, as was to be expected, his suspicions were directed toward elizabeth. she had known--she probably knew from the beginning. she was in the conspiracy. of the fact of a conspiracy john hunter felt certain when doctor morgan cleared his throat and began to read: hunter's farm, colebyville, kansas, august , -- know all men by these presents that i, hugh noland, being of sound mind and memory, not acting under duress, menace, fraud, or undue influence of any person whatsoever, do make, publish, and declare this my last will and testament. first, i order and direct that all my just debts be paid by my executor, hereinafter named. second, i expressly provide, order, and direct that all my estate, consisting of one half of the lands and chattels of the firm of "hunter and noland" shall be settled by my executor, hereinafter named, without the intervention of the courts, and given, whole and entire, to elizabeth hunter, and to her heirs and assigns forever, and that the division be a legal division, so arranged that all deeds to the land and all rights to the personal property shall be legally hers. this i do as an inadequate return for all she has done and tried to do for me. lastly, i hereby nominate and appoint george w. morgan, m. d., sole executor of this my last will and testament, to serve without bonds or the intervention of any court. in testimony whereof i hereunto set my hand and seal, and publish and declare this my last will and testament, on this twenty-second day of august, in the year of our lord ---- signed, hugh noland. witnesses: luther hansen, nathan hornby. there was a pause. surprise held every person present, for the witnesses had seen only their signatures up to now, not the will, and doctor morgan was no less astonished than the rest. at last he reached his hand across the table to elizabeth saying: "it's an instrument that i shall get some pleasure at least from administering, mrs. hunter. you deserve it. i'm glad it goes to you. it's like the boy! god rest his weary soul, and forgive his impatience to be off! we'll miss him," he added brokenly. elizabeth sat with her hands clasped on the table in front of her, neither hearing nor seeing more. she was unaware that she was the object of everybody's attention and that all eyes were turned on her. the merely material items contained in that instrument were of little moment to her just then; to every one else, except perhaps luther, they were all that there was of importance. sadie hansen looked at her young neighbour, overcome by the fact that she was to have several thousand dollars all her own; luther's gray eyes dwelt upon her affectionately, glad that this last evidence of hugh noland's sacrifice was hers; doctor morgan thought of the power it would give her to control the financial side of her life, and john hunter was glad that at least the money was to remain in the business, and ready to forget the supposed plot. elizabeth was aroused by doctor morgan placing a sealed envelope in her hand and saying: "this seems to be for you, mrs. hunter. it was in this big envelope with the will, and i didn't see it till just now." the girl was so surprised that she turned the envelope over two or three times and read her name carefully to realize that the letter was for her, and from hugh's own hand. when at last it was clear to her, her face flushed with confusion, and the first tears which had dimmed her eyes since the hour of his death came to her relief. but the tears did not fall. realizing that the eyes of all present were upon her, she controlled herself, and rising said: "excuse me one moment, till i have read it," and passed into her own bedroom, where, with the sense of his presence, she clasped it to her tenderly an instant, and still standing, broke the seal. it was simple, sincere, and so formal that all the world might have read it, and yet, it said all that she would have wanted him to say. my dear elizabeth [it began]: when this reaches your hand, my heart will have ceased to trouble either of us. i will have fought my little fight; i will have kept the faith--which i started out too late to keep. the little i leave you will be small recompense for all i have cost you, but it is all i have, and will, i hope, help toward emancipating you from care. my one earnest bit of advice to you is, _keep it free from debts_. i wish i might have spared you these last few days and their various burdens, but i am sure they will be less heavy than if i chose to wait. hugh. elizabeth hunter returned to the table with the open letter, which she handed to doctor morgan saying: "read it aloud, doctor," and stood behind her chair with her head bowed while it was being done. when it was finished, she looked about her, measuring the different members of the group, wondering if it said the things to them which it cried aloud to her. the survey was satisfactory, till she suddenly realized that john was not there. "where's john," she asked. "gone out to see nate hornby--he's brought the baby," luther answered. doctor morgan started for home, taking the will with him to have it legally probated, and elizabeth took jack from his father's arms, and went back to put away her letter, forgetting that john had not heard it read. nathan came to spend the rest of the day. he knew from personal experience the cheerlessness of the house which has but lately harboured the dead. chapter xxiv facing consequences the next sunday john was thrown in upon elizabeth for entertainment. he had been a little more tender with her since the funeral, reflecting that women were easily upset by death and that this death had been particularly tragic in its sadness and disturbing features. he missed hugh, and an intangible something about the will made him uncomfortable; but they would be rich in time and he could simply oversee the business, and life would be more satisfactory. if he thought of luther and nathan as witnesses, the thought was made partially acceptable since they could see that hugh had placed the property in his, john hunter's, hands. when the uncomfortable things wormed their way forward and would be considered, he tried to reason them out. some features of it could be accounted for; for instance, he, john hunter, had probably not been consulted by hugh for legal reasons, since the money was to come to them. hugh must have considered that. but elizabeth had known! he had forgotten that. right there john went into a brown study. had she known before hugh's death? it was queer, but she never mentioned hugh these days, nor the will, nor--no, she did not speak of the letter, much less offer to show it to him. still, the money was theirs. that was the solid rock under john hunter's feet. whatever else happened, the money was theirs. now he could open out and farm on a scale befitting a man of his parts. they would make something yet. this farming venture had not turned out so badly after all. a slight rain was falling, the first in two months, two of the most important months in the year; but it was only a drizzle and not enough to benefit the corn, which--even the last planting--was ruined. the heat and drought had forced a premature ripening, and the stubby ears, fully formed, were empty of developing grains, except near the butts. it was discouraging to lose the corn, and john, to take the place of the shortened crop, had had a field plowed and sewed to millet. a promise of rain meant a probable crop of that substitute for the heavier grain, but it must be rain, not a mere shower. disappointed at the stingy display of water, john wandered about the house, disturbed by jack's noise, and irritably uncomfortable. "come on in and sit down," he urged when he saw that elizabeth intended to help hepsie with the dishes. "all right. let the work go, hepsie, and i'll do it later," elizabeth said quietly. she dreaded an hour with john when he was in that mood, but there seemed to be no help for it. the two women cleared the dinner table and righted the dining room before they stopped, then elizabeth closed the kitchen door and left the dishwashing till she could get away from the conference requested. hepsie had hurried to get started early for her home and elizabeth had entered into her plans and offered assistance. "why don't you let hepsie finish them alone?" john said petulantly. elizabeth made no reply, but took jack on her lap and rocked him to keep herself occupied. there was less opportunity for disagreement if the child were still while his father talked. "if this rain'd only get busy we'd have a crop of millet yet," john began. "corn's going to be mighty high and scarce this fall." elizabeth did not reply; something in the air warned her to let john do the talking. she had ceased to enter into conversation with him unless something vital made it necessary to speak. the vital thing was not long in forthcoming. the whimsical weather made him depressed and kept his mind on the gloomy crop outlook. "confound this beastly drizzle! if it'd only get down to business and rain we'd pull out yet. there'll be corn to buy for the cattle and the very devil to pay everywhere. i've got to lengthen out the sheds over those feeders--it hurried the cattle to get around them last winter--and here's all these extra expenses lately. there's no way out of it--we've got to put a mortgage on that west eighty. i'll take up the horse note in that case, and johnson's offering that quarter section so cheap that i think i'll just make the loan big enough to cover the first payment and take it in. we'll never get it as cheap again." elizabeth's eyes were wide open now, but she considered a moment before she began to speak. "we can't do that," she said slowly at last. "we're out of debt, except your personal note for the five hundred and the one for the team. it won't do to mortgage again." "but we'll have to mortgage, with the crop short, and all those cattle!" he exclaimed. "sell a part of them as grass cattle, and use the money to buy corn for the rest," she advised. "grass cattle are soft and don't weigh down like corn-fed steers. it would be sheer waste," john insisted. elizabeth understood that right now they were to test their strength. she thought it over carefully, not speaking till she had decided what to say. the old path of mortgages and interest meant the old agony of dread of pay-day and the heart eaten out of every day of their existence, and yet she was careful not to rush into discussion. her voice became more quiet as she felt her way in the debate. "you are right as far as you go, grass cattle do not sell for as much, but, on the other hand, a loan means interest, and there is always a chance of the loss of a steer or two and then the profit is gone and you have your mortgage left. luther said yesterday that they had black-leg over north of home, and you know how contagious it is." "oh, luther! of course luther knows all there is to know about anything," sneered her husband, to whom luther was a sore point just now. elizabeth realized her mistake in mentioning luther's name to john almost before it was out of her mouth. john's instincts made him bluster and get off the subject of business and on to that of personalities at once. she did not reply to the taunt, but went quietly back to the point of business. "the price of corn," she said with perfect control, "will go way up after this dry weather, but the price of beef doesn't always rise in proportion. besides that, this is a bad year to get tied up in the money market." "we're going to have to do it all the same," john replied, spurred on by the mention of luther's name to compel her consent. "but, we can't do it. hugh especially directed in his letter that we must not go into debt." "i have not had the honour of seeing hugh's letter to you, and therefore i do not know," john returned. that was another sore point. "so you didn't! doctor morgan read it to all the rest." elizabeth had forgotten that john had not heard the letter read, and rose promptly and went for it. she laid it on the table at his elbow when she returned saying: "i had forgotten--you didn't hear it when the doctor read it that day." john hunter brushed it aside with his arm. "i don't wish to see it, thank you." the letter fell on the floor. elizabeth stooped quickly and picked it up. "you may do as you wish about that; i shall not consent to the mortgage just the same," she said, her temper getting the better of her at last. she turned to the bedroom to put the letter away. "now look here, elizabeth!" john called after her. seeing the ineffectiveness of carrying on the conversation when they were not face to face, john waited till she returned. when she was seated again and had begun to rock the restless child once more, he began: "we may as well understand each other right now as any time. if you're going to run this place, i want to know it, and i'll step down and out." john looked belligerent and waited for her to do her womanly duty and give in. elizabeth made no reply. john waited. he continued to wait for some seconds. "i shall not consent to a mortgage," was the quiet answer. john hunter flung himself out of the house. it was a bad afternoon for john. the drizzle had hardly been enough to lay the dust, but had made it impossible to walk through the grass or over the fields; his pride made it impossible for him to go back to the house, and so there was no place open to him except the hayloft, where he turned his own gloomy thoughts over and reasoned out this new development. a day's pouting, he was certain, would win his point; it would probably be all right when he went back at supper time, but he saw difficulties ahead with elizabeth feeling that she had a right to an opinion regarding the property. "i shall let her see that i mean business all the same. i'm not going to have her interfering in my work. let her attend to her own, as a woman ought to do," he concluded. he did wish, however, that he had read the letter. doctor morgan had referred to the letter also as being authority. he had an uncomfortable feeling that if he ever saw that letter that he would have to ask again; elizabeth was a little less easy of late to manage than she had been that first year; she could put a thing aside and not discuss it almost as well as he could. at that point john's mind flamed up against luther hansen. elizabeth was always quoting luther. he was glad he had let her see just now that she need not quote that common swede to him any more. he didn't know a necktie from a shoelace! hugh might have asked him to witness the will, but hugh had seen fit to leave the money to them, all the same. whatever else hurt, the money was his, and he'd turn everything into cattle, and get rich, and get out of this damned hole. elizabeth, in the house, was doing her own thinking. the conversation just finished had indications. she saw that her husband had a definite policy in regard to the management of the property, that he did not mean to let her have any more to do with it than when it was all his own. a creeping suspicion came to her that if she refused to consent to further mortgages her husband might leave her. there had been a violence in his tones as well as in his manner beyond any he had ever assumed toward her. elizabeth shrank in a heartsick way from the contest. if he would mortgage the one eighty and then stop she would far rather have given away that much land than to have the quarrel, but that she knew he would not do. she could not for a moment think of giving up if she expected to have a roof over her head that was unencumbered when she was old. though half the property was now hers by actual right, she would not interfere with anything he wished to do with it except to place a loan against it. if he insisted upon mortgages, though their disagreement became a scandal, she resolved that she would not consent. * * * * * john ate his supper without speaking to any one, and waited from then till bedtime for his answer, but elizabeth gave no sign. the next day he waited, and the next, with increasing uneasiness and alarm. he decided at last to force her consent. the third day he put one of the new horses in the single buggy and left the place without saying where he was going, and not even when he returned in the evening did he mention what his errand had been. the following morning a team was driven into the side lane and elizabeth saw john meet the driver and help him tie his horses. there was the air of a prearranged thing between them, and as they came toward the house it flashed through her mind what had been done. her whole form straightened instinctively and she grasped her broom rigidly as she left the dining room and went to her own bedroom to get control of herself before she should have to meet the stranger. she realized that the man was the johnson john had spoken of as having the quarter section of land for sale. she was to be called upon to act. the thing she must do she knew was right; could she make the manner of the doing of it right also? she would not humiliate him if she could help it; she stayed in her room, hoping that he would come to call her himself and then she could warn him when he was alone, but john would not meet her except in the presence of the stranger, and sent hepsie to call her. there was no help for it, and elizabeth went as she was bidden--went quietly, and was introduced to the neighbour whom she had never seen. "mr. johnson has accepted my proposition, elizabeth, to give him twenty-five dollars an acre for the quarter next to ours," john said after all were seated. the girl waited quietly. she noticed that john did not mention the terms of payment, and waited for him to commit himself on that point. "do you know where those blank deeds are? we can make one out while we conclude the details, and then go in to colebyville to-morrow and have a notary take our signatures," john concluded easily. elizabeth hesitated visibly, and john had a startled moment, but she went for the blanks at last, as he directed. the two men sat with their heads together, and wrote carefully in the numbers and legal description of the land. "and the party of the first part further agrees that the sum of----" john was reading as he wrote it in. his voice ran on to the close. when the writing was finished the man johnson rose, and, picking up his straw hat, said: "i guess i'll be hurrying on toward home now. i'll stop in on the way to-morrow morning. you'd just as well ride with me." "oh, i'll have to take mrs. hunter in with me," john replied, "and i can just as well hitch up to my own rig." "what are you taking me in with you for, john?" elizabeth asked, perfectly quiet on the outside, but aquiver with humiliation and dread because of the thing she was being compelled to do. "to fix up the papers on the west eighty; you know it'll be necessary for you to sign them too." addressing mr. johnson, he added easily: "my wife objects to going into debt, mr. johnson, but i felt this too good an opportunity to let pass, and since we can arrange it so that i won't have to raise but a thousand dollars just now, i'm sure she'll see the advisability of the move." elizabeth considered a second before she began to speak, and then said slowly: "mr. hunter does not understand the nature of my objection, i see. of course if he can arrange it with you so that all the indebtedness falls on the land he is buying, i should have no objections whatever, but we cannot mortgage our home. the provisions of the will forbid it, and i shall live up to those provisions absolutely." the silence which followed was vocal with astonishment. the man looked from husband to wife for signs of quarrelling, but elizabeth returned his gaze quietly, and without signs of anger, and john also gave no indication of anything but surprise. after a gasping instant, during which his instincts warned him to keep on the side of decency, john accepted the situation with seeming calm. "well, mr. johnson, if mrs. hunter feels that way about it, there's nothing to do. i'm sorry to have brought you over on a fool's errand," he said suavely, "but it can't be helped now. we'll take the land later, however," and ushered his guest out of the house and helped him untie his team without any sign of the tempest within. john went back to the house with no concealment and no cajolery. "we may as well know where we are and what we mean to do right here and now, elizabeth," he began. "if you're going to do this kind of thing, i want to know it." elizabeth was ready for the storm, and met it without flurry. she looked at her husband quietly, steadily, sorrowfully. "i shall sign no mortgages, if that is what you are in doubt about," she said. "i had not intended to ask for a legal division of the property, but since you demand the right to make loans, i shall not cripple your plans with what is your own. i will have my part set aside; you can farm it in any way you choose, but you can only mortgage what is yours. i would have told you so if you had played fair and discussed this thing with me instead of leaving the house or blustering. you can tell me what you mean to do where i am concerned--you would if i were a man--or you can take just what you did to-day. you try to put me where i can't help myself before strangers when you want me to do a thing you know i don't think i ought to do; and you can't handle me that way any longer." john hunter had been working himself into a passion as he listened and burst out: "and you'll work for the best interests of this farm, that's what you'll do! every time i ask you to sign a paper you make a little more fuss. because i got in pretty deep before is no sign i'm going to do it again, and when i tell you to sign anything you'll do it." his feet were very wide apart, and he thrust his face forward at her, his eyes glaring into hers with every trick which instinct prompted him to use in compelling her obedience. elizabeth barely glanced at him, and then looked down at the floor, quietly considering in what way she should reply to such an attack. john was disconcerted; his little stage play had fallen flat. after a moment's pause, elizabeth began very quietly: "i will not interfere with anything you do about the land which has been left to me, except that i will not have one cent of mortgage on it. if you will keep out of debt, you can manage it any way you choose, but i will have every step of the business explained to me which involves the safety of my home, and it will be explained to me beforehand--or the same thing will happen that has just happened. i will not be deceived, even in little things." the girl looked him squarely and kindly in the face, but her look was as firm as if he had not blustered. "i have not deceived you. i brought this man here and explained the whole thing before your face, besides telling you the other day that i intended to have that land." "you are shuffling with the truth, and you know it," she said sternly. "you did not tell me you had made any arrangements with him, nor that you intended to do so, only in a general way. you thought you'd catch me before him when it came to signing the papers, and then you thought i couldn't help myself." "i have not tried to deceive you! i brought him here and explained every detail," he said with such a righteous appearance of innocence that elizabeth was tempted to laugh. "we've fallen to a pretty state of affairs when my own wife hints at my having lied to her," john insisted. elizabeth spoke slowly, measuring her words, realizing that the crisis of their lives was upon them. "i will not accuse you any more, but i will explain the plan on which i will do business with you." "you needn't bother," john interrupted sarcastically. "i will let you run it." "i will not go into debt," elizabeth continued as calmly as if he had not interrupted. "that is the absolute decision i have come to. you will not explain to me _after_ you have decided to do a thing and in the presence of other people, where my property and my freedom are concerned. on the other hand, if you are determined to go into debt and branch out into a larger business, i feel that i cannot deny you the right to do as you wish with what is your own, and if you choose to do so will divide the property and leave you as free to mortgage and sell as if you were not married to me. i will leave you as free as i ask to be myself." "free! free to be made a fool of. no, ma'am; you don't run any such gag as that on me. the people in this community are only too anxious to talk about me; they'd roll it under their tongues like a sweet morsel, that as soon as you got hold of the money you put the screws on me. you gave johnson just such a handle this afternoon as that. you'll behave yourself, and look after your house and child as a woman ought to do, and i'll take charge of the work out of doors as a man ought to do." elizabeth interrupted him eagerly: "now right there, john, you have struck the very heart of the thing which first made me feel that i must take care of myself in my own way. you have never allowed me to bake a pie or a loaf of bread, nor churn, nor anything without you told me how to do it; and then you feel that you have the right to mortgage the home right over my head and think i have no rights in the matter." it was john's turn to interrupt eagerly. "who put that home over your head?" he asked, for the first time addressing himself to the real issue of the home. elizabeth looked at him steadily. she was surprised to find herself talking thus quietly, she who had been so prone to emotional hindrances. "since i have been in your house i have had my food and clothes. i don't have to tell you that my mere work is worth far more than that. i have borne you a child. motherhood entitles me to a share in the estate, since i have the child on my hands; besides, i could have been teaching school these years and not only earned my living but have been free to go and come as i have never been free here." "that has nothing to do with it. you are married and your duty lies here as well as your work. it's a wife i want. if you're going to be a wife, be one; if you're going to be a boss, i want to know it, and i'll get out." "two things i will have my say about: i will not mortgage the half of the land which is mine, and i will not be interfered with when i have to correct jack," elizabeth said slowly. "also when i see fit to go anywhere i shall go hereafter. i was never allowed to go to see aunt susan, and she went down to her death thinking i didn't want to come. of course that's different now: i do go when i want to these days, but i got my first warning right there that i must take care of myself. you don't intend to tell me anything about what you mean to do with me, ever, if you can help it." "you'll go into colebyville and sign the papers on that land all the same," john said doggedly. "i will sign no papers till there is a legal division of the property, john. i mean what i say. i'll let people talk if you crowd me before them," the girl said decisively. john glared at her in desperation. "damn it! no wonder folks talked the week we were married! i've been humiliated ever since i brought you into this house," the man cried, breaking into a passion again. "a pretty figure you'll cut, with this last thing added to your reputation. everybody knows you couldn't get along with your father. i let you down easy with johnson just now, in spite of the humiliating place you put me in, but if you think i'm going to be driven at your beck and call you're mistaken." john stopped to give effect to his words. he was just beginning to realize that elizabeth was not giving up, and that it was a fight to the finish. the feature john disliked was that it was a fight in the open. well, let her fight in the open, she should see that he would not be beaten. elizabeth, to be less conscious of the eyes glaring at her, picked up her sewing, which had been tossed on the lounge an hour ago, and began to ply her needle. john broke out anew, really losing control of himself this time. "it's the most outrageous thing i ever heard of--a woman humiliating her husband by refusing to sign papers when he has brought the man right into the house to fix them up! a pretty reputation i'll get out of it! it's sickening, disgusting. what do you expect me to do? tell me that. if i want to buy a load of hay or a boar pig, am i to say to a man, 'wait till i ask my wife if i can?'" he stood leering at her, hot with passion, determined to make her speak. the vulgarity of his discussion nauseated her, but since she must discuss, she was resolved to do it quietly and on decent ground as far as she was concerned. without fear she replied slowly: "you know perfectly well what i have asked of you, john. you won't gain anything by blustering. i mean to be consulted on all important matters like loans, deeds, and mortgages, exactly as you'd consult with a man, and i intend to be consulted _before_ the thing is done, and not have you take advantage of me in the presence of strangers. you needn't shuffle matters. you understand what i mean, and you can't fool me. be sensible and do the right thing by me, and give me the chance to do the right thing by you." "i've done the right thing by you already, and i'll go about my own affairs as a man should, and you'll attend to your own affairs as a woman should if you live with me, and leave me free to act like a man. do you understand that?" he demanded. "i'm sorry, john," she said, falling back to the needle, which she had let rest again for a moment. there was a little choke in her voice, but she was firm. "what do you mean by that?" he asked, suspicious that she was not giving up as he intended that she should do. "i mean just what i said a minute ago: i will let you mortgage your half of this farm after it is divided, but i will not sign any such papers on the other half. i will not be taken advantage of before strangers; i will let them talk first, and i will take care of my house as i see fit. also, i will not speak when you manage jack, and you will not interfere when i have to do it--that is, we will not interfere with each other _before the child_." john hunter's face turned scarlet, his cheeks stung as if he had been slapped; she was not giving in at all! he stood before her incensed beyond words for a moment, breathing hard and almost bursting with what he considered the insult of it; then the blood which had mounted to his head receded and left him deadly white. "i don't exactly understand you," he said in level tones, "but you shall understand me. i will never be made a fool of by you again; if you're going to run things, say it out, and i'll let you have it and run it alone." it was hopeless; she did not reply, but stitched in and out on jack's little frock, sick at heart with the shame of such a quarrel, since it was to accomplish nothing. "answer me!" he thundered. elizabeth laid her sewing on the lounge beside her, and rose to her feet. she looked him squarely in the face and answered as he demanded. "i will sign no papers of which i do not approve, and certainly none which i have been deceived about in any way. aside from that you are free to run the farm as you wish." "then take the whole damned thing, and i'll go back to mother and make a home for her. she was never allowed to have a home in this house after you came into it," he flung out. "i'll take the mitchell county land, and you can have what's here. that's what you and hornby and hansen planned from the first, i should judge. that's why you got noland to do it." thrusting his hat down to his very ears, he strode from the house, swinging the screen door behind him so hard that it broke and the split corner fell out and hung dangling by the net, which kept the splintered frame from falling to the ground. elizabeth closed the panelled door to keep out the flies, and turned quietly to the bedroom for her bonnet. she spoke to hepsie, who had heard the entire argument, as she passed through the kitchen, asking her to keep jack for her, and walked through the barnyard, through the wet pasture, and on to her haunt in the willows, where she could think undisturbed. john was still standing in the harness room of the barn when he heard the door close behind elizabeth, and saw her coming that way. elizabeth was coming to the barn! he gave a start of surprise. even while he had not given up all thought of her coming to his terms, he wondered at her giving in so promptly. john drew back so that she should not see that he was watching her. when she did not immediately appear he thought with a smile of satisfaction that she had stopped, not finding it easy to approach after the haughty manner in which she had just dismissed his demands. he waited a moment, considering terms of capitulation, and then walked unconcernedly out. the truth broke upon him. she had passed the barn, she was on her way to the willows, not to him. something in john hunter sickened. up to the moment when john had seen his wife coming toward him he had been fully prepared to stand by the terms of dissolution which he had made. but in that moment when he watched her recede from him in the direction of the willows, the tide of his feelings turned; he wished he had not issued his ultimatum; he wished he had not put it to the test. the triumph of receiving her submission had been his first thought when he had seen her come from the house, and it had been a sweet morsel while it had lasted, but when he had seen her going from him toward the willows, he suddenly realized that triumph had slipped from his grasp. suddenly he desired to possess her. not since the first six weeks of their acquaintance had elizabeth looked so fair to him. he had put her away! a great sob rose up in him. he had said that he would go back to his mother, and his fate was sealed. he had gone to the barn to saddle his horse and start on the instant for mitchell county and the cattle he had chosen as his portion, but all at once the glamour of his going died away and he saw the choice he had made. to crown his cheerless flight, jack was at nathan hornby's, and pride would not let him follow the child up even when he was going away forever. nate hornby had had something to do with this business of elizabeth getting the money, and he had also had something to do with her determination to take the money out of his, her husband's, hands, and he, john hunter, would not humble himself before him. long before elizabeth's return from the willows her husband was away. great was elizabeth hunter's surprise when john did not appear at supper. she had not taken him seriously; he had always blustered, and while she had realized that he was angry enough to make his word good, she had supposed that he would make a division of the property if he intended to leave her, and make arrangements for the child. she did not believe that he was gone, and answered the observations and questions of the hired men by saying that he had probably gone for the baby. in fact, having once said it, it sounded plausible to her, and she waited till far into the night for the sound of his horse's footsteps. the suspicion which at midnight was yet a suspicion was by morning a certainty, but elizabeth kept her own counsel, and when nathan brought jack at noon she did not speak of her husband's absence. the second day the hired men began to make mention of it, and the evening of the third day luther hansen appeared at the sitting-room door. "lizzie, what's this i hear about hunter?" he asked, looking searchingly into her face. elizabeth told him all that she knew, except the unjust thing he had said about luther. "i don't know anything about his plans," she concluded, "except that he said he meant to go to his mother after he had marketed the cattle. you'll hear from the neighbours that hugh's money has set me up and made a fool of me, and various other things," she added; and she saw in his face that it had already been said. the girl sat and looked into the night through the open door for a moment and then went on: "i shall go to colebyville to-morrow, and see doctor morgan and look after business matters. i'll tell you what we decide upon when i get home. there'll have to be a real division of the property now. i don't know what to do about living here alone. i suppose there'll be every kind of gossip?" the last part of the sentence was a question, and one luther was not the man to evade. "you'll have a lot of talk that hain't got no truth in it to meet," he said reluctantly. "you'll have t' have some one with you here. you couldn't git hornby, could you?" luther knew the nature of the gossip the neighbours would wreak upon her. a light fell upon elizabeth. "the very idea!" she exclaimed. "just what i need to do and at the same time just what i would love to do." luther was delighted that that important feature of the matter could be so easily arranged. he could not bear to have her mixed up with any sort of scandal, when her neighbours so little understood the real situation, and would be so ready to strike her wherever they could. "then you go an' see hornby to-night, lizzie. have jake hitch up for you, an' take hepsie along." luther paused a moment and then proceeded on another phase of her troubles. "lizzie, how do you feel about it? do you--would you like t' have 'im back? 'cause if you would, i'll go to mitchell county for you. you ain't goin' t' have no easy time of it here. folks--specially th' women's--goin' t' have it in for you quite a bit." "no," elizabeth answered promptly. "i'll take whatever comes from my neighbours. i can shut my doors and keep them outside, but, luther, i can't go on as things have been on the inside of my own house. i don't want to talk about it at all, even to you, but i shall let him go. it's better than some other things. we'd simply come to the place where we had to understand each other. i'd a great deal rather have him back than to have him gone, but he wouldn't understand at all if i sent for him." luther looked at her approvingly and yet something in him held back. he longed to spare her all the low tittle-tattle of her neighbours, the coarse jests of the hired men among themselves, and the eternal suspicions of the women. "i know all you would say, luther," she said, understanding his reluctance to give up. "i know what these women who think i haven't wanted to visit them will say, and i don't blame them, but i will not send for him now or ever. i have wronged him in ways he has known nothing of--maybe the scandal i haven't deserved at his hands will square that deal a little--but that is not the present difficulty. we'll have to have an agreement about our plan of life together. if he ever comes back i shall never deceive him again, but i will never be deceived by him again, either." "well, you know best, lizzie. i'll talk to jake for you. you'd best try t' keep him an' hepsie. they're good friends an' you're goin' t' need friends." * * * * * luther saw that the buggy was got ready for elizabeth and hepsie, and after they had gone talked to the men, telling them that elizabeth had asked him to do so. he told them her offer was for them to stay on at the usual wage, or go now so that she could fill their places. after they had signified their willingness to remain in her employment, he took jake aside and had a long talk with him. jake ransom filled with anger when the two were alone. "i didn't say anything when you was a talkin' t' them men," he said confidentially, "but i ain't lived in this house for close on three year now without learnin' somethin'. damned fool! never done nothin' she's wanted 'im to since i've been here. she got 'er eye-teeth cut when mis hornby died, but it most killed 'er. i've watched 'er a gittin' hold of 'erself gradual-like, an' i knew there'd be an end of his bossin' some day. gosh! i'm glad she got th' money! noland was some fond of her." jake stole a sidelong glance at luther as he said it and waited to see if he would elicit an answer. when luther did not reply, he added: "i'm dog'on glad i've been here. lots of folks 'll ask me questions, an' won't i be innocent? you kin help at your end of this thing too. i guess we kin do it 'tween us." the understanding was perfect, but jake took warning by luther's refusal to discuss private affairs. without saying just what was intended, each knew what course of action the other meant to take, and so elizabeth was granted friends at the critical moment of her life and spared much that was hard in a community where personalities were the only topics of conversation. * * * * * nathan hornby was only too glad to live in the house with jack hunter. as he remarked, it would take no more time to drive over to his work than to cook his own breakfast in the morning. hepsie was at this time elizabeth's principal defender. while listening to the reading of the will on the day of the funeral, hepsie, old in the ways of her little world, had known that some explanation would have to be made of so unusual a matter as a man leaving his money to another man's wife, instead of to the man himself, and had begun by giving out the report which she intended the world to accept, by talking to sadie hansen before she got out of the dooryard. hepsie knew that first reports went farthest with country folk, and luther, who understood better than any one else why the money had been left to elizabeth, was inwardly amused at sadie's explanations afterward. "you know, luther," sadie had said on the way home that day, "mr. noland told hepsie he was agoin' t' leave his share of th' land to lizzie, 'cause doc morgan says she'll never be strong again after overworkin' for all them men, an' things. an' she says he felt awful bad 'cause he was a layin' there sick so long an' her a havin' t' do for 'im when she wasn't able--an' do you know, she thinks that's why he killed hisself? i always did like 'im. i think it was mighty nice for him t' leave 'er th' stuff. my! think of a woman havin' a farm all 'er own!" and luther hansen listened to sadie telling her mother the same thing the next day, and smiled again, for mrs. crane could talk much, and was to talk to better purpose than she knew. also, when elizabeth went to the little schoolhouse to meeting the first sunday of her widowhood, being determined to be a part of the community in which she lived, hepsie was on the outskirts of the little crowd after services were over, to explain in a whisper that lizzie was "goin' t' go t' meetin' now like she'd always wanted to do, only mr. hunter never 'd take 'er anywhere 'cause 'e felt hisself too good." hepsie was to fight elizabeth's battles on many occasions and stayed on, watchful as a hawk of elizabeth's reputation. a sly joke among the hired men while discussing their position in the house of "the grass-widder" drove hepsie beside herself and made her even more ready than she had been at first to serve the interests of one who was to have no easy time among her jealous neighbours. elizabeth knew that in that hour she could have had most of these people for her friends had it not been that she was supposed to be "stuck-up." this also was a price she was to pay for having let her husband dominate her. when doctor morgan was told of elizabeth's plan to farm the place herself he was delighted and approved of it heartily. "you're a little brick, mrs. hunter," he said. "i'll back you in anything you decide to do. it was devilish mean to run off without settling affairs up. if any of these yahoos around here say anything about it they'll get a setting up from me that they won't want again. but i'm mighty glad you've got hornby. that'll keep actual slander off of you. how much did you say you owed now?" "five hundred--and some expenses for mr. noland--besides the note you hold for the team. i've got about a hundred in the bank, but i shall need a pony to ride about the farm, and that will take about half of what i have ready. "the pony's a good idea. there's no telling what would be made out of you wandering around the fields on foot to look after the hired men, but on horseback you'd be all right. now don't you worry about that note of mine--i'm in no hurry," the doctor said encouragingly. elizabeth saw the advantage of having doctor morgan as an enthusiastic advocate of her plans. "what about the land, doctor?" the girl asked next. "i want a legal division as soon as possible. will it have to be appraised and sold?" doctor morgan noted joyfully that elizabeth hunter had her business well in mind, and assured her that it would be only a formality to have the appraising done, as she could buy it in herself, and further assured her that he would himself confer with john after all was settled. chapter xxv "the weight of a dollaree and out of debt don't forget that" nathan hornby moved promptly over to the hunter farm, and established himself in hugh's old room upstairs. the farm work prospered under elizabeth's management. she was fortunate enough to trade a young heifer with a calf at her side for silas's pony, and because feed was scarce she sold most of the stock, keeping only such as she desired to open farming with the next spring. the hogs were marketed early, and the few steers left when the cattle had been taken to mitchell county were sold to the first buyer who offered a reasonable figure for them; the cows which gave evidence of increase were kept and the rest sold. altogether money enough was raised to pay the note for the team and all the outstanding indebtedness except the note for five hundred dollars. the latter did not mature till may and could stand. the expense of feeding discouraged the farmers and prices dropped steadily all winter. when april came the johnson land was sold to a stranger, who came and offered to buy the west eighty of elizabeth's land. the five hundred would be due the next month. the new neighbour coveted that eighty, and elizabeth decided that if she could get a price warranting its sale she would sell, pay off the five hundred, and put the rest into calves while they were cheap. she offered the land for thirty-five dollars an acre. it was unheard of! no one had ever asked so much for land in that country, but the man wanted to add that land to his farm, and after some bargaining paid the price. frugal and cautious, elizabeth paid the five hundred with the first check she drew against the price of the land. that left two thousand for calves and three hundred for running expenses. john had taken one horse out of the new team when he went away, and elizabeth decided not to buy another, but to hire a horse in harvesting time. there were three full teams for the plows, besides the horse which had been hurt in the runaway. it had recovered and, though scarred and stiffened, could be used for ordinary work. she took good care to have it hitched beside a solid, trusty mate and treated gently to soothe its wild nature. no word had come from john except when doctor morgan wrote him of the appraisement of the land. then a curt letter had been received saying that whatever they did would be satisfactory to him and that when the deeds came he would sign them. not to be outdone, elizabeth bought the portion of land which did not have the house and buildings, agreeing to rent the home eighty until such time as he should choose to sell it, and expressing a desire, since jack had been born there, to buy the home if john should ever wish to part with it. to his suggestion that she use the home without rent--in fact, an offer of it as his share of support of the child--elizabeth refused to listen. "i'll rent it of him as i would of anybody, doctor," she had replied, and made out a note on the spot. john had written that he was in the commission business in chicago, and did not say whether his mother was with him nor not. to elizabeth he did not write, but to jack he sent loads of toys and a sled at christmas time. elizabeth had not attempted to communicate with john direct, but had rented his share of the land from him through doctor morgan. the sale of the west eighty gave her enough money to stock the place with every animal it would hold. when the girl began to look about her for calves, she found that because of the price of corn many farmers were selling their hogs at a sacrifice. hogs were quick money. she invested in such as were ready for increase, and by harvest time there was a fine lot of pigs on the hunter farm. every cow had been milked, and the calves raised by hand so as to have the milk for the young pigs till the early corn could be gathered. milking was hard work, but elizabeth hunter's pride was up. elizabeth's pride had had some sore pricks. in spite of every effort to avoid hearing the small talk regarding herself, elizabeth had been obliged to listen to such portions as dribbled through from her mother, and an occasional remark from sadie hansen. sadie hansen's life was a reorganized one, but there were small lapses, and from force of habit she repeated things, though she was in the main about the kindest neighbour elizabeth had. with mrs. farnshaw the case was different. she was elizabeth's mother, and certain privileges must be accorded her because of the relationship. when she chose to disapprove of the separation of her daughter from her husband, the daughter was compelled to recognize her right to protest, and often inadvertently to listen to the gossip which her mother urged as reasons for her objections. mrs. farnshaw came often and talked volubly. elizabeth shielded herself as best she could from her mother's prattlings, but had to endure many tearful complaints, for her mother was suffering much loneliness and discomfort since her daughter's marriage. josiah farnshaw did not forget, nor let his wife forget, the disaffection of elizabeth. once when mrs. farnshaw had gone beyond the mark where her daughter could receive it in silence, urging that elizabeth call her husband home and submit herself to the matrimonial yoke, the girl turned upon her in annoyance: "you'd have me just where you are yourself, ma. you say pa mistreats you--that's just what was coming to me. if i didn't have money enough that was all my own to live on, my husband would be sneering at me and keeping me in hot water all the time, exactly as pa sneers at you." "but you're separated!" mrs. farnshaw cried. "yes," the girl said slowly, "and because we are separated i can go to town if i like, i can go to church, i can go to see a neighbour, or my mother, without hating to ask for a horse to drive or being told when to come home, and when jack is naughty i can talk to him without having anybody set his little will against mine and make it harder to deal with him. oh, mother mine! can't you see that i'm happier than you are?" "but, you're livin' apart and--and folks is a talkin'!" the mother exclaimed hopelessly. "let them talk. their talk don't hurt me, and it shouldn't hurt you. they don't talk before me." "but they talk behind your back, lizzie," mrs. farnshaw said with a wise nod of the head. "they talked about us when john was here, ma, and they always talk about us; it doesn't matter much what they talk about; they wouldn't pay off the mortgage, nor the interest, nor raise jack right, nor give me a chance to rest on washday. some will say i was in the wrong, some that john was, and they all said that i was stuck-up and wouldn't visit with them when it wasn't so at all. they are looking to see _who_ was wrong; i have reasoned out _what_ was wrong. it's principles, not personalities, that get people into troubles that don't seem to have any way out. oh! can't you see, ma, that i'm free, and the women that talk about me are just where they've always been. free! and don't forget that i'm out of debt. that's more than you've got by staying with your husband, and you haven't been able to keep people from talking after all. free, and out of debt! don't forget it." "well, you wouldn't 'a' been free, either, if mr. noland hadn't 'a' left you th' money," mrs. farnshaw replied. elizabeth dropped into a retrospective mood for a moment before she answered, and then said slowly: "i know that. god in heaven, how well i know it! and do you know i think about it every day--what could be done for the poor women on these hot kansas prairies if there were some way to see that every girl that loves a man enough to marry him could have money enough to keep her if she couldn't live under the work and children he crowds on her. i'm free, because i have money enough all my own to live on. that's the weight of a dollar. don't forget that, you poor ma, who have never had a dollar except what has been doled out to you by the man you married. the weight of a dollar," elizabeth added meditatively, "that's what it is!" mrs. farnshaw, who had bought the groceries for her little family with the butter and eggs, and whose sugar had sometimes been short because there was a supply of horse shoe plug to provide also, had no answer ready. chapter xxvi "was--was my papa here then?" two years of favourable weather and good fortune with her livestock saw the money elizabeth had invested in hogs doubled and trebled, and later, when the johnson land was again offered for sale, she was able to buy it for cash and have the place well stocked after it was done. silas chamberlain, who watched elizabeth with the same fatherly interest he had felt when her child was born, and who glowed with secret pride at the way in which she had won her way back into the country society about them, came in often and offered his measure of good-natured praise. he had prophesied the first time she had cooked for harvest hands that she would become a famous cook, but he had not expected to find her a famous farmer. what was still more astonishing to the old man was that she had become noted in quite other ways. the move she had made in going to meeting the first sunday after john's departure, and hepsie's explanation of it, had worked to her advantage in reestablishing her in the community as one of its factors, and opened to her the opportunity to wield the influence which luther had pointed out to her the best educated woman in a community should wield. she took a class in the little sunday school at the schoolhouse, not so much because she was an enthusiastic churchwoman as because it was the place where contact could be had. elizabeth belonged to no church, but elizabeth could turn the conversation of the church members, among whom she mingled, from gossip to better things, and there was not a quilting bee nor an aid society meeting in the country around to which she was not invited, and which she did not raise to a higher standard by her presence. the snubs which the neighbour women were at first anxious to deliver fell flat in the quiet unconsciousness with which they were met. elizabeth felt that much of the treatment she received was given in righteous indignation, and pursued the policy when possible to do so of not seeing it, and when it must be met to meet it with perfect good humour. she kept her credit good among the men with whom she bartered for young stock, and there began to creep in a better feeling for her within the first six months after she assumed the care of the farm and the problematical position of a "grass widow" in the neighborhood. doctor morgan, hepsie, jake, and luther were splendid assets in the race with public feeling, and silas saw his young neighbour's affairs straighten out with chuckles of delight. he watched her manoeuvre with her business deals and saw the cool-headedness of them with growing enthusiasm. he passed nathan on his way to the field one spring morning and noticed that nathan was using a seeder from the hunter farm. it was bright with a coat of freshly dried paint. "that's what she borrowed my brushes for last week," he exclaimed to nathan. "ever see anything like 'er?" he asked admiringly. "takes care of everything. did you ever see th' likes of them hogs? she's made more money sellin' that land an' buyin' of it back 'n most of us old heads 'll make in five year. everything she touches seems t' have a wad stuck under it somewheres." elizabeth was more than merely successful in money matters; she was a reorganized woman from the standpoint of health also. she was no more the weary, harassed woman who had churned, baked, and cooked for shellers, and had so nearly found an early grave. the satisfaction of working unrestrained, of resting when nature and woman's constitution demanded, and the whole matter of living without fear, had given her a sound and healthy body and a mind broader and less liable to emotional bias. the principle which she had demanded from her husband in their last conversation she put into practice. hepsie ruled the house very much as if it were her own. elizabeth knew from experience the dreariness of housework where all individuality is denied the worker. hepsie came and went as the exigencies of the work permitted, and there was always a horse provided for her journeys away from the place; in fact, hepsie was much more free than her mistress had been in her first three years in the same house. elizabeth demanded good service, but she gave good service also, and from being a good joke to work for the grass widow, it came to be recognized that the hunter farm was a good place to live, and when the spring came around the men who had worked there the season before always presented themselves for fresh hiring. two years more passed, and master jack hunter was seven years old. on his seventh birthday his mother dressed him and herself carefully and rode over to the lonely graveyard. she did not go flower-laden. rather, she went as was her custom, to spend an hour with the quiet dead in silent thought. hugh noland's sacrifice had not been in vain. the life he had laid down had, whatever its mistakes and weaknesses, been a happy one to himself, and had carried a ray of cheer to all with whom it had come in contact, while his death had pointed toward an ideal of purity, in spite of failures. that brief period during which elizabeth had been compelled to live a double life for his sake had held many lessons, and had forever weaned her from duplicity of any sort. those special hours--the hours spent beside hugh noland's grave--were spent in searching self-inquiry, in casting up accounts, in measuring herself against the principles with which she struggled. people had gone out of her wrestlings; principles remained. here elizabeth meditated upon the fact that because the neighbourhood sentiment and discussion centred around their home, she and john hunter had missed a golden opportunity in not having become a force for good during those first years of their marriage. the hour spent beside hugh's grave was her sacrament. there she went to renew her faith in her own powers, which hugh's interest and estimates had first taught her to recognize; there she went to renew her vows of higher living, and there to contemplate the freedom which hugh noland had given her. but for the land and stock which gave her an independent income she would have been as tearful, worn, and despondent as many of the women about her. her heart was very tender toward hugh as she sat beside his grave to-day. she held his letter--the only one he had ever written, her--in her hands. as she read it over, part of its last sentence, "and will, i hope, help toward emancipating you from care," struck her attention, and her eyes filled with tears. "what is it, mamma? what hurts?" jack asked, always quick to respond to his mother's moods. "nothing, dear, but uncle hugh's letter. he wrote it just before he died. he was very kind to me," she said, patting the face thrust up for a kiss. "was--was my papa here then?" the child asked, curious about the life he could not remember, and trying to relate things as he heard of them in their true relation to the father who was a mysterious personage and therefore interesting. when his mother did not answer, he crept closer and, laying his head against her arm, said wistfully: "mamma, will my papa ever come back to us?" "i don't know, jack," she answered quietly. "perhaps. if he don't, you shall go and see him when you are a big boy. now run away, and leave mamma a chance to think for a whole ten minutes." the child ran off to the horses, and elizabeth faced the life she led. a curious thing was made plain to her in that hour--namely, that hugh, whom she remembered tenderly, was but a memory, while john hunter, the father of her child, whom she had no other cause to love, was a living force in her life, and that at the child's simple question a longing flamed up, and a feeling that she wished he were there. she remembered him as he would ride with his hat in his hand, his fair, soft hair wind-blown about his temples, and she would have been glad to go forth to meet him and try anew to build a life together which would be livable to both. a long time she pondered, and the impulse to write to him came over her, but that impulse was followed by retrospection, and as one thing after another arose out of the past in solemn procession, closing with the unloved and unwished-for child which she had lost five years ago, she knew that she would not open a correspondence. at that point, and with the memory of the sweltering day and the unnecessary churning, her tender memory of hugh, who had made her free and economically independent, welled up in her in one glad tide of thanksgiving, and she thought of her mother and the thousands of other women on these kansas prairies who had not been saved from such a fate by being made independent landowners, and she pondered on their fate till she longed for a way out for all women who were mothers. "this income could have set john free too, if he would only have thought it over," she said to herself. "he need not have been burdened with us while he was getting his depths in the business world," she concluded. wherever elizabeth's thoughts turned to-day, john was the centre of them. elizabeth had never been resentful toward her husband, and the never-ceasing cause of speculation and comment in the neighbourhood had been upon the fact that though she lived apart from him, she never seemed to think of divorce. elizabeth's attitude toward john was that of a mother who waits for a child to find the real light on a situation. she rarely heard from him, and never directly. she knew of some of his affairs through doctor morgan, with whom john corresponded when business required, but she wrote regularly to mrs. hunter, who had gone to her son the second year he had been away, and who had written to her at that time. elizabeth had been glad of so simple a means of keeping the link unbroken between him and his child. it had been no part of her plan to separate jack from his father. she would not ask john to return, but she wished him to have such knowledge of his son as his temper would permit. she wrote such details of the home and the child as would interest them, knowing that john would read the letters. somehow, to-day she wished that she could write to him direct, but as she thought she shook her head. "it cannot be," she said aloud. "mamma, if you don't come we won't have time to go for the mail," jack called. the pleasant afternoon had waned; elizabeth hunter gazed about her in astonishment; it was indeed late. she stooped and passed her hand over the name cut in the marble slab. "hugh noland, aged twenty-nine." "hugh noland, dear," she said aloud, "you have set me financially free, but there is another kind of freedom i have got to win for myself. i've got to tell john the things that we wanted to tell and were too cowardly to do. if we ever come together again i shall tell it out, if all this country gets to hear it. jack can better afford to take the disgrace of it than to have a mother who carries it about with her as a secret. without honesty no other virtue is a virtue at all." elizabeth's eyes were full of tears as she voiced her vow, but there was a sense of relief welling up within her that she had not known in all the five years hugh had lain here. she stood very quiet till her emotions were under control and her sunny self in command again, then she blew a kiss at aunt susan's grave and went to the waiting child and with him rode a merry race toward colebyville. chapter xxvii to do over, and to do better, was the opportunity offered elizabeth hunter and her son were still breathing hard from rapid riding when they drew up in front of the post-office. elizabeth dropped from the saddle, tossing her rein to jack to hold till her return, and went inside. she was to remember this day and the dingy little window through which mail was passed. the postmaster was a new man and tossed the letters out carelessly; therefore he did not see the sudden start the girl gave as she began to gather them up. john hunter's familiar handwriting stared at her from the top envelope. elizabeth thought of many things while she waited for the man to run through the newspapers and magazines. half an hour ago she had registered a vow beside hugh noland's grave. she was to be tested promptly. when all was handed out to her, she took the pile--elizabeth's magazines supplied the entire community with reading material, and were handed from house to house till as ragged as the tumble weeds of her native kansas--and put them all in the canvas bag at jack's saddle horn. the letter was unopened. something made her wait. something said that john was asking to return--to do over, and to do better, was the opportunity offered to her. her vow rose up before her; without the fulfillment of that vow there could be no _better_, that she recognized--and yet---- [illustration: "john hunter's familiar handwriting stared at her from the top envelope"] all through the long ride home she pondered upon the past and upon the possibilities of the future. not till after jack was safely tucked away in his bed, not till hepsie had her supper work done and had gone upstairs and all the various members of her household had retired for the night, and she was certain of hours for uninterrupted thinking, did elizabeth hunter bring out the unopened letter and lay it on the table before her. even then she renewed her vow before she broke the seal. was he the old john, who would fly out impulsively and cover them all with disgrace if she told him? she asked herself many times. in a cold sweat of terror, she asked herself also if it were possible to build right in this new endeavour without telling john of the love which she had shown to hugh; the temptation was terrible, but she was compelled to shake her head. the habit of openness and fair dealing would not hold her excused; there was no other way, she must tell it out. carefully she went over all the things that would be lost if this story should be bruited abroad. jack would be disgraced, she would be stripped of her influence in the neighbourhood, slain in the sight of her friends who had fought her battles for her because they believed in her, stripped of everything which had gone to make life worth the living, and she would place herself in the power of a man whose only attitude toward the story might be one of self-righteous justification. was it worth the price? her own words rose up before her, "without honesty no other virtue is a virtue at all." elizabeth pondered a long time, and again her own words rose up to confront her, "it does not matter _who_ is wrong, the thing that matters is _what_ is wrong," and for elizabeth there was no escape. this had been the philosophy of her life; she was called upon to stand or fall on that ground. with her head bowed in acknowledgment, she drew the missive out of its envelope and began to read: dear elizabeth: this letter will no doubt surprise you, but i couldn't wait any longer. i might begin by saying that i was homesick for jack--which is true--but i'm going to confess that i'm homesick for you too. is there still hope? i would have written you long ago, but i went into things too heavy and lost the money i got for the cattle--and then i couldn't. it would have looked like asking to come back to the land. as you know, i mortgaged the home eighty--it hurt some to do that, knowing you'd have to sign it--and began slower. i got along very well, but it was terribly tedious, and at last, after three years of steady work, and no debts, i couldn't wait any longer, and put half of what i had on the board of trade proceedings. _i won!_ last saturday i sold all i had, and now while i can come to you right, i want to ask if you will take me? take me quick, if you are going to, before i do some reckless thing and lose it again. i hear you have prospered; that was why i had to wait so long. i often think of dear old hugh, and his interest in some of the things about the neighbourhood, and i have been given to see while living in this rotten hole of a city how much i underestimated the people about us in kansas. i would be glad to come back and live among them. will you let me? a telegram will bring me to you on the next train. with love to both you and jack, who will be seven years old this week, affectionately, john. the tension was broken. elizabeth laid the letter back with a smile. how like john to suggest a telegram! john never could wait. how well she knew his little weaknesses; the written characters of the missive had the flowing curves of haste in their running letters. he had written on the impulse of the moment, no matter how long the desire had been in his heart. the very spontaneity of the confession was unpremeditated and worked in john hunter's favour. he had remembered jack's birthday too! that day seven years ago rose up in elizabeth's memory to plead for jack's father. she earnestly desired john's presence, and yet--could it be done? far into the night elizabeth hunter sat with the letter before her, reading and rereading it, pondering upon the possibilities of the future, seeing them in the light of the past she had spent with him, wondering what sort of man her husband had become in the five years since she had seen him. the letter sounded as if those years might have been profitable ones. there was both the openness of real honesty and the reserve of real strength in the confession about his financial affairs. the most hopeful thing she found in the letter was the sentence about hugh's estimate of the neighbours among whom they had lived and the implied comparison regarding the city in which he now did business. dear old john! had chicago business men tried the methods on him that he had thought it fair to apply to his dealings with her? in the midst of that question rose the one--would john hunter feel the same toward hugh noland's estimates when he was told the truth about his wife's affection for hugh, and of the weakness of both in the demonstrations of that affection? well, it had to be told. scandal would be hard to face with no denial possible. doctor morgan had known it all and still trusted her; likewise luther; but hepsie, and jake, and sadie? besides, jack would have to know, and would suffer for things of which he was innocent! the girl wrestled with the subject till midnight, and long after. at last, to put it where she could not deceive herself, she wrote a simple statement of the whole thing and sealed it up with john's address upon the envelope, and then raising her hand solemnly promised herself that this letter which contained the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth should be mailed as she had written it without being opened to change a word. she would answer john's letter in one apart from this and send it by the same mail, but this letter she would send as it stood. as she got up to go to bed, she picked up the bag in which they brought the mail and felt in it to see if anything were left. a small narrow book that opened endwise and had the name of the bank of colebyville on it was all. it was a fitting end to her considerations. she had never owned a checkbook till recent years. because of its presence, she might yet be able to answer john hunter as he wished. she thought long on her situation. there was no sleep in her. the larger, the universal, aspects of the question began to crowd in upon her mind. "there is no other way," she said. "a woman, to be free, must have money of her own. she must not be supported by a man." she stepped out on the porch and stood looking toward the east. the refreshing breeze which had sprung up cooled and invigorated her. "the wind before the dawn! the beginning of a new day!" she said aloud. turning toward the kitchen, she began to pack a box which stood waiting on the end of the kitchen table. doughnuts, cookies and pies had been left there to cool the evening before. mrs. farnshaw was to have threshers to cook for to-day, and elizabeth had grown thoughtful of the mother, who was aging visibly. in such ways as she could, she spared her mother's strength and gave her the comfort of frequent visits and companionship. in order to get the long eight-mile drive over before it became hot, it was necessary to get an early start, and elizabeth, with jack at her side, was on the road before the sun was fairly above the horizon. about eight o'clock mrs. farnshaw turned at the sound of their feet on her doorstep. she set her cob basket on the floor, put the stove lid over the roaring fire, and turned to jack with grandmotherly delight. "you're a real comfort, lizzie," she said, straightening up with jack in her arms. "i never used t' think you would be, but you are. i'm that tired that i'm ready t' drop." "anything more than usual?" elizabeth asked, noting the fagged and heavy face, and the gathering tears. "oh, nothin' more 'n 'as happened many a time; only 'e grows crosser, seems to me, as 'e grows older. he was particular bad last night, and i didn't sleep none. it's awful hot weather t' lay awake." when elizabeth did not reply, the mother said testily: "now i s'pose you'll be thinkin' that you don't have t' care for what a man says." elizabeth laughed, but not in her usual merry way. "perhaps," she said slowly. "i was thinking farther than that--i was wondering----" she paused to think and then broke out suddenly. "john's written to ask if he can come back, and i was just wondering----" mrs. farnshaw was all animation at once, her own troubles forgotten. "you don't say?" she exclaimed. "now look here, lizzie, you're goin' t' let him come?" elizabeth had told her mother on the impulse of the moment after withholding the news from nathan and even from jack. the child had been wriggling out of his grandmother's arms and had not heard what his mother said. elizabeth waited till he was out of hearing. she half regretted having mentioned it. she was going to have to argue out her decision with her mother, and she had made no decision. the mother's accidental remark had produced the impulse to tell. well, it was all right. it might be that she could decide better after discussing it with some one. elizabeth looked at her mother doubtfully. "i don't know, ma. i may. it's all owing to whether we can agree on the terms of starting over." "you ain't goin' t' lay down rules t' him?" the mother cried in amazement. "now's my time to find out what rules he's going to lay down to me at least," elizabeth said dryly. "but i never heard of such a thing! say, don't you love 'im any more, lizzie?" "i--i think i do, ma," elizabeth said slowly. "but there's the very trouble with women. they think they ought to love a man enough to take him without a definite understanding, and then they find that a woman's love means mostly obedience to a man. yes, i think i love him. but i'm going to know what he expects, and i'm going to tell him what i expect, and make no mistakes this time. we'll know before we begin." "but he may not take you," mrs. farnshaw said in a frightened whisper. "i rather think i'm taking him," elizabeth said, beginning to unload the box of provisions she had brought. "you forget that i'm making my own living." "that _does_ make a difference," mrs. farnshaw admitted. "that makes _all_ the difference," elizabeth replied positively. "the longer i look at it the more convinced i am that the whole thing hinges right on that point. if we live together again i'll know that it isn't because he feels that having married me he must keep me in food and clothes, and he'll know that it's because i want to and not because i've got a child to be supported. i believe i love him; but if i didn't know i could leave him in a minute if he made me do things that i wasn't able to do i wouldn't dare to say yes. knowing that i don't have to live with him if he begins to order me around, i think i'll try it." "you're a queer girl, lizzie," the mother said, puzzled and uncertain what to think of the philosophy she propounded. "you don't seem to be afraid of men at all." "i don't have to be, ma, because no man will ever again pay for my food and clothes. you are not to tell anybody, even the boys. i may not do it yet. i didn't intend to tell you for a while, but you insisted on telling me what i was thinking about, and it popped right out at you." elizabeth gave her mother a tender look and added: "i told you first when he asked me before," which was a thing her mother could understand and appreciate. elizabeth was considerate of the little mother whose life was hard, and who was afraid of a man. at that point elizabeth fell into a brown study. she argued for her own rights, knowing that only on that path could peace come to either herself or john, but she did not feel herself wholly worthy, and john wholly unworthy; she knew her weaknesses, and she knew she had wronged john hunter as well as he had wronged her; she was willing to take him if he would be as willing to correct his faults and confess them as she was willing to do. she did not ask of john hunter that he be always right in his actions toward her, but that he discuss their grievances and let them look together for better ways of settling what was right for each. she was so deep in her own thoughts that she did not hear jack, who called to her from the door: "mamma, let's go! come on! they're going right now, mamma!" elizabeth did not hear the child till he tugged at her skirts and exclaimed: "come on, mamma! grandma won't care. come on!" his mother looked down at the boy with a smile. how well she remembered the delights of threshing-day herself. she looked about the kitchen to see what had yet to be done. "wait a little, jack. i've got to help get the table set and the dinner on to cook. you wouldn't have me leave grandma to do all the work alone, would you?" she asked suggestively. as jack hesitated between his great desire to see the marvel of the stackyard and his desire to show as much manliness as his mother evidently expected of him, there was a noise on the doorstep and hepsie came smilingly in. "i followed you all on th' pony," she said. "i fixed it up with th' boys yesterday t' take a cold dinner to-day an' let me come an' help here. we're lookin' out that you don't hurt yourself to-day, mis farnshaw," she added, addressing the older woman. "now you can go to the threshing machine too, grandma!" jack cried with delight. "come on, let's go right now!" "not now, jack," elizabeth said. "hepsie didn't come to get the dinner alone." "oh, yes, she did! she likes to," jack replied so confidently that they all laughed, and hepsie fell on the child and hugged him. "of course i did, jack. grandma will show me what to do, and then she and mamma can take you out to see the machine go round and round like a big coffee mill, and maybe jack can ride one of the horses." "oh, hepsie! don't put that into the child's head," elizabeth interposed hastily. "i wouldn't have him on one of those horses for anything." "mamma says i spoil you, jack. run along now, and let me look after this dinner." as soon as the tables were set and the dinner on to cook, elizabeth and her mother took the excited child and started to the barnyard. mrs. farnshaw was pulled along by the impatient grandson, and elizabeth came at some distance behind, having stopped to glance in the chicken house as she went. the marvellous ant-hill called a stackyard would not permit jack to wait for his mother. mr. farnshaw saw them coming. he would gladly have avoided his wife and daughter, but jack took things for granted and always insisted upon dragging his mother into his grandfather's presence and mixing them up in the conversation. elizabeth had dropped behind purposely, knowing her father's feelings toward her, and did not hear jack say persuasively: "grandpa, let jack drive and make the horses go round." "no, no, jack," mrs. farnshaw said quickly. "mamma said you could not go on the horsepower." mr. farnshaw gave his wife a look of disdain and, stooping, picked the child up. mrs. farnshaw gave a little cry. when his own team came around, mr. farnshaw walked in front of it and started toward the platform on which albert stood swinging a long whip. the "near horse" of the farnshaw team was a stolid and reliable mare, mother of many colts. she was so placed because it had been decided to put a young stallion of uncertain temper beside her. the restive, irritable beast sustained his reputation by nipping angrily at mr. farnshaw as he dodged under the straps with which the horses were tied to the reach ahead. to have passed in front of this team unencumbered and alone when the power was in motion would have been foolhardy; but with jack in his arms it was an act of mock-heroics typical of the whole bull-headed character of josiah farnshaw. he stumbled slightly in springing out of the horse's way, and with jack, who was a load, in his arms, was barely able to keep his feet. a shout went up from every man who saw the occurrence, and albert shut off the power in the endeavour to stop the machine. mr. farnshaw sprang toward the inner corner of the triangular space occupied by the team, and as the machine slowly came to a full stop set jack on the boards at albert's feet and turned toward the horses. the stallion threw a challenge at the man who had escaped its teeth, reared angrily, shook its black mane, and, with teeth exposed and ears laid back, prepared for another lunge. not only mrs. farnshaw but every man on the ground called to josiah farnshaw to get out of the way of the infuriated beast. instead of heeding the frantic warnings, mr. farnshaw, determined to let his onlooking neighbours see that he was not afraid, sprang forward and struck the squealing animal a stinging blow on the nose with his fist. taken by surprise, the horse set back so suddenly that he broke the straps with which he and his mate were fastened to the reach, falling against the mare, who was thoroughly frightened by her master's menacing blow. the team behind them reared and snorted as the stallion sprang to its feet again. then a strange and terrible thing happened. the horse stopped and made ready for the plunge he had in mind. there were warning cries from every man in the stackyard, but there was no chance to escape. with a scream which struck terror to the hearts of the onlookers the brute sprang upon the man and sunk its teeth through flesh and bone alike as it grabbed the arm which was aiming a puny blow, and shook him as if he were a rag, flinging him against the ground under its feet, and shaking him as a dog shakes a rat it has captured. the men could not rush in, because the other horse was on the outside of the team and was kicking and struggling to free itself from the shrieking stallion. every team attached to the machine was tearing at its moorings, and horrified as the men were they were obliged to attempt to control the other horses. the team immediately in front of the stallion broke away altogether, carrying away with it the reach to which it was fastened. seeing his opportunity, joe farnshaw rushed into the space left open by the disappearance of the other team, and with a well-directed blow from an iron bar he had snatched up, he staggered the horse so that it dropped the nerveless thing it had been shaking, and stood stunned and trembling, sight, sound, and all other matters of sense gone. the body was snatched away from in front of the tottering horse in time to save it from the heavy weight of the falling animal, which began to tremble, and then, losing control of its legs altogether, fell heavily toward the platform, dragging its mate to her knees as it went. elizabeth quieted her shrieking mother as best she could while she hugged her rescued child to her bosom, and the sons of josiah farnshaw helped the men to lay the broken body of their father upon an improvised stretcher to be removed to the house. kind hands performed the little duties necessary on such occasions, and then the horrified men stayed on, gathered in little groups about the dead stallion in the stackyard. when all was done and the family were reduced to that terrorizing state of idleness which comes to those who stand about their dead, elizabeth took jack and wandered out of the house to where she could see joe standing near the well. together they glanced across to the men standing around the torn and dismantled horsepower. "pa was like that horse, joe," elizabeth said with a sudden gleam of insight. "they were both ruled by unbridled passions. everything they did they mixed up with hate. you couldn't touch either of them without having them lay back their ears." chapter xxviii "till death do you part" considered the day after josiah farnshaw was buried, elizabeth sat down to answer john's letter. it was not easy to do, and she sat for a long time with her chin in her hand before she began to write. the death of her father related to the things of which she must speak. she began by telling him the circumstances of her father's death and showed him that the tragedy had been the result of pride and the habit of domination, of an unwillingness to listen to advice, or to discuss necessary matters. her brothers had urged that the stallion be left in the barn and that another horse be substituted, since by its outcries and prancings it would keep the strange horses nervous and irritable, but mr. farnshaw, having said in the beginning that the animal should be used, would not listen to anything that the family wished him to do in the matter. mrs. farnshaw had objected to jack being placed upon the horsepower, but once having started to place him there, her husband would listen to no caution. last but not least of those refusals to advise with those who knew as well as he what should be done had been the one of not heeding the cries of the men who had warned him not to approach the vicious brute. to dominate had been the keynote of her father's character; his death had been a fitting symbol of his overweening desire to pursue that phantom. after enlarging upon the causes of the tragedy, she took up the matter of the refusal to listen to necessary explanations which had had so much to do with her separation from her husband. hugh noland's life was sacrificed because he could not go to you and talk to you of necessary things, and i am determined that if you and i ever come together again that neither of us shall be afraid to talk out anything in this whole world that is of interest to us both. hugh and i would have been so glad to go to you and ask you to let him be taken away, or to have asked you to help us to higher living till he was well enough to go. i need hardly tell you that we both recognized that it was wronging you for him to stay on in the house after we discovered that we loved each other. hugh planned to go, and then came the accident, and we were helpless. at last, in order not to defeat me when he saw that i was trying to overcome the fault in myself, he thought it necessary to die so that i should be free. you know, john dear, i should never try to live with you again unless i could tell you _anything_ and know that you'd listen and be fair, even to my love for another man. there you have me as i am. if you don't want me, don't take me; but at least you are not deceived about the kind of woman you are going to live with this time. then elizabeth pointed out to him how he had refused to read hugh's innocent letter, and then went on to consider affairs between herself and john. you will probably remember also that when we were talking over the coming of our second child five years ago you said that i was foolish to be disturbed about it--that if i had not had the wherewithal to feed and clothe it i might have had good cause for complaint, but otherwise not. that is another matter we must settle before we reopen life together. mere food and clothes are but a part of a child's natural and proper rights of inheritance. my future children--and i hope i shall have more than the one i have now--must be prepared for earnestly and rightly. we are better prepared to have children now than when we were younger, but if we wish the best from our children, we must give the best to their beginnings as well as to their upbringings, and you and i would, i am sure, come much closer to each other and begin to understand each other much better after adopting such a policy. when we were married our love would not permit us to exact conditions, but i have learned to love you and myself enough to wish to consider all the conditions of which i have been speaking before we begin to live together again. years ago i was glibly willing to advise my mother to get a divorce--for her i am not sure yet but that it was the only way to freedom--but i have lived and learned, and you see that for myself i have not wanted it. i have come to understand that you and i are bound together--not by the fact of jack's presence, i mean not by the mere knowledge that we have him, but by some other law of which he is but the outward evidence. no magistrate could separate us. i belong to you and you belong to me by some primal law of life, not because some minister said over us, "till death do you part," but because _we have permitted ourselves to become one flesh_. having set up these relations, let us struggle with the conditions they entail. there must be freedom in our home if it is to be reorganized. i want you to be just as free as i am. i told you before you left that you should run the farm; i still prefer it. i don't care what you do on it, so long as you do not mortgage it. i think i have a right to keep a certain part of it free from debt if i choose to do so, so as to be sure of a home in my old age, since i have to suffer if we lose it; otherwise you are free to do as you wish with any part of it. i think i have a better sort of love to offer you than i had before, just because it includes a knowledge of our weaknesses. i have had to tell you all this in order that we begin square, but i liked your letter, and i believe we can come to an understanding. my love for hugh noland is but a memory, but when your letter came i found that my love for you was a living thing, that i wanted you very much, and even as i write you these words i want you. when her writing was finished elizabeth went to the barn to saddle the horses, thinking that she would take jack with her and ride into town to mail both letters in the cool of the evening. she saddled jack's pony and started around the corner of the barn to tie it in the lane, when she saw, turning into that lane, john hunter, with a valise in his hand. he had come in on the noon train and had caught a ride out home with a stranger passing that way. john saw her and waved his hand, calling to her. to elizabeth he was still fair to look upon. she walked toward him holding out the letters she had written. the end popular copyright books at moderate prices ask your dealer for a complete list of a. l. burt company's popular copyright fiction. abner daniel. by will n. harben. adventures of a modest man. by robert w. chambers. adventures of gerard. by a. conan doyle. adventures of sherlock holmes. by a. conan doyle. ailsa page. by robert w. chambers. alternative, the. by george barr mccutcheon. ancient law, the. by ellen glasgow. angel of forgiveness, the. by rosa n. carey. angel of pain, the. by b. f. benson. annals of ann, the. by kate trimble sharber. anna the adventuress. by b. phillips oppenheim. ann boyd. by will n. harben. as the sparks fly upward. by cyrus townsend brady. at the age of eve. by kate trimble sharber. at the mercy of tiberius. by augusta evans wilson. at the moorings. by rosa n. carey. awakening of helen richie, the. by margaret deland. barrier, the. by rex beach. bar . by clarence e. mulford. bar- days. by clarence e. mulford. battle ground, the. by ellen glasgow. beau brocade. by baroness orczy. beechy. by bettina von hutten. bella donna. by robert hichens. beloved vagabond, the. by william j. locke. ben blair. by will lillibridge. best man, the. by harold macgrath. beth norvell. by randall parrish. betrayal, the. by e. phillips oppenheim. better man, the. by cyrus townsend brady. beulah. (illustrated edition.) by augusta j. evans. bill toppers, the. by andre castaigne. blaze derringer. by eugene p. lyle, jr. bob hampton of placer. by randall parrish. bob, son of battle. by alfred ollivant. brass bowl, the. by louis joseph vance. bronze bell, the. by louis joseph vance. butterfly man, the. by george barr mccutcheon. by right of purchase. by harold bindloss. cab no. . by r. f. foster. calling of dan matthews, the. by harold bell wright. call of the blood, the. by robert hichens. cape cod stories. by joseph c. lincoln. cap'n eri. by joseph c. lincoln. captain warren's wards. by joseph c. lincoln. caravaners, the. by the author of "elizabeth and her german garden." cardigan. by robert w. chambers. carlton case, the. by ellery h. clark. car of destiny, the. by c. n. and a. m. williamson. carpet from bagdad, the. by harold macgrath. cash intrigue, the. by george randolph chester. casting away of mrs. leeks and mrs. aleshine. frank s. stockton. castle by the sea, the. by h. b. marriot watson. challoners, the. by b. f. benson. chaperon, the. by c. n. and a. m. williamson. city of six, the. by c. l. canfield. circle, the. by katherine cecil thurston (author of "the masquerader." "the gambler.") colonial free lance, a. by chauncey c. hotchkiss. conquest of canaan, the. by booth tarkington. conspirators, the. by robert w. chambers. cynthia of the minute. by louis joseph vance. dan merrithew. by lawrence perry. day of the dog, the. by george barr mccutcheon. depot master, the. by joseph c. lincoln. derelicts. by william j. locke. diamond master, the. by jacques futrelle. diamonds cut paste. by agnes and egerton castle. divine fire, the. by may sinclair. dixie hart. by will n. harben. dr. david. by marjorie benton cooke. early bird. the. by george randolph chester. eleventh hour, the. by david potter. elizabeth in rugen. (by the author of "elizabeth and her german garden.") elusive isabel. by jacques futrelle. elusive pimpernel, the. by baroness orczy. enchanted hat, the. by harold macgrath. excuse me. by rupert hughes. - or fight. by emerson hough. fighting chance, the. by robert w. chambers. flamsted quarries. by mary e. waller. flying mercury, the. by eleanor m. ingram. for a maiden brave. by chauncey c. hotchkiss. four million, the. by o. henry. four pool's mystery, the. by jean webster. fruitful vine, the. by robert hichens. ganton & co. by arthur j. eddy. gentleman of france, a. by stanley weyman. gentleman, the. by alfred ollivant. get-rick-quick-wallingford. by george randolph chester. gilbert neal. by will n. harben. girl and the bill, the. by bannister merwin. girl from his town, the. by marie van vorst. girl who won, the. by beth ellis. glory of clementina, the. by william j. locke. glory of the conquered, the. by susan glaspell. god's good man. by marie corelli. going some. by rex beach. golden web, the. by anthony partridge. green patch, the. by bettina von hutten. happy island sequel to "uncle william". by jennette lee. hearts and the highway. by cyrus townsend brady. held for orders. by frank h. spearman. hidden water. by dane coolidge. highway of fate, the. by rosa n. carey. homesteaders, the. by kate and virgil d. boyles. honor of the big snows, the. by james oliver curwood. hopalong cassidy. by clarence e. mulford. household of peter, the. by rosa n. carey. house of mystery, the. by will irwin. house of the lost court, the. by c. n. williamson house of the whispering pines, the. by anna katherine green. house on cherry street, the. by amelia e. barr. how leslie loved. by anne warner. husbands of edith, the. by george barr mccutcheon. idols. by william j. locke. illustrious prince, the. by b. phillips oppenheim. imprudence of prue, the. by sophie fisher. inez. (illustrated edition.) by augusta j. evans. infelice. by augusta evans wilson. initials only. by anna katharine green. in defiance of the king. by chauncey c. hotchkiss. indifference of juliet, the. by grace s. richmond. in the service of the princess. by henry c. rowland. iron woman, the. by margaret deland. ishmael. (illustrated.) by mrs. southworth. island of regeneration, the. by cyrus townsend brady. jack spurlock. prodigal. by horace lorimer. jane cable. by george barr mccutcheon. jeanne of the marshes. by e. phillips oppenheim. jude the obsoure. by thomas hardy. keith of the border. by randall parrish. key to the unknown, the. by rosa n. carey. kingdom of earth, the. by anthony partridge. king spruce. by holman day. ladder of swords, a. by gilbert parker. lady betty across the water. by c. n. and a. m. williamson. lady merton, colonist. by mrs. humphrey ward. lady of big shanty, the. by berkeley f. smith. langford of the three bars. by kate and virgil o. boyles. land of long ago, the. by eliza calvert. hall. lane that had no turning, the. by gilbert parker. last trail, the. by zane grey. last voyage of the donna isabel, the. by randall parrish. leavenworth case, the. by anna katharine green. lin mclean. by owen wister. little brown jug at kildare, the. by meredith nicholson. loaded dice. by ellery h. clarke. lord loveland discovers america. by c. n. and a. m. williamson. lorimer of the northwest. by harold bindloss. lorraine. by robert w. chambers. lost ambassador, the. by e. phillips oppenheim. love under fire. by randall parrish. loves of miss anne, the. by s. r. crockett. macaria. (illustrated edition.) by augusta j. evans. mademoiselle celeste. by adele ferguson knight maid at arms, the. by robert w. chambers. maid of old new york, a. by amelia e. barr maid of the whispering hills, the. by vingie roe. maids of paradise, the. by robert w. chambers making of bobby burnit, the. by george randolph chester. mam' linda. by will n. harben man outside, the. by wyndham martyn man in the brown derby, the. by wells hastings. marriage a la mode. by mrs. humphrey ward marriage of theodora, the. by molly elliott seawell. marriage under the terror, a. by patricia wentworth. master mummer, the. by e. phillips oppenheim. masters of the wheatlands. by harold bindloss. max. by katherine cecil thurston. memoirs of sherlock holmes. by a. conan doyle. millionaire baby, the. by anna katharine green. missioner, the. by e. phillips oppenheim. miss selina lue. by maria thompson daviess. mistress of brae farm, the. by rosa n. carey. money moon, the. by jeffery farnol. motor maid, the. by c. n. and a. m. williamson. much ado about peter. by jean webster. mr. pratt. by joseph c. lincoln. my brother's keeper. by charles tenny jackson. my friend the chauffeur. by c. n. and a. m. williamson. my lady caprice. by jeffery farnol, (author of the "broad higway") my lady of doubt. by randall parrish. my lady of the north. by randall parrish. my lady of the south. by randall parrish. mystery tales. by edgar allen poe. nancy stair. by elinor macartney lane. ne'er-do-well, the. by rex beach. no friend like a sister. by rosa n. carey. officer . by barton w. currie and augustin mchugh. one braver thing. by richard dehan. order no. . by caroline abbot stanley. orphan, the. by clarence b. mulford. out of the primitive. by robert ames bennett. pam. by bettina von hutten. pam decides. by bettina von hutten. pardners. by rex beach. partners of the tide. by joseph c. lincoln. passage perilous, the. by rosa n. carey. passers by. by anthony partridge. paternoster ruby, the. by charles edmonds walk. patience of john moreland, the. by mary dillon. paul anthony, christian. by hiram w. hays. phillip steele. by james oliver curwood. phra the phoenician. by edwin lester arnold. plunderer, the. by roy norton. pole baker. by will n. harben. politician, the. by edith huntington mason. polly of the circus. by margaret mayo. pool of flame, the. by louis joseh vance. poppy. by cynthia stockley. power and the glory, the. by grace mcgowan cooke. price of the prairie, the. by margaret hill mccarter. prince of sinners, a. by e. phillis oppenheim. prince or chauffeur. by lawrence perry. princess dehra, the. by john reed scott. princess passes, the. by c. n. and a. m. williamson. princess virginia, the. by c. n. and a. m. williamson. prisoners of chance. by randall parrish. prodigal son, the. by hall caine. purple parasol, the. by george barr mccutcheon. reconstructed marriage, a. by amelia barr. redemption of kenneth gait, the. by will n. harben. red house on rowan street. by roman doubleday. red mouse, the. by william hamilton osborne. red pepper burns. by grace s. richmond. refugees, the. by a. conan doyle. rejuvenation of aunt mary, the. by anne warner. road to providence, the. by maria thompson daviess. romance of a plain man, the. by ellen glasgow. rose in the ring, the. by george barr mccutcheon. rose of old harpeth, the. by maria thompson daviess. rose of the world. by agnes and egerton castle. round the corner in gay street. by grace s. richmond. routledge rides alone. by will livingston comfort. running fight, the. by wm. hamilton osborne. seats of the mighty, the. by gilbert parker. septimus. by william j. locke. set in silver. by c. n. and a. m. williamson. self-raised. (illustrated.) by mrs. southworth. shepherd of the hills, the. by harold bell wright. sheriff of dyke hole, the. by ridgwell cullum. sidney carteret, rancher. by harold bindloss. simon the jester. by william j. locke. silver blade, the. by charles e. walk. silver horde, the. by rex beach. sir nigel. by a. conan doyle. sir richard calmady. by lucas malet. skyman, the. by henry ketchell webster. slim princess, the. by george ade. speckled bird, a. by augusta evans wilson. spirit in prison, a. by robert hichens. spirit of the border, the. by zane grey. spirit trail, the. by kate and virgil d. boyles. spoilers, the. by rex beach. stanton wins. by eleanor m. ingram. st. elmo. (illustrated edition.) by augusta j. evans. stolen singer, the. by martha bellinger. stooping lady, the. by maurice hewlett. story of the outlaw, the. by emerson hough. strawberry acres. by grace s. richmond. strawberry handkerchief, the. by amelia e. barr. sunnyside of the hill, the. by rosa n. carey. sunset trail, the. by alfred henry lewis. kansas women in literature by nettie garmer barker to my nearest and dearest-- my silent partners-- my husband and my mother. kansas women in literature. "we are proud of kansas, the beautiful queen, and proud are we of her fields of corn; but a nobler pride than these i ween, is our pride in her children, kansas born!" --ellen p. allerton-- --or adopted. in this galaxy of bright women, the state has a noble pride for every name, be its owner kansas born or adopted, is a mightier force for good than its "walls of corn." effie graham. the last place one would expect to find romance is in arithmetic and yet--miss effie graham, the head of the department of mathematics in the topeka high school, has found it there and better still, in her lecture "living arithmetic" she has shown others the way to find it there. miss graham is one of the most talented women of the state. ex-gov. hoch has called her "one of the most gifted women in the state noted for its brilliant women. her heart and life are as pure as her mind is bright." she was born and reared in ohio, the daughter of a family of ohio pioneers, a descendant of a revolutionary soldier and also, of a warrior of . as a student of the ohio northern university and later as a post-graduate worker at the university of california, chicago university, and harvard summer school, she has as she says, "graduated sometimes and has a degree but never 'finished' her education." desiring to get the school out into the world as well as the world back to the school, she has spoken and written on "moving into the king row," "other peoples' children," "spirit of the younger generation," "vine versus oak," and "the larger service." "pictures eight hundred children selected," "speaking of automobiles," "the unusual thing," "the high cost of learning," and "wanted--a funeral of algebraic phraseology;" also, some verse, "the twentieth regiment knight" and "back to god's country" are magazine work that never came back. school science & mathematics, a magazine to which she contributes and of which she is an associate editor, gives hers as the only woman's name on its staff of fifty editors. her book, "the passin' on party," raises the author to the rank of a classic. to quote a critic: it is "a little like 'mrs. wiggs of the cabbage patch,' a little like 'uncle tom's cabin,' but not just like either of them. she reaches right down into human breasts and grips the heart strings." it is the busy people who find time to do things and the mother-heart of miss graham finds expression in her household in west lawn, a suburb of topeka. among the members of her family are a niece and nephew whose high school and college education she directs. esther m. clark. every kansan, homesick in a foreign land, knows the call of kansas and every kansan book lover knows esther clark's "call of kansas." "sweeter to me than the salt sea spray, the fragrance of summer rains: nearer my heart than these mighty hills are the wind-swept kansas plains: dearer the sight of a shy, wild rose by the roadside's dusty way than all the splendor of poppy-fields ablaze in the sun of may. gay as the bold poinsetta is, and the burden of pepper trees, the sunflower, tawny and gold and brown, is richer, to me, than these. and rising ever above the song of the hoarse, insistent sea, the voice of the prairie, calling, calling me. miss clark was born in neosho co., kansas, about twelve miles southeast of chanute, on a farm. at seven years of age, the family moved to chanute and her school days were spent at the old pioneer building, where her mother went to school before her. in , she graduated here, later entering the university of kansas for work in english. in , "verses by a commonplace person" was published. "the call of kansas and other verse" came out in . this volume contained "my dear" and "good night" which were set to music, and "rose o' my heart." "rose o' my heart, to-day i send a rose or two, you love roses, rose o' my heart, i love you. rose o' my heart, a rose is sweet and fresh as dew. some have thorns, but, rose o' my heart, none have you. rose o' my heart, this day wear my roses, do! for next to my heart, rose o' my heart, i wear you." "my dear" was written for her baby brother, during an absence from home, and is miss clark's favorite. she is in the office of the extension department at the university of kansas, and has exclusive charge of club programs and does some work in package libraries. just now she is contributing prose to some of the newspapers and doing some splendid feature work. mary vance humphrey. mary vance humphrey of junction city, kansas, has written a series of short stories on the property rights of women in kansas, a subject that was and is, still, of vital importance to the women of the state. "the legal status of mrs. o'rourke" and "king lear in kansas" are two of the series. when young in heart and experience, mrs. humphrey wrote a number of poems. her work in later years has been only prose. her novel, "the squatter sovereign" is an historical romance of pioneer days, the settlement of kansas in the fifties. mrs. humphrey is one of the founders of the kansas state social science club and the woman's kansas day club and the founder of the reading club of junction city. she has served as president of the state federation and as director of the general federation of women's clubs and president of the woman's kansas day club. her work as member of the board of education has done much for junction city and her interest in libraries has done equally as much for the state of kansas. of her record as an official, margaret hill mccarter has written: "her whole soul is in her work. she is the genuine metal, shirking nothing, cheapening nothing, and withal happy in the enjoyment of her obligation. she stands for patriotism, progress and peace. something of the message of the shepherds heard out beyond bethlehem that christmas morning long ago sounds in the chords she strikes." as the wife of the late judge james humphrey, she proved herself the able companion of such a worthy man. kate a. aplington. the kansas state traveling art gallery owes its birth and much of its success to kate a. aplington, the author of that typical western story, "pilgrims of the plains." since feb., , the art gallery has been a recognized state institution, and as its vice-president and superintendent and as the writer of the art lectures that accompany the work, mrs. aplington's broad-minded, artistic temperament and student's persistency have made the gallery truly a work of art. at present, the aplingtons are living at miami, florida, but for a quarter of a century, council grove, the most famous spot on the santa fe trail, was their home. special investigations and researches on the subject of the old santa fe trail days and lecturers on educational and literary topics resulted from years spent in that historic place. "pilgrims of the plains," which came out in feb., , is worthy of a place in the front rank of western stories. in july of this year, grossett and dunlap will bring it out in their "popular edition" of novels. mrs. aplington is now working on a book on "art-museums of america" and judging from the comments of prominent museum directors, this will be as great a success as her novel. "florida of the reclamation," a character story with scenes laid in and around miami, florida, is also in preparation. emma upton vaughn. the author of that versatile little book of short stories, "the lower bureau drawer" is emma upton vaughn, a kansas city, kansas teacher. these heart stories, showing keen insight of human nature--especially woman nature--deal with every day life, each one a fascinating revelation, of character and soul. mrs. vaughn was born in kalamazoo, michigan. her early life was spent in kansas. she is a graduate of the kansas university, and has taught in the public schools of the state. she wrote the "bible and the flag in the public schools" and has contributed both prose and verse to the leading magazines and newspapers. feature articles and many good essays appear over her signature. her "passing from under the partial eclipse" did much to give kansas city, kansas her recognized place commercially on the map. a novel, "the cresap pension," exposing a great pension fraud, is ready for the press. jessie wright whitecomb. jessie wright whitcomb, a topeka writer of juvenile books is a lawyer in active practice with her husband, judge george h. whitcomb and a mother of a remarkable family of five boys and one girl. the oldest son gained his a. b. in at the age of eighteen; in was appointed rhodes scholar for kansas; and is now a student at oxford. his father and mother are in england at present visiting him. mrs. whitcomb is a contributor to the magazines and in addition, has written "odd little lass," "freshman and senior," "majorbanks," "his best friend," "pen's venture," "queer as she could be," and "curly head." she is a graduate of the university of vermont and the boston university law school and was the first woman to lecture before a man's law school. myra williams jarrell. myra williams jarrell, the daughter of the late archie l. williams, for thirty years, the attorney for the union pacific railway in kansas, and the grand-daughter of judge archibald williams, the first united states circuit judge of kansas, appointed by lincoln, comes of a literary family. all of the men and some of the women on the father's side of the family and also, on the mother's to a great extent, had literary talent. as a child, she cherished an ambition to write and when occasionally one of her letters to st. nicholas saw publication, she felt she had crossed the alps of her desire. her first real story, however, was written as she rocked the cradle of her first born. the day, when she first saw her "stuff" in print, stands out in her memory second only to the hallowed days of her personal history, her wedding day and the days upon which her children were born. since then, mrs. jarrell has contributed to almost all the high class magazines and has furnished special feature articles to newspapers. some years ago, a small book, "meg, of valencia," was written and now, a novel, "the hand of the potter" is ready for publication. in , myra williams and j. f. jarrell were married. this union was blest with four children, three sons and one daughter. mr. jarrell is publicity agent of the santa fe. a number of years ago, he bought the holton signal and in trying to help her husband put some individuality into the paper, mrs. jarrell began a department headed "ramblings." later this was syndicated and finally issued in book form. last winter, a play, "the plain clothes man," was produced by the north brothers stock co., at the majestic theatre, topeka. this well written play, with its novel and original characterization and its effective comedy lines, is now in the hands of two new york play brokers. before many months, mrs. jarrell will be enjoying a royalty. in preparation, are two plays, as yet nameless; also, a play in collaboration with mr. north of the north stock co. with her brother, burus l. williams, of kansas city, mo., mrs. jarrell has written an opera, "the mix up in the kingdom of something-like," which awaits only the lyrics mr. williams is writing and the music. an opera, "the kingdom of never come true," also, in collaboration with mr. williams, is being set to music by arthur pryor, the bandmaster. a serial story, "john bishop, farmer," a collaboration with albert t. reed, the artist, is to be published soon in the kansas farmer. later, this will appear in book form. a novel, which mrs. jarrell believes will be her best work, is in construction and is clamoring to be written. ellen palmer allerton. ellen palmer allerton, the sweet and gentle poetess, beloved of kansas, lived at padonia, in brown county, when she wrote her famous poem, "wall of corn." she was past her prime when she came to kansas from the wisconsin home, the subject of many of her noble gems. as she grew older, she grew stronger in poetic strength. three volumes of poems have been published, "walls of corn and other poems," "annabel and other poems," and "poems of the prairie." her "walls of corn," written in , famous from the first, as used as railroad immigration advertising, was translated in several languages and distributed all over europe. this and her "trail of forty-nine" are her best, although the classic beauty of "beautiful things" is unsurpassed by any other american writer. "beautiful twilight, at set of sun, beautiful goal, with race well run, beautiful rest, with work well done." is a fitting close to the beautiful, useful life of the author. mrs. allerton was born in centerville. new york, in and began writing verse at the age of seventeen. much as she has written, yet writing was only a pastime. she never let it interfere with her housework. thoroughly practical, she did all her own work, just because she loved to do it. her flowers of which she had many, in doors and out, resulted in many noble, inspiring lines. in , she was married to a. b. allerton of wisconsin, coming to kansas in . she was best appreciated for her social qualities and her interest in charity--that broader charity that praises the beauty and ignores the blemishes. her last poem, "when days grow dark" is a beautiful pen picture of her sweetness and resignation in her growing blindness and her love and trust in him who had been her companion down the years. "you take the book and pour into my ear in accent sweet, the words i cannot see; i listen charmed, forget my haunting fear, and think with you as with your eyes i see. in the world's thought, so your dear voice be left, i still have part, i am not all bereft. and if this darkness deepens, when for me the new moon bends no more her silver rim, when stars go out, and over land and sea black midnight falls, where now is twilight dim, o, then may i be patient, sweet and mild, while your hands lead me like a little child!" she died in , at padonia, and was buried in a bed of her favorite white flowers, donated by loving friends. in the little graveyard at hamlin, one reads "beautiful things" on a modest stone at the head of her little bed. emma tanner wood. mrs. emma tanner wood (caroline cunningham), a topeka woman, began newspaper work in . the result of those early years' work was "spring showers," a volume of prose. after thirty years of study and experience among the defectives, she wrote "too fit for the unfit," advocating surgery for the feeble-minded. the story of mrs. benton, one of the characters, led mrs. wood to introduce a law preventing children being sent to the poor house. this was the first law purely in the interest of children ever passed in kansas. later, a law preventing traveling hypnotists from using school children as subjects in public exhibitions was drawn up by mrs. wood and passed. several years ago, a book on hypnotism, far in advance of the public thought, was written and is to be published this year. mrs. wood is seventy years young and as she says: "finds age the very sweetest part of life. it is no small satisfaction to laugh at the follies of others and know that you are past committing them. it is equally delightful to be responsible only to one's self and order one's life as one chooses. every day is a holy day to me now and the sweetness of common things, grass, flowers, neighborly love, grand-children, and home comforts fill me with satisfaction. to think kindly of all things under the sun (but sin); to speak kindly to all; to do little kindly acts is a greater good to the world at large than we think while we are in the heat of battle." cornelia m. stockton. a cheerful little room in the east wing of st. margaret's hospital, kansas city, kansas; an invalid chair wheeled up to a window over looking the street; and the eager, expectant face and the warm hand clasp of the occupant, mrs. cornelia m. stockton, assures the visitor of a hearty welcome. greatly enfeebled by long illness and with impaired sight, this bright, little woman's keen interest in current events and the latest "best seller" puts to shame the half-hearted zeal of the average woman. for four years, mrs. stockton has lived at st. margaret's, depending upon the visits of friends and the memory of an eventful life to pass the days. prominence in club work in her earlier years has brought reward. the history club of kansas city, kansas, of which she was once a member, each week sends a member to read to her and these are red letter days to this brave, patient, little woman. mrs. stockton began writing very young. when a little girl, back in the village of walden, new york, she stole up to the pulpit of the church and wrote in her pastor's bible: "i have not seen the minister's eyes, and cannot describe his glance divine, for when he prays he shuts them up and when he preaches he shuts mine." she was born in in shawangunk, new york, and came to kansas city in , living in missouri some years but most of the time in kansas city, kansas. in , she published a limited edition of poems, "the shanar dancing girl and other poems." dedicated to mrs. bertha m. honore palmer, her ideal of the perfect type of gracious and lovely womanhood. "the shanar dancing girl" was first written for the friends in council, a literary club of kansas city, mo. it has received the encomiums of thomas bailey aldrich, john j. ingalls and others for its beauty of expression and dramatic qualities. "invocation," an april idyl; "the sea-shell;" and "mountain born" sing of the love of nature. "in the conservatory;" "my summer heart;" and "tired of the storm" hint of sorrow and unrest and longing. then in , "compensation" was written. "irma's love for the king" is a favorite; also, "'sold'--a picture," written for her daughter, "yes, but she never came. "the sorrowful stone" mrs. stockton considers her best. "the story without a suspicion of rhyme, and dim with the mists of the morning of time, is told of a goddess, who, wandering alone, did go and sit down on the sorrowful stone. we find our gethsemane somewhere, though late; the angel of shadows throws open the gate. we creep with our burden of pain, to atone, for all of life's ills, to the sorrowful stone. above is the vault of the pitiless stars; the trees stretch their arms all blackened with scars; the gales of lost paradise are faintly blown to where we sit down on the sorrowful stone." "from a poem 'vagaries'" warns of * * * --the product of the age and clime, we do too much! grow old before our time, yet--would we stray to morning hills again? unlearn sad prophecies, and dream as then! ah, no! with sense of peace the shadows creep, there droppeth on tired eyes the spell of sleep-- we left the dawn long leagues behind, and stand, waiting and wistful in the evening land! the patient nurse of destiny, at best, leads us like children to the needed rest! a ghostly wind puts out our little light, and we have bid the busy world "good night!" mrs. stockton was married twice. her first husband was the father of her two sons, one of whom, dr. henry m. downs, in his practice, came often to st. margaret's. the second marriage, as the wife of the late judge john s. stockton, was a very happy one. last year, a brother the only surviving member of her family, died, leaving mrs. stockton the last of a family of five children. the two sons have also passed into the great beyond. in her younger days, she contributed many poems and some prose to newspapers and magazines over the name of cora m. downs. ex-gov. st. john appointed her one of the regents of the university of kansas. her beautiful poem: "in memoriam" to sarah walter chandler coates was her last. "'we seem like children,' she was wont to say, 'talking of what we cannot understand,' and in the dark or daylight, all the way, holding so trustfully a father's hand. and this was her religion, not to dwell on tenets, creeds, or doctrines, but to live on a pure faith, and striving to do well the simple duties that each hour should give." margaret hill mccarter. the most successful kansas woman writer financially and the most prolific is margaret hill mccarter of topeka. from the advent of her little book in , "a bunch of things, tied up with strings" to the hearty reception of her latest novel every step of the way spells success. margaret hill was born in indiana and came to kansas in to teach english in the topeka high school. two years later, she became the wife of dr. william mccarter. of this union there are two daughters, students at baker university and the topeka high school and a young son, his mother's literary critic. a wife and a mother first, a kansas woman second, and an author third is the way mrs. mccarter rates herself. she is capable of and does do all her housework. her love for literature she owes to her mother, who believed in higher education and taught margaret to prize the few books that came her way. after leaving the school room, the teacher instinct still strong within her, she argued if she could teach out of books written by others, why not out of books of her own? then followed poems, short stories, biography, textbooks, the editing of crane classics, "one hundred kansas women" and miscellanies. in , "cuddy and other folks" was written and in , "the cottonwood's story." this same year, "the overflowing waters," the story of the flood, and one of her best bits of heart writing paid for the school books of almost a thousand unfortunate children. "cuddy's baby" appeared in , followed the next year with "in old quivera," a thread of coronado history. "the price of the prairies," three weeks after publication in the fall of , became kansas' best seller. "the peace of the solomon valley" came out in and proved a popular gift book. "the wall of men," mrs. mccarter's offering should be one of the required books in kansas schools. it is authentic history and the close of the story leaves every kansan with a greater respect and love for the state and the heroic pioneers who stood as a living wall between kansas and the slave question. gave us the "master's degree," considered by many her best work. this year we have "winning the wilderness." mrs. mccarter founded the club member and organized the sorosis, serving as president seven years and two terms as president of the topeka federation of women's clubs. baker university, at baldwin, kansas, gave her an honorary master's degree in , its semi-centennial anniversary. bessie may bellman. and june bellman henthorne. bessie may bellman and june bellman henthorne, her daughter, hail from winfield. they write both prose and verse and mrs. henthorne was a reporter for years. mrs. bellman, when a girl, lived five years on a cattle ranch and to those five lonely years she credits her habit of introspection, meditation and writing. much of her poetry and short stories are used in platform work. red leaves. red leaves-- aflame in the air, aflame in the trees. blue streams, smoky hills-- gold, gold the sunlight spills-- red leaves! dead leaves-- a swirl in the air-asleep 'neath the trees. gone every lark and swallow-- haunting echoes bid me follow-- dead leaves! bessie may bellman-- mrs. henthorne's "if" is published in a new york reader. "if, in a bird-heart, beating 'neath the gray there chants a song, no matter what the day. if, in a bird-heart happy sunbeams shine, why not in mine? if, in a flower-face, beat down by rain, the hope of clear skies be in spite of pain-- if, in a flower-face a great hope shine, why not in mine?" amanda t. jones. one of the few kansas women to have a place in "who's who" was the late amanda t. jones of junction city. she was one of the most prolific poets of kansas. her "atlantic" is a story of the rebellion; "utah and other poems;" "a prairie idyl;" "flowers and a weed;" and "rubaiyat of solomon valley" are volumes of verse. her prose: "children's stories," "fairy arrows" and "the white blackbird;" "a psychic autobiography," published in ; "man and priest," a story of psychic detection; "mother of pioneers," and a novel ready for publication, "a daughter of wall st." miss jones originated a working women's home and patented many inventions, mostly household necessities. * * * * * charlotte f. wilder. charlotte frances wilder, manhattan, has been writing half a century and it has won for her a place in bibliotheque nationale, paris, "entitled to go down to posterity, her lifework preserved as information for future generations." she has written "land of the rising sun," "sister ridenour's sacrifice," "christmas cheer in all lands," "easter gladness," "mission ships," "the child's own book" and "the wonderful story of jesus." her essays, alone, would make a volume, original and interesting. she has written for the press since sixteen years of age and has been a bible teacher forty years. anna l. january. osawatomie claims anna l. january, the author of "historic souvenir of osawatomie, kansas," "john brown battle grounds," "calvin monument," and "lookout and park;" also, numerous poems. mrs. january is a native of wilmington, ohio, coming to kansas in . she taught school three years and in married d. a. january of osawatomie. they have one child, a son of four years. an active worker in the congress of mothers and interested in temperance and suffrage work, mrs. january still finds time to write many short poems. hattie horner louthan. hattie horner louthan, a former white water, kansas girl, is the author of five books and many contributions to newspapers and first class magazines. after graduation at the normal school, emporia, in , miss horner engaged in teaching and literary work. ten years later, she became the wife of overton earl louthan, who died in . she is editor of the great southwest and a member of the staff of the denver republican. her first volume of poems came out in ; the next year, "some reasons for our choice." "not at home," a book of travels, was published in ; "collection of kansas poetry," in ; and "thoughts adrift," in . her work is versatile; the rhyme easy flowing and strong. georgiana freeman mccoy. and mary freeman startzman. georgiana freeman mccoy, wichita, has taught music in kansas longer than any other teacher in the state and incidentally writes verse. she remodeled elizabeth browning's "a drama of exile" and wrote the musical setting for simon buchhalter, the viennese pianist and composer. a sister, mary freeman startzman, while living in fort scott, wrote a volume of poems, "wild flowers." eva morley murphy. eva morley murphy of goodland, recent candidate for congress, is author of two books: "the miracle on the smoky and other stories," and "lois morton's investment." she is a descendant of nathaniel perry of revolutionary fame, and of rodger williams; an active temperance worker; and one of the women who made equal suffrage possible in kansas. sallie f. toler. mrs. sallie f. toler, wichita, has written on every subject from pigs and pole cats to patriotism. she is the author of several plays and three vaudeville sketches. a comedy, a racing romance, "handicapped;" "thekla," a play in three acts; "on bird's island," a four-act play; and "waking him up," a farce, are played in stock now. mrs. toler contributes to many papers and lectures on "the short story" and "the modern drama." margaret perkins. as a christmas offering, margaret perkins, a hutchinson high school teacher, gave us her volume of beautiful poems. "the love letters of a norman princess" is the love story, in verse, of hersilie, a ward and relative of william, the conqueror, and eric, a kinsman of the unfortunate king harold. "i thought once, in a dream, that love came near with silken flutter of empurpled wings that wafted faint, strange fragrance from the things abloom where age and season never sear. the joy of mating birds was in my ear, and flamed my path with dancing daffodils whose splendor melted into greening hills upseeking, like my spirit, to revere." "before you came, this heart of mine a fairy garden seemed with lavender and eglantine; and lovely lilies gleamed above the purple-pansy sod where ruthless passion never trod." "if heaven had been pleased to let you be a keeper of the sheep, a peasant me, within a shepherd's cottage thatched with vine now might we know the bliss of days divine." --"we are part of heaven's scheme, you and i: child of sunshine and the dew i was earthly--born as you. "yet my little hour i go, troubled maid, even where the storm blasts blow, unafraid; confident that from the sod all things upward wend to god." "dear heart, the homing hour is here, the task is done. toilers, and they who course the deer turn, one by one, at day's demise, where dwells a deathless glow in loving eyes. i hear them hearthward go to castle, or to cottage on the lea; but him i love comes never home to me." the peaks that rift the saffron sheen of sunset skies in purple loveliness, when seen by nearer eyes, are bleakly bare. to brave those boulders gray no climbers dare. o, in some future may this mountain mass of unfulfilled desires be unto me as yonder haloed spires!" miss perkins is the compiler of "echoes of pawnee rock," and writes short stories and poems for the magazines. some of her verse is published in woolard's "father." anna e. arnold. anna e. arnold, cottonwood falls, superintendent of chase county schools, is a thorough kansan, and a farm product. she was born at whiting, jackson county, but when a very small child, her parents moved to chase and all her life since has been spent in that county. until the last few years, she lived on a farm. she is a graduate of the state university and has taught in the grade and high schools. in , she became a candidate for superintendent of schools of chase county. her success and her unusual ability as a teacher were rewarded by a two to one majority on a close county ticket. at the second term, she had no opposition and out of votes cast, she received all but . the present year, after four elections, is her seventh continuous year as superintendent of chase county. in addition to her official duties, miss arnold has written two text-books. her "civics and citizenship" in was adopted as the state text-book on civil government for use in the public schools of kansas. it is being used by a large number of womens' clubs. many outlines for club work on civic subjects have come from miss arnold's pen. her second textbook, "a history of kansas," the first book printed under the new state publication law, has also been adopted by the text-book commission. miss arnold is considered one of the foremost educational leaders of the state. topeka gives us anna deming gray, a writer of negro dialect stories, stories for children, and some verse. elizabeth barr arthur, has written a number of books, histories of several kansas counties and some volumes of poems, "washburn ballads." mrs. sarah e. roby is a writer of both prose and verse. a granddaughter, marjory roby, has written a number of stories and plays. eva bland black contributes poems and song lyrics to the magazines. she served her apprenticeship as reporter and city editor of the journal and evening news of garnett and as associate editor of the concordia "magnet." mrs. isabel mcarthur is a natural poet and song writer. she has published one volume of verse, "every body loves a lover." her last song, "when the bloom is on the cherry at sardou" is widely sung. edna e. haywood is author of "fifty common birds around the capital." mrs. mary a. cornelius, while a resident of topeka, wrote four books, "little wolf," "uncle nathan's farm," "the white flame," and "why? a kansas girl's query." another book is ready for publication. mrs. mary worrall hudson, wife of the late general j. k. hudson, former editor of the topeka capital, is author of "two little maids and their friends," "esther, the gentile," and many short stories and poems. her classic prose-poem: "in the missouri woods" is considered her masterpiece. mrs. sara josephine albright, formerly of topeka, now of leavenworth, is a sweet singer of childlife. her volume of verse, "with the children" is lullabies and mother-love poems. a book of stories for children will soon be ready for publication. jessie lewellyn call, deceased, the clever and beautiful daughter of the first populist governor of kansas, was a well-known essayist and short story writer. for many years she was one of the editors of the chicago inter-ocean. lawrence claims dorothy canfield fisher, a writer of both fiction and text-books and many short stories. she is the author of "corneille and racine in england," "english rhetoric and composition," "what shall we do now," "gunhild," "the squirrel cage" and "the montessori mother." louise c. don carlos has written "a battle in the smoke," one of the best kansas works on fiction. she did special work on the nashville tennessee banner and writes a great deal of magazine verse. mrs. anna w. arnett, a lawrence teacher, writes verse and songs. in addition, she has issued a primer, the kansas text-book and a primary reading chart for which she has a united states patent. margaret lynn, one of the faculty of kansas university, is a writer of short stories and "a step-daughter of the prairies." mrs. a. b. butler of manhattan wrote "the trial and condemnation of jesus christ from a lawyer's point of view;" a novel, "ad astra per aspera;" and much newspaper work. mrs. elizabeth champney, a former teacher in the kansas state agricultural college, is the author of more than twenty books and many short stories. "three vassar girls abroad," "witch winnie series," "dames and daughters of colonial days," "romance of french abbeys," "romance of italian villas," and "romance of imperial rome" are her most popular works. sadie e. lewis, hutchinson, is the author of "hard times in kansas" and other verse. her daughter, ida margaret glazier, is a poet and song writer. mrs alice mcallily wrote "terra-cotta" and many other books. lillian w. hale, kansas city, is author of verse, short stories, and a novel. another novel will be ready for publication this autumn. lois oldham henrici, a one-time sabetha and parsons woman, is the author of "representative women" and many good short stories. laura d. congdon, a newton pioneer, is a verse and short story writer. mary h. finn, sedgwick, writes beautiful verse and much prose. jennie c. graves, pittsburg, writes poetry and moving picture plays. mrs. johannas bennett, another pittsburg woman, has written an historical novel, "la belle san antone." florence l. snow, neosho falls, is an artistic and finished writer of verse and prose. she is the author of "the lamp of gold." sharlot m. hall, lincoln, writes prose and verse. a volume of poems, "cactus and pine," "history of arizona," "a woman of the frontier," "the price of the star" and short stories are her important works. mrs. a. s. mcmillan, lyons, a poetess, song writer and licensed preacher, writes clever verse, much of which has been set to music. "land where dreams come true" is her best known poem. kittie skidmore cowen, a former columbus woman, is author of "an unconditional surrender," a civil war story. "the message of hagar," a study of the mormon question will be in the press soon. miss mary e. upshaw, mcpherson, wrote verse at the age of seven and published her first story at fifteen. she has a book in preparation which she expects to publish at an early date. jeanette scott benton, formerly of fort scott, writes short stories novelettes, and stories for children. may belleville brown of salina, has a very clever pen, as has, also mrs. lulu r. fuhr of meade, the author of "tenderfoot tales." mrs. e. m. adams, mound city, writes exquisite verse and in the past, had many short stories to her credit. mrs. c. w. smith, stockton, writes both prose and verse. cara a. thomas hoover, formerly of halstead, harvey county, now living in rialto, california, writes prose and beautiful verse. rose hartwick thorpe, the author of "curfew shall not ring to-night," was a kansan in the early sixties. she lived at wilmington. miss margaret stevenson, olathe, is a writer of books for the blind. she has some short stories, nature and text-books published. lelia hardin bugg, wichita, has written "the prodigal daughter," "the people of our parish," and "orchids." edna thacher russ, also of wichita, writes short stories and educational articles. mrs. e. hamilton myers, englewood, is a dramatic writer and a poet of rare talents. being a musician, much of her verse is used for songs. mrs. myers contributes to the english papers. her first story was published by a magazine which had accepted writings of her mother's. other than literature proper, we have mrs. lillian m. mitchner, of topeka, a scientific writer; mrs. lumina c. r. smythe, a writer of verse, also of topeka, who is co-author with her late husband in the revised "flora and check list of kansas." among the clever newspaper women of the state are margie webb tennal, sabetha; maud c. thompson, howard; frances garside, formerly of atchison, now with the new york journal; mrs. e. e. kelley, toronto; anna carlson, lindsborg; mrs. mary riley, kansas city; and isabel worrel ball, a larned woman, who bears the distinction of being the only woman given a seat in the congressional press gallery. grace d. brewer, girard, has been a newspaper woman and magazine short story writer for ten years. among the early kansas writers are clarinda howard nichols, mrs. a. b. bartlett, lucy b. armstrong, sarah richart, mrs. porter sherman, and mary tenny gray, all of wyandotte and mrs. c. h. cushing of leavenworth. sara t. d. robinson, the wife of the first governor of kansas, was one of the very first women writers of the state. her "kansas, interior and exterior" was published in and went through ten editions up to . index. adams, mrs. e. m. albright, sara josephine allerton, ellen palmer aplington, kate a. armstrong, lucy b. arnett, anna w. arnold, anna e. arthur, elizabeth barr ball, isabel warrel bartlett, mrs. a. b. bellman, bessie may bennett, mrs. johannas benton, jeanette scott black, eva bland brewer, grace d. brown, may bellville bugg, leila hardin butler, mrs. a. b. call, jessie lewellyn carlson, anna champney, elizabeth clark, esther m. congdon, laura d. cornelius, mary a. cowen, kittie skidmore cushing, mrs. c. h. don carlos, louise c. finn, mary h. fisher, dorothy canfield fuhr, lulu r. garside, frances glazier, ida margaret graham, effie graves, jennie c. gray, anna deming gray, mary tenny hale, lillian w. hall, sharlot m. haywood, edna e. henrici, lois oldham henthorne, june bellman hoover, cara a. thomas hudson, mary worrell humphrey, mary vance january, anna l. jarrell, myra williams jones, amanda t. kelley, mrs. e. e. lewis, sadie e. louthan hattie horner lynn, margaret mcallily, alice mcarthur, isabel mccarter, margaret hill mccoy, georgiana freeman mcmillan, mrs. a. s. mitchner, lillian w. murphy, eva morley myers, mrs. e. hamilton nichols, clarinda howard perkins, margaret richart, sarah riley, mary robinson, sara t. d. roby, marjory roby, sara e. russ, edna thatcher sherman, mrs. porter smith, mrs. c. w. smythe, lumina c. r. snow, florence l. startzman, mary freeman stevenson, margaret stockton, cornelia m. tennal, margie webb thompson, maude c. thorpe, rose hartwick toler, sallie f. upshaw, mary e. vaughn, emma upton whitcomb, jessie wright wilder, charlotte f. wood, emma tanner the twin hells a thrilling narrative of life in the kansas and missouri penitentiaries by john n. reynolds atchison, kansas. to my dear old mother and to the memory of my sainted wife this book is affectionately dedicated by the author. preface the following pages treat of hell--a kansas hell and a missouri hell. those who desire to peruse works that tell about heaven only, are urged to drop this book and run. i was an inmate of the kansas penitentiary for sixteen months, and make mention of what came under my own observation in connection with what i experienced. while an inmate of this prison i occupied cells at various times with convicts who had served terms in the missouri prison. from these persons i gathered much useful material for my book. after my release i visited the missouri penitentiary, and verified the statements of those criminals, and gathered additional material from the prison records and the officials. i have written chiefly for the youth of the country, but all ages will be deeply interested in the following pages. a large majority of the convicts are young men from sixteen to twenty-five years of age. they had no idea of the terrible sufferings of a convict life, or they surely would have resisted temptation and kept out of crime. the following pages will impart to the reader some idea of what he may expect to endure in case he becomes entangled in the meshes of the law, and is compelled to do service for the state without any remuneration. every penitentiary is a veritable hell. deprive a person of his liberty, punish and maltreat him, and you fill his life with misery akin to those who wander in the darkness of "eternal night," i think, when the reader has perused the following pages, he will agree with me, that the book has the proper title. that this volume may prove an "eye-opener" to the boys who may read it, and prove interesting and instructive to those of mature years, is the earnest wish of the author. a kansas hell chapter i. my initiation and crime guilty! this word, so replete with sadness and sorrow, fell on my ear on that blackest of all black fridays, october , . penitentiary lightning struck me in the city of leavenworth, kansas. i was tried in the united states district court; hence, a united states prisoner. the offense for which i was tried and convicted was that of using the mails for fraudulent purposes. my sentence was eighteen months in the penitentiary, and a fine of two hundred dollars. i served sixteen months, at the end of which time i was given my liberty. during the period i was in prison i dug coal six months in the penitentiary coal mines, and was one of the clerks of the institution the remainder of the term. getting permission to have writing material in my cell, i first mastered short-hand writing, or phonography, and then wrote my book: "a kansas hell; or, life in the kansas penitentiary." my manuscript being in short-hand, none of the prison officials were able to read it, and did not know what i was doing until i obtained my liberty and had my book published. this, no doubt, will be the proper place to give some of my antecedents, as well as a few of the details of the crime for which i was sent to the penitentiary. i spent my youth and early manhood at indianola, iowa, from which place i removed to nebraska. after residing for some time in columbus, of that state, i was appointed by the governor to assist in organizing the pawnee indian reservation into a county. when organized it was called nance county, being named for hon. albinus nance, then governor of the state. i held the position of county clerk of that county for four consecutive years. during this time i organized the citizens' bank. i was its cashier at first, and, later on, its president. i had a lucrative business and was doing well. my wife's health failed her; she became consumptive. my family physician advised a removal to the south. i closed out my business at a great sacrifice, and came to atchison, kansas. here i located, and made it my future home. soon after my arrival i commenced the publication of a daily newspaper, known as the "times." in the county in which i located i found one of the worst and most corrupt political rings on the face of the earth. this combination had controlled the politics of the county for almost a quarter of a century. soon i became involved in a terrific newspaper war with the members of this political organization. an election of county and state officials was soon to take place. in order to test the strength of the contending elements, in my newspaper, i presented the name of hon. w. d. gilbert as a candidate for district judge in opposition to the ring candidate. a sharp fight ensued. mr. gilbert was elected by an overwhelming majority. this was the first time for twenty-five years that this ring had been defeated. the members of it were very sore. looking upon me as the principal spirit, i was the object toward which they directed all their shafts of spite. some time before this an insurance company had been organized in the city of atchison. i was invited to become its president. i examined the books of the corporation, and found it to be organized according to the laws of kansas; that the company had a charter from the state, and also certified authority to issue policies of insurance, granted by the state insurance commissioner. i accepted the presidency on condition that the company was simply to have the use of my name, and that i was not expected to give any of my time to the company, as i was otherwise engaged. i was editor of a daily newspaper, and could not attend to anything else. while this company was doing business a printed circular was used, stating that the corporation had one hundred thousand dollars paid up capital. this circular was sent out through the mails over the state advertising the business. it was charged this circular was fraudulent; that the company did not have that amount of capital paid in. my name was attached to this printed circular. for this, i was indicted in the united states district court, on the charge of using the mails for fraudulent purposes. the advertised capital of this corporation was subscribed, but not all paid in, as it was not needed in the business of the company. after indictment i was arrested, and gave bonds for my appearance at the next term of court, which was held soon after. not being able to secure the attendance of all my witnesses, my attorney wrote the prosecuting attorney asking his consent that my case be continued. the request was granted. when the case was called, my attorney appeared and introduced a motion to continue the case, filing affidavits necessary in such cases. the prosecuting attorney having given his consent, there was no doubt in the minds of those interested as to the continuance of the case. for some cause best known to himself, the judge would not grant the continuance, and forced me to trial without having a single witness. it was my intention to have some fifty witnesses subpoenaed, to prove that the insurance company of which i was president was not a fraud. not being allowed to have my witnesses, i was, under the instructions of the court, which were, indeed, exceedingly pointed, found guilty, and sentenced to eighteen months' imprisonment and to pay a fine of two hundred dollars. the political ring now triumphed for a brief period. in order to prove conclusively to the reader that this was a piece of spite work, i have only to state that i was the only one of all the officers of that company that was ever tried for running a bogus insurance company. why was it that i was the only one sent to the penitentiary when there was the secretary, treasurer, and six directors equally as guilty as myself? to prove more conclusively that it was political spite work that sent me to prison, let me inform the readers that about the time the insurance company at atchison was organized, a similar one was organized in topeka. they were similar in every respect. i was president of the one at atchison, while a distinguished gentleman by the name of gen. j. c. caldwell was president of the one at topeka. both of these companies failed. the president of the atchison company was sent to the penitentiary, while the president of the topeka company was appointed by the governor of the state to the responsible position of chairman of the state board of pardons. many persons have asked why this difference in the treatment of the presidents of these two companies. the only answer that can be given is that general caldwell stood in with the kansas political ring, while i did not. every sensible man must admit that if it was just for me to serve a term in prison for the offense charged against me, general caldwell should have been prescribed for in the same manner. i have no fight to make upon mr. caldwell. he is an excellent gentlemen. he was in luck. the fates were against me. had i been a state instead of a united states prisoner, no doubt mr. caldwell, as chairman of the board of pardons, would have used his influence to secure for me my liberty. that i was sent to prison is wholly due to politics. it is unnecessary, therefore, for me to inform the reader that i am now "out of politics." having served out my term i returned to my home in atchison. as to the ring that sent me to prison, some of them are dead, others have left atchison to make their homes in other places, others have failed financially, and still others have fallen so low that they have scarcely friends enough to bury them should they happen to die. the big wheel of life keeps on revolving. those who are up to-day may be down to-morrow, and vice versa. but to continue my narrative. immediately after my conviction and sentence i was taken to the leavenworth county jail. here i remained until the following tuesday in the company of a dozen or more prisoners who were awaiting trial. on sunday, while in this jail, my wife, who died during my imprisonment of a broken heart, and an account of which is given in a subsequent chapter, came to see me. i can never forget this visit. she remained with me during the entire day. during the conversation of the day i said to her that, it seemed that the future appeared very gloomy. that it would be a miracle if i ever was able to survive the disgrace that had been so cruelly placed upon me. that all ambition and hope as to the future had fled, and that i could not blame her if she should now free herself by means of divorce, as my conviction of crime was a legal ground for divorce in kansas. in reply to this, the noble little woman, her face aglow with the radiance of womanly devotion, said, that for twenty years of married life our home had been one of sunshine; that i had been kind to her and made her life one of happiness, and that now, when misfortune came, it was not only a duty, but the highest pleasure, to prove her fidelity. she kept her word. she was true to the last. when dying, her last words were a petition for the blessings of god upon her husband who was far away behind frowning prison walls. on tuesday morning a deputy united states marshal came to the jail and gave me notice that in a few moments we would leave for the penitentiary. this officer was a gentleman, and did not seek to further humiliate me by placing irons on my person. i have often thought of this act of kindness on the part of this humane official. we took the train at leavenworth, and in a very few moments were at my future place of residence. lansing, the small village where the penitentiary is located, is about five miles from the city of leavenworth. the entrance to the prison is from the west. under the watchful care of the officer who had me in charge, i passed under a stone archway, to the left of which was a small office, where a guard was on duty during the day time. we were halted by this officer, who inquired if we had any firearms. no one visiting the penitentiary is allowed to carry fire-arms within the enclosure. the marshal who had me in custody handed over a large navy revolver. between this archway and the western wall of the prison is a beautiful lawn. the walks are lined with fragrant flowers; beautiful fountains send aloft their silvery sprays. passing up the roadway leading to the entrance door, and looking about me upon the rich carpet of green, the flowers and fountains, i came to the conclusion that the penitentiary was not so bad a place as i had imagined. i changed my mind, however, as soon as i had seen inside the walls. the prison enclosure contains about ten acres of ground. this is surrounded by a stone wall some fifteen feet high, and six feet thick at the base. it is not more than four feet at the top. at each of the four corners may be found a tower rising some ten feet above the wall. a guard is on duty in each of these towers during the day. he carries a double-barreled shotgun loaded with buckshot. in case a prisoner tries to escape he is liable to get a dose of lead, provided the officer on duty is a good marksman. the western wall is almost entirely made of a large stone building with its two long wings. the main building is four stories. the wings stretching to the north and south, each two hundred and fifty feet, contain the cells. on the first floor of the main building are the offices of the warden, clerk, deputy warden and turnkey. the upper rooms are used by the warden's family. i was first conducted into the clerk's office and introduced to mr. jones, the clerk. he is a very pleasant gentleman, and spoke kindly to me, which i can assure all was very acceptable, for just about that time i was feeling very badly. his remark was: "i am very glad to meet you, mr. reynolds, but sorry to meet you under these sad circumstances." on his invitation i took a chair and sat down to await the next part of the progamme. as i sat there and thought of the kind words spoken to me by the clerk, i quickly reached the conclusion that if all the officers of that institution were as kind as mr. jones, it would not be as bad a place as i had anticipated. i had no experience then that would justify any other conclusion. soon a side door of the office opened and in came the deputy warden, mr. john higgins. mr. h. is the sourest appearing man i ever met in my life. at least, it seemed so to me on that day. he can get more vinegar on the outside of his face than any other person in the state of kansas. he did not wait to be introduced to me. he never craves an introduction to a criminal. as soon as he came into the room he got a pole with which to measure me. then, looking at me, in a harsh, gruff voice he called out: "stand up here." at first i did not arise. at the second invitation, however, i stood up and was measured. my description was taken by the clerk. in this office there is to be found a description of all the criminals that ever entered the kansas penitentiary. i was asked if i was a married man, how many children i had, and how much property i possessed. these questions were easily answered. after the deputy warden had discharged his duty he retired. i soon discovered that it was according to the rules of the prison for the officers to talk in a harsh and abrupt manner to the prisoners. this accounted for the way in which i was greeted by the deputy warden, who is the disciplinarian of the prison. i may say, in passing, that all the harsh manners of mr. higgins are simply borrowed for the occasion. away from the presence of prisoners, over whom he is to exert his influence, there is not to be found a more pleasant and agreeable gentleman. in came a second official, and, in the same gruff manner, said to me, "come along." i followed him out to the wash-house, where i took a bath. a prisoner took my measure for a suit of clothes. after he had passed the tape-line around me several times, he informed the officer that i was the same size of john robinson, who had been released from the penitentiary the day before. "shall i give him john robinson's clothes?" asked the convict. in the same gruff manner the officer said, "yes, bring on robinson's old clothes." so i was furnished with a second-hand suit! the shoes were second-hand. i am positive about this last statement, judging by the aroma. after i had been in the penitentiary some four months, i learned that john robinson, whose clothes i had secured, was a colored man. being arrayed in this suit of stripes i was certainly "a thing of beauty." the coat was a short blouse and striped; the stripes, white and black, alternated with each other, and passed around the body in a horizontal way. the pantaloons were striped; the shirt was striped; the cap was striped. in fine, it seemed that everything about that penitentiary was striped--even to the cats! being dressed, i was next handed an article that proved, on examination, to be intended for a handkerchief. it was covered with large blue letters--"leavenworth mills. xxx flour," etc. it was a quarter section of a flour sack! nine hundred prisoners very soon empty a great many flour sacks. after the flour has been consumed the sack is cut up into quarter sections, washed, hemmed and used for handkerchiefs. no better handkerchief can be invented. they are stout, stiff and durable! they will bear all manner of nasal assaults! there is no danger of blowing them into atoms, and the officials are not afraid to give them out to convicts sent there charged with the use of dynamite! one of them has been known to last a prisoner for five years. after i had donned my suit and taken possession of my handkerchief, i was ordered to fold my arms. prisoners marching in ranks, or going to and fro about the prison enclosure, are required to have their arms in this position. the object is to prevent them from passing articles. i was marched to the building known as the south wing of the cell house. in this building, which is two hundred and fifty feet long, there are cells for the accommodation of five hundred convicts. the prisoners who occupy this wing work in the shops located above ground, and within the prison enclosure. the officer in charge conducted me to cell number one. click went the lock. the door was pulled open, and in his usual style, he said, "get in." i stepped in. slam went the door. click went the lock, and i was in a felon's cell! these rooms are about four feet wide, seven feet long, and seven feet high. in many of the cells two men are confined. these rooms are entirely too small for the accommodation of two prisoners. a new cell house is being built, which, when completed, will afford sufficient additional room so that each prisoner can have a cell. in these small rooms there are two bunks or beds when two convicts occupy the same cell. the bed-rack is made of iron or wood slats, and the bed-tick is filled with corn-husks; the pillow is also filled with the latter material, and when packed down becomes as hard as a board. when the beds are not in use they are fastened to the side of the wall with a small chain. when down and in use they take up nearly the entire space of the cell, so that it is impossible for the two occupants to pass each other in walking to and fro. the other furniture consists of a small tin bucket, holding about two quarts of water, and a wash-basin. a short-handled broom is also found in one corner of the cell, with which the convict brushes it out every morning. the walls are of stone, decorated with a small looking-glass and a towel. each cell contains one chair and a holy bible. there is no rich brussels carpet on the floor, although prisoners are allowed one if they furnish it themselves. no costly upholstered furniture adorns these safe retreats! nothing in that line is to be discovered except one cane-bottomed chair for the accommodation of two prisoners, so that when one sits on the chair the other stands, or occupies a seat on the stone floor. there is not room for two chairs, or the state would furnish another chair. these rooms are built of stone. the door is of one-half inch iron bars, crossing each other at right angles, leaving small spaces about two by six inches; through these spaces come the air, light and heat for the health and comfort of the inmates. when i entered my cell on that eventful morning i found it occupied by a prisoner. he was also a new arrival; he had preceded me about an hour. when i entered he arose and gave me his chair, taking a seat on the floor in the opposite corner. after i had been locked in, before going away the officer said, "now i don't want you fellows to get to talking, for that is not permitted in this institution." we sat in silence, surveying each other; in a few moments my companion, seeing something in my personal appearance that caused him to lose his self control, laughed. that he might give full vent to his laughing propensities, and not make too much noise, he drew from his pocket his quarter section of a flour bag and put it into his mouth. he soon became as red in the face as a lobster. i was curious, of course, to know what it was that pleased him so much. rising from my chair, going to the door and looking through the openings i could see no officer near, so i asked my companion, in a whisper, what it was that pleased him so. it was with difficulty and after several trials before he could succeed in telling me what it was that caused him to be so convulsed. i told him to take his time, cool off gradually, as i had eighteen months, and could wait patiently. at last, being able to control his feelings sufficiently to tell me, in the midst of his outbursts of laughter, he said, "you look just like one of them zebras in barnum's circus!" when my attention was called to the matter, sure enough, i did look rather striped, and i, amused at his suggestion, laughed also. soon an officer came gliding around in front of the cell, when our laughing ceased. my companion was a young fellow from doniphan county. he got drunk and tried to rob an associate, still drunker, of a twenty dollar gold piece. he was arrested, tried and convicted of robbery, receiving a sentence of one year. directly an officer came, took him out of my cell and conducted him to another department. all alone, i sat in my little parlor for nearly an hour, thinking over the past. my reverie was at length broken by the turning of my door lock. a fresh arrival was told to "git in." this prisoner had the appearance of just having been lassoed on the wild western prairies. he resembled a cow-boy. his whiskers were long and sandy. his hair, of the same color, fell upon his shoulders. as soon as the officer had gone away and everything had become quiet, i asked this fellow his name. "horserider," was his reply, from which i inferred that he was a horse-thief. "how long a term have you?" was my next question. "seven years," was his reply. i comforted him by saying it would be some time before he rode another horse. the next part of the programme consisted in a little darkey coming in front of our cell with a rudely constructed barber's chair. the cell door opened, and an officer said to me, as if he would hit me with a club the next moment, "git out of there." i went out. pointing to the barber's chair, he said, "squat yourself in that chair." i sat down. "throw back your head." i laid it back. it was not long before my raven mustache was off, and my hair cut rather uncomfortably short for fly time. after this tonsorial artist had finished his work then came the command once more, "git in." i got in. it now came mr. horserider's turn to bid a long farewell to his auburn locks. he took his place in the chair, and the little darkey, possibly for his own amusement, cut off the hair on one side of the head and left the other untouched. he then shaved one side of his face without disturbing the other. at this moment the bell for dinner rang, and the little colored fellow broke away and ran to his division, to fall in ranks, so that he would not miss his noon meal. once more mr. horserider entered his cell and we were locked in. a more comical object i never beheld; he did not even possess the beauty of a baboon; he might certainly have passed for the eighth wonder of the world. when he came in i handed him the small looking-glass and asked him how he liked his hair-cut. remember, one side of his head and face was shaved close, and the other covered with long sandy hair and beard. looking into the glass, he exclaimed: "holy moses! and who am i, anyway?" i answered his question by stating that he favored mr. what-is-it. he was very uneasy for a time, thinking that he was going to be left in that condition. he wanted to know of me if all horse-thieves of the penitentiary wore their hair and whiskers in this style. i comforted him all i could by imparting the information that they did. he was much relieved when the darkey returned after dinner and finished the shaving. i was next taken out of my cell to pass a medical examination. dr. mooney, the gentlemanly officer in charge of the hospital, put in an appearance with a large book under his arm and sat down by a table. i was ushered into his presence. he began asking me questions, and wrote down my answers in his book, which proved to be the physician's register. "have you any decayed teeth?" was his first question, "no, sir," was my reply. "have you ever lost any teeth?" "no, sir." "have you ever had the measles?" "yes, sir." "have you ever had the mumps?" "yes, sir." "have you ever had the chicken-pox?" "yes, sir." "have you ever had the thresh?" well, i didn't know what was meant by the thresh. i knew that i had been "thrashed" a great many times, and inferred from that fact that i must have had the disease at some time or other in my youth, so i answered, "yes, sir." "have you ever had the itch?" "what kind?" said i. "the old fashioned seven year kind? y-e-s, sir, i have had it." he then continued asking me questions, and wanted to know if i ever had a great many diseases, the names of which i had never heard before. since i catch almost everything that comes along, i supposed, of course, that at some period during my childhood, youth or early manhood i had suffered from all those physical ills, so i always answered, "yes, sir." he wound up by inquiring if i ever had a stroke of the horse glanders. i knew what was meant by that disease, and replied in the negative. he then looked at me over the top of his spectacles, and, in a rather doubting manner, said, "and you really have had all these diseases? by the way," he continued, "are you alive at the present moment after all that you have suffered?" mr. mooney is an irishman. he was having a little cold-blooded sport at my expense. whenever you meet an irishman you will always strike a budget of fun. his next question was, "are you a sound man?" my reply was to the effect that i was, physically, mentally and morally. so he wrote down in his book opposite my name "physically and mentally a sound man." he said he would take my word for being sound morally, but that he would not put that down on the books for the present, for fear there might be a mistake somewhere. before discharging me, he calmly stated that i would make a good coal miner. all the prisoners undergo this medical cross-examination. after i had run the doctor's gauntlet, i was conducted from the south wing of the cell-house to the north wing. here i met for the first time mr. elliott, who has charge of this building during the daytime. it is a part of this highly efficient officer's duty to cross-examine the prisoners as to where they have lived and what they have been doing. his examinations are very rigid. he is a bright man, a good judge of human nature, and can tell a criminal at sight. he would make an able criminal lawyer. he is the prison detective. by means of these examinations he often obtains clues that lead to the detection of the perpetrators of crime. i have been told by good authority that on account of information obtained by this official, two murderers were discovered in the kansas penitentiary, and, after their terms had expired, they were immediately arrested, and, on requisition, taken back to the eastern states, where the crimes had been committed, and there tried, convicted and punished according to the laws of those states. after i had been asked all manner of questions by this official, he very kindly informed me that i came to the penitentiary with a bad record. he further stated that i was looked upon as one of the worst criminals in the state of kansas. this information was rather a set-back to me, as i had no idea that i was in possession of any such record as that. i begged of him to wait a little while before he made up his mind conclusively as to my character, for there might be such a thing as his being mistaken. there is no man that is rendering more effective service to the state of kansas in the way of bringing criminals to justice than mr. elliott. he has been an officer of the prison for nearly nine years. as an honest officer he is above reproach. as a disciplinarian he has no superior in the west. after this examination i was shown to my cell. it was now about two o'clock in the afternoon of my first day in prison. i remained in the cell alone during the entire afternoon. of all the dark hours of my eventful history, none have been filled with more gloom and sadness than those of my first day in prison. note my antecedents--a college graduate, a county clerk, the president of a bank, and an editor of a daily newspaper. all my life i had moved in the highest circles of society, surrounded by the best and purest of both sexes, and now, here i was, in the deplorable condition of having been hurled from that high social position, down to the low degraded plane of a convict. as i sat there in that desolate abode of the disgraced, i tried to look out down the future. all was dark. for a time it seemed as if that sweet angel we call hope had spread her wings and taken her departure from me forever. the black cloud of despair seemed settling down upon me. but very few persons possess the ability to make any thing of themselves after having served a term in the penitentiary. having once fallen to so low a plane it is almost impossible to rise again. young man, as you peruse this book, think of these things. once down as a felon it is a miracle if one ever regains what he has lost. i sat brooding over these things for an hour or more, when my manhood asserted itself. hope returned. i reasoned thus: i am a young man. i enjoy good health. there will be only a few months of imprisonment and then i will be free. i thought of my loving wife, my little children, my aged mother, my kind friends, and for their sake i would not yield to despair. soliciting the aid of a kind heavenly father, i resolved to do the best i could toward regaining what i had lost. my father was a minister of the gospel for fifty years prior to his death. he was not blessed with much of this world's goods. for this reason i began in very early life to aid myself. i spent seven years in college preparing for the struggles that awaited me. i earned every dollar of the money which paid my expenses while securing my education. i carried the hod to assist in building the college in which i afterward graduated. few men can truthfully make this statement of themselves. while working my way through the institution where i received my education, i learned one useful lesson--self reliance. i learned to depend upon my own efforts for success. every one must learn this useful lesson before he can become anything in life. after i had met with misfortune and found myself in a prison cell, i was glad that i had learned to rely upon my own efforts. the question: "what shall i do in the future?" now came to me. that afternoon i laid my plans which i would carry out out in the years to come. i was financially ruined in the great battle i carried on with the atchison ring. i was aware of the fact that, when i got out of the penitentiary, all the money that i would have with which to make another start in life would be five dollars. the united states presents her prisoners, when discharged, with a suit of citizen's clothes and five dollars. this was my capital. what could i do with five dollars, in the way of assisting me in getting another financial foot-hold in life? after my release it was necessary for me to do something at once to get money. it never entered my mind to borrow. it will be interesting to the reader to know what i did, after my prison days were past, to make a "quick raise." sixteen months of imprisonment slipped away. i regained my liberty on monday. i received my five dollars and immediately started for my home, in atchison. on my arrival, monday night, i had four dollars and ten cents. on tuesday morning i went to the proprietor of the opera house, in atchison, and inquired how much money was necessary to secure the use of the building for the next evening. "fifty dollars," was his reply. i gave him all the money i had, and persuaded him to trust me for the rest. i informed him that i was going to deliver a lecture on my prison life. he asked if i thought anybody would come to hear a convict talk. in answer, i told him that was the most important question that was agitating my mind at the present moment, and if he would let me have the use of the opera house we would soon settle that question. i further told him that if the receipts of the evening were not enough to pay him for the use of the house, that i would pay him as soon as possible. he let me have the use of the house. i advertised in the daily papers of the city that i would lecture in the opera house the following evening on my prison life,--admission fifty cents. i thought if the good people wanted to come at all they would come even if they had to pay well for it. i was very restless from the morning that i engaged the opera house until the next evening, at which time i was to speak. i did not know whether i would have any audience. if not, i was fifty dollars deeper in debt. the evening for the lecture came, i went to the opera house prepared to interest anyone that might put in an appearance; i entered the building in the rear, and took my position on the platform. the signal was given and up went the curtain. i was highly pleased when i saw my audience. the building was packed. the lecture was a financial success. in this manner i secured a nice "stake" for future use. i delivered that lecture for several weeks in kansas, and made a thousand dollars above expenses. to return to my first afternoon in the cell. i thought of another scheme. i conceived the idea that a book about, a penitentiary, giving its history, and also the history of many of the leading criminals, modes of punishment, escapes, etc., would be very interesting, and would sell. i decided to write such a book while in prison. in order to write a book it became necessary to have writing material. how was i to secure this? it was against the prison regulations for a prisoner to have a lead-pencil or scrap of paper. the officials were very strict on this point. it was essential they should be. if the prisoners could pass notes, it would not be long before a prison insurrection would be the result. the plan that i adopted to secure writing material was rather unique, and perhaps the reader will like to know how i managed this difficult matter. it is wonderful what a man can accomplish, with adverse surroundings, if he wills it. as i have stated before, i had much to do in securing the election of hon. w. d. gilbert to the district judgeship. this made him feel very kind toward me. he came often to visit me at the prison. one day while visiting me, i asked him to use his influence with the warden to secure for me the privilege of having writing material in my cell. "what do you want with writing material," said he. the answer i gave was, that i might pass away my leisure hours in learning to write short-hand. he called on warden smith, and got his consent. he told the warden that if i would master this useful art while in prison, on my release, he would appoint me his district court reporter, at a salary of $ , a year. the scheme was a success. i sent and got my short-hand books and writing material. i mastered short-hand, and can now write as fast as one would care to dictate. it was not long before i began writing my book in short-hand. the officials, as was their custom, would examine my cell daily to see if anything had crept in that did not belong there. they could not read short-hand. they did not know what so many little straight marks and curves indicated. i persevered, and one month before my time expired i had my book completed, and sent it out by a friend who visited the prison, who kept it for me until i secured my liberty. as before stated, i lectured until i got money sufficient, and then i published my first book on prisons, giving it the impressive title of "a kansas hell." this book sold rapidly, and soon the first edition was disposed of. i made enough money out of this book to place me on my feet, financially. but, to return to my cell the first afternoon. i remained alone until time for the prisoners to come in from their work, when i found that i was to have a "life man" for my cell-mate, whose name was woodward r. lopeman. i have given his history in a subsequent chapter. i remained in my cell during the evening, until the prison bell rang for retiring. strange to say, after going to bed, i soon fell asleep, and did not awake until the prison bell rang on the following morning. when i did awake, it was to find myself, not in my own pleasant little home in the city of atchison, kansas, but in a felon's cell. i arose and dressed, and then waited and wondered what would be the next thing on the programme. chapter ii. the coal mines i was next taken to the coal mines. these mines are located just outside of the prison enclosure, and are surrounded by high stone walls and stone buildings, which, by their location, take the place of walls. the coal yards are separated from the prison campus by a partition wall, which constitutes the south wall of the coal department and the north wall of the prison. passing from one of these departments to the other, through a large gateway, the gate being kept by a convict, an old man who murdered his son, and who has a life sentence. reader, how would you like to spend your entire life, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, in the monotonous employment of opening and closing a large gate? when my escort and myself reached the mines, i was placed in charge of mr. dodds, the official in control of the mines at the surface. mr. dodds is a very competent officer, and has been on duty at that place more than twenty years. from this officer i received a mining cap. this piece of head-wear was turban-shaped, striped, of course, with a leather frontlet, on which was fastened the mining lamp. this lamp, in shape, resembled an ordinary tea-pot, only it was much smaller. in place of the handle was a hook, which fastened to the leather frontlet. the bowl of the lamp contained the oil; a wick passes up through the spout, at the end of which is the light. the miner carrying his lamp in this position has it out of his way. with the cap on my head and lamp lighted, i stood on the verge of a ten by twelve hole in the earth, that was almost eight hundred feet deep. we think that a well one hundred feet deep is quite a distance down into the ground, but here was a hole eight times deeper. in the mining vernacular this hole is termed a shaft--the term that will be employed in speaking of it hereafter. there are two of these shafts, about one hundred yards apart. each shaft is divided by a wooden partition which descends from the top to the bottom. two elevators, or cages, as they are called, ascend and descend along the shaft. while one cage is coming up the other is going down. they derive their motor power from two large engines, one for each shaft. the officer in charge inquired, before making my descent into the mines, if i ever fainted. "never," was my reply. persons sometimes faint in going down this shaft. "step into the cage," was the order given. i obeyed, and, reaching up, took hold of some iron bars that went across the top. the signal was given, down i started. after i had descended a few feet a current of air coming up from below put out my light, which left me in the darkness of an egyptian night. down, down, down i went. there are a great many things in life that i have forgotten. there are a great many more that i expect to forget, but that first ride down the coal shaft i never can forget. thug! i had struck bottom. it is said that when one starts down hill in this world he keeps on going until he strikes bottom. my readers will certainly agree with me that reaching a resting place eight hundred feet under the surface i had found the lowest round of the ladder. whatever i may be in the future, to whatever heights i may ascend, i shall not forget that my starting point was nearly a thousand feet under the kansas penitentiary. water seeks its level. you may force one below the surface, and to whatever depth you please, to the extent of your power, but if he does not belong there, you cannot keep him down: in the course of time he will rise. it was six long, dreary months before i was able to reach the first round in the ladder. through that period i lay in the penitentiary mines, or at the bottom of "the kansas hell." it is said the old fashioned hell has fire and brimstone; while the "kansas hell" has no fire, one thing is certain, it has plenty of material out of which to make it, and an abundant supply of sulphur. at the end of my descent i found an officer there on duty. he told me to step off and occupy a seat on a small bench near by. he desired to impart some information. he advised me that while i was there, a convict, it would not be proper to assume the warden's privileges or endeavor to discharge his duties. in other words, the best thing to do was to keep my place, revolve about in my own orbit, carefully regarding all laws, both centripetal and centrifugal; otherwise, i might burst by the natural pressure of too highly confined interior forces! i confess that, though not subject to such infliction, i very nearly fainted over these ponderous polysyllables! he also informed me that the beautifully paved highway to popularity in the coal mines was to excavate large quantities of the carboniferous substance contained in the subterranean passages of the mine; the more coal i got out the more popular would i be! after his lecture was over the officer gave a low whistle, and out from a dark recess there emerged a convict in his stripes. his face and hands were covered with coal dust. he came out grinning, showing his white teeth. as i caught sight of him i thought, surely, this is a fiend from the lower regions. take one of those prisoners with his striped clothes, a light burning on his head, his face black and shining like ebony, behold him in the weird darkness of the mines, and if he does not call to your mind the picture of one of the imps of eternal night there is nothing in this world that will. this prisoner was the runner or messenger for this officer at the foot of the shaft. each officer in the penitentiary who has charge of a division of men has a messenger to run errands for him. when this messenger came up to the officer he made his obeisance. convicts are taught to observe good manners in the presence of the officials. he was told to take me to another officer in a distant part of the mines, a mr. johns, who would give me work. from the foot of the shaft there go out in almost all directions, roadways or "entries." these underground roadways are about six feet in width and height. i could walk erect in most of them. along these entries was a car track, over which the small coal cars pass to and from the rooms where the coal is taken out, to the shaft, and hoisted to the top with their load of coal. some of these entries extend more than a mile out into the earth from the base of the shaft. as my fellow-prisoner and i were passing along one of these roadways to the place where i was to work, he asked me my name and the nature of my offense. at this place let me inform, the reader that the prisoners are given permission to converse with each other in the mines. their instructions are to the effect that they are not to talk about anything but their work, but in the penitentiary the same rule holds good as on the outside: "give a man an inch and he will take a yard." so, when permission is given to the convict to talk about his work, he talks about everything else. in answer to my escort's question as to the length of my sentence, i informed him that i had eighteen months. he dryly remarked that was nothing, and if the judge who sent me up could not give me a longer term than that, he should have sent me home to my family. he also remarked that he was afraid i would get into trouble in the mines on account of my short sentence. there were a great many long-term fellows down there, who were envious of short-term men, and were likely to put up jobs on them by reporting their mistakes and violations of regulations to the officer in charge, and thus get them punished. i informed my guide that i thought i would get along some way with the prisoners, and keep out of trouble. i then inquired of him as to the length of his sentence. "twenty-five stretches," was his reply. i did not know what he meant by the term "stretches" and asked for information. "that is the prison term for years, a stretch meaning a year," was his reply. i learned that my companion, having twenty-five stretches, was carrying about with him a twenty-five years' sentence. a quarter of a century in prison! this was a young man. he had been in the prison for three years. when he entered this living tomb he had the bloom of youth upon his cheek. when he goes out, at the end of his term, if he lives so long, he will be an old, broken down man. he will not be likely to live that long. the average life of a convict is but fourteen years under the most favorable surroundings, but in the coal mines it cannot exceed five years at most. let me tell you of this man's crime, and then you can determine for yourself how easy it is to get in the penitentiary. this young fellow is the son of one of the most respectable farmers in the state. he attended a dance one night in company with some of the neighbor boys at a village near by. while there, he got under the influence of strong drink, became involved in a quarrel over one of the numbers with the floor managers, and in the fight that ensued he drew his knife and disemboweled the man with whom he was fighting. in a few moments the wounded man died. the young fellow was tried, convicted of murder, and sent to the penitentiary for twenty-five years at hard labor. it is awful to contemplate. young man, as you read this, had you not better make up your mind to go rather slow in pouring whisky down your throat in future? as we passed along through the mines i thought about that word "stretch," and as i did not like the idea of having jobs put up on me, came to the conclusion that i would render myself popular by telling the prisoners in the mines who might ask me as to my sentence, that i had eighteen "stretches." i did not think that calling a month a "stretch" would be "stretching" my conscience to such a degree as to cause me any particular distress, for i knew that by the time i had served out a month it would seem equivalent to a year on the outside. after following along the entry for some distance, almost a mile, we came to that portion of the mines where i was to work. coming up to the place where the officer was seated, the headquarters of this division, my guide made a low bow, and informed the officer in charge that he had brought him a man. then bowing himself out, he returned to his place at the foot of the shaft. the officer in whose division i was to work now signaled his messenger, and there came out of the darkness another convict, stripes, cap, lamp and all. "get reynolds a set of mining tools," said the officer. these were soon brought, and consisted of a pick, a short-handled shovel, two iron wedges and a sledge hammer. "take him," said the officer, "to room number three, and tell george mullen, who is working in that room, to teach him how to mine." i got my arms around those implements of coal warfare, and following my escort, passed along the entry for some distance, possibly two hundred yards, when the roadway in which we were walking suddenly terminated, and instead, there was a small hole that went further on into the earth. when we came to this place my guide dropped down on his hands and knees and passed into the room. i halted. i had never been in such a place before. i did not know what there was in that dark hole. soon my escort called out, "come along, there is nothing in here to hurt you." so i dropped down on my hands and knees and into the dark hole i went. these rooms where the miners work are about twenty-eight inches in height, twenty-four inches wide, and about fifty feet long. think of working in such a place as that! oh, how often have i sighed for room enough to spread myself! how i would have made that coal fly had the vein been on top where i could have stood on my feet and mined. george mullen, the convict who was to teach me to mine, was at the farther end of the room at work when we entered. we crawled on our hands and knees to him, and when my guide had delivered his message he withdrew and hastened back to his headquarters near the stand where his officer sat. after he had gone and my room-mate and myself were left alone, about the first question that george asked me was, "how long have you got?" "eighteen stretches," was my quick reply. george loved me dearly from that moment. i very soon discovered that i was very popular with him on account of my long sentence. "how long are you in for?" said i to him. "always," was his answer. he was a life prisoner. at one time he was marshal of a kansas town, and while acting in that capacity he killed his man. he was trying to arrest him, so he informed me, and the fellow showed fight, when he took out his gun and shot him. it was claimed by the authorities that the shooting was unprovoked, and that the man could have been arrested without killing him. aside from the fact that he had killed his man, i must say that i never met a man for whom i had a higher regard. he was very kind to me, very patient, and made my work as easy for me as he possibly could. i remained with him for nearly a month, when, having learned the business, i was taken to another part of the mines and given a task. "have you ever mined any?" inquired my instructor. "no; i never was in a coal mine before coming here." he then gave me my first lesson in mining. i lay on my right side in obedience to his orders, stretched out at full length. the short-handled shovel was inverted and placed under my right shoulder. this lifted my shoulder up from the ground a little distance and i was thus enabled to strike with my pick. the vein of coal is about twenty-two inches in thickness. we would mine out the dirt, or fire-clay as it was called, from under the coal to the distance of two feet, or the length of a pick-handle, and to the depth of some six inches. we would then set our iron wedges in above the vein of coal, and with the sledge hammer would drive them in until the coal would drop down. imagine my forlorn condition as i lay therein that small room. it was as dark down there as night but for the feeble light given out by the mining lamp; the room was only twenty-eight inches from the floor to the ceiling, and then above the ceiling there were eight hundred feet of mother earth. two feet from the face of the coal, and just back of where i lay when mining, was a row of props that held up the roof and kept it from falling in upon me. the loose dirt which we picked out from under the coal vein was shoveled back behind the props. this pile of dirt, in mining language, is called the "gob." i began operations at once. i worked away with all my might for an hour or more, picking out the dirt from under the coal. then i was tired completely out. i rolled over on my back, and, with my face looking up to the pile of dirt, eight hundred feet thick, that shut out from me the light of day, i rested for awhile. i had done no physical work for ten years. i was physically soft. to put me down in the mines and set me to digging coal was wicked. it was murder. down in that dark pit how i suffered! there was no escape from it. there was the medicine. i had to take it. i do not know, but it seems to me that when a man is sent to that prison who has not been in the habit of performing physical labor, he should not be put to work in the mines until he becomes accustomed to manual labor. it would seem that it would be nothing more than right to give him an easier task at first and let him gradually become hardened to his work at coal digging. nothing of this kind is done. the young, the old, the middle-aged are indiscriminately and unceremoniously thrust into the mine. down there are nearly five hundred prisoners. among them are boys from seventeen to twenty years of age, many of whom are in delicate health. here are to be found old men, in some cases sixty years of age. i do not wish to be understood as casting any reflections upon the officers of this institution. they cannot help these things. if warden smith could avoid it there would not be a single man sent down to that region of death. the mines are there and must be worked. let this blame fall where it belongs. i must say injustice to our common humanity, that to work these two classes, the boys and old men, in those coal mines is a burning shame and outrage. it is bad enough, as the sequel will show, to put able-bodied, middle-aged men to work in that pit. the great state of kansas has opened those mines. her legislature has decided to have them worked. it becomes the duty, therefore, of the prison directors to work them as long as they are instructed to do so, even if scores of human beings are maimed for life or murdered outright each year. the blame cannot rest on the prison officials, but upon our lawmakers. chapter iii. the coal mines (continued) after we had mined some twenty-five feet we took down the coal. to do this the wedges are set and driven in at the top of the vein of coal, with the sledge hammer. after my companion had struck the coal several times it began to pop and crack as if it would fall at any moment. i became alarmed. i was never in such a place before, and i said: "george, had i not better get out of this place? i don't want the coal to fall on me the first day." his reply was, that if i wanted to learn how to mine i must remain near the coal and take my chances of being killed. this was indeed comforting! then he informed me that he was going to knock on the coal and wanted me to catch the sound that was produced. he thumped away, and i got the sound--a dull, heavy thud. now, says he, "when coal sounds in that manner it is not ready to drop." so he continued to pound away at it. the more he pounded the more the coal cracked and the more alarmed i became. i was afraid it would drop at any moment and crush me. i begged of him to cease pounding until i got into the entry out of the way of danger. he tried to make me believe there was no danger. i was hard to convince of that fact. there i lay stretched out on my side next to the coal, he driving in the wedges, and the coal seeming to me to be ready to drop at each stroke of the hammer. "now listen," said he, "while i knock on the coal once more." i listened. the sound was altogether different from the first. "now," said he, "the coal is about ready to fall." it is necessary for the miner to know this part of his business. it is by the sound that he determines when it is ready to fall. if he is ignorant of this part of his work, he would be in great danger of getting killed from the coal falling unexpectedly. "well," said i, "if this coal is about ready to drop, had i not better get out of here into the entry, so that i may be out of danger?" "no," was his reply; "just crawl up behind that row of props and remain in the 'gob' until after the coal falls." in obedience to his command i cheerfully got up behind the props and embraced that pile of dirt. he struck the wedges a few more blows and then darted behind the props out of danger. no sooner had he got out of the way than the coal came thundering down. "now," said my room-mate "go out into the entry and bring in the buggy." "all right." and out i went on my hands and knees. i soon found my way into the entry, but found no buggy; so back i crawled into the room and reported. at this my instructor crawled out to see what had become of that singular vehicle known as a mining buggy. i followed after. i did not want to remain behind in that coal mine. i did not know what might happen should i be left there in that dark hole alone. after we had reached the entry where we could stand erect my teacher pointed to an object which lay close to our feet, and said to me, "man, where are your eyes?" "in my head," i calmly replied. "do you see that thing there?" "of course i see that thing." "well, that is the buggy." "indeed!" i exclaimed. "i am certainly glad to know it, for i never would have taken that for a buggy." it had a pair of runners which were held in their places by a board being nailed across them. on this was a small box; at one end there was a short iron handle. on our knees we pushed the buggy into the room, took up the hammer, broke up the coal into lumps we could handle, filled up the small box, dragged it out into the entry and emptied it into a heap. this is called "buggying" coal. it is the most laborious part of mining. whenever a new man would be placed with the convicts for instructions in mining he would have to buggy coal just as long as it was possible to get him to do so. after a time, however, he would want to take turn about with his teacher. after we had finished getting out what we had down the noon hour had arrived. at certain places in the entries or roadways there are large wooden doors which, when shut, close up the entire passage. these doors are for the regulations of the currents of air which pass through the mines. the loud noise produced by pounding on one of these doors was the signal for dinner. it was now noon. bang, bang, bang, bang, went the door. i had now put in one-half day of my sentence in the mines. oh! the many long, dreary, monotonous days i passed after that! at the call for dinner the convict, always hungry, suddenly drops his tools and makes his way at a rapid pace along the entry until he comes to the place where the division officer has his headquarters. arriving at this place each convict takes his position in a line with his fellow-convicts. all talking now ceases. they sit on the ground while eating, with their lower limbs crossed. there are no soft cushioned chairs on which the tired prisoner may rest his weary limbs. when seated, a small piece of pine board, about a foot square, is placed across his knees. this is the table. no table cloth, no napkins, no table linen of any kind. such articles as these would paralyze a convict! thus seated in two rows along the sides of the entry, with their mining lamps lighted and hanging in their caps, they present a weird and interesting sight. the dinner had been brought down from the top about an hour before on coal cars. three of the prisoners are now detailed to act as waiters. one passes down between the two rows of convicts, carrying in his hand a wooden pail filled with knives and forks. these culinary instruments have iron handles. were they made of wood or horn, the convicts would soon break off the handles and make trinkets out of them. this waiter, passing along, drops a knife and fork on each table. he is followed by another who drops down a piece of corn bread; then another with a piece of meat for each man, which he places on the pine board. there is no "please pass the meat," or "hand over the bread." not a word is spoken. after the knives and forks have been passed around this waiter returns and gives each man a quart of water. this is dinner. the bill of fare is regular, and consists of cold water, corn bread and meat. occasionally we have dessert of cold cabbage, or turnips or cracked corn. when we have these luxuries they are given to us in rotation, and a day always intervenes between cabbage and turnips. in the coal mines the prisoner never washes himself before eating. although he gets his hands and face as black as the coal he has been digging, yet he does not take time to wash himself before eating. reader, how would you like to dine in this condition? the old saying is, we must all eat our "peck of dirt." i think i have consumed at least two bushels and a half! i can never forget my first meal in the mines. i was hungry, it was true, but i couldn't manage to eat under the circumstances. i sat there on the ground, and in silence watched the other prisoners eat. i thought, "you hogs! i can never get so hungry as to eat as you are now eating." in this i was mistaken. before ten days had gone by i could eat along with any of them. the first day i thought i would do without my dinner, and when supper time came go to the top and enjoy a fine meal. i imagined that after digging coal all day they would surely give us a good meal in the evening. my mouth "watered" for some quail on toast, or a nice piece of tenderloin, with a cup of tea. think of my surprise, when hoisted to the top at the close of day, after marching into the dining-room and taking our places at the table, when i saw all that was put before the prisoners was a piece of bread, a cup of tea without sugar or milk, and two tablespoonfuls of sorghum molasses. it did not require a long time for me to dispose of the molasses, as i was very hungry, and handed up my cup for an additional supply; this was refused. it is considered in the penitentiary an excess of two tablespoonfuls of sorghum is unhealthy! there is danger of its burning out the stomach! so at each supper after that i had to get along with two spoonfuls. as far as the tea was concerned, it was made of some unknown material whose aroma was unfamiliar to my olfactory; the taste was likewise unfamiliar, and in consequence of these peculiarities of the prison tea i never imbibed of it but the one time, that being amply sufficient to last through the entire period of my confinement. from that day on i took cold water, which, after all, is god's best beverage for the human race. the penitentiary, so far as i know, is the only place in the state of kansas where prohibition actually works prohibition as contemplated by the laws of the state! there are no "joints" in the pen. no assistant attorney generals are necessary to enforce prohibition there. i never saw a drunken man in the prison. the striped temperance society of kansas is a success. for breakfast in the prison we have hash, bread, and a tin cup of coffee, without sugar or milk; no butter, no meat. the hash is made of the pieces of bread and meat left over from the preceding day. we had it every day in the year for breakfast. during my entire time in the prison i had nothing for breakfast but hash. one day i was talking to an old murderer who had been there for eighteen years, and he told me he had eaten hash for his breakfast during his entire term--six thousand five hundred and seventy days. i looked at the old man and wondered to myself whether he was a human being or a pile of hash, half concluding that he was the latter! in conversation with the chaplain of the prison i received the following anecdote, which i will relate for the benefit of my readers. it is customary in the prison, after the sunday exercises, for such as desire to remain and hold a sort of class meeting, or, as some call it, experience meeting. in one of these, an old colored man arose, and said: "breddren, ebber since ize been in dis prison ize been tryin' to git de blessin'; ize prayed god night and day. ize rascelled wid de almighty 'till my hips was sore, but ize nebber got it. some sez its la'k ob faith. some its la'k of strength, but i b'l'eves de reason am on 'count ob de quality ob dis hash we hab ebbery day!" accidents are occurring almost daily. scarcely a day passes but what some man receives injuries. often very severe accidents happen, and occasionally those which prove fatal. many men are killed outright. these accidents are caused by the roof of the little room in which the miner works falling in upon him, and the unexpected drop of coal. of course there are many things that contribute to accidents, such as bad machinery, shafts, dirt rolling down, landslides, etc. one day there was a fellow-prisoner working in the room adjoining me; he complained to the mining boss that he did not want to go into that room to work because he thought it was dangerous. the officer in charge thought differently, and told him to go in there and go to work or he would report him. the prisoner hadn't been in the place more than a half hour before the roof fell and buried him. it took some little time to get him out. when the dirt was removed, to all appearances he was dead. he was carried to the hospital on a stretcher, and the prison physician, doctor neeally, examined him, and found that both arms were broken in two places, his legs both broken, and his ribs crushed. the doctor, who is a very eminent and successful surgeon, resuscitated him, set his broken bones, and in a few weeks what was thought to be a dead man, was able to move about the prison enclosure, although one of his limbs was shorter than the other, and he was rendered a cripple for life. on another occasion a convict was standing at the base of the shaft. the plumb-bob, a piece of lead about the size of a goose egg, accidentally fell from the top of the shaft, a distance of eight hundred feet, and, striking this colored man on the head, it mashed his skull, and bespattered the walls with his brains. i had three narrow escapes from death. one day i lay in my little room resting, and after spending some time stretched out upon the ground, i started off to another part of my room to go to work, when all of a sudden the roof fell in, and dropped down just where i had been lying. had i remained a minute longer in that place, i would have been killed. as it happened, the falling debris just struck my shoe as i was crawling out from the place where the material fell. at another time i had my room mined out and was preparing to take down the coal. i set my wedges in a certain place above the vein of coal and began to strike with my sledge hammer, when i received a presentiment to remove my wedges from that place to another. now i would not have the reader believe that i was in any manner superstitious, but i was so influenced by that presentiment that i withdrew my wedges and set them in another place; then i proceeded to strike them a second time with the sledge hammer, when, unexpectedly, the vein broke and the coal fell just opposite to where my head was resting, and came within an inch of striking it. had i remained in the place where i first set my wedges, the coal would have fallen upon me; it had been held in its place by a piece of sulphur, and when it broke, it came down without giving me any warning. on still another occasion, my mining boss came to my room and directed me to go around to another part of the mine and assist two prisoners who were behind with their work. i obeyed. i hadn't been out of my room more than about half an hour when there occurred a land-slide in it, which filled the room entirely full of rock, slate and coal. it required several men some two weeks to remove the amount of debris that had fallen on that occasion. had i been in there, death would have been certain at that time. gentle reader, let me assure you, that although some persons misunderstanding me, assert that i am without belief in anything, yet i desire to say, when reflecting upon these providential deliverances, that i believe in the eternal will that guides, directs, controls and protects the children of men. while many of my fellow-prisoners were maimed for life and some killed outright, i walked through that valley and shadow of death without even a hair of my head being injured. why was this? my answer is the following: over in the state of iowa, among the verdant hills of that beautiful commonwealth, watching the shadows as they longer grow, hair whitened with the frosts of many seasons, heart as pure as an angel's, resides my dear old mother. i received a letter from her one day, and among other things was the following: "i love you now in your hour of humiliation and disgrace as i did when you were a prattling babe upon my knee. * * * "i would also have you remember that every night before i retire to rest, kneeling at my bedside, i ask god to take care of and watch over my boy." of the nine hundred convicts in the penitentiary not one of their mothers ever forgot or deserted them. a mother's prayers always follow her prodigal children. go, gather the brightest and purest flowers that bend and wave in the winds of heaven, the roses and lilies, the green vine and immortelles, wreathe them in a garland, and with this crown the brow of the truest of all earthly friends--mother! another reason i give for my safe keeping in that hour of darkness and despair: in the city of atchison, on a bed of pain and anguish, lay my true, devoted and dying wife. every sunday morning regularly would i receive a letter dictated by her. oh! the tender, loving words! "every day," said she, "i pray that god will preserve your life while working in the jaws of death." the true and noble wife, the helpmeet of man, clings to him in the hour of misfortune and calamity as the vine clings to the tree when prostrate on the ground. no disgrace can come so shameful that it will cause the true wife to forsake. she will no more forsake than the true soldier will desert on the battlefield. for those imps in human form that endeavor to detract from the honor belonging to the wives of the country there ought to be no commiseration whatever. let us honor the wifehood of our native land. it is the fountain of all truth and righteousness, and if the fountain should become impure, all is lost. one more reason: before i was sent to the prison i was an evangelist, and was instrumental in the hands of god of persuading hundreds of people to abandon a wicked life and seek the good. during my imprisonment i received many letters from these men and women who had been benefited on account of what i had said to them, and they informed me that they still retained confidence in me and were praying god for my deliverance. now, i believe, in answer to a mother's prayers, in answer to the prayers of my sainted wife, in answer to the prayers of good men and women, who were converts to "the faith once delivered to the saints" under my earnest endeavors--in answer to all these prayers, god lent a listening ear and preserved me from all harm and danger. pathetic occurrences in the mines it is a great consolation for prisoners to receive letters from their friends. one day a convict working in the next room to me inquired if i would like to see a letter. i replied i would. he had just received one from his wife. this prisoner was working out a sentence of five years. he had been in the mines some two years. at home, he had a wife and five children. they were in destitute circumstances. in this letter his wife informed him that she had been taking in washing for the support of herself and children, and that at times they had to retire early because they had no fuel to keep them warm. also, that, on several occasions, she had been compelled to put the children to bed without supper. but this noble woman stated to her husband that their lot was not so bad as his. she encouraged him to bear up under his burdens, and that the time would soon come when his sentence would expire and he would be permitted to return home again, and that the future would be bright once more as it had been before the unfortunate circumstances that led to his imprisonment. it was a good letter, written by a noble woman. a couple of days after this, as i was mining, i heard a voice in the adjoining room. i listened. at first i thought it was the mining boss, but i soon discovered i was mistaken. listening again i came to the conclusion that the convict who was working in the next room was becoming insane, a frequent occurrence in the mines. many of the poor convicts being unable to stand the strain of years and the physical toil, languish and die in the insane ward. to satisfy my curiosity, i took my mining lamp from my cap, placed it on the ground, covered it up as best i could with some pieces of slate, and then crawled up in the darkness near where he was. i never saw such a sight as was now presented to me. this broad-shouldered convict on his knees, with his frame bent over, his face almost touching the floor of the room, was praying for his wife and children. such a prayer i never heard before, nor do i expect to hear again. his petition was something like the following: "oh, heavenly father, i am myself a wicked, desperate man. i do not deserve any love or protection for my own sake. i do not expect it, but for the sake of jesus do have mercy on my poor wife and helpless children." i have been able, many times in my life, to spend an hour or more in the prayer circle, and, unmoved, could listen to the prayers of the children of god. but i could not remain there in the darkness and listen to such a prayer as that going forth from the lips of that poor convict; so i glided back through the darkness into my own room, and left him there alone, pleading with his creator for his lone and helpless ones at home. reader, did god listen to the wails of that poor heart-stricken prisoner? yes! yes! yes! for though a prodigal, sinful child, yet he is still a child of the universal father. who of us dare excommunicate him? what frail mortal of passing time would dare lift up his hand and say, this poor wanderer is forgotten of his god? what a glorious privilege is communion with god. what a sweet consolation to know god hears, though we may be far removed from the dear ones we love. and who can tell the glorious things that have been wrought by the wonderful father of the race by that strong lever of prayer. how often has the rough ways of life been made smooth. how often do we fail to credit the same to the kind intercession of friends with the father of us all. but to continue, it often happens that in the coal mines, persons, no longer able to sustain the heavy load that is placed upon them of remaining in prison for a long time, give way, and they become raving maniacs. one day a prisoner left his room, and crawling out on his hands and knees into the entry, sat down on a pile of coal and commenced to sing. he had a melodious voice, and these were the words, the first stanza of that beautiful hymn: "jesus, lover of my soul, let me to thy bosom fly." after he had completed the first stanza two of the officers came to him and directed him to go back into the room to work. he replied that he did not have to work; that he had religion, and that when a man had religion he did not have to work. said he, "we are now going to have a prayer meeting, and" addressing one of the officers, "you you will please lead us in prayer." the officer replied, "i don't pray in coal mines; i pray above the surface so that god can hear." at this the insane convict picked up a large piece of coal and was going to hurl it after him, and threatened that if he did not get on his knees and go to praying he would compel him to do so. while he was thus addressing one officer the other slipped around in his rear and striking his arm knocked the piece of coal out of his hand. then the officers seized him, one on each side, and forced him to go with them down the roadways to the shaft, from whence he was taken to the top and placed in the insane ward, where he remains at this writing. as he was passing down the entries, away in the distance we heard him singing-- "other refuge have i none, hangs my helpless soul on thee. leave, oh leave me not alone, still support and comfort me." i can never forget the impression made upon me as those words rang down through the dark passages, coming from the lips of that insane convict as they led him away from the confinement of the mines to the confinement of insanity. how true those beautiful words were in his case! the coal mines a college of infamy the mines of this penal institution are a college for the education and graduation of hardened criminals, and for illustration, and the instruction of those not familiar with the subject matter referred to, i will relate what came under my personal observation, and some things that i heard while in there. one day, in company with me while engaged in mining, were two other convicts. one of these was a hardened old crook. he was serving out a term on the charge of making and passing counterfeit money. the other fellow-convict was a young man seventeen years of age--a mere boy. tired of mining, we laid off awhile, resting. during this time the old convict gave us instructions in the manner of making counterfeit money. he told us how he would construct his counterfeit molds out of plaster paris, which he would use in the same manner that bullet molds are used. he would purchase some britannica metal. on some dark night he would go into the forest, build up a fire, melt the metal, pour the melted liquor into the molds, and in this manner make silver dollars. he informed us that it didn't take very long to make a hatful of money. a few days thereafter this young man, who was with us in the room at the time, informed me that when he went out again into the world, if he was unable to secure work, he would try his hand at making counterfeit money. i advised him not to do this, as it was almost a certainty that he would be detected. he thought differently. about a month thereafter he was released from the prison. he went out into the world, and, unable to obtain work, did try his hand at making counterfeit money. shortly before my time expired here came this young man to prison again, with a sentence of three years at hard labor for making and passing counterfeit money. he had received his criminal instruction in the penitentiary mines, the result of which will be that he will spend the greater portion of his life a convict. there are a great many instances where these young convicts, having received their education in the coal mines, go into the world to become hardened criminals. down in this school of crime, in the midst of the darkness, they learn how to make burglary tools, to crack safes, and to become expert as pickpockets; they take lessons in confidence games, and when their time expires they are prepared for a successful career of crime. it is utterly impossible for the officers of the coal mines to prevent these men from conversing with each other. if these mines were sold, and the money obtained from the sale of them was used in building workhouses on the surface, and these men placed at work there under the watchful care of the official, they would then be unable to communicate with each other, and would be saved from the debasing contamination of the hardened criminals. they would be saved from all this that degrades and makes heartless wretches. a scene occurred in the mines one day that illustrates the fact that judges sometimes, in their anxiety to enforce the laws, overstep the bounds of justice, and inflict excessive punishment and place burdens upon human beings which they are unable to bear. one afternoon in the city of emporia ten tramps were arrested and thrown into the county jail. during the succeeding night one of these persons thrust a poker into the stove, and heating it red hot, made an effort to push the hot iron through the door, thus burning a large hole in the door-casing. the next morning the sheriff, entering the jail, perceiving what this vagrant had done, was displeased, and tried to ascertain which one of the ten was guilty of the offense. the comrades of the guilty party refused to disclose the perpetrator of the act. court was then in session. the sheriff had these ten fellows brought into court, hoping that when placed upon the witness stand, under oath, they would tell which had committed the offense. even in court they were true to each other, and would not reveal the perpetrator. they were then all convicted, and the judge passed a sentence of ten years upon each of these vagrants for that trivial offense. they came to the penitentiary. the day after their arrival they were all sent to the coal mines. for two years they worked day after day down in the kansas bastile. one morning, after they had been in the mines for two years, one of the number, at the breakfast table in the dining-room, unperceived secreted a knife in his clothing and carried it with him down to his place of work. he went into his little room and began the labors of the day. after toiling for a few hours he took a stone and sharpened his knife the best he possibly could, then stepped out into the entry where he could stand erect, and with his head thrown back drew that knife across his throat, cutting it from ear to ear, thus terminating his life, preferring death to longer remaining in the mines of the kansas hell! who is there that is not convinced of the fact that the blood of this suicide stains the garments of the judge who placed this unbearable burden of ten years upon this young man, and who, i subsequently learned, was innocent of the offense. i would advise the good people of lyons county, and of emporia particularly, after they have perused this book, if they come to the conclusion that they have no better material out of which to construct a district judge, to go out on the frontier and lassoo a wild comanche indian and bring him to emporia and place him upon the ermined bench. i do not even know the name of this judge, but i believe, if i am correctly informed in this case, that his judgment is deficient somewhere. but i must say in this connection, when the good people of lyons county heard of this suicide, they immediately thereafter petitioned the board of pardons for the release of these prisoners, and the board at once reported favorably upon their cases, and governor martin promptly granted their pardons and they were released from the prison. if the pardon had not been granted, others of them had resolved upon taking their lives as did their comrade. one of these prisoners was for a time a companion of mine in one of my mining rooms, and told me if he was required to remain in the coal mines digging coal another three months he had made up his mind to follow the example of his comrade, preferring death to the horrors of the mines. for the further information of the reader, as to the dread of the prisoners of work in the mines, i cite the following which i call to recollection. the gentlemanly physician of the institution, dr. neeally, told me that at four different times men had feigned death in the mines and had been carried on stretchers to the hospital; the particulars in one case is as follows: one of these men feigned death and was carried to the hospital, and was reported by his comrades to be dead. he had suppressed his breathing. the physician felt his pulse, and finding it regular, of course knew he was simply endeavoring to deceive. in order to experiment, the physician coincided with the statements of the attending convicts who had carried him from the mines, and announced that he would try electricity, and if he failed to restore him to life he would then have to bury him in the regular way. the doctor retired for the purpose of getting his electrical apparatus. in a few moments he returned, bringing it with him, and placing the magnetic cups, one in each hand, commenced generating the electricity by turning the generator attached to the machine. after a few turns of the crank the prisoner opened his eyes; one or two more and he sat up; a few more and he stood on his feet; another turn or two and he commenced dancing around, and exclaimed, "for god's sake, doctor, do quit, for i ain't dead, but i can't let loose!" reader, what do you suppose was the object this convict had in view in thus feigning death? what did he hope to gain thereby? being well acquainted with this prisoner, a few days after the doctor had told me of the circumstances i met him, and asked him what object he had in feigning death the time that he was taken from the mines to the hospital? his reply was that he hadn't the nerve to take his own life, as he believed in a future state of punishment, and that he did not desire to step from the kansas hell to the hell of the future, and that by feigning death he hoped to be taken to the hospital, placed in a coffin, then taken out to the prison graveyard, and buried alive, so that he would suffocate in his grave! there is not a man in those mines but would leave them quickly for a place on the surface. i now call to mind one instance where a heart-broken father came to the prison and offered one of the leading prison officials one thousand dollars if he would take his son out of the coal mines and give him a place on the surface during the remainder of his term. a man who labors in these mines simply spends his time, not knowing but the next hour will be his last. as i have stated heretofore the prisoners are allowed to converse in the mines, and as a result of this almost necessary rule, every convict has an opportunity to listen to the vilest obscenity that ever falls upon human ears. at times, when some of these convicts, who seem veritable encyclopedias of wickedness, are crowded together, the ribald jokes, obscenity and blasphemy are too horrible for description. it is a pandemonium--a miniature hell! but worse than this horrible flow of language are the horrible and revolting practices of the mines. men, degraded to a plane lower than the brutes, are guilty of the unmentionable crimes referred to by the apostle paul in his letter to the romans, chapter i, verse , which is as follows: "and likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lusts one toward another, men with men, working that which is unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompense of their error which was meet." every opportunity is here offered for this vile practice. they are far removed from the light and even from the influences of their officers, and in the darkness and silence old and hardened criminals debase and mistreat themselves and sometimes the younger ones that are associated with them in their work. these cases of self-abuse and sodomy are of daily occurrence, and, although the officials of the prison take every precaution to prevent such evil practices, yet, as a matter of fact, so long as prisoners are permitted to work in the mines it will be impossible to break up these terribly degrading and debasing practices. oh, kansan! you that boast of the freedom and liberty, the strength of your laws, and the institutions in your grand young state, what do you think of this disclosure of wickedness, equalling if not excelling the most horrible things ever pictured by the divine teachers of humanity,--the apostles and their followers? a hint is only here given, but to the wise it will be sufficient, and but a slight exercise of the imaginative powers will be necessary to unfold to you the full meaning of this terrible state of affairs. it is believed by the writer that if the people of the state of kansas knew under what circumstances men in the prison were compelled to work, there would be a general indignation, which would soon be expressed through the proper channels, and which might lead to a proper solution of the difficulty. in many of the rooms of the mines there are large pools of water which accumulate there from dripping down from the crevices above; this, taken in connection with the natural damps of the mines, which increases the water, makes very large pools, and in these mud-holes convicts are compelled to work and wallow about all day long while getting out their coal, more like swine than anything else. how can this be in the line of reformation, which, we are taught to believe outside of the prison walls, is the principal effort of all discipline within the prison. the result of work under such unfavorable circumstances is that many of the convicts contract rheumatism, neuralgia, pneumonia and other lung troubles, and, of course, malaria. many persons that enter these mines in good health come out physical wrecks, often to find homes in the poor-houses of the land when their prison days are over, or die before their terms expire. in the judgment of the writer the coal mines should be sold; until that is done, prisoners who contract diseases there that will carry them to untimely graves should be pensioned by the state, and thus kept from spending the rest of their natural lives in some of the country poor-houses. each person in the mines is assigned a task; he is required to get out a certain amount of coal each week. in case the convict fails to mine the task that has been assigned him he must endure punishment, a description of which will be given later on. it is the opinion of the author that something should be done to remedy this. the young men from seventeen to twenty, together with the old men from fifty to sixty, and those suffering from diseases, are often required to dig as much coal as middle-aged and able-bodied men. i have seen old men marching to their cells after a hard day's work scarcely able to walk, and many times have i laid in the mines along with these young boys who would spend hours crying like whipped children for fear they would be unable to get out their regular task of coal, and would therefore have to spend the sabbath in the dungeon, suffering unspeakable anguish. because of the dangers to which the inmate is exposed; because of the debasing influences by which lie is surrounded, it is wrong, it is wicked to work our criminals in such a place as those mines of the kansas penitentiary. chapter iv. the punishments of the prison the discipline of this institution is of the very highest character, and is unequaled in any similar institution of the united states. the officers are very watchful and strict. the inmates who work on the surface are not permitted to converse with each other only within the hearing of an officer, and then only with regard to matters that pertain to work. the convict attends to his duties, observing the strictest silence. when visitors pass about the prison the inmate is not permitted to lift up his head to gaze at them. not even is he permitted to take a drink of water or to leave his place of work for anything without the permission of the officer in charge. as soon as a criminal enters the prison and is clothed in stripes, a copy of the rules and regulations is placed in his hands for perusal. if he cannot read, an officer reads them to him. on the first day of his admission the prisoner receives certain tickets, which are permits for privileges granted to him. one of these tickets allows him to have tobacco if he used the same before coming to the penitentiary; one allows him to receive visits from his friends; another to write a letter, monthly, to his relatives; and still another gives him the privilege to draw a book from the library, weekly. these privileges are highly appreciated by the prisoners. for the first offense in violation of any of the rules and regulations the refractory prisoner is deprived of his ticket; and in extreme cases these tickets have been kept from the prisoner for six months. to deprive the convict of his tobacco for a month or two, if he uses it, and many do, is a severe punishment. this kind of punishment is usually effectual in securing good discipline. there are extreme cases, however, that require severer punishment. to meet this contingency, dungeons are provided. as their name implies, they are dark. they resemble an ordinary cell with the exception of the door, which, in the common cell, contains open spaces for the admission of light; but the dark cell admits neither light nor a sufficient quantity of air. there is no furniture in this dark cell. while undergoing punishment, if a prisoner desires to rest, he can do so by reclining on the stone floor. no refractory prisoner ever grows corpulent while confined in these dark cells, as he only receives one meal of bread and water in twenty-four hours! the prisoner is often kept in these cells from eight to ten days. sleep is almost impossible. when a prisoner enters the dungeon he is required to leave behind him his coat, cap and shoes. during the winter months it is often very cold in these cells, requiring the prisoner to walk up and down the dungeon in his stocking feet to prevent his freezing, and this for a period of ten days, in nearly every instance compels submission. after the dark cells thaw out, during the summer months, they are excessively hot. sometimes in winter the temperature is below zero, and in summer it often rises to one hundred degrees. they are then veritable furnaces. generally, after the prisoner undergoes the freezing or baking process for eight or ten days, he is willing to behave himself in the future. they are sometimes so reduced and weak when brought out of the dark cell that they can scarcely walk without aid. i have seen them reel to and fro like drunken men. they are often as pale as death. that in many cases the prisoner contracts cold which later on terminates fatally, is one of the principal objections to this mode of punishment. there is no doubt that the dark cells of the kansas hell have hastened the death of many a poor, friendless convict. if a person in the mines does not get out his regular weekly task of coal, on saturday night he is reported to the deputy warden by the officer in charge, and is sent to the blind cell before supper, and is kept there until the following monday morning, when he is taken out and sent to his work in the mines. while in there he gets only bread and water once in twenty-four hours. this is a great inducement to work; it certainly prevents criminals from shirking their labor, and soon converts a lazy tramp into a rustling coal miner. there is one thing, however, that is connected with this system of punishment that i will criticise. the officer under whose immediate control the prisoner is placed fixes the period of his confinement in the dungeon. it gives the officer a good opportunity to abuse a prisoner he may dislike. these subordinate officers are not all angels. some of them are lacking in sympathy. they have become hardened, and frequently treat their men like beasts. these persons should not possess such a dangerous power. the warden or deputy warden should decide the character as well as the period of punishment. if in this dark cell ten days and nights is insufficient to subdue the rebellious spirit of the convict, he is taken out and placed in the solitary cell. this is similar to the ordinary cell, with the exception that it contains no furniture. here the convict remains on bread and water until he is starved almost to death, or until he is willing to submit and do his work as ordered. another mode of punishment resorted to in a few cases, is even more brutal than the dark cell. the obdurate prisoner is stripped naked and tied to a post. the hose which is connected with the water-works is turned upon his naked body. the water pressure is sixty pounds to the square inch. as the water strikes the nude body the suffering is intense. this mode of punishment is but rarely resorted to. it is exceedingly wicked and barbarous. it is a shame to treat a human being in such a manner. there are many hardened criminals and desperate characters in the penitentiary, and it may sometimes be necessary to resort to extreme measures, but there have been many instances when, as it seemed to me, these excessive punishments might have been avoided and still the good discipline of the prison maintained. "blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy." but the author would have you recollect that the punishments of the kansas penitentiary are not as severe as the discipline in her sister institutions. many of the inmates of this prison who have formerly served terms in others of like character, have shown him the scars and marks of brutal punishment. one of these poor unfortunates showed me his back, which is covered with great furrows in the flesh caused by the cat-o'-nine-tails in the hands of a merciless official of the missouri penitentiary. another prisoner carries thumbs out of joint and stiffened by the inhuman practice of hanging up by the thumbs in vogue in a former place of imprisonment, and still another carries about with him ugly wounds inflicted by bloodhounds which overtook him when trying to escape from a southern prison. the foregoing is a view of the punishments inflicted from a prisoner's standpoint. that the reader may arrive at just conclusions, i quote the statements on the same subject made by the warden, captain smith, in his able biennial report of last year. in doing so, i beg leave to state that the convict who had ever been the object of the prison discipline, or who had spent his ten days and nights in one of those dismal dungeons, subsisting on bread and water, would readily say that the warden had treated the subject in a manner "very mild." "the discipline has been carefully looked after, and as a general thing prisoners yield to strict discipline quicker than most people think. they seem to see and realize the necessity of rules, and very seldom complain, if they violate them, at the punishment that is sure to follow. our punishments are of such a character that they do not degrade. kansas, when she established her penitentiary, prohibited corporal punishment. she is one of the few states that by law prohibits the use of the whip and strap; taking the position that it is better to use kindness than to resort to brutal measures. i have often been told, and that, too, by old prison men, that it was impossible to run a prison and have first-class discipline without the whip. such is not my experience. we have had within our walls perhaps as desperate men as ever received a sentence. we have controlled them, and have maintained a discipline second to none in the country, how did we accomplish this? our answer is, by being kind but firm; treating a man, although he may be a prisoner, as a man. if he violates rules, lock him up. give him an opportunity to commune with himself and his maker; also give him to understand that he is the executioner of his own sentence, and when he concludes that he can do right, release him. it matters not how vicious, how stubborn, or what kind of a temper he may have, when left with no one to talk to, and an opportunity to cool down, and with a knowledge that when he comes to the conclusion that he will do better he can be released, he leaves the cell feeling much different than the prisoner who leaves the whipping-post, after having received any number of lashes that a brutal officer may desire to inflict. one goes to his work cheerful, and determined to behave himself; the other dogged, revengeful, completely humiliated, and only lives in hope that he may at some time take his revenge upon the person that ordered or inflicted the punishment, and upon the state or country that would, by its laws, tolerate such a brutal or slavish practice." chapter v. sunday in the prison a prisoner is always thankful for the sabbath. he has been working hard all week, and sunday affords the opportunity of resting. on the sabbath morning, the bell for rising rings at eight o'clock. at its ringing each person must rise and dress; he is not permitted to do so before it rings. if he gets tired of remaining in his bunk so late as eight o'clock, and should wish to get up and dress, it would do him no good; it would be a violation of rules and result in punishment. after the prisoner is up and dressed, he washes and marches out in ranks to breakfast. it is hash, hash, hash, for sunday breakfast, the same as any other day, except once a month it is codfish hash instead of beef hash. after breakfast, instead of going from the dining-room to work, the prisoners are marched back into their cells where they remain until time for chapel exercises. there is a dining-room for the prisoners and another for the officers. the room where the prisoners dine is a large hall capable of seating fully twelve hundred men. each table is long enough to accommodate twenty men, and resembles an ordinary school-desk. there are no table-cloths or napkins; nothing but a plain, clean board. the table furniture consists of a tin quart cup, a small pan of the same precious metal, which holds the hash, an iron knife, fork and spoon. no beautiful silverware adorns this table; on the contrary, all the dining service is very plain and cheap. the convicts are marched into the dining-room in divisions, and seated at the table. here they remain in perfect silence, with their heads bowed. no talking or gazing about the dining-room is permitted. after all the divisions are in and seated, the deputy warden taps a small bell, and the convicts begin the work of "concealing the hash." before the men enter the dining-room the coffee, bread and hash are placed on the table for each man. the prisoners are given all the food they can eat. it is not the quantity, but the quality, that is objectionable. if more bread is wanted, instead of calling out "please pass the bread," the convict holds up his hand, and the waiter comes along and puts a piece of bread in it. he gets but a pint of coffee, and if he wishes a second supply he holds up his cup and it is refilled--but with water instead of coffee. if he wishes more hash he holds aloft his meat dish, and an officer hands him a large pan of hash, out of which he fills his dish. not a word is spoken during the meal. ample time is given the convicts to get all the food they desire; then the deputy warden, who occupies a raised seat at the end of the dining-room, taps a small bell, and the men march out in divisions, back to their cells on sunday mornings, and to their work on week days. breakfast over, and the men in their cells, the choir, which leads the singing and furnishes the instrumental music for the occasion, is taken out, and, under the watchful care of an officer, is conducted to the chapel where they practice until time for the regular services. the choir was composed of convicts who could sing, regardless of the crimes for which they were sent to prison. i recollect at one time we had two horse-thieves, two rapists--one with a sentence of forty years--three murderers, two hog-thieves, and several others of equally villainous records, and, last of all, the author! but this choir will compare favorably with some of the high-toned church choirs outside! to return, think of such a choir singing: "oh, how happy are they, who their saviour obey, and have laid up their treasures above!" at eleven o'clock, the prison bell rings, and the men are marched in ranks to the chapel. when the first division or company reaches the room where the services are to be held, the string band commences to play, and as the divisions march in one after another they are greeted with music. the instruments used are a piano, organ, violin, cornet and bass viol. very fine music is rendered by the prison band. all being seated, the chaplain, the rev. dr. crawford, a genuine christian and god-fearing man, rises, and in his happy style reads some beautiful hymn which is familiar to the congregation. the choir leads and the entire congregation sings. such singing! the convicts have only one opportunity a week to try their voices in a musical way, and when that opportunity comes around it is improved. nearly one thousand voices unite in singing those beautiful gospel hymns! a prayer is offered; more singing; then the chaplain, or some visiting minister who may be present, preaches a short discourse. there is a large field for usefulness, and for doing good, in the penitentiary. the harvest is truly great. chaplain crawford comprehends the situation, and is putting forth strenuous efforts to save these men who have drifted thus far down the currents of sin. his labors are abundantly blessed of god. many men go out of that institution a great deal better than when they first entered. were it not for the cruel treatment the prisoners suffer in the coal mines of that institution many more of them would be reformed. this treatment tends to harden the criminal. the chaplain has many evils to counteract, yet he contends nobly for the right, and some of these men are being redeemed from a sinful life. after the sermon, the choir and the string band furnish more soul-stirring music, which enlivens the spirits of the prisoners, and then the chapel exercises are over. the prisoners are now returned to their cells. occasionally the convicts are permitted to remain after the chapel exercises proper are over and have a social meeting. the chaplain remains with them. these men sing, pray and give in their religious experience. it is novel to hear these christian criminals telling how they love jesus. immediately after the religious services are over the prison school begins. nearly one hundred of the convicts attend this school. the common branches, reading, writing, spelling, arithmetic, etc., are taught. this school is graded, and under the management of the chaplain, who is an excellent instructor, is a great blessing to the prisoners. numbers have fitted themselves here so that when they went out they were able to pass examination and obtain certificates as teachers. on entering the institution many of the prisoners who are unable to read and write soon acquire these useful arts if they have any ambition for self-improvement. if there was room, and this school could be conducted in the evening, as well as on sunday afternoons, much more good could be accomplished. i would suggest that it would be a good act on the part of the state to employ an officer who should devote all his time to teaching and imparting instruction in the common branches, and let a room be fitted up for evening school, so that all prisoners who might desire to improve themselves could attend this place of instruction after the work of the day was over. nothing could be done that would be more advantageous to the convict. the teachers for the prison school are selected from among the prisoners, some of them being very fine scholars. after school is over the sunday dinner is served. the prisoners once more march into the dining-room and take their places at the table. the sunday dinner is the "crack" meal of the institution. at this meal the prisoners have as a luxury, beans, a small piece of cheese and some beet pickles, in addition to their regular diet. this meal is served at : . the prisoners are then returned to their cells, where they remain until the following morning. they spend their time in the cells which is not taken up by sleeping, in reading. the prison has a fine library of five thousand volumes. the state legislature annually appropriates five hundred dollars to be expended in purchasing books. this collection consists of histories, scientific works and books of fiction. the greater part of the criminals prefer the works of fiction. were it not for this privilege of reading, the sunday afternoons and winter evenings would seem very long and dreary. several officers are on duty during the time the men are locked in their cells on sunday, and the cell houses are very quiet and orderly, there is no talking, as officers are constantly walking backward and forward in front of the cells. this is the manner and style of spending the sabbath in prison. the convicts who do the cooking for the officers and convicts, are compelled to work on sundays as any other day of the week. it would be nothing more than right to give these men credit for this extra work, and in this manner reduce their sentences. the law does not contemplate that criminals in the penitentiary should work seven days in the week and fifteen hours each day. there are more than fifty men who are forced to put in this extra time in hard labor. chapter vi. scenes in the hospital when a prisoner gets sick he reports to the prison physician in the morning, before working hours. as the men march out of their cells to go to their breakfast, those who are sick and desire to see the doctor fall out of the ranks and occupy seats in the cell house. soon the prison physician, dr. nealley, calls and examines them. many try to deceive the physician and thus get into the hospital, simply to avoid work. but the shirkers are pretty well known, and have to be very sick and give unmistakable symptoms of their illness before they can get excused. it is very difficult to deceive dr. nealley. he has been with the prisoners so long, nearly six years, that he knows them and can tell without much effort when one of them is sick or is not in condition to work. at these morning examinations, sometimes there are nearly one hundred who report as being sick. most of them, instead of being excused, get a dose of medicine and are sent to work. when a prisoner takes sick during the day while at work, he is excused by his officer, and permitted to go to the hospital to see the physician. fully nine-tenths of the sickness of the prison is contracted in the coal mines. the principal physical disabilities are prison fever, colds, pneumonia, lung diseases and rheumatism. very few contagious diseases ever find their way into the prison, and those that do are quickly discovered and checked by the prison physician. when a convict is unable to work he is sent to the hospital. this department contains two wards, in the first of which those remain who are not sick enough to be confined to their beds, while the very sick are kept in the second ward. convicts, detailed for that purpose, are the hospital nurses. it is gratifying to know that these convict nurses have a sympathy for their sick comrades truly admirable. many of these sick men die. it is sad to die in the state's prison! i recollect one case that came under my own observation which was indeed pathetic. a man had been sentenced for five years, and had served out his time save one week, when, taken suddenly ill, he was sent to the hospital and died the day before his term would have expired. this poor fellow piteously begged of the doctor to try and extend his life so that he could die a free man; but all in vain! on the day which would have brought liberty he was borne through the large gate and buried in the prison graveyard. it is heartrending to hear those men dying in the hospital, call for their mothers, wives or sisters! the convict nurses are as kind and sympathetic as possible, but in sickness and death there is no one that can take the place of mother, wife or sister. there was one man who died a few days before my term expired, for whom i felt the greatest sympathy. his name was frank rhodes. he was sent from holton. while in jail and awaiting trial at that place he was converted. several christian ladies had visited the jail and left with the inmates a few bibles and other religious literature. at his trial frank was convicted of crime and sentenced to the penitentiary for five years. when he came to the state's prison he brought his religion with him. for two years this man performed his duties faithfully. he soon gained the good will of the officers. he was a true christian man; he showed it in his life while in prison. after awhile his religion got the better of him; he could not control his emotions. often during the chapel services, when the convicts were singing their christian songs, overcome by his feelings, frank would weep like a child. time passed. it was a bright sabbath morning. the prisoners were marching out of the cell houses to the chapel, to attend divine service. all nature seemed to be rejoicing. frank could not longer restrain himself. the glowing sunshine has much to do with causing a man's religion to boil over. all of a sudden, clapping his hands, frank shouted at the top of his voice, "glory to god in the highest i peace on earth, good will to men!" this was too much for the discipline of the prison. convicts are expected to keep quiet. a couple of officers seized him and led him back into the cell house, where he was placed in a cell of the insane ward and was called a religious crank. he remained in this cell for the following eighteen months. he told me afterward these were the happiest months of his life. he would read his bible, sing, pray, and exhort the officers to be religious. the deputy warden would often tell him that when he could control his religion enough to keep quiet he should be taken out of the insane ward and sent to work again. when eighteen months had passed he concluded he could keep quiet, and so informed the deputy warden. he was immediately released from his place of confinement and went to work. while at work he was honest and quiet. his only trouble was, too much religion! months went by. his wife came to see him frequently. these visits were enjoyable affairs to them. on a certain friday his wife was to visit him. i met him the day before, and he was overjoyed at the prospect of seeing his wife the next day. she came. they had a joyful time. little did either think they should see each other in this life no more. when the hour of her departure came they separated not to meet again until in the world of perpetual sunshine. the next day this poor convict was taken with the prison fever, and in one short week he was a corpse. he died trusting in his saviour. the chaplain, speaking of this man's death, said if officers or convicts at death go from the kansas penitentiary to heaven, then frank rhodes was among the saved; he was a true christian man. after death his body was sent to his former home, holton, where it was buried. the following is my experience with a poor friendless colored boy who had a six years' sentence for burglary. i took the prison fever and was sent to the hospital. this colored convict was detailed as my nurse. he had been sick, but was then convalescent. he was very kind to me; because of this kindness and good care i began to like him. he seemed anxious to make me comfortable. "be kind to the sick and you will win their friendship." i was quite sick for two weeks, but began to recover slowly. about this time my nurse suffered a relapse. he grew worse and worse. the doctor gave him up. "bob must die," he said to the head nurse one day in my hearing. a day or two after this, bob, for that was the sick prisoner's name, sent for me to come to his couch. i sat down on the edge of his bed and asked him what he wanted. he said: "i am going to die, and want a friend. in all this wide world," continued he, "there is not a single human being that i can look upon as my friend." he then told me how he had lost his father and mother when a mere child, had drifted out into the world an orphan boy, got into bad company, into crime and into prison. as i sat there looking into the face of that little darkey, i thought how sad his lot must be, and my sympathies were aroused. i said, "bob, is there anything i can do for you? i am your friend, and will do all i can to aid you." i spoke words of encouragement, and tried to cheer him up by saying that i thought he would not die. in this i used a little deceit, but it was to assuage his grief. i really thought he would die very soon. then he told me what he wanted. he said, "i am going to die; my angel mother came to my bedside last night; i saw her as plainly as i see you now. she said she was coming soon to take me out of prison and out of this world of sorrow. yes, i am going to die, but i am afraid to cross the dark river. when i am dying i want you to sit by my bedside, take hold of my hand and go with me down the vale of death as far as possible. it will do me so much good. will you do this for me? it is the only favor i ask." i told him i would only be too glad to do so if it would aid him in the moment when life shrinks from the shadow of death, but told him i thought he would not die--another little fib on my part. however, that did no harm, for i failed to convince him he would live. about o'clock a. m. a couple of nights after this, one of the watchers came to my cot and said bob wanted to see me immediately. i felt his time had come. hastily dressing, i went to his bedside. i found him dying. i sat down by his side and took his hand in mine. i was going with him to the dark river. he pressed my hand and a smile of satisfaction passed over his countenance. he said, "you are so kind." i spoke words of hope and encouragement suitable to the time and occasion. i sat thus for some little time; his limbs grew cold; his eyes became glassy; the death dew was dampening his brow. it was evident he would soon breathe his last. poor, helpless, friendless negro! what was your life's mission? many similar pious thoughts flitted through my mind. without a friend! among all the millions of earth he could not call one by the endearing name of friend! sad, sad thought! after i had remained there some time, expecting every breath to be his last, what was my astonishment to discover his hands and limbs growing warmer. the crisis of his disease was passed. no dark river this time! soon his "glassy" eyes were closed, and in a few moments he began to snore! disappointed, i dropped that black "paw," and went back to my cot. that little darkey is still alive. he often asked me after that if i wanted to take another trip down to "de da'k ribbah!" the prisoners who die in the penitentiary are buried in the graveyard of the institution, unless they have friends who will pay for the removal of the body. just outside the prison walls is the cemetery. its location is a walnut grove in a deep ravine. the first graves were dug near the eastern side of the cemetery and as near to each other as possible. as fast as this space is filled with graves it is covered over many feet deep with the slate and dirt taken from the coal mines, a few yards distant. beneath this rubbish will the prisoners sleep until the trump shall sound and the dead arise. prisoners dying are dressed in a neat suit of black clothes, if the body is to be forwarded to the friends; otherwise, the burial suit consists of a cotton shirt and a pair of drawers of the same material. the coffin is very plain, and is made in one of the prison shops. chapter vii. escapes from prison occasionally there is a man shrewd enough to make his escape from prison. when a convict has almost served out his time he is generally selected to perform the duties of a "trusty," and allowed to go outside the prison enclosure. by good conduct other prisoners gain the confidence of the officials, and there are instances where these men, though they may have several months to serve, are permitted to go beyond the walls, doing duty for the prison. but they are rare. generally a convict, if he has long to serve, is not trusted to any great extent. at times these "trusties," although they may have but a few weeks to remain, cannot successfully resist the temptation to escape. ordinarily the escaped convict is overtaken and brought back. i recollect an instance where two young fellows were thus trusted. one of them had two months to serve, and the other but twenty-seven days. they were given employment at the reservoir, over a mile from the prison. no officer was guarding them. they made an attempt to get away. after being absent a few hours they were missed from their post of duty. the alarm was given, and officers started in pursuit. they were overtaken and caught about five miles distant, hid in the brush. they had concealed themselves in this place, intending to make their escape in the darkness of the coming night. the officers in search accidentally came upon them in this brush patch. they were taken back to prison. they were compelled to work for thirty days with a ball and chain attached to each of their limbs, after which they were taken to leavenworth, to the district court, where they plead guilty to the charge of attempting to escape from the prison. each of them received a sentence of one year at hard labor in the penitentiary for this foolishness. after their present sentence has expired, they will have to enter immediately upon the other for trying to escape. at this writing, both of these convicts are digging coal in the mines. they are not trusted now. another prisoner, a much older man than these two whom i have described, tried to escape; he got as far as ohio before the officers secured him. during the late rebellion this man was a captain in the army. he became involved in a quarrel with some of his relatives and was sent to the penitentiary for forgery. on account of his previous good character, on coming to the penitentiary he was immediately set to work as a "trusty." some few months after he was sent to the missouri river, over a mile from the prison, to do some work. no officer was with him. going down to the banks of the river he discovered a boat tied to the shore. in a subsequent conversation, he told me when he saw that boat it suggested the thought of escaping. his wife and children were in the state of ohio. they had removed there since his conviction. "the boat," said he, "seemed to say, 'get in and cross the river.' i thought of my family. oh, how i longed to be with them! i could not resist the temptation. i had some old overalls, and i drew these on over the stripes. i got into the boat, rowed across, and hid in the woods on the missouri side until night. during the night-time i walked, and during the daytime would lay by in the woods, occasionally going out to a house begging something to eat. at last i reached my home in ohio. i was footsore and almost starved when i arrived." continuing his narrative, he informed me that he had no peace of mind. he was in constant dread of pursuing officers. every man he saw he took to be a detective in search of him. at last, so great was his alarm and uneasiness, that he telegraphed the prison officials where he was. the warden went and brought him back, for punishment he remained in the dungeon several days and nights, and wore the ball and chain for over a month. this man has not been tried yet for making his escape. it will probably be overlooked because of the change in the prison administration. his original sentence was five years. another prisoner made his escape, was away for five years; was then discovered, brought back, and is at present eight hundred feet below the surface, digging coal. one day a young man was brought to the penitentiary under three years' sentence. he was handsome and had winning ways. it was not long before the officers had learned to like him. he was a natural confidence man. it was difficult to resist his influence. after he had been in the penitentiary a short time he was made a "trusty." for awhile he was very dutiful and obedient. he was no fool. he gained the confidence of the officers so that many of them would have confided their pocketbooks to his care. he was permitted to go beyond the prison walls to quite a distance. finally he walked off. that convict has never been heard of since. he was a slick one. after his departure it was found out that he had walked away from the colorado prison in the same manner. the following is an instance of the shrewdness practiced in effecting escapes. a hog-thief was convicted and sent to the prison. he related that while traveling through the southern part of kansas, a mere tramp, passing by a farmer's residence, he saw a number of hogs in a lot adjoining a grove some distance to the rear of the house. passing up through the grove, unperceived, he removed one of the boards and drove the hogs out through the woods into a small pond where they covered themselves with mud. then driving them around on to the main traveled road, he started with them for town some five miles off. as he was driving along the highway, the owner of the hogs met him and inquired where he was taking them. he replied that he was going to market. the farmer said he was making up a car load and would give him as much as he could get in town. after some further conversation the parties agreed upon the price, the farmer buying his own hogs from the tramp, who went on his way rejoicing. an hour or two thereafter the farmer, going out into his field to see his hogs, found they were gone, and upon examining those recently purchased, which by this time had rubbed all the mud off, he discovered it was his own hogs he had purchased from the tramp. he immediately set out in pursuit of the thief, whose whereabouts were soon determined. the thief, after receiving the money, went to town, took a train, but stopped off at a little place nearby, and instead of secreting himself for a time, began to drink. while dissipating he was overtaken, arrested, and held for trial. had he left whisky alone, he could have escaped. at the trial, which soon followed, he was convicted of grand larceny, and on his arrival at the prison was immediately put into the coal mines. after working there for a week or ten days he became dissatisfied, and decided to secure a position on the surface. one morning, as the prisoners were being let down into the mines, apparently in a fit he fell into the arms of a prisoner; when he landed at the bottom he was in the worst part of his spasm; the officer in charge ordered him sent to the top as soon as he had partially recovered, stating that it was dangerous to have a man working in the mines who was subject to fits, as he might not only kill himself but be the cause of the death of others with him in the cage. to make his case more plausible, when the convict learned that the officer had ordered him to the top, he began pleading to remain in the mines and work, stating that he enjoyed the work and would rather do service there than on the top. but the officer persisted; he was sent up and reported to the deputy warden, who set him to quarrying rock. this was no better job than working in the coal mines. providing himself for the occasion, by putting a piece of soap in his mouth, assuming a frenzy and frothing at the mouth, he would almost deceive a physician as to the nature of his malady. later, it was decided that he was unable to do duty on the rock pile, and was placed in the "crank house" with the cranks. those prisoners, who have either lost their mind or are suffering with temporary insanity, not incurable insane, or wholly idiotic, are classed as "cranks," and have an apartment by themselves. as a rule this class of individuals are harmless and not guarded very closely. their cells are not locked up until nine o'clock at night; the others at six o'clock. during the noon hour the officers leave them alone, in fact, being of a supposed harmless disposition they are at no time closely guarded. this fellow improved the opportunities afforded by the noon hour. he would go into one of the towers and work as long as he dared cutting the bars with a saw he had made out of a knife. he labored in this manner until one of the bars was sawed so near off that a little push would remove it. one afternoon he bade the other cranks good-bye, telling them he was going to fly that night. they made sport of him, thinking he was growing more insane. he went so far as to say good-bye to the officer, stating that he had received a revelation from god the previous night, and that an angel was coming to liberate him. the officer, of course, thought he was getting more and more insane. when night came he slipped out of his cell and secreted himself in a portion of the cell house where it was dark, and when the officer came to lock up, the crazy hog-thief was not missed. along in the night he pushed aside the bars and made his escape. this was the last the prison authorities heard of him until they learned he was arrested at st. joseph, missouri, and held there on a charge of grand larceny for the same thing that he was in the kansas penitentiary--stealing hogs. an officer went up there to get and bring him back to the kansas penitentiary, but the st. joseph authorities refused to give him up. he was tried there and sent to the missouri penitentiary. after his term expires in that place he will have to serve out his original term in the kansas penitentiary. "the way of the transgressor is hard," even if he does pretend to have fits. one of the most interesting and perilous attempts at escaping from the penitentiary was the following: in the evening, after the day's work is over in the mines, the convicts are all lifted to the top, as before stated, and remain in their cells over night. one saturday night a convict, with a twenty years' sentence, resolved that he would remain in the mines, and try to effect his escape. he had supplied himself with an extra lot of bread and meat, and hid himself in the darkness of the mines when the men were marched out in the evening at six o'clock. when the count of the prisoners was made at the evening lock up, this man was found missing. as he had not been seen since the prisoners were taken from the mines, it was believed, correctly, that he had remained below. there was nothing done about the matter that night, the officers knowing there would be no opportunity of effecting his escape during the night-time, as they had carefully closed the shafts at the top. they did not set any watch until the next day. during that saturday night this convict climbed eight hundred feet to the top of one of the shafts. the wooden beams running across the shaft are about five feet apart. standing erect on one of these beams he threw his arms over the one above his head, and would swing up to it. in this manner he worked his way to the top of the shaft. when he reached the surface how great was his disappointment, for instead of finding the shaft open, as he supposed it would be, he found that the cover was down and that he was unable to get out of the shaft, and thus out of the coalfields into the woods adjoining. when he discovered this there was nothing to do but descend, this was a perilous undertaking. the cross-beams were covered with oil which, dripping down from the machinery above, made them very slippery. a number of times he came near falling, and if he had done so, he would have reached the bottom a mangled mass. it required nearly the entire night for the ascent and descent. when he reached the bottom he took a lunch of bread and meat, went to the base of the other shaft, which is about one hundred yards distant, and began his ascent of it, with the hope he would find it open. it was daylight when he reached the top. two officers had been stationed there to watch him. arriving at the surface and just ready to get out, they took charge of, and marched him into the presence of the deputy warden. when the convict related the narrow escapes from death in his efforts for liberty, the deputy warden was so affected he refused to punish him. out in the world, with the blessings of liberty all around us, we do not realize the priceless boon they are to us; but when we stand in the presence of the perils that are undertaken in order to gain them when deprived of their benefits, we begin to comprehend the real value of these sacred immunities of citizenship. chapter viii. the prisoners thinking that it may be interesting to some of my readers, i will now give, in brief form as possible, a history of some of the most noted inmates of the penitentiary. female convicts he must be of a very unsympathizing nature who does not feel for his brother, who, though sinful and deserving, is imprisoned, and excluded from the society of friends. while we are sad when we behold our fellowmen in chains and bondage, how much sadder do we become when, passing through the prisons, we behold those of the same sex with our sisters, wives and mothers. in this land, blessed with the most exalted civilization, woman receives our highest regard, affection and admiration. while she occupies her true sphere of sister, wife or mother, she is the true man's ideal of love, purity and devotion. when, overcome by temptation, she falls from her exalted sphere, not only do men feel the keenest sorrow and regret, but, if it is possible, the angels of god weep. in the kansas penitentiary, just outside the high stone wall, but surrounded by a tight board fence some fifteen feet high, stands a stone structure--the female prison. in this lonely place, the stone building, shut out from society, there are thirteen female prisoners. during the week these women spend their time in sewing, patching and washing. but very few visitors are allowed to enter this department, so that the occupants are permitted to see very few people. their keepers are a couple of christian ladies, who endeavor to surround them with all the sunshine possible. for these inmates the week consists of one continual round of labor. it is wash, patch and sew from one year's end to the other. the sabbath is spent in reading and religious exercises. in the afternoon the chaplain visits them and preaches a discourse. several of these women are here for murder. when a woman falls she generally descends to the lowest plane. a few days before i was discharged, there came to the prison a little old grandmother, seventy years of age. she had lived with her husband fifty-two years, was the mother of ten children, and had fifteen grand-children. she and her aged husband owned a very beautiful farm and were in good circumstances, probably worth $ , . her husband died very suddenly. she was accused of administering poison. after the funeral, she went over into missouri to make her home with one of her married daughters. she had not been there but a short time when her eldest son secured a requisition, and had his aged mother brought back to kansas and placed on trial for murder. she was convicted. the sentence imposed, was one year in the penitentiary, and at the end of which time she was to be hung by the neck until dead, which in kansas is equivalent to a life sentence. the old woman will do well if she lives out one year in prison. she claims that her eldest son desires her property, and that was the motive which induced him to drag her before the tribunal of justice to swear her life away, during her long life of three score and ten years, this was the only charge against her character for anything whatever. she always bore a good name and was highly esteemed in the neighborhood in which she lived. another important female prisoner is mary j. scales. she is sixty-five years of age, and is called aunt mary in the prison. she is also a murderess. she took the life of her husband, and was sentenced to be hung april , . her sentence was commuted to a life imprisonment. for eighteen years this old woman has been an inmate of the kansas penitentiary. while she is very popular inside the prison, as all the officers and their families are very fond of aunt mary, it seems that she has but few, if any, friends on the outside. several old men have been pardoned since this old woman was put into prison, and if any more murderers are to be set at liberty, it is my opinion that it will soon be aunt mary's turn to go out into the world to be free once more. mrs. henrietta cook this woman was twenty-five years of age when she came to the kansas penitentiary to serve out a life's sentence. she was charged with having poisoned her husband. for fifteen years she remained in close confinement, at the end of which time she received a pardon, it being discovered that she was innocent. when mrs. cook entered the prison she was young and beautiful, but when she took her departure she had the appearance of an old, broken-down woman. fifteen years of imprisonment are sufficient to bring wrinkles to the face, and change the color of the hair to gray. this prisoner made the mistake of her life in getting married. she, a young woman, married an old man of seventy. she was poor, he was rich. after they had been married a short time she awoke one morning to find her aged husband a corpse at her side. during the night he had breathed his last. the tongue of gossip soon had it reported that the young and beautiful wife had poisoned her husband to obtain his wealth, that she might spend the rest of her days with a younger and handsomer man, after burial the body was exhumed and examined. the stomach showed the presence of arsenic in sufficient quantity to produce death. the home of the deceased was searched and a package of the deadly poison found. she was tried, and sufficient circumstantial evidence produced to secure her conviction, and she was sent to prison for life. a short time before this sad event happened, a young drug clerk took his departure from the town where the cook family resided, where he had been employed in a drug store, and took up his abode in california. after fifteen years of absence he returned. learning of the cook murder, he went before the board of pardons and made affidavit that the old gentleman was in the habit of using arsenic, and that while a clerk in the drug store he had sold him the identical package found in the house. other evidence was adduced supporting this testimony, and the board of pardons decided that the husband had died from an overdose of arsenic taken by himself and of his own accord. the wife was immediately pardoned. how is she ever to obtain satisfaction for her fifteen years of intense suffering. the great state of kansas should pension this poor woman, who now is scarcely able to work; and juries in the future should not be so fast in sending people to the penitentiary on flimsy, circumstantial evidence. the other female prisoners are nearly all in for short terms, and the crime laid to their charge is that of stealing. indians in the penitentiary john washington and simmons wolf are two young indians tried and convicted in the u. s. district court on the charge of rape. they were sentenced to be hung. after conviction these indians were taken to the penitentiary to await the day set for their execution. in the meantime an application was made to the president to change the sentence of death to that of life imprisonment. the change was made. these two indians were placed in the coal mines on their arrival, where they are at the present time getting out their daily task of coal. they both attend the school of the prison, and are learning very rapidly. prior to this, washington served out a one-year sentence in the detroit house of correction for stealing. he is a bad indian. at present there are fourteen indians incarcerated in the kansas penitentiary. the indian pines for his liberty more than the white man or negro. the burdens of imprisonment are therefore greater for him to bear. one young indian was sent to the penitentiary whose history is indeed touching. ten indians had been arrested in the territory by u. s. marshals for horse-stealing. they were tried and convicted in the u. s. district court. their sentence was one year in the state's prison. on their arrival at the penitentiary they were sent to the mines to dig coal. this was a different business from being supported by the government and stealing horses as a diversion. the indians soon wanted to go home. one of them was unable to get out his task of coal. the officer in charge thought he was trying to shirk his work and reported him to the deputy warden. the young indian was placed in the dungeon. he remained there several days and nights. he begged piteously to get out of that hole of torture. finally the officers released him and sent him back to the mines. while in the dungeon he contracted a severe cold. he had not been in the mines more than a couple of days, after being punished, when he gave suddenly out and was sent to the hospital, where in a few days he died. that young indian was murdered, either in that dungeon or in the mines. a few weeks before, he came to the penitentiary from roaming over the prairies, a picture of health. it did not take long for the kansas penitentiary to "box him up" for all time to come. he now sleeps "in the valley," as the prison graveyard is called. another one of the same group did not fare quite so badly as his associate. the one i am now describing was sent with the rest of his companions to the bottom of the mines. he remained there during the first day. a short time after he went down on the following morning he became sick. he began to cry. the officer in charge sent him to the surface. he was conducted to the cell-house officer, mr. elliott. i was on duty that day in the cell house, and mr. elliott, on the arrival of the indian, ordered me to show him to the hospital. after we had started on our journey from the cell house to the hospital building to see the doctor, and had got out of hearing of the officer, i said, "injun, what's the matter with you?" this question being asked, he began to "boo-hoo" worse than ever, and, rubbing his breast and sides with his hands, said, between his sobs, "me got pecce ecce." i was not indian enough to know what "pecce ecce" meant. in a few moments we reached the hospital building, and i conducted my charge into the nicely furnished room of the prison physician, and into the immediate presence of that medical gentleman. removing my cap, and making a low bow, as required, i said, "dr. nealley, permit me to introduce a representative of the oklahoma district, who needs medical attention." while i was relieving myself of this little declamation the young indian was standing at my side sobbing as if he had recently buried his mother. "reynolds, what is the matter with him?" asked the doctor. i then turned to my charge and said, "injun, tell the doctor what ails you." mister indian then began rubbing his sides and front, with tears rolling down his face, and sobbing like a whipped school-boy, he exclaimed, "me got pecce ecce." "there, doctor," said i, "you have it. this indian has got that dreadful disease known as 'pecce ecce. '" the physician, somewhat astonished, frankly informed me that he never had heard of such a disease before. i was in a similar boat, for i had never heard of such words prior to this. the sick indian was unable to talk the language of the white man. the doctor then sent down into the mines for another of the indians who could speak english and had acted as an interpreter. on entering the office, the doctor said to him, "elihu," for that was his name, "this indian says he has an attack of pecce ecce. now what does he mean by that?" during all this time the sick indian kept rubbing his body and sobbing. what was our great astonishment and amusement when the interpreter informed us that "pecce ecce" meant nothing more nor less than "belly-ache." the doctor administered the proper remedy for this troublesome disease, and the indian was sent back to the mines. he had not dug coal more than an hour when he had another attack, and began his crying, and was sent to the top. he kept this up until he wore out the patience of the officers, and they finally decided to take him out of the mines altogether and give him work at the surface. even here, every few minutes the indian would have an attack of "pecce ecce," and would start for the hospital. at last, the chaplain, taking pity on the poor outcast, wrote to president cleveland, and putting the case in a very strong light, was successful in securing a pardon for the indian. that "cheeky" red youth was no fool. he belly-ached himself out of that penitentiary. i trust i may never have to spend any more of my time in prison. if i do, i think about the first day i will get a dose of "pecce ecce," and keep it up, and see if i can't get a pardon. male prisoners ed. stanfield.--the history of this prisoner is as follows: he was about nineteen years of age when he entered the prison, which was some five years ago. his people reside in south bend, indiana. his father, prior to his death, was a prominent judge. the family was wealthy, influential and highly respected. it consisted of the parents and two sons. ed. proved to be the black lamb of the flock. at the early age of nine years, being sent away to school, he bade all good-bye one day and followed in the wake of a circus show which was holding forth in the town where he was attending school, he was not heard of anymore for several years. his parents spent vast sums of money attempting to ascertain his whereabouts. they finally heard of him in the following accidental manner: his father, judge stanfield, had been out in nebraska looking after some land he had recently purchased, and, on his return home, sitting in the cars, purchased a newspaper of the newsboy as he came around. looking over the paper he caught the name of his prodigal son. there, before him, was the account of his son who, having knocked down a prosecuting attorney in broad daylight with a coupling pin, with the intention of robbery, had been tried, convicted and sentenced to the penitentiary for ten years, and was on that day safely lodged behind the walls. the sad father, on reaching home, dispatched his elder son to the kansas prison to ascertain if it was his younger son who was a convict. the young man came on and soon satisfied himself of the identity of the long-lost brother. he returned home and made the report to his parents. from that day judge stanfield was a broken-hearted man. he soon grieved himself to death over the sad fate of his boy, and the disgrace he had brought upon the family. in making his will, however, he gave ed. an equal share in the estate with his brother. after the death of the father, the mother began to put forth efforts to secure a pardon for her son. his crime was so heinous and so uncalled for that it was necessary for some time to elapse before an application was presented. at the earliest moment possible the wheel began to turn. the prosecuting attorney of bourbon county, who had been knocked down with an iron coupling pin, was soon satisfied, for the family had wealth. it is of course unknown how much money was passed to him to make his heart tender and his eyes weep over the erring child that had come so near getting away with his gold watch and chain. a petition was soon in circulation for his release, signed by many prominent citizens. an open pocketbook will easily secure a petition for pardon, it makes but little difference as to the "gravamen" of the crime. the convict promised not to engage again in this pleasant pastime for filthy lucre. the mother of the young man came on from the east and remained until she had secured a pardon for her boy. the young man stated in our hearing that it took one thousand big dollars to secure his pardon. a great many who are acquainted with the facts in the case are not slow in saying that if stanfield had been a poor, friendless boy, he never would have received a pardon, but would have had to serve his time out. there are more than five hundred men in that prison whose crimes are of a less serious nature, and who are far more deserving of executive clemency than stanfield. it is said that "rocks talk" in the penitentiaries as well as on the outside. the history of this criminal will show my boy readers the future of many of those who, in early youth, ran away from home, and go out into the world to mingle in bad company. cyrenius b. hendricks.--this man was sent from chatauqua county. he was twenty-seven years of age when sentenced. his crime was murder in the first degree. the particulars are as follows: he had been down to the indian territory looking after his own and his father's cattle. he was absent on this business some little time. on his return his wife informed him that a neighbor had been talking about her in his absence, and had given her a bad character, and that on account of it she had become the talk of the entire neighborhood. the enraged husband compels his wife to go with him, and they proceed to the neighbor's house. hendricks took his gun with him. when they reached the neighbor's gate they halted and called the unsuspecting man out of his home. hendricks then asked him if the charges were true as to his talking about mrs. hendricks. the neighbor neither affirmed nor denied the statement. at this hendricks leveled his gun and shot him dead on the spot. he and his wife in a few hours after were arrested, and, as it was too late to take them to the county seat that night, they were guarded in an old log house in the neighborhood. hendricks was fastened to the wall with a log-chain. during the night some one, supposed to be the brother of the murdered man, came to the window of the house in which they were confined, and, placing the muzzle of a gun through the window, shot hendricks. the ball struck him near one of the eyes, rendering him blind in that eye, but did not kill him. the next day the two prisoners were taken to jail. they were tried, and both found guilty of murder in the first degree. the husband was sentenced to be hanged, while the wife received a life sentence. they were both taken to the penitentiary. after they had been there a short time hendricks lost the other eye, from sympathy, as they call it. for a time the husband and wife remained on good terms. they were allowed to visit each other once a month. after a while she tired of him and would have nothing more to do with him. she served four years, and received a pardon. hendricks still remains in prison, and is a pitiable and helpless wreck. he is totally blind, and his nervous system entirely shattered. he can scarcely lift food to his mouth. he is so weak that it is with difficulty he walks about the prison park. an aged prisoner waits on him constantly to care for his wants, and to see that he does not commit suicide. abandoned by his wife and friends, left to his own sad fate, totally blind and physically helpless, he is another testimonial to the truth that "the way of the transgressor is hard," and it also illustrates how much trouble may arise from using that little member called the tongue in an indiscriminate manner. since my discharge from the prison i have learned of the death of hendricks. ed. miner.--one of the men whose history will be interesting to the general reader is ed. miner. this man is forty-nine years of age. he served in the missouri penitentiary two years on the charge and conviction of assault and battery with intent to kill. after the expiration of his sentence, drifting down the current of crime, he next embarked in stealing horses. he was arrested, tried and convicted. he received a five years' sentence, served his time, and went out into the world a free man. again falling into bad company, he tries his hand once more at the same old trade of riding fast horses, is again caught, tried, convicted, and received another sentence of five years in the prison, which he is now serving out. as a prisoner, miner is one of the very best. he never violates a prison regulation and was never known to be punished. during the war he served his country faithfully for four years as a member of the th illinois infantry. at the close of the war, and just before the troops were discharged, one day on review, the governor of the state of illinois being present, miner was asked by the commanding officer to step from the ranks, and was introduced to the governor as the bravest and most daring man in the command. the governor gave him a hearty shake of the hand, and afterward sent him a neat little golden medal as a token of his esteem. miner now wears this suspended on a small gold chain about his neck. he is very proud of it. one of our prison officers, mr. elliott, was in the army with miner, and says there never was a braver man. it may be a surprise to the reader that such a brave man, such a bold defender of his country's rights, would now be filling a felon's cell. the answer to this is easily given. it is all contained in the one word--liquor. miner loves strong drink, and when he is under its influence appears to have no sense. he is then ready for the commission of any offense, ready to participate in any kind of deviltry. were it not for this baneful appetite there is every reason to believe he would be a highly respected citizen. i asked him one day what he would do when he got out. his reply was, "i don't know; if i could not get the smell of whisky i could be a man; it has downed me so many times that i fear my life is now a wreck; the future looks dreary; awful dreary." with this remark ed. went away to attend to his duties. my eyes followed the old soldier, and, reader, do you blame me when i say to you that from within my heart there came forth the earnest desire that god in some way would save that man, who, away from strong drink and the influence of wicked companions, is a good-hearted, generous man. gordon skinner.--a young man of twenty, possessed of an innocent, boyish appearance, whom none would take for a murderer, was sent up from ellis county. his victim was andrew ericson, a respectable and worthy citizen about thirty-seven years of age. skinner claims the shooting was purely accidental; that he was carelessly handling a six-shooter when it went off, the ball striking ericson. he claims, also, that he and his victim were good friends, and that he never had any intention of killing him. the other side of the story is that there lived near hayes city a beautiful girl, and that skinner and ericson were rivals for her heart and hand. ericson, being much older than young skinner, possessed of some property, and doubtless more skillful in the art of winning hearts, was beginning to crowd his rival to the wall. young skinner, not being able to endure the sight of his fair one being thus ruthlessly torn away by an old bachelor of thirty-seven, met him one day and the two engaged in a spirited controversy, when skinner drew his revolver and shot him. ericson lived several days afterward. just before death, ericson begged of his friends not to have skinner arrested, stating he was not to blame. skinner, moneyless, friendless, a comparative stranger in the neighborhood, his people all residing in phillips county, this state, and, with the prejudices of the ericson people against him, was tried, convicted and sentenced to twenty years' imprisonment. if the board of pardons ever takes the trouble to investigate this case, with a view of tempering justice with mercy, they will find it worthy. skinner is a good prisoner, and has ingratiated himself in the good opinion of the officers. but the weight of a twenty years' term is heavy, and is visibly affecting his health. death should not be left to accomplish what the board of pardons should take pleasure in doing. this delicate boy should be sent home to his parents. freaks of justice robert w. corey was sent from wyandotte county with a sentence of three years for stealing cattle. this is a remarkable case. corey is a blind man, and had been totally blind for thirteen months prior to his arrival at the prison; he was a taxidermist, and some years ago had taken a contract for furnishing stuffed birds for the museum of the agricultural college of ames; iowa. this business requires the use of arsenic; carelessly handling it destroyed his eyesight. how a man, blind as he is, and was, at the commission of the alleged offense, could drive off and sell these cattle, is a mystery. the man who swore that he committed the theft is now an inmate of the institution, sent here for stealing since the arrival of blind corey. this man now says that he is not positive that corey took the cattle. on the trial, however, he swore it was corey, and that he was positive of that fact! about the the truth of the matter is, he was the villain that took the cattle and swore it on the blind man. corey has only a few months to remain in prison at this writing. it is terrible to heap such a disgrace upon as helpless a creature as corey. his case calls to mind another in the penitentiary. he is a colored man who cannot write, by the name of thomas green, from fort scott, serving out a five years' sentence for forging a check for $ , . he was tried, convicted, and sentenced. taking an appeal to the supreme court, the judgment of the lower court was set aside; but at his second trial, he was found guilty again, and is now in prison serving out his sentence. how can one commit the crime of forgery who cannot write? probably some "smart aleck" of a district judge can explain. i admit that it is beyond my powers of comprehension. it may be law, but there is not much common sense in it. oh! righteous judge! gus arndt is the next. the history of this man will show the freaks of whisky when enclosed in the hide of a raw dutchman. gus came to this country a number of years ago, and went to work for his uncle in wabaunsee county. not being able to speak english, his uncle took advantage of him, no doubt, for he paid him only ten dollars a month for his services as a farm hand during the summer season, and nothing but his board during the winter. gus remained here for some time, three or four years, working at these wages. he had learned and could understand and speak english a little. one day as he was pitching grain in the field an irishman came by who resided on a farm a few miles distant. needing a hand and noticing that arndt handled himself in a satisfactory manner, he offered him twenty dollars per month to go and work for him. arndt accepted his proposition, and agreed to report at the irishman's farm the following monday, this being thursday when the bargain was made. that night the german settled up with his uncle, and received the balance of his wages, some $ . he had been in america long enough to reach that point in our civilization that, after working awhile, and getting a balance ahead, he must take a rest and go on a "spree." he started for the nearest town. for a couple of days he fared sumptuously, constantly drinking. he at length reached a point below zero. half crazed, he staggers off to the fence across the way where the farmers who had come to town to do their shopping on saturday had hitched their teams, and, untying a horse that was hitched to a buggy, gus thought he would take a ride. lumbering into the buggy, as a drunken man can, he drove down the main street of the town in broad daylight and out into the country. in an hour or so the owner getting ready to return, misses his horse and buggy. making numerous inquiries about them and getting nothing satisfactory, he places the matter in the hands of a sheriff, who commences a search for the missing property. not finding it in town he sends men out on the roads leading to the country, himself taking one. in a very short time he overtakes the noted horse-thief. gus was sitting in the buggy sound asleep; the lines were hanging down over the dashboard, and the old horse was marching along at a snail's pace. he was out some two miles from town, and, no doubt, had traveled at this gait all the way. he was faced about, and, assisted by the sheriff, drove back to town. he was then placed under arrest and sent to jail, subsequently had his trial, and for this little drive was sent to the penitentiary for five years. of a more unjust sentence i never heard. gus served his time out and a better behaved person was never behind the walls. when he regained his liberty, instead of returning to wabaunsee county, and to his uncle's house, he finds his way to marysville, kansas. here reside a number of prosperous german farmers, and the ex-convict soon got work. when he applied for work he forgot to tell his employer that he had just finished up a contract for the state of kansas. some months had elapsed and gus had worked hard and industriously, had accumulated a neat little sum of money, and began to feel happy once more. at this time a man passed through the country that was acquainted with arndt's antecedents, and being a dirty dog he thought it was his duty to inform the farmer that his hired man was an ex-convict, horse-thief and a desperado of the worst type. some men are so officious and are so anxious to do their duty when it is in their power to injure a fellow-man who is trying to earn an honest living. gus immediately got the "bounce." he was informed by his employer that he did not want to make his home a harbor for horse-thieves. gus took his wages and clothes and started for marysville. he could not bear the idea of being discharged because of his former misfortune. he again applies to the bottle for consolation. he goes on another spree. when crazed with liquor he acted just as he did before; he goes to a hitching post, and unties a team of horses attached to a buggy. one of the horses had had its leg broken at some former time, and was almost worthless, while the other one was very old. he seemed to select the very worst team he could find. maybe it was the buggy he was after! he was probably very tired and wanted an easy place to rest. he unhitched them just as if they had been his own. it was in the afternoon. the streets were full of people. gus crawled into the buggy in his half drunken manner and started off down the road. when found by the sheriff some two hours after he had gone, about half a mile from town, the old horses were standing at one side of the road and the drunken dutchman was lying in the buggy sound asleep, with one bottle of whisky uncorked, the contents of which had run out and over his clothes, and another bottle in his pocket untouched. he had evidently gone out for a drive. he was taken to jail, and the news soon spread that he was an ex-convict and horse-thief. he was tried on a charge of stealing horses, and was returned to the penitentiary for a term of two years. here were seven years' service for two drunks! ancient jacob, "how tuff!" after gus had completed his narration to me he wound up by saying, "ven i shall oudt git this time, i let von visky alones." bovine trouble woodward r. lopeman was sent up from neosho county for murder in the first degree. under his sentence he was to be hanged at the close of the first year. this part of the sentence is never carried out in kansas. the particulars of his crime are as follows: he was a well-to-do farmer residing in neosho county, and never had any difficulty to amount to anything before this time. he was an old soldier and served his country faithfully and bravely for four years. for some trivial cause he and one of his neighbors had a little difficulty, but it was thought nothing would ever come of it, as each of them had been advised by their friends to bury their animosity before it should lead to graver results. lopeman seemed willing to do this, but his irate neighbor would not meet him half way. one day a calf of lopeman's, worth but a few dollars, got through the fence and over into his neighbor's pasture. word was sent to the owner of the calf that if he would come over and pay damages for the trouble of penning it up he could have his property. this had a tendency to arouse a bad feeling in the heart of lopeman; so, placing his revolver in his pocket, and asking his grown up son to accompany him, they went to the house of the neighbor and directly to the lot where the calf was shut in and commenced to lay down the bars to let it out, when the neighbor came from the house with his son, and lopeman was ordered to leave the bars alone. the neighbor, who was a strong, muscular man, proceeded to chastise lopeman; the two sons also got ready for an encounter. lopeman, being by far the smaller man of the two, began to retreat slowly as his enemy advanced brandishing a club. when almost near enough lopeman to strike him with the uplifted club, lopeman, in self-defense, as he claims, drew his revolver and shot him. he fell lifeless to the ground. the son of the murdered man perceiving what was done, ran quickly into the house, and getting a double-barreled shotgun, came out and fired twice at lopeman and his son. the shots did not take effect. lopeman fired two shots at him. at this the son retired into the house, and lopeman and son taking the almost worthless calf, which had been the cause of so much trouble, went to their home. lopeman then went to the county seat and gave himself up to the authorities. as soon as the news spread over the neighborhood, excitement ran high and there was loud talk of lynching. the murdered man was very popular. his old neighbors smelled blood, and it was with some difficulty that they were prevented from taking the law into their own hands. better judgment prevailed, however, and after six months the trial came off and the murderer was convicted and sentenced as aforesaid. this man was my cell mate. he is something over sixty years of age, of medium height, and during his younger days must have been very hard to handle. the first evening we occupied the cell together he told me of all his troubles, and i learned from his own lips that i was to room with a murderer. i felt i would much rather be at home, than locked in that x cell with a man whose hands were dyed with the blood of his neighbor. my alarm somewhat subsided when the time came for retiring. the old man, as solemnly as the apostle paul would have done, took down the bible, read a few verses, and then knelt down and prayed. i sat there in mute astonishment at the proceedings of this gray haired criminal. how was it possible for a man who was guilty of such a grave crime to be devout. he often told me that he had no consciousness whatever of guilt, nor the fear and dread of a murderer. i asked him if in his dreams he could not often see the face of his victim. with a shrug of the shoulders he admitted that he could. for six months this old man and myself occupied that small cell together, so small that it was very difficult for us to get by each other when the sleeping bunks were down. we never had the least trouble during the entire time. a kinder hearted man i never met. whenever he received any little delicacies from home he would always divide with me, and in such a cheerful spirit that i soon came to think a good deal of the old man. if we had both been on the outside world i would not have desired a kinder neighbor. his son, later on, was convicted as an accomplice, and sent up for two years. the old man has hopes of a pardon in a few years. he has a wife and several children who are highly respected and much beloved in the neighborhood where they reside. they have the sympathy of all their neighbors in this affliction and bereavement. whisky and women doc. crunk.--one of the many desperadoes now behind the prison walls of the kansas penitentiary is this noted texas outlaw. he is a native texan, now nearly fifty years of age. after years of crime he was finally caught in the indian territory while introducing whisky among the indians. he had his trial in the u. s. district court, was convicted and sent to the penitentiary for three years. for a time during the war he was a confederate soldier. becoming dissatisfied with the profession of arms, he deserted and entered upon the life of an outlaw. he gathered about him a few kindred spirits with which southern texas was infested, and organized a band of cattle and horse thieves. this band of banditti became so numerous that after a time it extended along the lower line of texas into the indian territory and up into kansas. their ravages were also felt in arkansas. they had a regular organized band, and stations where they could dispose of their stolen property. the cattle that were stolen were run to the frontiers and sold to cattlemen who were in collusion with them, and which latter were getting immensely rich out of the operations of these thieves. they would steal horses, run them off and sell them to buyers who knew they were purchasing stolen property. for years this gang flourished. another mode of securing stock was the following: a great many estrays would be taken up and advertised. in every instance some member of the crunk gang would claim the property under oath and take it away. the leader of these outlaws stood trial for nineteen different murders, and was acquitted each time. he could always prove an alibi. his assistants would come in and swear him clear every time. he was an intimate acquaintance and on friendly terms with the james boys, and related many trips that he had made with these noted and desperate men in their work of "seeking revenge," as he styled it. he has no love for a colored man, and as he works now in the prison with a number, pointing to them one day he said to me, "i wish i had a five-dollar note for each one of them black skunks i have killed since the wa'." he said he considered "a 'niggah' that wouldn't vote the way decent people wanted him to should not vote at all." said he: "i know of a number that will not vote any mo'. i saw them pass in their last ballot." "the most money, made the easiest and quickest, was made by our men," said he, "as moonshiners in montague county. we carried on this business successfully for a long time, but finally the u. s. marshals became too much for us, and we had to close up shop. we had several engagements with them; men were dropped on both sides, until finally we concluded to quit the business and return to our old trade of stealing cattle and horses. the way our moonshiner's nest was found out was very romantic. a young woman came into the district, and tried to get up a school, seemingly, but failed. i guess she did not try very hard to get scholars. at any rate she remained with a family in the neighborhood for some time, whom she claimed were her relatives. one of my men fell desperately in love with this young woman. he would be out riding with her, and, as none of us suspected anything, he would at times bring her over to our camp, and we taught her how to make whisky. she seemed deeply interested in the business. i told the boys several times that i was a little afraid of that 'gal,' but they laughed at me, and so i said, 'i can stand it if the rest of you can.' she even went so far as to become familiarly acquainted with all of us. we all got to thinking that she was a nice young woman, and her lover simply thought he had secured the finest prize in the world. but alas! at the proper time she fixed our camp. she proved to be a female detective from new york city. she gave away our fellows, and soon we were surrounded by a posse of u. s. marshals and their deputies. her lover was captured and is now in the texas penitentiary. several of our boys were killed or wounded, and those of us who escaped made up our minds to go back to the old cattle trade." "what are you going to do, doc.," said i, "when you get out of this place?" "going back to texas; hunt up the boys, and see if we can't find some more horses and cattle. one thing is certain i will never go to another penitentiary. i will swallow a dose of cold lead first." and, with this, the famous outlaw went off to his room in the mine to get out his task of coal to keep from being punished. of the nine hundred criminals in the prison, probably there is not one of them who has seen so much of a life of crime as the famous doc. crunk. eight times a convict thomas a. currens.--one of the most unique characters to be found in the striped ranks of the kansas penitentiary is that of the man who is herein described. this convict is fifty-two years of age, and a native of kentucky. his life, save a short time spent in the army, has been one of crime. he was a courageous lad. leaving his home at the early age of ten years, thus deprived of all parental protection and restraints, he formed bad associations, and soon his future career was in the direction of crime. the greater part of his boyhood was spent in city and county jails and reform schools. at the age of twenty-two years he was convicted on a charge of horse-stealing and sent to the frankfort, ky., penitentiary for six years. after serving four years he was pardoned by the legislature. he remained out of prison for the two following years. we next find him in "limbo" in indiana. he was arrested, and twenty different charges were preferred against him. by pleading guilty to the count of stealing a wagon, the court dismissed the other cases and gave him a sentence of three years at hard labor. he was taken to the state's prison. shortly after his arrival he was put to work running an engine during the night-time. after five months had passed away, thomas, reaching the conclusion that he did not enjoy watching over an engine during the lonely hours of the night, determined to escape. stealing an old suit of clothes belonging to an officer, which he drew on over his suit of stripes, he scaled the walls and was once more a free man. it was a cold winter's night. after traveling some distance through the woods his feet were almost frozen. daylight was now approaching. he must find a place of hiding during the coming day. in a few hours he would be missed at the penitentiary. the alarm being given, the usual reward being offered, scores would be on the lookout for him. approaching a farmyard, he sat down and cut up his striped pantaloons and wrapped up his almost frozen feet. he then crawled under a hay-stack. in this place he came near being discovered, for in a couple of hours the farmer came out to feed his cattle, and as chance would have it took the hay from the stack under which the convict was secreted. as he was removing the hay, several times prongs of the fork sank deep enough to penetrate the flesh of the runaway. he endured this pitchfork probing heroically while it lasted, and was thankful when the cattle had received sufficient provender. here he remained until nightfall. he did not renew his journey until the farmer and his family had retired and were in the land of dreams. almost starved, uninvited he enters the kitchen and helps himself to what he can find. his hunger being appeased, his old habit of taking things that he should leave alone, forced him into the bed-room of the sleeping farmer, and forced his hand into the pocket of the aforesaid granger's pantaloons, from which he took his pocketbook containing twenty dollars in money. he was now prepared for traveling. continuing his journey for several miles, becoming very tired, he decided not to walk any longer as there was so much good horse-flesh in the vicinity. near the hour of midnight, this weary tramp entered the farmyard of a wealthy old indiana farmer, and going into the barn led out one of his fleetest steeds. once more astride a good horse, thomas felt like a free man. during the rest of the night he made good headway, and by the morning sun was up the rider and horse were many miles away from the place where first they met. entering a small village, the horse was fed and nicely groomed. at the same time thomas partook of a good breakfast, which he heartily enjoyed. the fates seemed to favor the man of crime. it is an old saying: "the devil looks after his own." a horse-buyer had arrived in the village a few days before. when the noon train came whistling up to the station, the convict having converted his horse into one hundred and twenty-five dollars, purchased a new suit of clothes, a silk hat, and a pair of kid gloves, and, representing himself to be a traveling salesman, getting aboard, soon reaches chicago, where, soon after his arrival, he joined a band of crooks. he was never discovered by the indiana prison officials. fifteen years after his escape, he got a "pal" to wire the authorities of the indiana penitentiary, and inquired of them what reward they would pay for the return of thomas a. currens, a convict who had effected his escape many years before. an answer came that if he would remain out of the state, he would never be molested. wandering about several months after his escape, he arrives in sedalia, missouri. among other little articles he was accused of stealing at this place was an eight hundred dollar barouche, the property of judge ferguson, of that place. again this noted thief was arrested and confined in the county jail to await trial. he was not anxious for trial, for he knew the "yawning pen" was waiting to receive him. for eleven months he remained in this jail, having his trial continued from term to term. when his case was called up for the first time he feigned sickness. the next time one of the principal witnesses was absent, and thus for eleven months his case was continued. thomas now yearned for freedom. how to get out of that jail was the problem. another term of court would soon convene. he had no grounds for further continuance. fortune favored him. at this time a man was arrested and placed in the same cell with currens. the face of the new arrival was covered over with blotches. the next morning currens in a confidential manner stated to the sheriff that his cell mate had the small-pox. being interrogated the prisoner said he had been exposed recently, and a physician being called, on examination it was decided to remove him to the pest-house. currens was sent along on account of his exposure to the contagion. an officer was placed in charge of the two jail-birds at the pest-house. during the night following their arrival at this out-of-the-way place, the officer was pounced upon by the two desperate criminals, bound hand and foot, and with a large cork placed between his teeth, was gently laid on the floor. his gold watch and chain, and all the loose change he had with him were taken from his person, and the two small-pox patients walked forth into the darkness and gloom of that night unattended by any friendly official. thomas never believed in criminals traveling in groups, so he bade his companion an affectionate farewell. wending his way to the southwestern portion of the state he was arrested for additional crimes and misdemeanors. knowing that the officers had not sufficient evidence against him he bravely stood trial and was acquitted. however, as he was going forth from his prison cell a free man, much to his surprise, an official from sedalia put in an appearance and took him back to the scene of his small-pox escapade. at his trial he was convicted and received a sentence of six and one-half years. he now took a cell in the jefferson city penitentiary. after four years of imprisonment this notorious criminal makes an application for pardon, setting up an alibi as the basis of the application, and succeeded in influencing the governor to believe the testimony, and was set at liberty, promising that he would leave the state of missouri, never to return. the conscience of the said thomas never troubled him over failing to keep his word with the officers of the law. he did not leave missouri, as he agreed, but betook himself to the pleasant little city of carthage. scarcely three moths had elapsed before he found himself again in durance vile for stealing horses. he was tried, convicted and returned to jefferson city penitentiary under a sentence of six years. he took an appeal to the supreme court. the judgment of the lower court was reversed. he was taken back to carthage for another trial, and was convicted the second time, and again received a sentence of six years at hard labor in the penitentiary. as before, he appealed the case, and the governor, thinking the state was getting the worst of the matter, and that a large amount of costs were being made, pardoned the convict under another promise that he would leave the state. currens, now following greeley's advice, turns his eyes toward the setting sun. he crosses the big muddy, and plants his feet upon the sacred soil of kansas. he makes a raid upon lawrence, breaks into a house, and is caught in the act of trying to carry off the household goods. a courteous policeman takes charge of him--now deeply steeped in crime--soon landing him behind the bars. in the presence of the court he next makes a solemn statement that, prior to this, he had been a sunday-school teacher; that misfortune had overtaken him, and he was forced to enter some friend's kitchen or starve. those who listened to his pathetic appeal inform me that the stern judge was moved to tears, and that while he had contemplated giving the wayward thomas six years, he made it three. this was the first introduction of our hero to the principal brown stone front of lansing. it was not long after his arrival at the kansas penitentiary before he gained the confidence of the authorities, and was made a "trusty." he had an easy place given him. his three years' sentence soon passed away. his term was reduced three months because of his excellent conduct while in prison. bearing with him the good wishes of a majority of the prison officials, and followed by the prayers of the pious chaplain, he goes forth to engage in life's battle again. thomas could not fully enjoy the sweets of liberty unless on horseback. he makes his way to the capital of kansas, and engages at once in the dangerous business of stealing horses. he had not continued this course long before he was arrested, tried, convicted and returned to lansing for five years more. thomas had not been in the kansas penitentiary the second time but a few months, when he called upon the chaplain, and with tears rolling down his face confessed he was a great sinner, promised to lead a different life, and urged the chaplain to pray for him. delighted at the prospect of snatching such a brand from the eternal burning, the man of god took thomas into a private room, and the two knelt down. the chaplain offered a fervent prayer that the loving father would take to his embrace the returning, sinful prodigal. at the conclusion of this prayer the chaplain called upon the "sin sick soul" to pray for himself. this was an unexpected movement by the chaplain, and thomas was hardly prepared for the emergency. however, he prayed. he was converted on the spot. at least, the chaplain thought so. strange as it may appear to my readers, instead of this noted convict having to remain and serve out his five years' sentence, through the influence of this minister he secured a pardon. at the expiration of eighteen months the shrewd convict was a free man. that chaplain was "worked." the fortunate thomas next visits atchison. a farmer came to the city one day, driving a beautiful horse. the temptation was too great, and the man who had been an inmate of a penitentiary seven different times followed the unsuspecting farmer to his home, and that night rode away the coveted prize. the atchison county vigilance committee traced and soon caught the guilty horse-thief, landing him in atchison county's beautiful jail. shortly after, thomas had an interview with the county attorney, and it was agreed by and between them, if the horse-thief would plead guilty, he should be let off with one year in the penitentiary. to this the grave offender agreed, and, presenting himself before the tribunal of justice, hon. w. d. gilbert presiding, plead guilty. the county attorney being absent, the court gave thomas, instead of twelve months, a year and a half at hard labor. i met him in the penitentiary a few days ago, and learned that he is putting forth an effort to secure a pardon on the ground that had he not been promised only a one year's sentence, he would have stood trial and been acquitted. he claims that he should be given his liberty when his one year is up. thomas was out of the penitentiary long enough to go into the army and get a bullet through his ankle, and therefor draws a pension of twenty-four dollars per month. he takes good care of his money, and has enough on hand to enable him to get a good start in life when he obtains his freedom. he is a well-behaved prisoner. he is true to his pals in crime, never having been known to turn state's evidence. he has a mania for taking things that do not belong to him. he claims that he never would have been caught the last time had not his housekeeper "given him away." the two had a domestic quarrel, and in her efforts to get even, she told the authorities of his theft. after his trial and conviction, womanlike, she repented in sackcloth and ashes, but thomas would have no more to do with her. later, she went over into missouri, where she has since died. one of the first things thomas will do on regaining his liberty will be to secure another housekeeper, and probably the the next thing will be to steal some farmer's horse. this convict is now serving out his eighth term in the penitentiary. it is fearful to contemplate these human wrecks. a wasted life, golden opportunities unimproved, a dark and dismal future will constitute the death knell of such fallen beings. young man, remember the life of this convict, and shun such a course. skilled labor william hurst.--some of the narratives in this book read like the story of aladin's lamp, and we have no doubt some of them so reading are absolutely true, while for the lamp story nothing is claimed. for many ages men, and particularly those engaged in the literary field of thought, have discanted on the baseness of the passion of jealousy. there is no sense in being jealous. you are either loved or you are not, and hence the absolute foolishness of indulging the passion. william hurst, whose history we now relate, is a man of rough personal appearance, irish descent, and his age is now about fifty-five. coming to kansas at an early day, he settled in doniphan county, and there courted and subsequently married one of doniphan county's pretty girls. time went along as usual, and in a few years there were several little cherubs that blessed the household of hurst. but, as sometimes happens, the husband began to drink, love grew colder, the necessities of the family hourly grew greater, poverty in all its hideousness came to curse the home once so happy. the poor, distracted wife and mother did all she could, by taking in washing and ironing, to prevent the starvation of her little ones. the husband through his bleared eyes imagined he could see that other men were too friendly to his wife. he charged her with unfaithfulness to the marriage vows. she denied the charge. only incensed by this he would beat and mistreat her out of all reason. for protection she had him arrested, intending to bind him over to keep the peace, but on the advice of officers, who are so full of it, she withdrew the charge and he was set at liberty. for a few days he was quiet, but soon the red liquor poured down his throat, and like a mountain devil stirred all the dark passions of his lost and ruined nature. he attempted to debauch his own daughter, and was only prevented by the physical force of the ever-watchful mother. the father (great god! is such a human being entitled to the endearing term?) turned upon her, and again, as had often happened, abused, kicked and mistreated her in a most shameful manner. she had him arrested a second time with the intention of binding him over to keep the peace. he pretended, while in charge of the officer, that he must see his wife, and together they started toward the hovel where they lived. they met the wife and mother at the outskirts of the little village, had some words, and before the officer could prevent it, hurst sprang upon the woman and cut her throat from ear to ear jumped away, and made good his escape to the woods, the officer, meanwhile, deeming it more important to aid the woman, not knowing, for a moment, that the cutting was fatal. that fact was very soon apparent. others were called who took charge of the body, and the officer struck out in hot pursuit of the murderer. he was followed to the woods a few miles from white cloud, in doniphan county, there overtaken and conducted to the county seat, tried, convicted of murder in the first degree, sentenced to be hung, sent to the penitentiary to await the final execution, which, in our state, never comes. he remained in there about twenty months when he became insane, and was sent to the asylum; was there about three and a half years, when he was pronounced cured and returned to the penitentiary. he is now insane a second time. you have all in your younger-days read the story of the maniac that paced his cell, repeating "once one is two," and now comes the queerest part of this narrative. hurst seems anxious to talk to every one that calls, and especially anxious to shake hands; but if you say anything to him, or ask any question, his only answer is "skilled labor," and keeps on repeating these words as he walks up and down his place of confinement. who knows but the infinite god has destroyed reason to prevent the power of darkness over this poor, unfortunate being. or who knows but the demands of justice are met in the terrible conscience blows which have staggered and shattered that which originally was in the image of god. life insurance and murder mcnutt and winner.--these are two of the most noted criminals in the penitentiary, rendered so because of the dastardly crime committed by them, and the high social relations of the latter. they came from wichita, and have been in prison almost fifteen years. mcnutt is a fine artist and painter. he had his paint shop in wichita, and was doing a very successful business. winner was his associate, and the two plotted and carried into execution the following horrible crime: mcnutt got his life insured for $ , , his wife being his beneficiary. it was a dark, stormy night when mcnutt and winner enticed into this paint shop an unsuspecting mutual friend. here they murdered him in cold blood. they then set fire to the paint shop and took to flight. after the fire was put out, the charred remains of the murdered man were found, and supposed to be those of mcnutt, the owner of the building. the wife, cognizant of the awful deed which her husband had committed, followed the remains of the murdered man to the grave, dressed in her garb of mourning. shortly after this she applied for the insurance money on her husband's life. some doubts were raised as to the identity of the body. detectives were employed to make an investigation of the case. they made use of a deception, and thus got the woman to confess. they told her that they had found an accomplice who had confessed the crime, and was in jail. they promised the wife that if she would tell the truth they would not prosecute her. she consented. she narrated the sickening events as they had been plotted in her presence and under her roof. officers were now despatched to find the murderers. mcnutt was found in missouri plowing corn. winner was found near wichita. they were brought to trial, convicted, and sent to prison for life. winner was unmarried at the time of his conviction. his father and only brother are very wealthy, and living in kansas city. i have been told they offer $ , for winner's pardon. mcnutt is a very useful man in the prison. he has charge of the painting department. he has done some fine work on the walls of the prison chapel, covering them with paintings of the grecian goddesses. both of these prisoners hope to receive pardons. whether they will regain their liberty is a question which the future alone can answer. the hog-thief in the coal mines, as before stated, the convicts are permitted to converse with each other. i improved this opportunity of acquiring the histories of the five hundred criminals with whom i daily worked, eight hundred feet below the surface. i would talk with a fellow prisoner, and get the details of his crime as we sat together in the darkness. understanding "short-hand," i would go to my cell in the evening and jot down what i had learned during the day. i had no fears of any one reading my notes, as i was the only short-hand writer about the institution. day after day i kept this up, until i had material sufficient of this nature to fill a book of more than two thousand pages. my readers should also know, that a convict will tell a fellow-prisoner the details of his crime, when he would not think of saying a word about it to others. as a rule they deny their crimes to those who are not, like themselves, criminals, pleading innocence. it is not difficult for a prisoner to get the confidence of a fellow-prisoner. in fact, criminals love to unburden their minds to those who possess their confidence. the truth is, convicts have related their crimes so often to me that it became tiresome. they say it relieves them to communicate their troubles. pinkerton, of chicago, the prince of detectives stated at one time that a criminal could not keep his secret. it is true. i know it to be a fact. it has been demonstrated a hundred times in my association with these convicts in the kansas penitentiary. securing their confidence, these men have not only told me of the crimes for which they have been sent to prison, but also of crimes that they have committed, and, in the commission of which, they had not been detected, which, if i should make them known, would cause a number of them to remain in the penitentiary the rest of their lives. i am not in the detective business, and will therefore keep what was confided to me. i have met but few criminals in the mines that would not admit their guilt. i have thought in many cases, convicts received sentences too severe, and not at all commensurate with the crime committed. i have met a few men, however, who would stubbornly deny their guilt and stoutly affirm their innocence. i have worked upon these men day after day, and never got anything out of them but that they were innocent. at times, in tears, they would talk of their sufferings, and wonder if there was a just god silently permitting the innocent to suffer for the guilty. i am satisfied these men are innocent, and they have my sympathy. they are exceptions. others, while admitting their guilt on general principles, and assenting to the justice of imprisonment, yet maintain that they were innocent of the particular crime for which they stand convicted. i trust the reader will not get his sympathies wrought too high, as comparatively few angels find their way into modern prisons. i will give you a few illustrations. these are just samples of scores of histories in my possession. a hog-thief worked in the mines with me for a few days. his dose was five years at hard labor. he had stolen an old sandy female swine with six pigs. i asked him if he was really guilty of carrying on the pork business. "yes," said he, with a low chuckle, "i have stolen pigs all my life, and my daddy and mammy before me were in the same business. i got caught. they never did." he then related the details of many thefts. he made a considerable amount of money in his wicked traffic, which he had squandered, and was now penniless. money secured in a criminal manner never does the possessor any good. i asked him if he had enough of the hog business, and if it was his intention to quit it, and when he got out of the pen to earn an honest living. "no," he replied, "as long as there is a hog to steal and i am a free man, i propose to steal him." imprisonment failed to reform this convict. although a hog-thief he was an excellent singer and a prominent member of the prison choir. there are many murderers in the mines. in fact, nearly all the life men are there. some of them speak of their crimes with a bravado simply astonishing, showing their utter depravity. others, admitting their guilt, say but little of details. the following will give the reader some idea of the stories that greeted my ears almost daily, and led me to conclude that the coal mines of the penitentiary are not inhabited exclusively by sunday-school scholars. this cruel and heartless wretch had murdered an old man and his wife. the old people lived on a farm adjoining the one where this criminal, who was then a hired man, worked, it was the talk of the neighborhood that they had money. this human fiend undertook to secure their "loose change," as he called it. he procured a shotgun and an axe, and, in the dead hour of night, went to the house of the old people. he forced open the kitchen door and went in. he had also brought with him a lantern. he quietly stole to the bedside of the innocent and aged sleepers. he had no use for his lantern as the moonlight shone through the window opposite and fell upon the faces of the unconscious victims. setting his gun down by the side of the bed, so that he could have it handy for use, if necessary, he took the axe and struck each of his victims a blow upon the head. he said, with a demoniac chuckle, that it was more difficult to kill a woman than a man, as it required two blows from the axe to kill the woman, while one was sufficient for the man. he then ransacked the house, and, between some blankets underneath the straw-bed upon which the old folks were sleeping, he found a small bag, which contained some gold, silver and paper money, amounting to over one thousand dollars. in a cold-blooded manner he further stated (and as i pen his words my blood nearly freezes in my veins), in order to search the bed upon which his victims were lying, it became necessary for him to remove the bodies; so he lifted them up one at a time, and placed them upon the floor, face downward, for the reason, as he said, that their eyes bulged out and seemed to stare at him. after securing the money he fled and returned to the farm where he worked. he slept in the barn, as is very often the case with farm laborers during the summer season. entering the barn he procured an old bucket, places his money in it, covers the top with a piece of board, and buries it in the earth east of the barn. he also buried the axe near the bucket. he said there were clots of blood and hair on the axe, and he thought best to put it out of sight. he then returned to the barn, and, strange to say, soon fell asleep and slept sweetly until morning. he went to work the next day as usual, and his mind was taken up more by thinking of what a good time he would have after a little, spending that money, than in worrying over the terrible crime he had committed. he reasoned that the money would do the old people no good, but that he could use it to advantage. the discovery of the murder was made the next day about noon. the alarm was given. the whole country was aroused and excited over the commission of such a horrible crime two innocent, helpless and highly-respected old people murdered for their money. a couple of tramps had passed through the neighborhood the day before, and, of course, everybody thought it must have been the tramps that committed the murder. the object now was to find them. they were overtaken the next day and brought back to the scene of the murder. they both stoutly denied any knowledge of the crime. they were separated, and each was told that the other had confessed. this was done that a confession might be forced from them. they continued in their affirmation of innocence. they were then taken to the woods near by and each hung up until life was almost extinct, but they still denied the commission of the crime. they were at length taken to the county seat, not far distant, and, on a preliminary examination, were bound over to appear at the next term of the district court, and put in the county jail. the majority of the people believed that the perpetrators of this crime had been arrested and were now in durance vile; the excitement soon passed away, and very little was said about it. "it was at this time," said my informant, "that i made the mistake of my life. i had worked hard on the farm for several months, and thought i would take a lay off. i felt it was due me. i now made up my mind to have a time. i went to town and soon fell in with a harlot. i got to drinking. i am very fond of strong drink; it has been my ruin. i became intoxicated, and during this time i must have betrayed my secret to this wicked woman. a large reward had been offered for the murderer of these old people. this woman who kept me company having thus obtained my secret, went to the city marshal and made an arrangement that for half of the reward offered she would show him the man who had committed the crime. this was agreed to. while i was drinking and having a good time with my 'fast woman' three men were on the road to the farm where i had been working. they found and dug up the old bucket containing what money i had left in it, and the axe. all this i learned at the trial. i was arrested and bound over to the district court on a charge of murder in the first degree. the officers had to keep me secreted for some time, as there was strong talk of lynching. in due time i had my trial and got a life sentence." i asked him if he had any hope of pardon. "oh yes," said he, "in the course of eight or ten years i will be able to get out once more." "what became of the tramps that came so near being compelled to suffer the penalty of your crime?" "they were released as soon as i was arrested, a snug little sum of money was raised for them, a new suit of clothes purchased, and they went on their way rejoicing, thinking themselves creatures of luck." as we sat together in a secluded place in the mines, with the faint light of my miner's lamp falling on his hideous face, the cool, deliberate manner in which he related his atrocious doings, the fiendish spirit he displayed, led me to regard him as one among the most debased and hardened criminals i had met in the mines--a human being utterly devoid of moral nature--a very devil in the form of man! a noted counterfeiter one of my companions in the mines, and with whom i worked a couple of weeks, lying almost side by side with him as we dug coal in the same room, was a noted counterfeiter. he had plied his trade for many years successfully. whisky finally sent him to the penitentiary. if professional criminals would only let strong drink alone not half so many of them would get caught. they get drunk, and in this condition expose themselves. we don't mean to use this as an argument against the prohibitory law! it is, perhaps, proper for them to drink. this counterfeiter makes his dies out of plaster paris. they are very simple and easy of construction. he explained to me the manner in which they were made. i would give his method of making these dies were it not for the fact that some smart boy getting hold of this book and learning the method would undertake the business, and as a result his good old mother would be going to the penitentiary to visit him. when this counterfeiter would run short of funds he would purchase the necessary material, go into the woods on a dark night, and in a very short time would have plenty of bogus money. he taught the trade to his brother and to some bosom friends, and it was not long until they had a regular organized gang. getting drunk one day one of them displayed too many shining new pieces of money. he was "spotted." a detective was put on his track. he was traced to the headquarters of the gang, and in a few hours thereafter the entire posse were locked up in jail on a charge of counterfeiting and passing "bogus money." they now formed plans for their escape from jail. they adopted the plan of seizing the jailor, as he brought in supper, thrusting him into a cell, locking him in, and then making good their escape. they made the attempt. the jailor was locked in the cell according to the programme, but so much noise was made in the struggle that the sheriff put in an appearance with a loaded revolver. the prisoners made a dash for liberty. a brother of my informant was killed; another of the gang was wounded and dragged back into his cell in the jail; the others got away. it was in the winter time. the succeeding night was extremely cold. wandering about all night in the snow, their feet were frozen, and they were easily recaptured the next day. they had their trial, and all were sent to the penitentiary. they got eight years apiece, three for counterfeiting and five for breaking jail. in this manner was broken up one of the worst counterfeit gangs of the west. whisky has trapped many a criminal. there are but very few that do not "indulge." in fact, i cannot now recall a single professional criminal but would take a drop if he could get it. they must have whisky to nerve them for their iniquitous business. when the crime is committed they drink again to soothe their wounded consciences. yellow back literature a boy was brought into the hospital one day while i was there, whose history is worth relating, as it shows the fatal effects of bad literature upon the human mind, and to what sad results it may lead. this youth had become suddenly ill in the mines, and had to be assisted from his place of work to the ward for the sick. he was very ill for several days, but began to grow convalescent. an opportunity presenting itself, i got into conversation with him, and he told me the history of his crime. he was an orphan. at the death of both his parents in the east he had come to kansas to make his home with an uncle. this relative was very kind, and after a time adopted the boy. he had a pleasant home, and his prospects for the future were bright. how often is it the case that the sky of the future becomes overcast. this young criminal was a constant reader of the life of jesse james, and kindred literature, until he made up his mind to go on the "war path" and become jesse james no. . with this in view, he provided himself with two large revolvers. one night, after all the household had retired, he crept stealthily into the bed-room of one of the hired men and stole seventy dollars. he goes to the barn and takes one of his uncle's horses and starts for the indian territory. the uncle was awakened an hour later on account of some unusual sound at the barn, and going thither discovered that one of his best horses was gone, and also that his nephew was away. he got together several of his neighbors and started in pursuit, and the next day, about noon, the youthful thief was overtaken and surrounded. the uncle rode up to him and began to question him as to his strange conduct, when the boy drew one of his revolvers, and, pointing at his uncle, shot him dead. he was going to play jesse james to the last. when he saw his uncle fall dead from his horse, now realizing what he had done, the bravado spirit forsook him, and he began to quake with fear. the neighbors closed in upon him and soon took his firearms from him. in due time he had his trial and was sent to the penitentiary for life. bad books are our worst companions. i have narrated the history of this young murderer, and now urge my boy readers to let yellow back literature alone. it wrecked the future of this youth, and what it did for one it may do for another. a youthful murderer willie sells.--in the prison, this convict is called the "baby convict." when he came to the penitentiary in , he was but sixteen years of age, and in appearance much younger. one of the most sickening murders committed in kansas is charged to the account of this boy. his home is in neosho county. his father, a prosperous farmer, lived happily with his wife and three children. willie was the oldest of the children. early one morning he rushed from his home and made his way to the nearest neighbor, about half a mile distant, and with his face and hands covered with blood conveyed the startling intelligence that the entire family had been murdered, and he only had escaped. soon an excited crowd of neighbors gathered at the home of the murdered victims, and the sight that was presented has but few parallels in the fatal and fearful results of crime. the victims had been murdered while asleep. in one room lay the father and mother of the youthful murderer, on their bed of death. their heads had been split open with an axe that lay nearby, and the blood of one mingled with that of the other. in an adjoining bed-room, covered with their own life's blood, were found the little brother and sister. they had been foully murdered with the same instrument that had caused the death of the parents. who was the monster that had committed this terrible and atrocious act? a search of the premises disclosed the fact that robbery was not the motive. no property was missing. the survivor was questioned again and again. he said that a burly-looking tramp had effected an entrance into the house through a window during the night; that he being awake at the moment, and becoming alarmed, hid himself, and, unperceived, beheld his father and mother, his brother and sister, thus foully murdered. a thorough and extensive search was made, but no clue could be obtained that would warrant the arrest of any one. finally, the surviving child was taken into custody. it was claimed that his statements of the circumstances connected with the crime varied, and in several instances were contradictory. the evidence introduced at his trial was purely circumstantial. after much deliberation and hesitancy, the jury decided on a verdict of guilty of murder in the first degree, and this child criminal was sentenced to imprisonment for life. he conducts himself well in the prison. on account of his extreme youth he is given a great deal of liberty. it is with great reluctance that he talks about his crime, and longs for freedom. is this boy guilty? this question has never been satisfactorily answered in the affirmative. i am informed there was a grave doubt in the mind of the judge who tried the case and imposed the sentence as to the guilt of this alleged youthful offender. a chill of horror creeps over us as we think of the members of this family weltering in each other's blood. should he be innocent, it would be awful for this boy to remain in the kansas hell for a lifetime. a most remarkable case william baldwin furnishes the history of one of the most remarkable cases in the criminal annals of kansas. he was charged with the atrocious crime of murdering his own sister. william and his sister were the only children of a widowed but wealthy mother. it is claimed that the son had received his portion of the estate prior to this sad occurrence, and that by taking the life of his sister he would become the sole heir of the baldwin estate, which was supposed to be very large. mary, the beautiful and accomplished sister was discovered dead one morning lying upon her bed in her chamber with a chloroform bottle at her side. a panel of the outside door of the house was found removed. immediately upon the discovery of the murder it was supposed that the house had been burglarized, and that the thief had committed the murder. upon an examination of the premises by the proper officials it was found that nothing had been taken from the house. in looking for a motive that would prompt a person to commit such a fiendish act, and it being known that william baldwin, the brother, would be the sole heir in case of the death of his sister, he was at once suspected of having committed the crime. his arrest was prompt and immediate. he was bound over on preliminary examination, and in due course of time had his trial and was convicted. he was sentenced to the penitentiary for one year, at the expiration of which he was to be hung until dead. his case was taken on appeal to the supreme court of the state. baldwin, in the meantime, was removed to the penitentiary. here he was placed in the tailor shop, where he has remained since. he is a very obedient prisoner, and is highly esteemed by the prison officials. the judgment in his case upon hearing in the supreme court of the state was affirmed. from the supreme court of kansas his case was taken by appeal to the supreme court of the united states; in this highest tribunal, the judgments of the lower courts were affirmed, and the fate of william baldwin is forever sealed so far as the judiciary of the country is concerned. if he is permitted again to inhale the air of freedom, it must be through the clemency of the pardoning board and of the governor of kansas. during one hundred and ten years of american jurisprudence, there had been only two similar cases taken to the supreme court of the united states. but a few days before my release i was talking with billy baldwin in the penitentiary, and he seemed to be very hopeful that after a time he would secure his pardon. his wife is one of the most highly respected ladies of atchison; is true, faithful and devoted to her husband. she has enlisted the sympathies of the entire community in her behalf, because of her youth and great bereavement. his aged mother, who has been called upon to wade through deep waters of affliction because of the great calamity that has befallen her son and daughter, will also exert great influence in getting signers to a petition for his pardon. the question has often been asked me, because of my intimate relation with baldwin in the penitentiary, whether i believed that he is guilty. i can answer as to my own belief. i have watched him carefully as i have the other fifty-five lifetime convicts, and i am free to say that i do not believe that william baldwin ever committed the crime of killing his sister for the malicious desire of obtaining filthy lucre, or the estate of his sister. he does not conduct himself as scores of other criminals who have confessed their guilt. in conversation with him, while i was "in stripes," he has time and again told me, with tears rolling down his cheeks, that he was innocent of the terrible crime of which he stands accused, and that there was no brother had greater love for his sister than he, and that he had such faith in an overruling providence that eventually he would be exonerated from the crime; and that the real perpetrator would be made known. if he is innocent and it should ever be clearly proven, his will be one of the saddest and most mysterious events ever recorded. there is beyond doubt an unsolved mystery hanging over this remarkable case. chapter ix. forty-eight hours in hell one of the most interesting cases of resuscitation that ever came to my knowledge was that of george lennox, a notorious horse-thief of jefferson county. he was serving his second term. sedgwick county sent him to the prison, the first time for a similar offense--stealing horses. during the winter of and , he worked in the coal mines. the place where he was laboring seemed dangerous to him. he reported the fact to the officer in charge, who made an examination, and deciding that the room was safe, ordered lennox back to his work. the convict, obeying, had not continued his work more than an hour, when the roof fell in and completely buried him. he remained in this condition fully two hours. missed at dinner-time, a search was instituted for the absent convict, and he was found under this heap of rubbish. life seemed extinct. he was taken to the top, and on examination by the prison physician was pronounced dead. his remains were carried to the hospital, where he was washed and dressed preparatory for interment. his coffin was made and brought into the hospital. the chaplain had arrived to perform the last sad rites prior to burial. a couple of prisoners were ordered by the hospital steward to lift the corpse from the boards and carry it across the room and place it in the coffin. they obeyed, one at the head and the other at the feet, and were about half way across the room when the one who was at the head accidentally stumbled over a cuspidor, lost his balance, and dropped the corpse. the head of the dead man struck the floor, and to the utter surprise and astonishment of all present, a deep groan was heard. soon the eyes opened, and other appearances of life were manifested. the physician was immediately sent for, and by the time he arrived, some thirty minutes, the dead man had called for a cup of water, and was in the act of drinking when the physician arrived. the coffin was at once removed, and later on was used to bury another convict in. his burial robes were also taken from him, and the prison garb substituted. on an examination he was found to have one of his legs broken in two places, and was otherwise bruised. he remained in the hospital some six months, and again went to work. i learned of his peculiar experience while apparently dead, soon after, from a fellow miner. prompted by curiosity, i longed for an acquaintance with lennox to get his experience from his own lips. this opportunity was not offered for several months. at last it came. after being removed from the mines i was detailed to one of the prison offices to make out some annual reports. the subject of this man's return to life was being discussed one day, when he happened to pass by the office door and was pointed out to me. it was not long until i had a note in his hand, and asked him to come where i was at work. he did so, and here i got well acquainted with him, and from his own lips received his wonderful story. he is a young man, probably not over thirty years of age. he is not a hardened criminal; is possessed of a very good education, and naturally very bright. the most wonderful part of his history was that during the time he was dead. being a short-hand reporter i took his story from his dictation. said he: "i had a presentiment all the morning that something terrible was going to happen. i was so uneasy on account of my feelings that i went to my mining boss, mr. grason, and told him how i felt, and asked him if he would not come and examine my 'coal room,' the place where i was digging coal. he came, and seemed to make a thorough examination, and ordered me back to work, saying, there was no danger, and that he thought i was going 'cranky.' i returned to my work, and had been digging away for something like an hour, when, all of a sudden, it grew very dark. then it seemed as if a great iron door swung open, and i passed through it. the thought then came to my mind that i was dead and in another world. i could see no one, nor hear sound of any kind. from some cause unknown to myself, i started to move away from the doorway, and had traveled some distance when i came to the banks of a broad river. it was not dark, neither was it light. there was about as much light as on a bright star-lit night. i had not remained on the bank of this river very long until i could hear the sound of oars in the water, and soon a person in a boat rowed up to where i was standing. i was speechless. he looked at me for a moment, and then said that he had come for me, and told me to get into the boat and row across to the other side. i obeyed. not a word was spoken. i longed to ask him who he was, and where i was. my tongue seemed to cling to the roof of my mouth. i could not say a word. finally, we reached the opposite shore. i got out of the boat, and the boatman vanished out of sight. thus left alone, i knew not what to do. looking out before me, i saw two roads which led through a dark valley. one of these was abroad road, and seemed to be well traveled. the other was a narrow path that led off in another direction. i instinctively followed the well beaten road. i had not gone far when it seemed to grow darker. ever and anon, however, a light would flash up from the distance, and in this manner i was lighted on my journey. presently i was met by a being that it is utterly impossible for me to describe. i can only give you a faint idea of his dreadful appearance. he resembled a man somewhat, but much larger than any human being i ever saw. he must have been at least ten feet high. he had great wings on his back. he was black as the coal i had been digging, and in a perfectly nude condition. he had a large spear in his hand, the handle of which must have been fully fifteen feet in length. his eyes shone like balls of fire. his teeth, white as pearl, seemed fully an inch long. his nose, if you could call it a nose, was very large, broad and flat. his hair was very coarse, heavy and long. it hung down on his massive shoulders. his voice sounded more like the growls of a lion in a menagerie than anything i can recall. it was during one of these flashes of light that i first saw him. i trembled like an aspen leaf at the sight. he had his spear raised as if to send it flying through me. i suddenly stopped. with that terrible voice i seem to hear yet, he bade me follow him; that he had been sent to guide me on my journey. i followed. what else could i do? after he had gone some distance a huge mountain appeared to rise up before us. the part facing us seemed perpendicular, just as if a mountain had been cut in two and one part had been taken away. on this perpendicular wall i could distinctly see these words, 'this is hell.' my guide approached this perpendicular wall, and with his spear-handle gave three loud raps. a large massive door swung back and we passed in. i was then conducted on through what appeared to be a passage through this mountain. for some time we traveled in egyptian darkness. i could hear the heavy footfalls of my guide, and thus could follow him. all along the way i could hear deep groans, as of some one dying. further on, these groans increased, and i could distinctly hear the cry for water, water, water. coming now to another gateway, and, passing through, i could hear, it seemed, a million voices in the distance, and the cry was for water, water. presently another large door opened at the knock of my guide, and i found that we had passed through the mountain, and now a broad plain layout before me. at this place my guide left me to direct other lost spirits to the same destination. i remained in this open plain for a time, when a being somewhat similar to the first one came to me; but, instead of a spear, he had a huge sword. he came to tell me of my future doom. he spoke with a voice that struck terror to my soul. 'thou art in hell,' said he; 'for thee all hope is fled. as thou passed through the mountain on thy journey hither, thou didst hear the groans and shrieks of the lost as they called for water to cool their parched tongues. along that passage there is a door that opens into the lake of fire. this is soon to be thy doom. before thou art conducted to this place of torment never more to emerge--for there is no hope for those who enter there--thou shalt be permitted to remain in this open plain, where it is granted to all the lost to behold what they might have enjoyed, instead of what they must suffer.' with this i was left alone. whether the result of the terrible fright through which i had passed i know not, but now i became stupified. a dull languor took fall possession of my frame. my strength departed from me. my limbs longer refused to support my body. overcome, i now sank down a helpless mass. drowsiness now took control of me. half awake, half asleep, i seemed to dream. far above me and in the distance i saw the beautiful city of which we read in the bible. how wonderfully beautiful were its walls of jasper. stretching out and away in the distance i saw vast plains covered with beautiful flowers. i, too, beheld the river of life and the sea of glass. vast multitudes of angels would pass in and out through the gates of the city, singing, oh, such beautiful songs. among the number i saw my dear old mother, who died a few years ago of a broken heart because of my wickedness. she looked toward me, and seemed to beckon me to her but i could not move. there appeared to be a great weight upon me that held me down. now a gentle breeze wafted the fragrance of those lovely flowers to me, and i could now, more plainly than ever, hear the sweet melody of angel voices, and i said, oh, that i could be one of them. as i was drinking from this cup of bliss it was suddenly dashed from my lips. i was aroused from my slumbers. i was brought back from happy dreamland by an inmate of my dark abode, who said to me that it was now time to enter upon my future career. he bade me follow him. retracing my steps i again entered the dark passage way, and followed my guide for a time, when we came to a door that opened in the side of the passage, and, going along this, we finally found ourselves passing through another door, and lo! i beheld the lake of fire. just before me i could see, as far as the eye could reach, that literal lake of fire and brimstone. huge billows of fire would roll over each other, and great waves of fiery flame would dash against each other and leap high in the air like the waves of the sea during a violent storm. on the crest of these waves i could see human beings rise, but soon to be carried down again to the lowest depth of this awful lake of fire. when borne on the crest, of these awful billows for a time their curses against a just god would be appalling, and their pitiful cries for water would be heartrending. this vast region of fire echoed and re-echoed with the wails of these lost spirits. presently i turned my eyes to the door through which i had a few moments before entered, and i read these awful words: 'this is thy doom; eternity never ends.' shortly i began to feel the earth give way beneath my feet, and i soon found myself sinking down into the lake of fire. an indescribable thirst for water now seized upon me. and calling for water, my eyes opened in the prison hospital. "i have never told this experience of mine before, for fear the prison officials would get hold of it, think me insane, and lock me up in the crank-house. i passed through all this, and i am as well satisfied as i am that i live, that there is a heaven and there is a hell, and a regular old-fashioned hell, the kind the bible tells about. but there is one thing certain, i am never going to that place any more. as soon as i opened my eyes in the hospital, and i found that i was alive and on earth once more, i immediately gave my heart to god, and i am going to live and die a christian. while the terrible sights of hell can never be banished from my memory, neither can the beautiful things of heaven i saw. i am going to meet my dear old mother after awhile. to be permitted to sit down on the banks of that beautiful river, to wander with those angels across the plains, through the vales and over the hills carpeted with fragrant flowers, the beauty of which far surpasses anything that mortal can imagine; to listen to the songs of the saved--all this will more than compensate me for living the life of a christian here on earth, even if i have to forego many sensual pleasures in which i indulged before coming to this prison. i have abandoned my companions in crime, and am going to associate with good people when i am once more a free man." after he got through with this wonderful story i asked him if he was going to tell others of his experience when he got out. his reply was that people would not believe him, and he would keep it to himself. should this little book fall into his hands, and he should read of his experience while in hell for forty-eight hours, it will no doubt surprise him. we give the account to the reader just as we received it from lennox. we do not pretend to solve the mystery. chapter x. stolen horses justice should be meted out to many who, though guilty, are shrewd enough to evade it. from one of the most notorious horse-thieves in the kansas penitentiary i learned of the manner in which stolen horses were disposed of. this convict's name is john watkins. he served a term of three years in the missouri penitentiary, and is now serving out a ten years' sentence in the kansas state's prison. he is the chief convict steward in the hospital, and an able assistant of the prison physician, by whom his services are highly appreciated. this prisoner has immediate care of all the sick. his heart is tender as that of a woman. to listen to this man, as he sat with tearful eye at the bedside of the dying prisoner, and spoke words of cheer to him, one would scarcely believe him to be the most daring and one of the shrewdest horse-thieves that ever visited our state. in conversation with him one night as i lay on my sick bed in the hospital, he gave me an outline of his life's history that reads much like a romance. i said to him, "john, tell me how many horses you have stolen during the time you have been engaged in that line of business?" his reply was, that if he had stolen one more he would have been successful in having stolen an even two hundred. "what did you do with them after you had stolen them?" he told me his headquarters were in kansas city; that he would go up in the neighborhood of omaha and lincoln and get his horses, and tie them in the woods until he had picked up a number of them, and then he would make his way to the south. horses stolen in nebraska he would run south to sell. those stolen in missouri and kansas he would take to the north. he told me that in omaha, st. joseph, atchison, leavenworth and kansas city there were dealers, usually keepers of livery stables, who would purchase these stolen horses. he gave me the names of a number of these men, some of whom i know personally. little would i ever have suspected that these men were engaged in such a wicked traffic as knowingly to deal in stolen property. "when i had a number of horses," he continued, "and wished to dispose of them in st. joseph, for instance, i would ride into the suburbs of the city and send a note to the man who usually purchased my stock. i would never be seen about his barn. after night he would make his way to where i was and purchase my horses, paying me about one-half what they would really bring in the general market. i would get about fifty dollars for an average horse. after purchasing my stolen horses he would not take them to his livery barn, but to a private stable, usually at his residence. when he would pay over the money for this stolen property he would make out a bill of sale for each one, and would step into a store or grocery, and in the presence of some business man he would say to me, we will sign the bill of sale for that horse i bought of you, and have this gentleman to witness the transaction. i gave you fifty dollars at the barn, and now here is fifty dollars more, which makes the hundred, the sum i was to pay for the animal." i would take the money, sign the bill of sale, which would be witnessed by the business man in whose presence the trade was consummated. we would then go to another place of business and sign a bill of sale for another horse, and have that witnessed by another business man, and would continue this until all the horses i had sold were paid for. in this manner he would shift all responsibility of crime upon me. securing my money i would rest for a time until 'i went broke,' and then i would make another trip. the horse merchant would sometimes keep his horses until he had picked up a car load, and then he would ship them out of the country to chicago, st. louis or some other horse market. sometimes the horse buyer would run stolen property out into the country and exchange it for other property in which he would have a good title and which he could take to his livery barn and feel safe with it there. "what did you do with your money, john?" i inquired. to this question he answered that in kansas city he had a suite of rooms fitted up in elegant style, and kept a mistress. upon this woman he squandered all his money, obtained honestly and dishonestly. in addition to his horse-thieving raids he had several other sources of criminal revenue. one of these sources he described as follows: "i kept a horse and wagon, the wheels of which were covered with india rubber. the feet of the horse were also encased in the same material. i could move about the streets of the city in the late hours of the night without making any disturbance, and would pick up anything i could lay my hands on that i could convert into money. i have carried away many a stove and broken it up and sold it for old iron. i would also make my way out into the country and pillage. often i would enter small towns and load up my noiseless wagon with stolen goods, which i would take out of the stores. all of this money i would foolishly spend on the woman i loved." "how did you happen to get caught?" "one day on the streets of kansas city i accidentally met an ex-convict whom i knew while in jefferson city penitentiary. he was penniless and somewhat shabby. he suspected me of crooked work, and wanted to go with me on a 'horse raid.' at first i refused to take him with me, as it has always been my rule to go alone when in the crooked business. he persisted and urged me to let him go along. at last i yielded to his appeals, and we started from kansas city. i have never been back since. my 'pal' was caught on this trip and offered to turn state's evidence if he could regain his liberty. he was allowed to do this. i was tried and got a ten years' sentence. he went free." "what became of the woman?" i asked. "when in jail at leavenworth and in need of money to pay my lawyer, i wrote her a letter informing her of my trouble, and begged her to send me some money. she forgot to answer that letter, and i have never seen or heard from her since that time." "i suppose when your time is up you will hunt her up and fit up another suite of rooms, won't you?" "never," said he. "when i get out i am going to lead an honest life and take care of my money. it does not pay to get money by crookedness. such money never does one any good." having imparted this information he bade me good night and went over to another part of the ward, where he took his place beside the cot of a dying convict. chapter xi. candidate for the state senate the author of this book has been guilty of a great many bad breaks during the course of his earthly pilgrimage up to the present date. making the race for state senator from the atchison district while an inmate of the kansas penitentiary, actually an occupant of a felon's cell, and robed in the livery of disgrace, probably eclipsed anything that maybe charged to my account in the past. one sunday afternoon, after the usual exercises of the day were over, i was sitting in my little x of stone. the outside world was in convulsions over the presidential campaign. there were no convulsions, however, where i was. it was painfully quiet. everywhere, all over the broad land, except behind prison walls, politics was the all-absorbing topic. as i sat there in my solitude the question came to my mind as to what part of the great political play i would be engaged in were i a free man. some months prior to this a petition signed by , people had been forwarded to president cleveland for my pardon. had i secured my liberty it was my intention to make the race for state senator in my district for vindication. mr. cleveland interfered with my plan by refusing my pardon. thinking over the matter in my cell that sunday afternoon, i determined that while the president had the power of keeping me in prison he should not keep me from making the race for the position i coveted. immediate action followed my decision. within thirty minutes i had written a letter for publication, stating my intention of becoming an independent candidate. but how was i to get this letter out of the prison and into the newspapers of my district. it is expected of the convict that during sunday afternoon he will sit quietly in his cell and meditate about his past misdeeds. i would be dishonest if i did not state that my thoughts were now more taken up with the probable outcome of the course i had adopted than of lamenting over my past shortcomings. i reasoned that i was not only pursuing an original, but a safe course. original, in that no one, so far as my knowledge extended, had ever made the race for office while a convict; safe, in that i had nothing to lose and everything to gain. i will frankly confess that when the thought, suppose i should not get more than a dozen votes, would rush into my mind, i would feel as if i had better not be so fresh while in limbo. several times during the afternoon and evening i took up the piece of paper, on which was written my announcement, to tear it into shreds, and as often i would lay it down. i viewed the subject from almost every conceivable standpoint. i reasoned as follows: prior to this i had decided to write a book on my penitentiary career, as well as to deliver a lecture at various points in the state on the same subject. to be successful in these enterprises i must be advertised. and i knew that should i announce myself as a candidate for such an important office while in the penitentiary i would get a good ventilation. in this i was not mistaken. when the announcement appeared in the leavenworth "times" it was quickly copied and commented upon by the newspapers all over the country. some of these newspapers in their comments stated that i had more "cheek" than should be allotted to ordinary mortals. some said "he is a nervy cuss." others said his back isn't broken. now and then one could be found that predicted my election. so the matter was discussed, pro and con, for several weeks, not only by the newspapers of kansas, but whole columns would appear in the st. louis, chicago and denver papers, as well as those of other cities. i was advertised. it would have cost me thousands of dollars to pay for the ventilation i received just for making that little simple announcement, had i been forced to pay the regular rates of advertising. but to return. it was at a late hour of the night when i closed my eyes in slumber. before doing so i had made the final decision; i had crossed the rubicon; i had looked the ground over, and had my plans well matured. the next morning, after the day's work had commenced, and the warden had come down to his office, i asked permission of my officer to see captain smith. the officer wanted to know what my business was with the warden. my reply was, "official and strictly private." my request was granted. i was soon standing in the presence of the big-hearted warden smith, and being asked as to what i wanted, i said, "captain, i thought i would come in and get your opinion as to whether i was crazy or not, and if you think i am not beside myself i would like to make a statement to you and ask your advice." a few days before this i had had several interviews with him as to my pardon, and other business matters, and i suppose he thought he was going to get something more along the same line. "go ahead, john," he said, "and let me know what it is." i then told him of my intentions and plans. he made no reply until i had gone over the whole subject. then he said. "you are certainly on the safe side, for you can lose nothing. i always thought," continued he, "that it was practical to engage in any enterprise where all was gain and nothing to lose. and, furthermore, knowing your standing at home, it would not surprise me very much if you would receive more votes than your competitors." this was encouraging. i then asked permission to write letters to a number of my friends, and also to receive letters from them. he informed me he could not do this, as it would be a violation of the rules of the prison, but if any of my friends should come down i could send out anything by them i wished. i then wired a personal friend, a. s. hall, esq., of atchison, who called at the prison, to whom i gave my letter of announcement, and several letters i had written to political friends. the news spread rapidly, and in a few days i was squarely before the people as an independent candidate. shortly after this announcement i wrote an article for the papers, stating my reasons for making the senatorial race. when writing this communication i forgot i was a prisoner, and said some things that reflected seriously upon some of the warden's personal friends. here, i made a mistake. the warden, on reading this article, became enraged, and took away my writing material. at this juncture the senatorial outlook was rather discouraging. my friends championed my cause. being an independent candidate, and my name not printed on any ticket, i received no accidental votes. an elector voting for me had to erase the name of my competitor and insert mine. there were four candidates in the field. while i was not elected, i was far from coming in last in the race. i received twice as many votes as one of my competitors. he is one of the best men in the senatorial district, one of the old settlers, and a gentleman highly esteemed. to receive twice as many votes as this man was highly complimentary to me, i certainly felt flattered. when the vote was made known i received an official copy of the returns, and forwarded it to president cleveland. my term was then almost ended, and i felt confident that because of the splendid vote i had received, and consequent endorsement of the people who were personally acquainted with me, mr. cleveland would certainly grant a pardon. he did not so much as answer my communication. no one can imagine the anxiety i felt during that campaign. had i received but a small vote it would have required more nerve than i possess to have induced me to return to my old home. but when the vote was counted, and i received the returns, i must write it down as one of the happiest hours of my life. i had many true friends, and they demonstrated that fact by voting for me. although in the garb of a felon, was not the vote i received a grand vindication? any person of sense must answer in the affirmative. looking over the past, i can now see that i made no mistake in carrying into effect the scheme to which my mind gave birth on that sunday afternoon as i sat in my little-cell. i will close this chapter by tendering my friends who voted and worked for me at the time when i so much stood in need of their aid, my heartfelt gratitude. chapter xii. a dark hour it was a bright sabbath morning. i had been detailed to assist the prison choir in their preparation for the religious services of the day. while engaged in this duty, the deputy warden sent for me. meeting this official, he said to me, "john, i have sad news for you. governor martin has just telephoned from atchison that your wife is dead, and that it was his wish to have you sent home at once." this was a great surprise to me. i had heard from my wife only two days before this. at that time she was quite sick, but was thought to be improving. with a heart filled with sadness i now prepared for my journey home. the warden was absent, and the deputy warden said, "there was no precedent for permitting a prisoner to go home on a visit, as such a thing had never occurred before in the history of the state, but," continued he, "if you will give me your word that you will return to the prison i will let you go." i told him to set the time for my return and i would be back. mr. morgan, the turnkey of the prison, was my guard. my journey from the prison was the saddest of my life. it was a bright may morning. everything around seemed joyful and happy, but to me the world was gloomy. i imagined my wife lying at home a corpse, surrounded by my weeping, motherless little ones. she had passed away without my being at her bedside to go with her to the brink of the dark river. mr. morgan, my attendant, had lost his mother but a short time before this, and he could sympathize with me in a manner that aided me in bearing my burdens. after riding for a couple of hours we arrived at atchison. the train on reaching the city passes on some two blocks beyond the depot; then backs down. as i thus passed by the depot i saw numerous friends who had heard of my coming, and were there waiting to welcome me to my home. they saluted me as i sat in the car at the window and passed on by the depot. i thought they exhibited too much joy in receiving a friend who was coming back to see his dead wife. i wondered at it. when the train stopped to back down to the depot, i got off and took the nearest cut to my residence. walking some four blocks i reached my home. when nearing the gate, one of my little daughters came bounding across the street, full of joy and gladness, welcoming me home. i thought she acted rather strange for her mother to be lying in the house a corpse. without saying anything i stepped to the door; it was standing ajar. looking in, i saw my wife lying in the adjoining room--not dead! thank god! it seemed as if i had stepped into another world. my wife was very sick, but still conscious. oh! what joy i felt at once more being able to see my wife and to talk with her. all the way from the prison to the door of my residence i was laboring under a false impression. i drank the cup to its very dregs. i could have suffered no more on that journey home if she had been dead. in fact i supposed she was. governor martin had made a mistake in transmitting the message, or had been wrongly informed. i do not know how it came that i was permitted to return home. i was a united states' prisoner. as such, governor martin had no control over me. no one had authority to send me home on such a furlough except president cleveland. but i care nothing about this. i did not stop to inquire about the authority; when the prison doors came open i left for home. i was furnished a citizen's suit of clothes. i remained at home for nearly a week. many friends came to see me. this to me was one of the best weeks of my life. a little occurrence took place, during this short stay at home, which i will mention here. i have a legal friend at atchison by the name of hon. d. c. arnold. this man, when tested, proves himself true to those who have gained his good will. he conceived the idea that sending me out of the penitentiary, in citizen's clothing, was without warrant in law or precedent in fact, and that, by releasing me in that way, they had lost control of me. unknown to me he had prepared an application in "habeas corpus." the judge of the district court, hon. w. d. gilbert, who was on the bench at the time, was a personal friend of his and mine also, as i had something to do in his election, and had the application been presented to him, the judge would have inclined to turn me loose, and i would have been a free man. when mr. arnold informed me as to what he was doing, i told him that i had given my word of honor that i would return to the prison, and that i would keep it. at the expiration of a week i returned to my prison cell. a petition, signed by nearly five thousand people, had been forwarded to president cleveland for my pardon. i had some hopes of securing relief. i bade my wife good-by. i thought sure i would be sent home in a few days. my wife hopefully entertained the same opinion. we were both deceived. when i reached the prison, the deputy warden, mr. higgins, when he was informed by the officer, mr. morgan, who attended me home, how i refused my chances of liberty by means of the proceedings in "habeas corpus," contemplated by my friends, choosing imprisonment rather than breaking my word, called me into his office, and said that there was not one man in ten placed in my circumstances that would have done as i did. he then said to me: "reynolds, i will see that you have no more hard work to do while you are in the penitentiary; i would give you your liberty if i could, but that is beyond my power. i will make it as agreeable for you as possible in the prison." he got another man to take my place in the mines, and i was given an easy task from that on. i was detailed to make out reports for the prison officials, and was kept busy, and was, as i was informed, a very valuable man in that capacity. this kind of work was in keeping with my labors when on the outside, and was not hard on me like digging coal. i was given the liberty of the prison; was allowed to converse with the prisoners, and because of these favors shown me, i was able to secure the material for this book. the month following my return to the prison was the darkest, the most desolate, and the most sorrowful portion of my earthly pilgrimage yet experienced. my wife was at home dying! i was behind the prison walls! during that month i was entirely unfit for any kind of work. the prison officials, knowing my sorrows, took pity on me and did not insist upon my performing any kind of labor. i was left alone with my grief. none but god and the angels knew what i suffered. during the day i could think of nothing but my dying wife; in the night-time, when the angel sleep closes the eyelids down to rest, none came to me; in my dreams the pale face of my dear one at home in the agonies of death was before me. i would but drop sometimes into a dull slumber when i fancied that i could hear her calling for me, and thus aroused, it seemed to me that i must burst the prison bars and go to her. knowing how much deeper and stronger, purer and sweeter the affections and sympathies of woman are than those of man, what must my poor, dead wife have borne! for thirty days and nights i endured these torments. at last the hour came when her sufferings ceased. reader, doubtless you have lost a loved one. if so, you were permitted to go down to the very brink of the river of death; you were permitted to sit at the bedside and administer words of comfort and cheer. not so with me. my loved one passed away, her husband kept from her side by prison bolts and bars. and, reader, when you buried your loved one, kind friends condoled with you, and in some degree assuaged your grief. not so with me. when the news came that my wife was dead i sat down in my solitary cell and shed my tears alone. the cup that was placed to my lips was indeed a bitter one, and i drank to the dregs. my wife was one of earth's purest and best. we lived together as husband and wife the fifth of a century. during those twenty years of married life my wife never uttered a cross word to her husband. what greater eulogy could be pronounced! in the sunshine, and as certainly amid the storms of life, she was constant and true. because of her goodness of heart my home was cloudless. many times during life have the storms and waves swept against my trembling barque, but in that little harbor called home no storms ever came. oh, how much a man loses when a good wife dies! so great was my distress that, had it not been for the strength imparted by a pitying god, i never could have passed through that long night of suffering. gone, never to return. when my prison days were over, i returned to my old home in atchison, but how changed it was. my wife in her grave; my motherless children among strangers; my home desolate. as i pen these lines, surrounded by the fogs and mists of time, the question comes to me ever and anon, when the hour shall come for me to close my eyes to the scenes of earth, will i be permitted to greet my sainted wife in the beautiful city above? yes. i have the faith that the loving galilean--the man of sorrows, who was acquainted with grief--will in that hour open the gates of pearl, and let me in. until that happy hour--until we meet in the land where none of life's storms ever reach, my darling wife, farewell! chapter xiii. freedom to all things earthly there comes an end. sixteen long, dreary months of imprisonment finally passed away. the dark clouds of sadness and gloom that for so long hung above me now parted, and folding themselves together rolled away in the distance. the large iron doors swung upon their hinges, and once more i breathed the air of freedom. drowsy nature was just being aroused from her wintry slumber by the gentle touch of spring, as i began life anew. on that, to me, eventful morning the sky appeared brighter than i had ever beheld it before. o liberty! no one can ever appreciate thy blessings save him upon whose limbs have pressed the cruel fetters of slavery. the sunlight of freedom falls with its greatest refulgence upon him who has been surrounded for months and years by the baleful mists and darkness of abject bondage. the air of liberty comes doubly surcharged with the fragrance of the rarest flowers to him who has inhaled the feted breath of serfdom. grateful to god that my life had been spared; retaining all the ambition of former years; possessed of my manhood; conscious of no guilt, i felt that, under the guiding hand of providence, there was for me a bright future. with a determination to succeed, that can never be satisfied short of success, i returned to my home. i concluded that instead of going to some distant place, among strangers, it was best for me to return to the locality where all knew of my misfortunes and the true causes that led to them. on my arrival at the depot i was met by a multitude of friends. by the reception that was given me no one, ignorant of the facts, would have for a moment imagined that i had but a few hours before vacated the cell of a criminal. i pen these lines three months from the day when i began life anew, and during that time i have met with no one so base as to "snub" a man, who, having met with misfortune, is honestly endeavoring to regain what he lost. is there any hope for the ex-convict? is it possible for him to be clothed in the garments of respectability who once has been attired in the habiliments of disgrace? can he ever be a man among men who has for a time been numbered with the debased of earth? to these questions, with all the powers of my being, i answer, yes! i do not know how the outlook may appear to others who have met a similar misfortune; but as for myself i can truthfully say i was never more hopeful in my life. there may be storms in the future, obstacles to meet and overcome, but self reliant, and trusting in him who observes the struggles even of the worm, i hope to soon reach my proper place among men, and in the end reap the golden harvest of success. the world is full of kind-hearted people who are ready to help those who, though unfortunate, are willing to help themselves. scores of men annually go out from the "kansas hell," having paid the penalties of their crimes, who are not so highly favored as myself, and whose struggles will have to be greater than mine if they ever secure a foothold of respectability in life. in behalf of these in their efforts to become better men i appeal to the great, loving heart of the true kansan. help the fallen in his struggles to rise again. since my return home, several times have i visited the grave of my wife, and often on these occasions would the hot blood go surging through my veins, and my baser nature would demand that i avenge the death of her who was so heartlessly sent to an untimely grave. a better judgment has prevailed, and as i drop the tear of affection upon the grave of her who is the mother of my children, i leave the wrongs of the past in the hands of an avenging god. may there fall upon those who were so kind to my sorrowing family and myself while we were passing through the deep waters, the radiant smiles of him who says, "inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, ye have done it unto me." a missouri hell chapter xiv. the convict's home "jefferson city is the next station," called out the train man as the missouri pacific rolled into the capital of the great commonwealth of missouri. it was two o'clock in the morning. from an easy reclining chair, to an omnibus, and to a cozy room in the madison house, was the work of but a few moments. it being rather an unseasonable hour to begin the investigation of a large penal institution, i made a brief journey to the land of dreams, and there remained until a noisy porter knocked at my bed-room door, and shouted, "nine o'clock, last call for breakfast, old man; if you want any thing to eat you had better get a move on you." being of the opinion this was rather a cheerful morning salutation, i arose, dressed, and soon felt better because of a good breakfast. i am now ready for my work--an investigation of the missouri penitentiary. before leaving my home in atchison, kansas, i procured a letter of introduction from hon. b. p. waggener, mayor of that city, to governor francis of missouri. i found my way to the capitol, and to the office of the governor. after a brief delay i was shown into the private apartment of the obliging executive, where i presented my letter, stated the object of my visit, and received a letter to the warden of the prison, containing a request that the bearer be shown every thing there was to be seen in and about the penitentiary. from the capitol to the prison is a walk of but a few minutes. on my way there i met a one-legged ex-convict who was just leaving the institution. his pale face, shoddy suit of clothes and light-colored felt hat all spoke but too plainly of the fact that he was very recently "let loose," entering into conversation with him, i found that he had a few moments before completed a term of five years at hard labor. from him i gathered a great deal of important information as to the treatment of the prisoners, of which he had been an eye-witness for five years. he also gave me his own history. in a saloon brawl, he became involved in a fight with a drunken comrade, half-crazed with drink. pistols were drawn, and shots were exchanged. he received a bullet in his thigh, that caused the amputation of his limb. his antagonist was killed. on a trial for murder he received a sentence for manslaughter. said he, "whisky sent me to prison. had i not been drunk i would never have taken the life of the man whom i shot. he had been, for years, a good friend of mine. i will never take another drink as long as i live. it has been my ruin." in the conversation he informed me that he had left behind him, when sent to prison, a wife and three children. during his confinement they had to depend for the most part on their relatives and public charity for support. on account of their poverty they had not been able to visit him at any time during his imprisonment. they had continued to love him, notwithstanding his misfortune; had been true to him during his days of bondage; and he was now anxious to reach his home to meet them. how true it is that the blow which falls upon the culprit, and which justice intends for him alone, often falls with equal force and effect upon wife, child or other helpless and dependent relative! i asked him how he felt on recovering his liberty after being in prison for five years. "oh!" said he, "this is the happiest day of my life thus far; i never knew the blessings of liberty as i do now. i never saw the sun shine so brightly before. everything about me seems so beautiful. from this time i will appreciate more than ever i have done, this beautiful world. it almost pays a man to be penned up for a time to enable him to appreciate what there is in the world for him. behind the walls, however, banished from the presence of loved ones, it is a veritable hell. i cannot find a term that expresses my views of a prison life that is more suitable than that word--hell. those long, dreary days of monotonous work--the same thing must be gone over, day after day; the food we eat, the treatment to which we are subjected, our loneliness and solitude, all combined, make prison life almost unbearable." "do you know," i asked, "of any prisoners who are so satisfied with their condition as to be willing to remain in the penitentiary, did they have an opportunity of obtaining their liberty?" "there is not a person in that institution," he replied, "who would not hail with joy his release. some of them are physical wrecks, and would have to go to the almshouse to be taken care of in case they should obtain their freedom, yet they would prefer any place to that of a prison cell, deprived of their freedom." after spending more than an hour in conversation with this ex-convict, and bidding him "good bye," i proceeded on my journey to the prison. as i walked along thinking of the poor ex-convict i had just passed, my imagination pictured for him a rather gloomy future. he is a cripple, and has a large family to support; he must bear with him along life's journey the heavy load of disgrace that whisky placed upon him. an ex-convict! who will give him work to do? who will lend him a helping hand in his struggle to regain a foothold in the outside world? after a few vain efforts to regain what he has lost, will he not yield to despair, as thousands have done before him, and, becoming a pitiless wreck, pass on down the current of crime until he drifts over time's last precipice and drops into the arms of death? to the average ex-convict there is but little hope for success in this life. the painful history of a majority of them is, after they have fallen into the meshes of a criminal life, they never have the moral power to extricate themselves. my musings are now at an end, for i have just reached the entrance to the penitentiary--"a missouri hell." a prison official on duty at the entrance conducted me into the presence of the warden, hon. john l. morrison. this genial gentleman is a resident of howard county, where he was born and spent the greater portion of his life. he is sixty years of age, and by occupation a farmer. for four years he was sheriff of his county. he received his appointment as warden less than one year ago. he is without any prison experience. the reason, no doubt, for his being appointed warden of so great a penal institution is, that outside from his being a man of unimpeachable integrity, he exerts no little political influence in that portion of the state where he resides. we have no cause for criticising the governor's selection. perhaps he is one of the very best men that could have been procured for the place. at any rate, he is credited with starting out well. but it is not every honest, upright man that makes a good warden. it requires a man with a special fitness to be a success in handling prisoners and making a penal institution beneficial to all interested. after warden morrison has been given a fair trial, and it becomes evident that he is a successful prison man, he should be retained many years in that responsible position. for the longer he is kept at the head of the institution the more valuable will his services be to the state. i remained several days, and through the kindness of the warden and other prison officials, saw everything about the institution that was noteworthy. the missouri penitentiary is located in the southern suburbs of jefferson city. its entrance is from the north. it covers an area of seventeen acres. this tract of ground is surrounded by a stone wall twenty feet high and four feet thick. the prison enclosure is rectangular in form. at each of the four corners, and at stated intervals, towers arise eight feet, which are occupied by officers on duty. occupying this elevated position, these officers can readily observe all that occurs within the prison walls, outside the buildings. at stated times the officers emerge from the towers and walk along on top of the wall to see if anything unusual is taking place about the prison. loose stones are piled on top of portions of the wall that surrounds the prison, to prevent the convicts from securing a fastening for ladder hooks, should they attempt to escape. a portion of this wall was erected fifty-four years ago, the prison having been established in . could these towering stones speak, what scenes of misery and wretchedness they might describe! o, ye rocks, that make up this barrier between freedom and the worst form of human slavery, as you have been occupying your silent position for the past half hundred years, had your ears been unstopped, what countless groans of despair would you have heard? could your eyes have opened, when first you took your place in that prison wall fifty years ago, how many indescribable scenes of anguish would you have witnessed? a heavy iron door swings upon its creaking hinges. bolts fly back into their sockets. i step into a revolving iron cage, which, manipulated by a guard, turns half way round on its axis, and i emerge from this into the prison campus the space surrounded by the walls. what wonderful scenes now are discovered! many of them, indeed, are heartrending. i will describe what i saw and make mention of what i heard. there are four large buildings of brick and stone; honeycombed with cells--the homes of the prisoners. the cells, in one of these buildings, are large and commodious, and contain four criminals. in dimension they are nine feet wide and thirteen feet long. the remainder of the cells are small and contain but one man in a cell. the large cells are objectionable, for the reason that the men, being locked up together in such small rooms, get to talking, and often quarrels and fights result. a number of convicts have been almost murdered in these larger cells, where there were more than one occupant. again, if there be three in a cell who desire to have the fourth one removed, they combine against him and render his existence while in the cell unbearable. they abuse him constantly. if he reports them to the officer the three stoutly deny all accusations, often bringing upon the innocent one punishment which should have been meted out to the three guilty ones. it requires but little stretch of the imagination to enable one to see how miserable a prisoner may be rendered in one of these cells when three occupants of the same cell combine against him. the large cells are a source of great annoyance to prison officials, and are now, after trial, universally condemned. the small cells are about four feet wide, seven feet long, and seven feet high. the doors are very low, and the prisoner has to stoop as he enters. the low door gives to the cell a more gloomy appearance than it would possess if the entrance was higher. on going into one of these cells one has the same feeling as takes hold of him when he crawls into a low, dark hole in the ground. the cells are constructed of stone, with wooden floors. the cells of the kansas and other penitentiaries are higher and better ventilated. the furniture of the cell consists of an iron rack, on which is placed a straw bed with sufficient covering to keep the convict warm. there are also a bucket, wash-basin and towel. the prisoner washes himself in the cell. he also has a chair to sit on and a holy bible to read. this is about all the furniture to be found in the cells. occasionally a carpet covers the floor, but the prisoner furnishes this out of his own means. if he has no means he has no carpet. i was much surprised to learn that there was no way provided for the convicts to take a plunge bath, and that many of them became very filthy because of their not being compelled to bathe at stated times. other penitentiaries are supplied with bath-houses, and once each week the inmates are required to take a bath. this certainly is conducive to good health. the cell-houses are lighted by electric lights, and each cell is provided with a lamp. thus the prisoner has an opportunity of reading during the evenings, which is a great blessing, and should be highly appreciated. the prison is supplied with a large library of choice books to which the inmates have access. they also are allowed to read daily newspapers, if they have money with which to purchase them. the managing officials of the kansas penitentiary are possessed of a very foolish notion in regard to the reading of daily newspapers. they will not under any circumstances allow a prisoner to take his home paper, or have access to any political daily. they claim that it excites the prisoner and makes his imprisonment more difficult to bear when he knows what is going on in the outside world. it seems that this custom smacks of barbarism, and the prison directors of the kansas prison should discard it at once. imagine the condition of a prisoner who has been in confinement for ten years, having no access to the daily or weekly newspapers. he would be an ignoramus of the worst type. our penal institutions should try and improve their prisoners, instead of rendering them more ignorant and debased. we are glad to note that the missouri penitentiary is in advance of the kansas prison in this respect. if the prisoner can take a little pleasure in reading, daily or weekly, what takes place at his own home, why not give him the privilege, since it is evident that such a permission will not be detrimental to prison discipline? there are school books to be found in the prison library, and the prisoners, if they desire, can get these books and study them. a great many do improve these opportunities, and a number have made great advancement in their studies. they are also permitted to have writing materials in their cells, a privilege which is considered very dangerous, and which but few similar institutions grant. many of the convicts who could not read or write on entering the prison make considerable progress in these studies. the missouri prison does not go far enough in matters of education. it should be provided with a school. in this matter the kansas and iowa penitentiaries are far in advance. they have regular graded schools, and many convicts have acquired an education sufficient to enable them to teach when they went out again into the free world. it is to be hoped when the legislature meets again the members will see to it that ample provision is made for a first-class school at the prison, with a corps of good teachers. the state will lose nothing by this movement. in the iowa prison at ft. madison the convicts are taught in the evening, after the work of the day is over. in the kansas prison, instruction is given sunday afternoon. these schools are accomplishing great good. the chief object of imprisonment should be reformation. ignorance and reformation do not affiliate. some will argue that if prisoners are educated and treated so humanely they will have a desire to return to the prison, in fact, make it their home. experience teaches us that, treat a human being as a prince, and deprive him of his liberty, and the greatest burden of life is placed upon him, and he is rendered a pitiable object of abject misery. there is no punishment to which a human being can be subjected which it is possible to endure, that is more to be dreaded than confinement. those long, weary, lonely hours that the prisoner spends in his cell are laden with the greatest of all continuous sorrows. there is but little danger of surfeiting him with kindness and advantages, so long as he is deprived of his freedom. if there is any hope for the reformation of the vicious and depraved, no better place can be found to commence that reformation than while he is an inmate of the prison. while there, he is shut out from the society of his wicked companions; he is not subjected to the same temptations in prison as on the outside. save being deprived of his freedom, he is placed in the most favorable position for reformation that it is possible for one to occupy. if he is not reformed here it is not likely he ever will be. it is to the highest interest of the state that these opportunities should be improved. every effort should be put forth to make these men better while they are in prison. they are worth saving. it must not be forgotten that one of the essential features in a thorough reformation of a man, is to drive away the mists of ignorance by which he is surrounded. other things being equal, he is the better prepared to wage successfully life's warfare, who is educated. he will be better able to resist the temptations which he will meet when his days of bondage are over. yes, by all means, let every prison have its school. it is of the greatest importance to the prisoner, likewise to the state. as i was passing through these cell-houses, reading the names of the convicts, placed above the cell door, i came to one which contained four brothers. five brothers were convicted of robbery and sent to the prison, but a short time ago one of them was pardoned, and the four now remain. the liberated one was on a visit to his brothers while i was at the prison. reader, is it not a sad thought that these four young men, brothers, should spend ten of the best years of their lives in a prison? surely the way of the transgressor is hard. young man, you who have as yet never been an inmate of a prison, imagine, if possible, the loneliness experienced as one spends his days, weeks, months and years behind these frowning prison walls, shut up the greatest portion of the time in these small cells that i have described in this chapter. if you do not wish a life of this nature, shun the company of wicked and vicious associates, and strive with all your power to resist the tempter in whatever form he may approach you. it is not force he employs to drag you down to the plane of the convict, but he causes the sweet song of the syren to ring in your ear, and in this manner allures you away from the right, and gently leads you down the pathway that ends in a felon cell, disgrace and death. chapter xv. the work of the convict it is a great blessing to the convict that he can have the privilege of working. when prisons were first started in this country it was thought best to keep the prisoner in solitary confinement; have him visited daily by a spiritual teacher, place the bible and other good books in his hands, and in this manner reform him, and send him out into the world a better man than he was on entering the prison. the great penal institution of auburn, new york, was for a time conducted in this manner. the plan, at first thought to be a good one, had to be abandoned. the criminal could not endure solitary confinement. he must have work. many of them became insane, while still others died for want of the open air, out-door exercise, and some diversion for the mind. in all the penitentiaries of the country, at the present time, convicts are required to perform some kind of useful labor. that is one point of the prison question that is, doubtless, forever settled. all prison men agree that the convict must perform some kind of work. labor to the prisoners means health of body and mind. solitary confinement means the reverse. but what kind of labor the prisoner should perform, and what should be done with the results of his labor, is one of the most difficult questions to decide. all the prisoners of the missouri penitentiary are let out to contractors, with the exception of those needed to do the work about the prison. the work consists chiefly of making saddle-trees and shoes. several large three-story buildings are used in furnishing room for the convicts while at labor. those contractors who have been at the prison for some time have grown rich. they get their men for forty-five cents a day, on an average. they have their choice of prisoners as they come in. those convicts designated scrubs, do the work for the state. the contractors are charged with controlling the prison. if one of the officials, in the discharge of his duty, happens to do anything displeasing to the contractors, they combine against him and have him removed. they are charged with using their combined political influence, and even money, to carry their points. we have been told by some of the leading men of the state that it was a notorious fact that the penitentiary was controlled by a political ring, a set of jobbers, and this ring was largely influenced by the contractors. the contract system is wrong, and should not have a place in any of the penal institutions of the country. the contractor assigns the task. the prisoner must perform that task or be punished. if an avaricious contractor, in his desire to make money, places too great a task upon the prisoner, who is there to take the prisoner's part and shield him from abuse? fully nine-tenths of the punishments inflicted is the result of the reports and complaints of the contractors. see how unjust and how hard this contract system is upon many of the prisoners! two convicts enter the same day. in outward appearance they are strong, healthy men. the same task is assigned them. one of them being adapted to that line of work, and skilled, performs his task with ease; while the other, equally industrious, cannot get through with his. he is reported for shirking. he states his inability to do the amount of work assigned him. the contractor or his foreman makes a different report. the assertions of the convict amount to but little, as against the statements of the rich and influential contractor. he is punished and returned to his work. a second time he tries, again fails, and is reported as before. this being the second offense the prisoner is subjected to a more severe punishment. this brutal treatment is continued until the officer, growing weary with inflicting punishment upon the poor wretch, concludes he is unable to perform the task assigned him. if this contract system is to continue in missouri, there should be some one whose duty it is to see that the prisoner is humanely treated, and not let a brutal officer decide, who is in league with the contractors. i have it from the lips of a prison official who has been connected with the prison for thirty-six years, that the treatment some of the prisoners receive because of the avariciousness of the contractors, is simply heartrending. after all, is not this contract system a regular jobbing business? if these men can employ the prisoners and pay forty-five cents a day for them, and make money and grow rich, why cannot the state work the convicts and save all these profits? competent men can be secured as superintendents to carry on this work. some will say, that it will open up too many avenues to jobbery; that the superintendents will get to stealing from the state, and in the end the state will not get as much benefit as under the present system. this seems like begging the question. if these superintendents, after a time, become thieves, treat them as thieves, and give them a term in the penitentiary. this kind of medicine will soon cure all cases of jobbery. again, prisoners should be assigned tasks according to their ability. all men are not alike equally skilled in the same kind of labor. all these things should be taken into account. no prisoner should be forced to carry a burden that is oppressive, in order to fill the coffers of avaricious contractors. again, i ask that there be some humane person, whose duty it is to see that these helpless men, whose lips are sealed, are not oppressed by this damnable contract system. let us treat these unfortunate men humanely, and never forget that, if stern justice was meted out to those who had the control of convicts, as officers, guards, or contractors, many of them would be doing service for the state, clad in a suit of stripes. the penitentiary of missouri is self-supporting, with the exception of the officer's pay-roll. at each session of the legislature, an appropriation of $ , is made for this purpose. there are over one hundred officers on the pay-roll. the records show that it requires nearly a quarter of a million dollars annually to pay the expenses of this institution. crime is an expensive luxury! during the past two years $ , have been paid into the treasury as the earnings of the prison. the goods manufactured are sold chiefly in the state of missouri. this brings convict labor, which is very cheap, into competition with the labor of the poor, but honest man on the outside. the average labor value of the convict is forty-five cents a day. how is it possible for laboring men on the outside, who have families depending upon them, to support themselves and families on an amount, that will enable business men, for whom they work, to engage in business and compete with this cheap convict labor? this is the great argument against convict labor. the convict must be given work or he will become insane. to bring this cheap labor into conflict with the toil of honest but poor men on the outside, is unjust and cruel. what to do with convict labor is one of the unsolved problems. it is a subject that will furnish ample scope for the thinking mind. the prisoner is worked on an average of nine hours each day. he goes about his labor in silence. it is against the regulations for him to exchange a word or a knowing glance with a fellow-workman. when visitors pass through the workshops he is not permitted to lift his eyes from his work to look at them. an officer, perched upon a raised seat, who commands a view of the entire work-room, is constantly on the watch to see that no rule or regulation is violated. the convict cannot take a drink of water, or go from one part of the room to another in the discharge of his duties without permission from the officer. the prisoner is always conscious of being watched. this feeling is no small factor in making the life of a prisoner almost unbearable. nearly all of the inmates work in shops, and all the exercise they receive in the open air is what they get in going to and from their meals and cells. it is this sameness of work, this daily and hourly going over the same routine, this monotonous labor, this being surrounded by hundreds of busy fellow-workmen, and not permitted to exchange a word with any of them, that makes the life of a prisoner to be so much dreaded. young man, as you read these lines, it is impossible for you to conceive the misery that accompanies this kind of a monotonous life. in order to know all that it means, you must pass through it, as i have done. things are entirely different with you. while you are at work on the outside of prisons, you can carry on conversation with those about you and thus pass the time in a pleasant manner. after the day's work is over, if you so desire, you can spend an hour or so with friends. not so with the criminal. after his day's work, done in silence, is past, he is locked up in his solitary cell to spend the evening as best he can. there is no one to watch you constantly while at your daily toil, to see that you do not violate some insignificant rule or regulation. when you desire a holiday, and wish to take a stroll out into the woods, to look upon the beautiful flowers or admire nature in all her loveliness, to inhale the pure, fresh air--which is a stranger to packed workshops--to revel in the genial sunlight, there is no one to forbid you. you are a free man. oh, what a wonderful difference between the laboring man who is free, and him who is forced to work, clad in the habiliments of disgrace! he who penned these lines has had to toil as a convict in the coal mines of the kansas penitentiary, eight hundred feet below the surface, lying stretched out on his side, and he knows what he is talking about when he says, he would rather die and be laid away in his grave than to spend five years as a convict. young man, think of these things when you are tempted to do those things that will send you to a felon's cell. of course, it is no intention of yours ever to become an inmate of a prison. permit one who has had experience, to tell you that it is one of the easiest things in the world to get into a prison, and that when once in, it is difficult to secure your liberty, until time turns the bolt and lets you out, or in other words, until you serve out your term. may you never yield to a temptation that will make you a prisoner. chapter xvi. the missouri prisoners the missouri penitentiary contains , convicts. this is the most populous penal institution in the united states. crime is on the increase. the number of prisoners is gradually becoming larger. reformation is not the success that it should be. a great many of the prisoners return a second, third and many the fourth time. there is one old convict now an inmate who has served nine different terms in this prison. the highest number that was ever at any prior time in this penitentiary, was reached on thanksgiving day of . in , fifty-four years ago, when this prison was founded, there were eighteen prisoners received the first day. during the year one received a pardon, leaving at the close seventeen prisoners. at the close of there were nineteen hundred inmates. as the population of missouri increases, she is generous enough to contribute her quota to the felon cells within her borders. the increase of from seventeen at the close of the first year to that of nineteen hundred at the close of the last year, speaks volumes. what can be done to lessen this fearful increase of crime? it is true that the population of the state has increased amazingly since , but crime has increased too rapidly in proportion to the increase of population. when a man, accused of crime, is convicted and sentenced in any of the courts of the state, a commitment is furnished the sheriff, by the clerk of the court. this document is a writing, giving the name of the prisoner, the crime of which he stands committed, and the term for which he is sentenced. it is the authority given the sheriff to convey to the penitentiary the person named therein, and to deliver him to the warden. as soon as the warden receives the commitment he assumes control of the prisoner, and retains it until his term of service expires, or is liberated by pardon or some court decree. it is curious to note how differently prisoners act on coming to the penitentiary. some of them quake with fear and tremble as the aspen leaf. others weep like whipped children. while others do not seem to mind it much. this latter class is chiefly made up of those who have served terms before, and have had experience. the officers try to crush the spirit of the criminal the first day he enters. the poor culprit, already quaking with fear, is spoken to in a cross and harsh manner, as if he was going to be struck over the head with a club the next moment. he is locked up in the reception cell, a low, dark dungeon. to use the expressive language of the prison, he is left in this dungeon to "soak" for an indefinite time, often for a day and a night. in this dreaded spot, in his loneliness and shame he has an opportunity for meditation. i don't suppose there ever was a person who, in this reception cell for the first time, did not heartily regret the commission of his crime. here he thinks of his past life. the days of his innocent childhood come flitting before him. the faces of loved ones, many of whom now dead, pass in review. it is here he thinks of his loving mother, of his kind old father, of his weeping sisters and sympathizing brothers. he travels, time and again, the road of his past life. in his reveries of solitude he sits once more in the old school-house of his boyhood days. it comes to him, now with greater force than ever before, what he might have been, had he taken a different course, alas! it is too late. he is forever disgraced. there is but little hope for him now in the future. reader, behold this unfortunate youth as he sits in his lonely dungeon, his first day in the penitentiary. on a low chair, his elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands, he sits and tries to imagine what is in store for him. he endeavors to peer into the future, and all is gloom. that sweet angel we call hope, has spread her wings, taken her flight and left him comfortless. the cloud of despair, black as the egyptian midnight, settles down upon him. he wishes that he was dead. i can never forget my first day in a felon's cell. of all my eventful life, into which many dark days have crowded themselves, my first day in prison was the darkest. after the "soaking season" is over, an officer advances to the dungeon, throws back the bolts, pulls open the door, and, in a harsh manner, commands the broken-hearted culprit to follow. he is conducted to an apartment, takes a bath, and dons the suit of stripes. ye angels! did you ever behold such a sight? is it not a travesty on every thing that is good to dress a human being in such a suit of clothes. a striped coat, striped pataloons, striped shirt, striped cap, in fine everything he wears is striped. there is nothing in this world so humiliates a person as being compelled to wear these stripes. no language can describe the feelings of horror that took hold upon me the first time i saw myself arrayed in these emblems of disgrace. i passed through all the fiery ordeal of trial, sentence, reception cell, undaunted, but when i made my first toilet in the penitentiary, i must admit, i was "knocked out." then i felt keenly the sting of disgrace. the prisoner is next introduced to a convict barber, who shaves him and "clips" his hair. by the time the barber gets through with his part of the programme, the prisoner has but little hair either on his face or head. the prison physician examines him and it is decided where he is to work. he is next shown the cell he is to occupy, and later on his place of work. over his cell is placed his name and number. he now enters upon that indescribable, desolate, and dreary life of a convict. the treatment of the prisoners the inmates of the missouri penitentiary are well clothed. in this respect, this prison has no rival. all the prisoners presented the appearance of being cleanly, so far as their clothing is concerned. all are dressed in stripes. none are exempt. here are nearly two thousand men on an equality. none of them can look down upon others, and say, i am more nicely dressed than you. i never saw a convict dude in the entire lot. the prisoners are well fed. for breakfast, the bill of fare consists of bread, coffee, without milk or sugar, and hash. there is no change of this bill of fare. if the prisoner has been there for ten years, if not in the hospital, he has feasted upon hash every morning. boiled meat, corn bread, potatoes and water make up the dinner, and for supper the convict has bread, molasses and coffee. the principal objection to this diet is its monotony. whenever a change of diet becomes a strict necessity, the prisoner is permitted to take a few meals in the hospital dining-room. here he receives a first-class meal. this is a capital idea. a great deal of sickness is prevented by thus permitting the convict to have an occasional change of diet. on holidays, such as thanksgiving day, christmas, etc., an extra dinner is given, which is keenly relished by all. i have before me a statement of the expenses for a sunday breakfast and dinner. there are only two meals given on sunday. the hash was made up of pounds of beef, pounds of bacon, and bushels of potatoes. fifty-one pounds of coffee were used, and four and a half barrels of flour. the entire meal cost $ . . for dinner, , pounds of beef, bushels of potatoes, and / barrels of flour, were used. this meal cost $ . . it costs about ten cents each a day to feed the prisoners. some of the convicts, after they get their daily tasks performed, do overwork. the contractors pay them small sums for this extra labor. with this money the convict is permitted to purchase apples from the commissary department, which he can take to his cell and eat at his leisure. the commissary keeps these apples on hand at all times in packages, which he sells to the prisoners at twenty cents each. in prison, apples are the most healthful diet the inmate can have. should friends on the outside desire to send delicacies to any of the prisoners, they are permitted to receive the same, and, taking them to their cells, eat at their leisure. these luxuries are highly appreciated by the men in stripes, whose daily food is largely made up of hash and corn bread. the female prisoners must subsist on the same kind of food as the males. in some penal institutions, kansas for example, the women have better diet than is furnished the men. not so in this penitentiary. all are treated alike, so far as food is concerned. three times each day the men march into the large dining-hall, which accommodates , , and partake of their meals. the tableware is of tin and somewhat meager. the tables themselves present the appearance of the modern school-desk, being long enough that twenty men may be comfortably seated at each. no table-linen is used. when eating, the convict is not permitted to call for anything he may wish. when a dish is empty it is held aloft, and an officer or a convict waiter replenishes it. ample time is given to eat. all have a sufficiency of food such as it is. every thing is clean. after the meal is over, the prisoners, in ranks, return to their workshops, or to their cells in case it is the last meal of the day. it is a very interesting sight to witness , convicts eating at the same time. the officials are to be commended for the following privileges they grant the prisoners: on all holidays, such as fourth of july, christmas, etc., they are let out of their cells into a large open square, inside the prison walls, and are allowed to converse with each other, and are given full liberty to do as they wish. these are days of freedom. officers, of course, are among them to see that no fighting occurs, and also to prevent any from effecting their escape by scaling the walls. the prisoners do certainly enjoy these times. they shake hands with each other, run about, shout, leap for joy, and have more real happiness than a lot of school-boys who have been shut up in a room all day at their studies and are in the evening turned out for play. the men are very careful not to abuse this privilege which they prize very highly. there never have been any disturbances, nor fights, nor attempts at escape during these holidays. these privileges granted the prisoners demonstrate the humaneness of the prison officials. the question often arises, why is it there are no more riots and insurrections in this prison. here are nearly two thousand men huddled up together. they are prisoners, suffering the worst kind of bondage. why is it they do not make a rush for liberty whenever an opportunity presents itself? many of them are in for life, and may never again see beyond their prison walls. why are they so docile? these questions can be easily answered. many of the men are short-time prisoners, having from one to three years, and cannot afford to get into trouble, as their time is short. added to this, if the prisoner behaves himself, and obtains a good prison record, he obtains a pardon and restoration to citizenship when three-fourths of his time has expired. if a man is sent for ten years, by good conduct he will be pardoned at the end of seven and a half years. this is a great inducement to good behavior. the reason the life-men cause but little, if any, disturbance in the prison is, that they all have a hope sometime or other of receiving a pardon, and they know very well that, if they do not have a good prison record, they can never obtain a pardon. a custom also prevails at the prison, that has much to do in causing the long-time men to behave themselves, and be obedient to the regulations of the institution. every fourth of july and christmas the governor of the state grants pardons to two long-time men, so there are four chances annually for a man to obtain his freedom. before the governor will pardon one of these men, he must be satisfied, among other things, that the convict has a good prison record. any one can readily see that this is a great inducement for the prisoner to behave himself. missouri is the only state, so far as my knowledge extends, that has this custom. it should become, not only a custom, but a law, in every state. it is founded on good sense. the prisoner's sentence i believe in capital punishment. when a man falls so low as maliciously, willfully and premeditatedly, to take the life of a human being, he should be hung by the neck until he is dead. before it is just to impose such a sentence as this upon a human being he should have a fair and impartial trial, which many persons charged with crime do not get. if poor and unable to employ the best legal talent, the court should see that it is furnished. too often is it the case when a poor man, charged with crime, makes affidavit that he is unable to procure counsel, that some young and inexperienced attorney is selected, in order to give him a start in practice. the consequence of this inexperience is that the man charged with crime has to suffer for his lawyer's inability to secure for him his rights. after the jury has brought in a verdict of guilty he should have the privilege of taking his case to the supreme court, and have it reviewed by that tribunal at the expense of the state. no human being should be hung on circumstantial evidence, unsupported by positive testimony. if the judgment below is confirmed, then let the murderer be kept in close confinement in the penitentiary for one year, and, if during that time no new evidence or mitigating circumstances arise let him be hung by the neck until he is dead. let the execution take place in the prison, let it be private and witnessed by but few persons, designated by the executive of the state. it is better for the criminal to be hung than to be sent to the penitentiary for life. while serving out a lifetime sentence he suffers ten thousand deaths. those states where the death penalty is inflicted have the least number of brutal murders, in proportion to their population. the dread of death is a better protection to society than a life of imprisonment. the fiend with murder in his heart thinks "while there is life, hope remains," and if he is sent to the penitentiary for life he may get a pardon after a time. but if he is aware of the fact that if he strikes the fatal blow he must atone for his crime on the gallows, he is more liable to think twice before striking his innocent victim once. there should be no such a thing as a life sentence. no criminal should be sent to the penitentiary for a term longer than fifteen years. the suffering he endures during this long sentence is enough to atone for any crime he may commit aside from a brutal murder, and for this he should be hung. fifteen years of imprisonment is sufficient to break down almost any constitution. having spent this length of time behind prison walls a man is a physical wreck, and, having atoned for his crime, let him have the last days of life in the world of freedom. the greatest desire of a life man in our penitentiaries is to die outside of prison walls. no criminal should be sent to the penitentiary for less than five years. after giving him one fourth off for good behavior, he has but little more than three years of actual service. this will give him plenty of time to learn a trade, so that when he goes out of prison he can make a living for himself and for those depending upon him. for crimes that require lighter sentences of imprisonment let jails or reformatories be brought into requisition. in the eyes of the world a jail sentence is not so disgraceful as one in the penitentiary. the plumage of a jail-bird is not so black as that of a penitentiary bird. the disgrace of being sent to the penitentiary for one year is as great as being sent for five or ten years. whether he goes for one or five years, for all the future he is set down as an ex-convict. people do not stop to inquire as to the length of his sentence. the main question is: was he in the penitentiary? if so, he wears the mark of cain--the stamp of disgrace. not so, if he simply has been in jail. there are a great many young men, while surrounded by bad company, yield to temptation and commit crime. a dose of jail service will do them as much good as a year in the penitentiary. after they get out they do not feel the disgrace so keenly, and there is some hope for their reformation. send them to the penitentiary and it will be a miracle if they ever amount to anything in the future. if a jail sentence of a year does not reform a young criminal, or a man of older years, who has committed his first offense, then give a term in the penitentiary for five years for the second offense. it is too true that a sentence to the penitentiary for a first term is the irretrievable ruin of the young offender. this becomes an obstacle which, during all the future, he cannot surmount. this plan being adopted let everything be done to reform the youthful offender while in jail. it is much easier to carry forward the work of reformation in a jail or reformatory than in a penitentiary. chapter xvii. the missouri prisoners--(continued) during the years and , , prisoners were received into the missouri penitentiary. of this number , were white males, colored males, white females, and colored females. these figures show that the women of missouri are a great deal better than the men, or they do not get their share of justice. table showing the ages of convicts received during the years and . from to ................. " to ................. " to ................. " to ................. " to ................. " to ................. " to ................. " to ................. " to ................. " to ................. " to ................. " and upward............ ---- total .......... , there is nothing that should interest the good people of missouri more than the foregoing table. these appalling figures i copied from the prison records. of the , criminals received during the past two years, more than one-fifth of them were mere children. would it not be better to give these boys a term in the county jails, or in some reformatory, instead of sending them to a penitentiary? coming in contact with hardened and vicious criminals, what hope is there for getting these boys into the paths of honesty and uprightness? then there follows the large number of , representing the youthful age from twenty to twenty-five years. these are the years most prolific of criminals. who can say these boys are vicious and hardened criminals? then follow the young men of from twenty-five to thirty. three hundred and fourty-four of this age find a home in felon cells. are these boys and young men not worth saving? what can be done to snatch them from a career of crime, and to save them from becoming miserable wrecks? father, if one of these boys was a son of yours, you would think seriously over this important question. something should be done to save this large army of youth who are annually finding their way into felon cells. is the penitentiary the proper place to send those youthful offenders? if so, then they should not come in contact with the older and hardened criminals. one of the most essential things to be done in a prison is the classification of the inmates. this is not done in the missouri penitentiary. here the mere youth often cells with a hardened old criminal of the worst description. i would rather a child of mine would be boxed up with a rattlesnake. in this institution there are nearly , criminals huddled up together--an indiscriminate mass. the officials are not to blame for this. they realize the terrible condition of things at the prison. they have not sufficient room for the classification and proper arrangement of the inmates. they know, perhaps better than anyone else, that the prison is not what it should be. warden marmaduke says, in his last report to the prison directors, "this prison is now too much crowded and it becomes a serious question at once, as to what disposition will be made of them in the future. if this prison is to accommodate them, another cell building should be built at once. if another prison is to be the solution, it should be commenced. if a reconstruction of our criminal laws, looking to the reduction of crime, it should be done now. and in any event, and whatever may be done, certainly our management of prisons should be so modified or changed that the practical, not the sentimental system of reform, should be adopted. i believe that our present system is making criminals instead of reforming them, and i believe that it is practicable to so classify, treat, feed, work and uniform these people, as to make better men instead of worse men out of them. i have profound respect for the good purposes of the benevolently disposed men and women, and they are numerous, who are devoting themselves to the effort of reforming criminals. yet their efforts must be supplemented by a practical building up and the development of the better instincts of the man, which cannot be done under our present system. the surroundings are against it. we are constantly developing and stimulating the very worst instincts. i believe it practicable to institute methods for this reform, at once creditable to the state." who can doubt our statements on this subject when we quote such high authority as the above. the last warden of this great institution comes out and officially announces that awful fact that our present system of prison treatment is constantly developing and stimulating the very worst instincts. constantly making men worse, and when a young man enters the prison he is morally tainted, when he goes out he is completely saturated, with moral pollution. after such statements from so high an authority will the great state of missouri, so well-known the world over for her numerous acts of benevolence, continue to have an institution within her borders for the complete demoralization and ruin of multitudes of her young men. should a youth of missouri, surrounded by influences and temptations which he could not resist, once fall from a position of honor and integrity, although it is his first violation of the law, he will be taken into custody of the state, hurled into a pit, where for a time he will inhale the fetid breath of wickedness, then, later on, to be released and sent out into the free world a moral leper. the state should not provide this machine for the moral destruction of her unfortunate youth. if this be the real and true condition of affairs, what can be done to change them? i would suggest the erection, at once, of a reformatory. classify the prisoners. let those who are in for the first offense be separated from those who are professional and debased criminals. give these youthful offenders the benefit of schools, connected with the reformatory. let them have moral instruction, and many of these young men will be reclaimed, however well a criminal is treated, when behind prison walls, however good the advantages granted him, all this will avail but little, if some provision is not made to aid him when he leaves the prison. many prisoners, at the time of their discharge, may be, in heart, as pure as angels, and resolve to lead good lives, yet they are convicts, and carry out with them the shame and disgrace of such a life. they must live even if they are disgraced. they must have work. who will employ a convict? should a man, just from the prison, come to you and frankly inform you that he was recently discharged from a felon's cell, that he had been convicted of horse-stealing, for instance, and wanted employment with you on the farm, how many of you, my readers, would give him work? you would be afraid of him. you would decline his services, and who could blame you? but the convict must live, and it is easily seen, how, that after applying to several for work and being refused each time on account of his past trouble, he would, after a time, become discouraged and return to a life of a criminal. hunger drives him to deeds of desperation, and more especially is this the case if he have a wife or helpless children depending upon him. on his discharge from the prison the state presents him, with a shoddy suit of clothes (very cheap), buys him a ticket for the town from which he came, and then lets him shift for himself. disgraced, penniless, friendless, helpless, how is it possible for anyone of them ever to secure another foothold in life. something should be done, to help these men to secure work for a time after their discharge from prison. this would prevent a vast majority of criminals from returning to the prison after their first term. that my views on this subject may not be considered visionary, and that i may not be regarded as standing alone in my suggestions, i will give a portion of the report of rev. j. gierlow, ex-chaplain of the missouri penitentiary. "the increase of crime is necessarily attracting the attention of all thinking people, and there is abundant evidence that crime-causes are increasing, for which there seems to be no adequate prevention. it has been said, that nearly all crime originates in the saloon, but this statement requires discrimination. very few professional thieves are inebriates. that class of criminals are sober men, they could not ply their trade without a clear head, nor do they go with those who drink, for they talk too much. no, intemperance to a considerable extent, is only a secondary cause of crime which must be reached by well-ordered, sanitary, hygienic and educational measures. diseased bodies and unbalanced minds are largely characteristic of criminals; and these are two factors in producing crime. "there is a numerous class in whom crime seems to be hereditary, a taint in the blood. in the same family there are generations of criminals. prison life adds another large section to the criminal class. by the congregate system the prison becomes a school of crime, where the young offender is both demoralized by contact with hardened criminals, and initiated into the mysteries of professional villainy. it is a question whether detention in prison, without remedial influences, is not more of a loss than a gain. the critical time of a prisoner, desirous of building up a new life, is when he crosses the threshold of the prison and goes out into the world. he is met with distrust wherever his past is known. he is in constant terror of exposure if he tries to keep it secret. and what does the state do to put him on his feet or to give him a chance? it gives him a few dollars to carry him here or there, and bids him shift for himself. and finding every avenue of honest employment closed against him, he is driven in desperation, however well disposed he may be, to renew his criminal habits and associates. what, then, are the remedies, as far as the prison system is concerned? chiefly, classification. let not one who desires to reform be compelled to associate with those who are almost sure to degrade and debase him. the neglect of discriminating classification of offenders is a dark stain upon civilization. then, again, i believe it to be the duty of the state to reinstate the penitentiary man in society. this may be secured by a conditional discharge, the finding of work for him, and the obligation to report himself at stated periods to the proper authority. i have regarded it as within the province of my office to thus briefly set forth what i have gathered from experience in my intercourse with convicts, as well as from sober conviction, after mature deliberation. let the state consider and act. table showing sentences of convicts during the years and . years. mos. no. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... life ... ---- total i have here inserted the foregoing table to show the reader about how the sentences are. it will be observed that of the one thousand five hundred and twenty-three prisoners admitted during the past two years, seven hundred and forty-five of them, or nearly one-half, have but a two-years' sentence. this shows that the crimes committed were not very "horrible in their nature," or the sentences imposed would have been more severe. this is probably the first offense for these offenders. by good conduct in the prison one-fourth of their time will be deducted. this will give them but eighteen months of actual service. what can they accomplish in so short a time? the contractors care but little for them, since their time will expire before they can master a trade and be of any service. had these youthful offenders been given a term in a county jail or reformatory, would not justice been satisfied, and there would have been more hope for the prisoner as to the future. he would not have been a penitentiary convict. i hope soon to see the day when the great state of missouri will have a reformatory institution which will receive the wayward youth of that great commonwealth, and, after keeping and training them for a time, will send them out into the world stronger and better men than when first received. so far as reformation is concerned, the missouri penitentiary is a dismal failure. chapter xviii. prison discipline the missouri penitentiary ranks among the leading penal institutions of the country in matter of discipline. the rules and regulations are placed in the hands of the prisoner as soon as he enters. if an inmate obeys these rules and regulations he will be let alone, and will go through his term of service without being punished. if he becomes unruly and disobedient he will be punished, and that, too, very severely. each prisoner is allowed one pound of tobacco a month for chewing and smoking purposes. in this prison the inmate is permitted to smoke in his cell. this is the only institution with which i am acquainted that permits smoking. the prisoners seem to enjoy their smoke very much, and i do not see but that it is just the thing, for if a person on the outside takes comfort from the use of his pipe, much more will the man who sits in the solitude of a felon's cell. if a prisoner violates a prison rule his tobacco is taken away from him for a time. the majority of the inmates will obey the rules of the prison through fear of having their tobacco, taken away from them. each prisoner also has access to the books of the library, and another mode of punishment is to deprive the offender the use of the library for a time. this, also, has a very salutary effect. another mode of punishment, is to place the unruly convict in a dungeon and feed him nothing but bread and water. the prisoner on entering this dreary abode must leave behind him his hat, coat and shoes, and in this condition he is required often to spend days and weeks in solitary confinement. the dungeon contains no furniture of any description save a night bucket. prisoners do not remain in these dark holes very long until they promise obedience. it is one of the most successful modes of prison punishment. in case of a second or third offense, and sometimes for the first, in case it is a bad one, the offender is liable to receive a flogging. this is one of the few penal institutions in our country where the cat-o'-nine-tails is used. when a prisoner's conduct has been such that it is deemed advisable to whip him, he is taken from his cell and led to a post in the rear of one of the large buildings, out of sight of the other convicts. his clothing is then removed, with the exception of his shoes. these are left on his feet to catch the blood that flows down his limbs. in this nude condition he is tightly bound to a post with chains. standing at the post, in a helpless condition, he receives the lash. the whip consists of several leather straps, or thongs, at the ends of which small pieces of steel are fastened. every blow brings the blood. i have been told by reliable persons that, at times, prisoners have been so severely flogged that the blood, flowing down their limbs into their shoes would fill them and run out over the tops. this seems barbarous in the extreme, and my humane reader at once cries out, "it should not be tolerated." in missouri this flogging of human beings in prison has been going on for more than fifty years. after the punishment is over, the prisoner, half dead with fright and pain, is led back to his cell, where he remains for a day or two, that he may recuperate. he throws himself down on his "bunk," and remains there for hours, the blood still flowing from his lacerated back. often the blanket on which he lies, sticks to his bleeding back, and a fellow convict is asked, often, to assist in removing it. many a poor fellow carries with him through life the scars which were made while a convict in this prison. one day while i was working in the coal mines of the kansas penitentiary, a fellow-convict showed me his scarred back. he had served a term in the missouri penitentiary, and while there had been severely whipped. his back told the story too plainly that his whipping had been a severe and cruel one. it would seem that the day of the whipping-post had passed away; that the doors of our advanced civilization were shut against it. many of the prison officials claim that it is the most healthy mode of inflicting punishment; that to place a convict in a dungeon and to feed him on bread and, water is far more injurious to his health than to give him a good "paddling," and it don't require so long to do the work. the same results are reached more quickly. others claim that it is impossible to have good prison discipline without resorting to the lash. this statement is not correct. there is no better discipline to be found in any penal institution, than that in the kansas penitentiary, where no prisoner ever receives a stroke from a whip. the laws of that state forbid it. in our humble judgment it would be the best thing that the missouri legislature could do at its next session, to prohibit any further use of the lash. sometimes a paddle is used, with small holes bored in the end, and every time this paddle strikes the nude flesh, blisters are raised. again, another instrument of punishment in use is a thick, broad, leather strap, fastened in a wooden handle, at the end of which lateral incisions are made that give it the appearance of a saw. there is no trouble in raising huge blisters "with this engine of warfare." all these modes are barbarous, and should be forbidden. whenever severe punishment becomes essential, let the prisoner remain in the dungeon, living on bread and water until he promises, in good faith, to behave himself. a great deal of useless punishment can be avoided if the officer in charge of the prison discipline is a humane man and a good judge of human nature, and no other should be permitted to fill this important position. we must not, however, be too hasty in condemning prison officials for harsh treatment of those under their charge. they have some of the most desperate men on the face of the earth to deal with, and at times it becomes a necessity to use harsh measures. notwithstanding this is all true, there are but very few human beings but what have white spots in their otherwise darkened souls, and often a word of kindness does more than a cruel blow from a merciless officer. the excellent discipline of this institution is due, in the main, to captain bradbury, the deputy warden. he is beyond doubt, one of the best, and most experienced prison men in the united states. he has been connected with the missouri prison for thirty-three years. the warden looks after the finances of the institution, and it belongs to captain bradbury to hold in subjection the two thousand criminals that are crowded together in that small prison enclosure. this celebrated deputy warden is a virginian by birth. he is sixty-two years of age. he served in the mexican war, and now draws a pension from the government, because of his services there. if a prisoner conducts himself properly, captain bradbury will treat him as humanely as he can under the circumstances. if he becomes willful and unruly, the captain no doubt will take great pleasure in giving the offender "a good paddling," to use his own forcible expression. this official is a strong advocate of corporal punishment. he claims that a "little loosening up of the hide" of an obstreperous prisoner does the said prisoner a vast amount of good. among the convicts the deputy warden is austere. he is never seen sauntering about the prison enclosure with his long arms entwined about any of "the boys in stripes." he claims, that too great a familiarity breeds contempt. this seeming harshness when in the presence of the prisoners is only borrowed for the occasion, for, away from the convicts, there is not a more social gentleman in the state of missouri. great credit is due to captain bradbury for his excellent management of this institution, under such unfavorable circumstances. could he be persuaded to quit the use of the whipping post, and use other measures less barbarous, i think the same discipline could be secured, as now exists. the officers here do not seem to be so exacting as in many other prisons. in the kansas penitentiary, when prisoners are in ranks going to and from their meals, their cells, or workshops, they are required to fold their arms, and keep their eyes fixed upon the back of the one's head just in front. no gazing about is permitted, and should a prisoner speak to one in the front of him and be detected, he would be summarily dealt with. in the missouri prison i noticed that the convicts while marching would gaze about wherever they wished, and go swinging along with their arms dangling at their sides. in many prisons the inmates are required, while in ranks, to keep their hands on the shoulders of the man in front. this would seem to be the most desirable way of having the prisoners march. in this prison one can detect more of a homelike feeling, not so rigorous and exacting as in many institutions of this nature. captain todd, assistant deputy warden, is another official of long standing. he has been with this prison for eighteen years, and is very popular. in this connection we must not fail to mention captain crump, who has been connected with this prison for thirty-six years, but who was discharged during the last administration because of his making statements to the effect that the prison was run by a "political ring." he is now deputy marshal of jefferson city, and is a faithful officer. he incurred the displeasure of the contractors because of the grave charges he made against them, because of their inhuman demands upon the prisoners, requiring of them more work than they were able to perform. because of his humaneness, and because he wanted to see the helpless prisoner treated as he should be, after thirty-six years of faithful service was discharged from the institution. in there was an investigation made of many serious charges preferred against the contractors and some of the leading officials. the committee made their report to the governor, and some five hundred pamphlets containing this report were printed for distribution. when the legislature met none of these books could be found, and the whole matter was a specimen of whitewash. the report contained some very damaging charges, but nothing was ever done with the matter. i visited the office of the secretary of state and asked to see one of these books, but even his office did not contain a copy of this state document. the legislature should keep a watchful eye over this penal institution, and, while there should be good discipline maintained, the prisoners should not be treated in a barbarous manner. a pardoning board the governor has the pardoning power. he extends executive clemency to a number annually. he has not time to attend to the duties connected with this prerogative. there are , prisoners. no doubt many of them have excessive sentences. if a thorough investigation was made, many would be found innocent. the governor has not the time to attend to these matters. there should be a pardoning board appointed to investigate these cases and advise with the governor. to show the necessity of such a board, i have only to state that during the past year the pardoning board of kansas has advised executive clemency to fifteen criminals who received their pardons on the grounds of innocency. one of the number being a mrs. henrietta cook, who was sentenced for life, and who had served fifteen years of imprisonment, when, upon an investigation of her case by the pardoning board, she was discharged, there being no doubt as to her innocence. the great majority of these prisoners are poor and friendless. they have no one on the outside to aid them in securing their rights, and unless a pardoning board is appointed to investigate these cases, many a man and woman entirely innocent, will have to serve out a sentence in this prison. it is but natural for the contractors to use their influence to prevent the men under their control from receiving pardons. if a man is sentenced for ten years, and has been in one of the shops for two or three years, and has learned to do his work well, the contractor will want to keep him instead of letting him go, and will, no doubt, in an underhanded way, do all against the poor prisoner he can. this strong influence in many cases will have to be counteracted and overcome before the prisoner can receive his pardon and obtain his liberty. a pardoning board, when appointed, should be men who would not be in collusion with the contractors, but be men who would see that the prisoner had justice. chapter xix. noted convicts at the present time there are fifty-six females who find homes in this living tomb. two-thirds of them are colored. the greater portion are kept busy making underclothing for the prisoners. they are detained, during working hours, in a room, seated at tables, with a lady guard watching them. they are not allowed to converse with each other, only as they get permission from this officer. they are not permitted to see the male prisoners. in fact there is no way of entering the female prison from the male department. the dormitory is on the third floor. the female convicts wear striped calico dresses, the stripes running lengthwise. the female prison is kept scrupulously clean, which reflects great credit upon those having the management of this department. in company with doctor lewellyn, the prison physician, i passed through the dormitory. here i found a great curiosity. it was a baby prisoner, six months old. the little convict was born in the penitentiary. it is a colored child--its mother being a mulatto, who was sent to prison for fifteen years for murdering two of her children. when on the outside, she lived with her paramour, a white man, and, as fast as children were born to them, she would murder them in cold blood. the white man was tried also as accessory to the murder, but, owing to her refusal to testify against him, there was not sufficient evidence to convict him, and he was set at liberty. he often visits her at the prison, bringing her eatables, which are very much relished in the penitentiary. i saw also the notorious sadie hayes, who was sent up from st. louis for killing a policeman. she was under the influence of strong drink, and, thus crazed with whisky, the officer tried to arrest her. she drew a razor, and began to slash away at the officer, and, in spite of his club and large, muscular frame, she soon cut him to pieces. he expired on the sidewalk, where the engagement took place. she was sent up for ninety-nine years, and has now been in prison about three years. she is one of the most desperate looking women i ever saw, and, when crazed with drink, becomes an infuriated demon. she is an adept in the use of the razor. the oldest female prisoner is an aged german woman by the name of oldstein, from gasconade county. she has been in the penitentiary thirteen years, and, doubtless, would get a pardon if she had any place where she could make her home after securing her liberty. the old woman is entirely broken down and is a physical wreck. she spends the most of her time knitting. aside from keeping her own bedding clean she is not required to perform any labor. she was charged with a cold-blooded murder. she, her husband and daughter murdered her daughter's husband. the old man was hung, the daughter was sent up for life, and died in a few months after entering prison. the old woman was sentenced to be hung also with her husband, but the governor commuted her sentence to that of life imprisonment. for thirteen long, dreary years she has lived behind these prison walls. she longs for death, but death refuses, as yet, to claim her as his own. broken in health, friendless, penniless, this poor old woman is but another proof that "the way of the transgressor is hard." i also saw anna brown, another female prisoner, who, with her step-brother, planned and carried into execution a terrible cold-blooded murder. it was none other than the killing of her aged father. the boy was sent to prison for life and the woman received a sentence of forty-nine years. her sentence might just as well have read "life imprisonment" as forty-nine years, for she cannot live but a few years longer in confinement. nannie stair is another interesting prisoner. she came from vernon county. an old and crippled man was driving through the country. night coming on found him near the house of the stair family. he stopped and asked for a night's lodging. his request was granted. that was the old man's last night of earth. during the hours of the night stair and his wife made their way into the bed-chamber where the helpless traveler lay asleep unconscious of his doom. it was not long until the husband sent an axe crushing through his brain, his wife standing by, a witness to the fearful deed. during the same night they dug his grave in the garden back of the house, and buried him. next day the husband drove the murdered man's team to a town not far distant, and sold it. in a couple of weeks friends began to institute search for the missing man. he was traced to the home of the stair family. the husband and wife being separated, and the officers telling the wife that she would be let out of the scrape without much punishment in case she would tell all she knew, she informed them of all the details of the bloody deed, where the victim lay buried, and what disposition was made of the murdered man's team and money. the two were arrested, tried and convicted. the husband was hung, and the wife sent to the penitentiary for six years. her time will now soon be served out, and she will once more be a free woman. the desire of this family to obtain filthy lucre was too great. of the fifty-six female inmates of of the missouri penitentiary, fifteen of them were sent for murder. kansas city has several female representatives. it is stated, on good authority, that the sentences imposed by the judges of the kansas city district are far more excessive than in any other portion of the state. i was told that a number of these female convicts were very desperate characters, while others of them, driven to deeds of desperation on account of poverty, committed acts that for a time placed them behind prison bolts and bars. something should be done to aid these poor women, when their terms expire, to get a start in life. if something is not done for them, it will be but a short time when they will drift back again into crime and prison. the author of this book believes that it is all right to send money to india and other remote countries to aid the heathen, but instead of sending it all away to lands beyond the seas, he thinks a portion of it, at least, could be well expended this side the briny deep in helping some of these poor unfortunate convicts to get another start in life, and thus lift them out of a life of crime. whisky and cards felix bagan's history shows the career of many a boy, when thrown into bad company. at an early age felix was left an orphan. when his parents both died he had not a relative living that cared anything for him. taken from the grave of his mother, who died shortly after the death and burial of her husband, the unfortunate lad was placed in the orphan's home in st. louis. here he remained for several years, and acquired all the education that he possessed. after becoming old enough to do some work, he was given to a farmer, who took him to his home in the country. possessed of a genial disposition, he soon made many friends. he was highly esteemed by the lady and gentleman who adopted him. he was honest and industrious. it was on election day that his down-fall took place. in company with several young men, who resided on neighboring farms, he went to a small town near by to pass the day. being invited to participate in a game of cards, he and several of his companions found their way into the back part of a saloon, where the day was spent in drinking and gambling. toward evening a dispute arose about the cards, a drunken fight was the result. bagan, half crazed with drink, drew his knife and stabbed to the death one of his companions. the young man whom he murdered, prior to this had been one of his best friends. when he saw the life-blood of his companion ebb away, he came to his senses, and was soon sober. he wept like a child when he saw his friend sinking away into, the arms of death. the awful deed was done, and nothing was left to the unfortunate youth but to be led away to prison, with the blood of a human being upon his garments. in due time he had his trial, and was sent to the penitentiary for thirty years. he was twenty-two years of age when he received the sentence. he has now been in the prison thirteen years. for seven years he worked in the saddle-tree shop for sullivan, hayes & co., prison contractors. at the end of that time his health failing, he refused to work. the prison authorities thought he was trying to shirk his work. after being severely flogged, he was placed in the dungeon and kept there in solitary confinement for three months. half dead, he was taken to the hospital and left in the hands of the prison physician. for a time it was thought he would die. after a while he began to recover; large patches of hair fell from his scalp, leaving his head thickly covered with bald spots. when he entered the prison he was a fine-appearing young man, but thirteen years of imprisonment have converted him into a broken-down old man and physical wreck. that was a sad day for that unfortunate youth when he entered the saloon to take part in the game of cards. he will not live to the end of his sentence, but will die in the penitentiary, and find his last, long home in the prison grave-yard. young man, as you read the history of this convict, can you not persuade yourself to let whisky and cards alone for the future? bill ryan passing through the cell houses, i was shown the room occupied by the notorious bill ryan for seven years. he was a member of the james boys' gang. being convicted of highway robbery he was sent to the prison for twenty years. after jesse james had been killed by young ford, and frank's crimes had been pardoned, ryan's sentence was commuted to ten years, and after serving seven he regained his liberty. ryan was accredited with being one of the best prisoners in the penitentiary. on the outside, if reports be true, he was one of the most desperate men in missouri. his time was spent in drinking, gambling, quarreling, fighting and killing. he is charged with killing a number of men. he was twice tried for murder, but proving an alibi, the jury brought in a verdict of "not guilty." the prison officials speak in the highest terms of his conduct while an inmate of the penitentiary. he was an obedient and hard-working convict. now that he is once more a free man it is to be hoped that he will show himself as good a citizen on the outside, as he was on the inside, of prison walls. willie hildrum this youthful convict is but sixteen years of age. he is the youngest prisoner in the penitentiary. he was formerly a boot-black on the streets of st. louis. getting into a fight one day with one of his boot-black companions over a nickel that they had jointly earned "shining up" a patron's boots, young hildrum drew an old knife from his pocket, which he had found a few days before, and sent the rusty blade into the heart of the street arab. the youthful murderer was tried and convicted of manslaughter, and on account of his youth was given but two years in the penitentiary. s. d. henson this convict was at one time county judge of stoddard county, and highly respected. he is one of the finest appearing men i ever saw. his finely shaped head bespeaks intelligence. it is sad to see such grand looking specimens dressed in the garb of disgrace. judge henson became involved in a quarrel with one of his neighbors over some trivial matter, and killed him. his sentence is for twenty years, which for him at this advanced age means death in the prison. great efforts are being put forth for his pardon, but it is a question left entirely with the governor, and no one can tell how he may act. judge henson is not at heart a criminal. on that open countenance there is no mark of cain. thinking of his sad case, more than ever am i convinced that we are creatures of circumstances. how many of my readers, had they in the past, been surrounded by the same circumstances, subject to the same temptations, would not have acted in the same manner, and like judge henson found a home in a convict's cell. forty-eight years a prisoner john hicks is the veteran penitentiary convict of the united states. under an alias he served one term in the missouri penitentiary. most of his time has been spent in prisons further east. he is now eighty-four years of age, and quite recently was released from the michigan city penitentiary. prison authorities have compared notes and find that he has actually served forty-eight years of prison life. he is the oldest living criminal in this country. he has served ten terms, the greater portion of them being in indiana. his first crime was committed in . in some way he learned that a man named bearder had $ in his house. while the family were at church hicks rifled the house and stole their money. a marked coin led to his conviction, and he got a three years' sentence. he was never, afterward, out six months at a time, and was sent up successively for burglary, criminal assault, robbery, larceny, cattle-stealing and horse-stealing. at the expiration of his fifth term, at michigan city, he made his way to the office, where the directors were in session. he begged them to allow him to build a shanty in a part of the prison in which he could sleep and call his home. all that he asked was that the scraps from the table be given him for food. the board refused to allow him this, and hicks bade them good-by. he walked to a small town near by, where he soon was arrested for thieving, and was taken to prison to serve what he declared to be his last term. his head is as white as snow, and in keeping with his long, flowing beard, and he looks like a patriarch, yet is not stooped a particle. his desire now is to secure honest work, that will guarantee him a home. he wishes to spend the rest of his days a free man. had this man been assisted just a little at the expiration of his first term, he might have become a useful citizen, but as it was, his life was spent behind the bars. when once the feet find themselves walking in the pathway of crime, it is very difficult for them ever to walk in paths of honesty and uprightness thereafter. nine times as i was walking through the penitentiary, in company with deputy warden bradbury, he pointed out an old convict, and said, "there is a fellow that has seen prison life. he is here this time under the name of gus loman. he is now serving his ninth term in this prison. at the expiration of one of his sentences he went away and was gone over a year, and when he came back i asked him where he had been so long. his reply was, 'simply rusticating at joliet, ill., with some friends.' every time he is sent to prison he gives in a new and different name and, of course, no one but himself knows what his real name is." when asked why he comes to the prison so often, he remarked that, when once in prison it is impossible to get work to do on the outside, and he had made up his mind to spend the rest of his days in prison. he claimed that the fates were against him and he could not make a living on the outside, as no one would employ him; that he had tried it several times and failed, and now he had given up all hope. he is a bold, bad and natural thief. as soon as his term is out he goes a little distance from the prison, gets on a spree, gets into trouble, steals something, and soon finds himself back again in the penitentiary. he is now over seventy years of age, and is both a physical and moral wreck. what an awful warning for the young is the history of such a wasted life. desperado johnson this convict is the most daring and desperate criminal in the missouri penitentiary. the prison authorities have had more trouble with him than with any other man who ever found a home behind the walls of this great institution. he was sent up from jackson county, and was charged with murdering two men before he was finally convicted of crime. on trial for these two murders be was successful in proving an alibi. the last time he was not so successful, and received a sentence of twelve years. soon after his arrival at the prison he was set to work in one of the shops. when he became a little acquainted, his innate cussedness induced him to raise a riot in the prison. it was a desperate undertaking, but he was equal to the emergency. for days and weeks he was on the alert, and when a guard was not on the watch he would communicate with a convict, and enlist his services, and give him his instructions as to what part he should perform when the signal should be given. at last the day came when all was ready for the plans so well laid to be carried into execution. each of the convicts who were to act in concert with him piled up a lot of kindling in their respective shops and saturated it with kerosene. when the prisoners were being marched out to supper, they threw matches into the piles of kindling-wood, and soon several buildings were on fire. intense excitement now prevailed among the two thousand convicts. the ranks were quickly broken, and all was confusion. some of the better disposed convicts tried to assist the officers in putting out the fires, and were in turn knocked down and trampled upon by those who were in favor of the riot. in the midst of this great excitement johnson, the leader, with four of his associates, knocked down one of the guards and stripped him of his clothing. johnson put on this suit of blue and started to one of the towers. reaching the same, he asked permission of the officer on duty to let down the ladder and allow him to ascend and assist him in "holding the fort," as this was captain bradbury's orders. johnson's intentions were to get on top of the wall and into the tower, where the guard opened the large gate below by the use of a lever. the convict, once inside the tower, would knock the officer down, seize his gun, raise the lever, throw open the large gate in the wall, and permit the prisoners all to rush out. this was a bold scheme, and it is a wonder, during the great excitement that prevailed, that it was not successful. the officer on duty, when requested by the convict to allow him to ascend the ladder, coolly drew his gun, and told him if he dared to ascend he would send buckshot into his body. foiled in this, the desperado returns to where the officials are fighting the flames, and began cutting the hose so as to stop the supply of water. the fire raged furiously. a strong wind sprung up adding intensity to the flames. over $ , worth of property was soon swept away in this direful storm of fire. after a fearful conflict the prisoners were overpowered and driven into their cells. a number of them were severely wounded. several died of the injuries received. the prison directors had a called meeting and investigated the riot. the blame fell upon convict johnson. a criminal charge was preferred against him in the courts, for arson. he was convicted and served an additional sentence of twelve years. this, added to his former sentence, makes twenty-four years of imprisonment for this desperado. when he was taken out of the penitentiary to stand trial for setting fire to the prison, he was heavily loaded with chains, and in the custody of six prison officials. it was feared he would make a desperate effort to escape during this trial. on his return to the prison he was placed in a dark dungeon, and has been kept caged up ever since, like a wild beast. when he is given exercise he wears a ball and chain and an officer walks immediately behind him, with a loaded winchester, ready to shoot him down if he makes any bad breaks. the officials are very careful when they enter his cell for any purpose, as he is liable to kill them. captain bradbury, the deputy warden, in speaking of him, says, he is the most desperate criminal he has met during his thirty-three years of prison experience. henry butler, a colored representative of pettis county, has served the longest consecutive term of any of the male prisoners. henry killed his man, and for this mistake has been doing service for the state of missouri "without money and without price" for the past fifteen years. the story of his downfall is very romantic. he was a married man, and the father of an interesting family. there lived near him a young lady of color, very handsome and attractive, so the story goes, and for whom henry had a great liking. there was nothing wrong about all this, perhaps, if henry had not permitted his affections to go too far. instead of admiring this dusky maiden at a distance, as he should have done, he brought her to his home, and cared for her there in a manner too affectionate for the tastes of his colored neighbors. henry was remonstrated with, but to no purpose. at the close of church services one moonlight sunday evening his neighbors held an indignation meeting, and it was resolved to put a stop to henry's little love scheme, as it was now very evident that his wife was getting tired of having the maiden about her so much. the meeting adjourned that evening to have the next one the following night at henry's front gate. during the ensuing day he was apprised of the intentions of his callers, and was urged to let the young lady depart from under his roof. henry refused, since love is blind. he got his shotgun in readiness to protect his home and his rights. at the appointed hour some twenty-five or thirty neighbors gathered at the place selected, and demanded of henry that he should give up the maiden loved, or pull hemp. at this juncture henry called into requisition his double-barreled shotgun and turned both barrels loose on the excited throng. the result was a stampede, one negro killed and two wounded. for this brave deed he was arrested, tried and sent to prison for life. in solitude for fifteen years, henry has had the privilege of thinking of his illicit love, none of his former neighbors daring to molest him or make him afraid. the case of a prisoner who was in the missouri prison under the name of george ellis is very remarkable. over in kansas a cold-blooded murder had been committed. it seemed impossible for the authorities to discover any trace of the murderer. shortly after this murder had been committed, ellis was arrested and tried in missouri on a charge of horse-stealing, and got a two years' sentence. he heard of this murder having been committed in kansas, and, for some reason best known to himself, he went to deputy warden bradbury and confidentially told him that he had committed the offense, and asked him to notify the authorities of kansas. this was done and a pardon was granted ellis that he might be taken to kansas and tried for murder. no doubt, ellis' motive in stating that he was guilty of this offense was to get out of the penitentiary. he supposed that after getting pardoned out of the missouri prison, he would have no trouble in proving an alibi in the kansas murder case, and in this way go free. he was taken to kansas, tried, and failed to establish his alibi, and was found guilty of murder and sentenced to the penitentiary for life. if ellis was guilty of murder, he surely would not have told on himself and exchanged a two years' sentence in the missouri prison for a life sentence in the kansas penitentiary. he is, no doubt, innocent of this crime, but should serve a few years in the kansas institution because of his smartness. the suicide a young man by the name of john welch was sent from stoddard county for an heinous offense, under a sentence of ten years. his family were among the best people of that county, and highly respected. john proved to be a black lamb of the flock. he had not been in prison but a few weeks when he got enough of that kind of living, and, being unable to have his resignation accepted, he concluded to end his career by committing suicide. it was on a beautiful sunday morning, and the prisoners having been to religious services, were on their way back to their cells to spend the rest of the day in solitude. the chapel where the services were held is in the third story of a large brick structure. an iron stairway is attached to the wall on the outside of the building. it was down this stairway the convicts were marching, one behind the other, when john, stepping out of the door on to the stairway, instead of following his comrades down and into his cell, as he had done on former occasions, leaped out into space and fell to the ground. when he was picked up, life was extinct. he received his pardon that day, but gave his life as the ransom. no one can imagine how much this youth suffered before he brought himself to that point when he decided to make that leap into eternity. chapter xx. the ex-convict heavy are the burdens which men in prison must bear. they are deprived of liberty, separated from friends, no social intercourse, and constantly maintaining an unnatural position. the convict's place is lower than the most degraded menial; he must ask for permission even to get a drink of water. no serf of earth, no slave, however wretched, has a sadder lot. these unhappy mortals have yielded to temptation, have fallen, and are paying the penalty of violated law. who can think of these degraded beings, without, to some extent, its calling forth the sympathy of the human heart, for we must not forget that they, too, are children of one universal father. however deplorable the condition of these men while in prison, is it much better when they regain their freedom? one morning about a month after my release from prison, as i was getting ready for breakfast, there came a knock at the door. opening it i saw a young man--a tramp--who begged for something to eat. i recognized him immediately as a former fellow-convict. he had forgotten me. it has always been a rule in my home, when any one came to my door hungry, he should have something to eat. at times, adhering to this practice has almost converted my home into a hotel for tramps. i invited this young man in, and requested him to take a seat with me at the table. he did not wait for a second invitation. he was very hungry. during the meal i inquired as to his past history. he gave me the same old tramp "racket." i had listened to the same story many times. after breakfast was over i asked him if he would have a cigar. with a smile, he said, if i would furnish the cigar, he would be pleased to indulge. i invited him into another room, closed the door and locked it. the turning of the key rather took him by surprise. i reached out my hand to him, and said: "charley d----, don't you know me? don't you remember the man who worked with you for a couple of weeks in the penitentiary coal mines, room no. ? have you forgotten the last day we worked together, when a large piece of slate fell upon your leg, and i had to assist you in reaching the foot of the shaft as you were being conveyed to the hospital?" "my god! reynolds, is this you?" he exclaimed. "i would never have known you in your pleasant surroundings. had i met you in the penitentiary coal mines, dressed in prison stripes, your face and hands covered with coal dust, i would have recognized you." i gave him his much coveted cigar and invited him to a chair. i was anxious to learn his history since he left the prison. he had regained his liberty almost one year before i was released. after he had reached the quiet contentment which is the inevitable result of a well appreciated breakfast and a good cigar, i said to him: "charley, just drop your tramp story and tell me your true history since leaving the prison. i am anxious to know just what an ex-convict must meet." this young fellow was twenty-five years of age. he served five years in the penitentiary for stealing horses. he had an inferior education, and might be considered an average ex-convict. his narrative will show what the great majority of these men are called upon to endure. his story revealed the fact that when he left the penitentiary he had thirteen dollars in money and a suit of inferior clothes, such as is furnished the prisoner when discharged. having been closely confined for five years, without even a newspaper to read, with but few visitors, he was entirely ignorant of what had occurred during his period of incarceration. his parents had been dead for several years, and he had no friends to whom he could apply for aid. the large iron doors swung upon their hinges, and he went forth a free but bewildered man. he had liberty, it is true, but liberty replete with such trials as awaited this young man is certainly little better than prison confinement. passing under the big stone archway, and out beyond the prison enclosure, he paused for a few moments upon the little eminence on which the prison stands, and viewed the surrounding country, not knowing what to do or where to go. finally he takes the principal road that leads across the country, and in a half hour's walk reaches a farm house. he asks for work. the farmer needs a hand, but asks the applicant for whom he worked last. "i am just out of prison," was the reply. "i thought so," said the farmer, "for i have seen so many of these men coming out of that place wearing clothes similar to those you have on. how long were you in prison, and what was your offense?" "i served five years, and my crime was horse-stealing." at this frank confession the farmer slightly coughed, and stated that a man called the day before, and he had partially promised the place to him, and he did not feel like employing any one until he heard from him. had the farmer been as frank as the convict he would have said, "i don't want a penitentiary-bird about me, and particularly one that has been a horse-thief." finding no employment he moved on. for two weeks this friendless ex-convict walked about the country, going from one farm house to another, seeking employment. he practiced great economy, but at the expiration of this time his thirteen dollars were gone. he was now penniless, friendless and almost hopeless. for two weeks he had told the truth, and frankly confessed he was an ex-convict. he had a desire to do right. he felt that the first step down the hill toward the penitentiary was lying. but two weeks squandered in trudging about the country seeking employment and finding none, convinced him that it was impossible to obtain work and tell the truth as to his past history, so he imagined nothing was left but to practice deception, steal or starve. reader, what would you have done? he did what you probably would, surrounded by the same circumstances--he made up his mind to lie. on making further inquiries for work, he learns of a farmer living several miles away, who desired hired help. he immediately set out for that place. this farmer, like all the rest, put the question, "for whom did you last work?" instead of imparting the information that he was an ex-convict, he invented a little story to the effect that he had worked for a farmer living some miles distant, with whom he had become quite well acquainted, having spent a sunday at his home, and whose name he gave his inquisitor. he received employment. a bargain was made, and our now happy ex-convict went to work. three weeks passed away. the employer and the employee were mutually satisfied. the prisoner worked hard. he felt that at last the clouds which had so long obscured his sky were about to break away, and the sunshine of prosperity would soon be his. but how mistaken we sometimes are when forecasting the future! one afternoon, at the end of three weeks, the old farmer rode up for whom the ex-convict had stated that he worked. the ex-criminal was recognized. the old farmer had some business with the employer of the prisoner, and in the evening before leaving for his home, thinking to do humanity a great favor, confidentially informed his neighbor that he had an ex-penitentiary convict on his farm at work, and that he was an old, hardened horse-thief, and beyond all hope of redemption. that evening, after supper, the prisoner got the "grand bounce." the small amount of money he received for his three weeks' services on the farm was expended in paying his expenses while continuing his search for work. he at length arrives at kansas city, with but a few cents, and completely discouraged about securing work. at this place he met a criminal, a former acquaintance. he, too, was without money. they talked over their misfortunes, and after duly considering the matter, came to the conclusion that out of crime there was no chance to get another start. they planned a burglary for the following night. a residence some distance from the central portion of the city was entered. they obtained ten dollars and a silver watch, and concluded to continue their criminal efforts the next evening. during the day, however, the "pal" was arrested on another charge, and locked up in the city prison. he thought it about time to fly, and so took his departure. he spent the rest of his time in kansas, tramping about and stealing. when he had money he would live well; when his pocketbook was empty he would beg and steal. there was one crime he committed for which he could not be much blamed. the old farmer that went to so much trouble to convey the intelligence to his brother granger that the hero of our story was an ex-convict, was the sufferer. the ex-convict, to get "even," one dark night entered the barn, rode away a beautiful riding pony, sold him for fifty dollars in cash, and forgot to mention the fact to the farmer. in stealing, tramping and begging the time had been chiefly taken up from the day he had left the prison, to the morning he came to my house for something to eat. he will doubtless continue this course until caught in some criminal act, which will result in another term in the penitentiary. the great majority of the criminals in the penitentiary are young men. one dose of prison life is all they desire. did they but have the least opportunity of living useful lives, and becoming respectable citizens when out of prison, they would improve it, instead of committing crime and being returned to hard labor without compensation. i am now pleading for hundreds of young men who are in prison for the first time, and have all the punishment along this line they desire, who would like to reform and become useful citizens. but how can they accomplish this? unaided they will come out of the prison, drift about awhile, and then the current of sin and crime will bear them back again to a felon's cell. in an unguarded hour they succumbed to the tempter's power, and fell. the dark mantle of disgrace has enveloped them. and if there were some kind friend to lend a helping hand, how quickly would they tear it off and put on the robe of useful citizenship. will not the great state of missouri adopt some plan to afford aid to these men who would like to be extricated from this dangerous quagmire into which they have fallen? scanned by roger taft, great-grandson of the author. produced for pg by jim tinsley <jtinsley@pobox.com> [frontispiece: pardee butler] personal recollections of pardee butler with reminiscences, by his daughter, mrs. rosetta b. hastings and additional chapters eld. john boggs and eld. j. b. mccleery. cincinnati standard publishing company preface. i have not attempted to write a complete biography of my father, but merely to supplement his "recollections" with a few of my own reminiscences. he was a man who said little in his family about his early years, or about any of the occurrences of his eventful life. nor did he ever keep any journal, or any account of his meetings, or of the number that he baptized. he seldom reported his meetings to the newspapers. i think it was only during the few years that he was employed by missionary societies, that he ever made reports of what he accomplished. he had even destroyed the most of his old letters. and so, for nearly all information outside of my own recollections, i have been indebted to the kindness of relatives and friends. the later chapters have been written by men who knew my father intimately, and men whose reputations are such as to give weight to their testimony. to all of these friends i now offer my thanks for their kind assistance. and to the public i offer this book, not for its literary merit, but as the tribute of a daughter to a loved father, whose earnest devotion to duty was worthy of imitation. mrs. rosetta b. hastings. _farmington, kansas, april , ._ introduction in this country inherited fortunes, or ancestral honors, have little effect on a man's reputation; but inherited disposition and early surroundings have much effect on his character. my father's ancestors were from new england. his father, phineas butler, came from saybrook, connecticut, where the congregational churches framed the saybrook platform. his mother's people, the pardees, came from norfork, connecticut. the pardees were said to have been descendants of the french huguenots. ebenezer pardee emigrated to marcellus, now known as skaneateles, onondaga co., new york. there he died in , leaving his wife ann pardee, (known for many years as grandmother pardee) a widow, with nine sons and two daughters. the eldest daughter, sarah pardee, was there married in , to phineas butler; and there my father, who was the second of seven children, was born, march , . in the autumn of , phineas butler, of whom i shall hereafter speak as grandfather butler, went to wadsworth, medina co., ohio. there a settlement had been begun three years before in the heavy timber, and there were only a few small clearings here and there in the woods. my grandmother came on with her brother the following spring. she had three small children, but they made the journey in a sled, in bad weather, cutting their own roads, and camping in the woods at night. grandmother pardee came on later. she was a woman of great energy, and brought up her sons so well that they all became leading men in the communities in which they lived. grandmother butler was also a capable, fearless woman, and so calm and firm that it was said no vexation was ever known to ruffle her temper. their cabins were built of logs, with hewed puncheon floors and doors; and on the roof, in the place of nailed shingles, were split shakes, fastened on with poles and wooden pins. but grandfather had brought a few nails (made by a blacksmith) from new york, and used them in his house. when a neighbor died they hewed out puncheons to make a coffin, and finding only eighteen nails in the neighborhood, grandfather, by torchlight, pulled fourteen more out of his house to finish the coffin. their lives were full of hardship and privation. grandfather was a famous hunter, and his well aimed rifle sometimes furnished game that kept the neighborhood from starvation. he was dependent on bartering furs at some distant trading post, for his supplies of salt, needles, ammunition and other necessary articles that could not be made at home. often, after a hard day's work, he hunted half of the night to obtain coonskins and other furs. father said that one night grandfather and orin loomis were out hunting coons with the dogs, having taken their axes to chop down coon trees, but no guns, when they found a bear, on a small island, in the middle of a swamp. but i find his bear story so well told in the "_wadsworth memorial_" that i will quote from that: "in the fall of , as butler and loomis were returning after midnight from one of their hunts, and had arrived within a mile or two of home it was noticed that the dogs were missing. presently a noise was heard, far back in the rear. "'hark! what was that?' said loomis. they listened awhile, and agreed it was dogs, sure. "'orr, let's go back,' said butler. "'no, it is too late,' answered loomis. "'but,' said butler, 'i'll warrant the dogs are after a bear; don't you hear old beaver? it sounds to me like the bark of old beaver when he is after a bear.' "butler was bound to go back, and so they started. the scene of the disturbance was finally reached, after traveling two or three miles. the dogs had found a bear; but it was in the middle of long swamp, and the alders were so thick that there was scarcely room for man, dog or bear to get through. this did not deter phin. butler, however. they got near enough to find that the bear was stationed on a spot a little drier than the main swamp, surrounded by alder bushes, and that she was determined not to leave it. the dogs would bay up close, when the old bear would run out after them. they would retreat, and then she would run back to her nest again. "'we can't kill her to-night,' said loomis, 'we will have to go home and come down again in the morning.' "'no,' replied butler, 'i am afraid she will get away. we can kill her to-night, i guess. you can go and hiss on the dogs on one side, and i will come up on the other; and when she runs out after them, i'll cut her back-bone off with the ax.' "they concluded to try this plan, and came very near succeeding. as the old bear rushed past, butler put the whole bit of the ax into her back, but failed to cut the back-bone by an inch or two. enraged and desperate, she sprang upon the dogs, who, emboldened by the presence of their masters, came too close. with one of her enormous paws she came down on old beaver, making a large wound in his side, which nearly killed him. he was hardly able to crawl out of the swamp. "the fight was then abandoned until morning, as without beaver to lead the dogs it was useless to proceed. it was difficult to get the old dog home, but he finally got well. early in the morning the hunters were on the ground. this time they had their guns with them, but found the old bear was gone. on examining her nest of the night before, her unusual ferocity was explained. she had a litter of cubs, which, however, she had succeeded in removing, and must have carried them off in her mouth. in a short time the dogs had tracked her out. she was found a half mile lower down the swamp, where she had a new nest. butler's rifle soon dispatched her; but her cubs, four in number, and not more than three or four weeks old, were taken alive, and kept for pets." father said that he could remember when they brought the bears home, growling, snarling--the crossest little things he ever saw. strange as it may seem, my father did not inherit grandfather's love for hunting. i never saw him shoot a gun, and he has never owned one within my recollection. orin loomis was often heard to say that phin. butler was the most courageous man he ever knew. he was quick-tempered, but warm-hearted, and full of fun, and as honest and sincere as he was bold and fearless. one time he was traveling, and stopped at a tavern. the strangers present were discussing the statement that every man has his price, and each man was telling what was the least price for which he would tell a lie. finally one man said that he would tell a lie for five dollars. grandfather's impetuous nature could stand it no longer, and he burst out scornfully: "tell a lie! tell a lie for five dollars! sell your manhood! sell your soul for five dollars! you must rate yourself very cheap!" and then, they said, he fairly preached them a sermon on the nobility of perfect truthfulness, and the littleness and meanness of lying and deceitfulness. my grandmother was also very conscientious, which was illustrated by the fact that on her death-bed, after giving some good advice to her daughters, she charged them to carry home a cup of coffee that she had borrowed. an old wadsworth friend, writing to us since father's death, says of him: "from a boy pardee was remarkable for his uprightness, and bold and strict honesty, and it was a maxim among the boys to say, 'as honest as pard, butler.' he and his father before him were specimens of puritanical honesty and courage, and had they lived in the days of cromwell and in england, would doubtless have been in cromwell's army." scarcely was the settlement begun when a school was taught in one room of a log dwelling-house. when but three years old, father was a pupil in the first school that was taught in the new school-house, by miss lodema sackett, and continued to attend school a part of every year. books were scarce, but he was fond of reading, and read, over and over, all that he could obtain. the western reserve was settled mainly by new englanders, who were intelligent and god-fearing men; and religious meetings were held from the first; printed sermons being read aloud when there was no preacher. a sunday-school was organized in wadsworth in . the most influential man in the neighborhood was judge brown, an uncle of "john brown of ossawatomie." he was noted for the purity of his life, the dignity of his demeanor, and the firmness with which he defended his views. he was a bitter opponent of slavery, and, what was strange in those days, a strong temperance man. before leaving connecticut he had heard lyman beecher deliver his famous temperance sermons, and he came to wadsworth with his soul ablaze with temperance zeal. the community was strongly influenced by him, and father said that he was much indebted to judge brown for his temperance and anti-slavery principles. even in those early days wadsworth contained a public library, a lyceum where the young men discussed the questions of the day, and an academy. father took part in the lyceum debates, though he was said to be slow of speech; and attended the wadsworth academy from its beginning, in . one of its most successful teachers was a shrewd scotchman named john mcgregor. father and several young men from a distance, who boarded at grandfather's and attended this school, spent their evenings studying their lessons, or reading and discussing some good book. dick's scientific works were among the books thus read. there were many lutherans, dutch reformers, and mennonites near wadsworth, and there was a perfect ferment of religious discussion. during father's boyhood, alexander campbell and walter scott had been preaching the union of christians on the bible alone, and there was great enthusiasm. eld. newcomb, an honored baptist preacher, together with my grandfather, and samuel green--the father of almon b. green and philander green--had been reading the writings of a. campbell for several years. almon b. green had been made skeptical by the unintelligible orthodox preaching. but one day, after reading the first four books of the new testament, he exclaimed, "no uninspired man ever wrote that book." he read on until he came to acts ii. , which he took to eld. newcomb, asking him its meaning. "it means what it says," was his reply. in a few days almon was baptized by eld. newcomb, simply on his confession of faith in christ, without telling any experience, as usually required by the baptists. soon afterwards four families, the new-combs, greens, butlers and bonnels, all baptists, united to form a church on the apostolic pattern. then william hayden came with his fiery eloquence and wondrous songs; the people were stirred up, opposition aroused, the various creeds were discussed with renewed energy, and the church grew and multiplied. but father and his uncle aaron, who was eight years older than himself, had been made skeptical by orthodox mysticism and the disputes of so many wrangling churches. in september, , a. campbell came to wadsworth to attend a great yearly meeting held in william eyle's barn. the following account of an incident that occurred at that time, i quote from "history of the disciples on the western reserve." "an incident occurred at this time which displays mr campbell's character for discernment and candor. aaron pardee, a gentleman residing in the vicinity, an unbeliever in the gospel, attracted by campbell's abilities as a reasoner, and won by his fairness in argument, resolved to obtain an interview and propose freely his difficulties. mr. campbell received him with such frankness that he opened his case at once, saying, 'i discover, mr. campbell, you are well prepared in the argument and defenses of the christian religion. i confess to you frankly there are some difficulties in my mind which prevent my believing the bible, particularly the old testament.' "mr. campbell replied, 'i acknowledge freely, mr. pardee, there are difficulties in the bible--difficulties not easy to explain, and some, perhaps, which in our present state of information can not be cleared up. but, my dear sir, when i consider the overwhelming testimony in its favor, so ample, complete and satisfactory, i can not resist the conviction of its divine origin. the field of prophetic inspiration is so varied and full, and the internal evidence so conclusive, that, with all the difficulties, the preponderance of evidence is overwhelming in its favor.' this reply, so fair and manly, and so different from the pulpit denunciations of 'skeptics,' 'infidels,' etc., to which he had been accustomed, quite disarmed him, and led him to hear the truth and its evidence in a much more rational state of mind. within a year he became fully satisfied of the truthfulness of the holy scriptures, and apprehending clearly their testimony to the claims of jesus of nazareth as the anointed son of god, he was prepared to yield to him the obedience of his life." my father was present with his uncle aaron at that interview with mr. campbell, and he too was led by it to listen favorably to mr. campbell's clear and powerful presentation of divine truth. he followed mr. campbell to other meetings, and listened, read, and investigated until he, too, became convinced of the truth of the bible. his uncle aaron, who is still living, said in a recent letter: "i remember going to meeting with pardee sometime about a year before i was immersed, when he put some questions to me on the subject of religion, which were very difficult to answer." in june, , at a meeting held in mr. clark's new barn, my father and his uncle, aaron pardee, confessed their saviour, and were baptized by elder newcomb in a stream on elder newcomb's farm. a brother and sister of a. b. green, and a sister of holland brown, were baptized at the same time. holland brown had been baptized the previous week. he walked down to the water with father, and remembers hearing him exclaim, on the way to the water, "lord, i believe! help thou mine unbelief." he also remembers hearing elder newcomb remark, "now we can take everything; we have bro. butler and bro. pardee to fight the infidels, and the browns to fight the universalists." holland brown's brother, leonard, and his wife--he had married my father's eldest sister, ann butler--had been baptized not far from that time. holland brown relates the following incident, which occurred some time afterward: "bro. butler was away from home, and driving a horse, which, though of fine appearance, was badly wind-broken. at times the horse appeared perfectly sound, and at one of those times bro. butler was offered a handsome sum for him. "no," said bro. butler, "i can not take that sum for the horse, he is badly wind-broken." "why didn't you take it? the man was a jockey, anyhow;" asked some one in my hearing. "'because,' was the ringing answer, 'i think less of the price of a horse than of my own soul.'" about that time father began teaching school in neighboring districts, which he followed for several years. but all of his spare time was spent in studying the bible, church history, the writings of a. campbell, and other religious books. it was at that time that he began committing the new testament to memory. grandfather butler and samuel green were the leaders of the new organization, as they had been of the baptist church, in eld. newcomb's absence--for he was away evangelizing much of the time. they called on the young people to take part in their social meetings on the lord's day, at first only asking them to read a passage of scripture, afterward to talk and pray, and, as they gained confidence in themselves, they were asked to lead the meetings. thus there grew, in that church, one after the other, within a few years, eight preachers: a. b. green, wm. moody, holland brown, leonard brown, philander green, b. f. perky, pardee butler and l. l. carpenter. a. b. green had been preaching a year or more before father was baptized, but i do not know which of the others began first, nor do i know the exact time when father began to preach, but it was about or . he was not ordained at wadsworth, for the church at that time doubted whether there was any scriptural authority for ordination. he was ordained some six or seven years afterward, in , at sullivan. in such times of religious excitement it was not necessary for a man to have a college education, to become an acceptable preacher. but father saw the advantages of a good education, and resolved to attend a. campbell's school, then known as buffalo academy, but which was soon changed to bethany college. but the means to acquire an education must be obtained by his own exertions. about the year grandfather sold his place in wadsworth, and moved to the sandusky plains, a level, marshy prairie, in northwestern ohio. part of the plains belonged to the wyandotte indian reservation, and was opened to settlement, a few years afterward, by the removal of the indians to wyandotte, kansas. father and grandfather made sheep-raising their business while there. father herded sheep in summer and taught school in winter. and, while herding sheep, he finished committing the new testament to memory. he could repeat it from beginning to end, and even in his later years he remembered it so well that he could repeat whole chapters at once. i never saw the time that any one could repeat a verse in the new testament to him, but that he could tell the book, and nearly always the chapter in which it was found. he and his father's family put their membership into the church at letimberville, some miles distant; and there he occasionally preached. he sometimes went back to wadsworth, and on the way back and forth stopped and preached for the little church at sullivan, ashland co. there he made the acquaintance of sibjl s. carleton, the daughter of joseph carleton, one of the leading members of the church. they were married august , ; and he never had cause to regret his choice, for she proved to him a helpmeet indeed. while living there, at the solicitation of his neighbors, he held a debate with a universalist preacher, to the satisfaction of his friends and the discomfiture of his opponent. many parts of the plains were covered with water, and were musical with frogs in the spring, but in hot weather they dried up, leaving here and there a stagnant pond. i have heard father tell how one of his neighbors tried to break a field by beginning on the outside, and plowing farther in as the land dried up. but the snakes and frogs grew thicker and thicker, as he neared the center. at length the grass seemed almost alive with snakes, and his big ox-team became wild with fright, and ran away, and he could not get them back there again. of course, such a country was unhealthful, and father's family was much troubled with sickness. his parents both died; my mother was nearly worn out with the ague; and he not only suffered from poor general health, but from a sore throat, and had to quit preaching. he moved to sullivan, but without any permanent benefit to his health. he did not at that time attribute his sore throat entirely to the climate, but thought it a chronic derangement that would utterly unfit him for a preacher. many years afterward he wrote of that disappointment as follows: "for five years i saw myself sitting idly by the wayside, hopeless and discouraged. i felt somewhat like a traveler, parched with thirst, on a wide and weary desert, who sees the mirage of green trees and springs of cool water that has mocked his vision, slowly fade away out of his sight. so seemed to perish my castles in the air. at that time making proclamation of the ancient gospel was too vigorous a work, and too full of hardship and exposure to be undertaken by any except those possessing stalwart good health. if i had been predestinated to the life i have actually lived, and if it were necessary that i should be chastened to bear with patience all its disabilities, then, i suppose, this discipline i actually got might be considered good and useful. if i have been able to bear provocation with patience, and to labor cheerfully without wages, and at every personal sacrifice, this lesson was learned when i saw all my hope dashed in pieces." in the spring of father sold his property and decided to go to iowa. shortly before the time of starting, my little sister and baby brother took the scarlet fever and, ere long, they were both laid in the old graveyard. heart-broken as my parents were, they did not give up the long, lonely journey. father bought a farm in iowa, and built a log house on it, intending to become a farmer. he and mother united with the nearest church, at long grove, sixteen miles distant. father did not tell them at first that he had been a preacher, but they questioned him and learned the facts. as his health improved he occasionally preached for them. eld. n. a. mcconnell gives the following account of his preaching in iowa: "i first met him at his temporary home in posten's grove, in the fall of . during that winter he taught a school in dewitt, clinton co., and preached occasionally at long grove. the next spring he attended a co-operation meeting at walnut grove, jones co., at which he was employed to labor with me in what was called district no. . his district included the counties of scott, clinton, jackson, jones, cedar, johnson, a part of muscatine, linn and benton, and west to the missouri river. he preached at leclaire, long grove, allen's grove, simpson's, big rock, green's school-house, walnut grove, marion, dry creek, pleasant grove, burlison's, maquoketa and posten's grove, as well as at numerous school-houses scattered over a large district of the country. he did excellent work in preaching the word. he was not a revivalist, nor was his co-laborer, yet there were a goodly number added to the lord during the year. i think not less than one hundred. the next year, , the annual meeting of the co-operation was held at dewitt, clinton co. at that meeting the district was divided into east and west no. . your father was assigned to the eastern division and i took the western. his field included davenport, long grove and allen's grove, in scott co.; maquoketa and burlison's in jackson co., and dewitt in clinton co. he labored also in cedar co., and did a grand work, not so much in the numbers added as in the sowing the good seed of the kingdom, and recommending our plea to the more intelligent and better informed of the various communities where he labored. you will remember that he held in mind nearly the entire new testament, so that he could quote it most accurately. i think he had also the clearest and most minute details of the old testament history, of any man i ever knew. nor was his reading and recollection limited to bible details; for he was very familiar with other history, both sacred and profane. "i call to mind two sermons that he delivered. one was based on the language of christ addressed to the woman of samaria, at jacob's well--john iv.: 'ye worship ye know not what. we know what we worship; for salvation is of the jews.' in this sermon he detailed the history of israel to the revolt under jereboam, the history of jereboam and his successors until the overthrow of the ten tribes, and the formation of the mongrel nation called samaritans. in this he showed that god's promise--ex. xx., 'in all places where i record my name, i will meet with you and bless you,' was fully realized by the people of god, and that a disregard of the law in harmony with this promise was followed by most disastrous results. and that the same is true under the gospel--where his name is recorded, and only there, he now meets and blesses his people. "the second sermon was on the subject of justification by faith.' this was doubtless one of the very best efforts of his life. i will not trouble you with the details of this grand effort, since it was published in full in the _evangelist_ in . the sermon was published, not by his request, but by the unanimous voice of the state meeting held in davenport that year. "i am sorry that i can not give more of the details of his grand work in iowa." the winter of - was very cold, but father did not stop for bad weather. i remember that when he started to his appointment one cold morning mother cried for fear he would freeze to death. the mail-carrier did freeze to death that day, but father kept from freezing by walking. the next summer was very rainy, and mother was always anxious when there were high waters, for there were no bridges, and father always swam his horse across streams, although he could not swim a stroke. then he preached for several years in illinois, and was gone for months at a time. in july, , my little sister--for by that time i had another brother and sister--after a brief illness, closed her eyes in death. fortunately father was at home, to mingle his tears with mother's, over the little coffin. the next spring father sold his iowa farm. before leaving there an incident occurred that i distinctly remember. the iowa legislature had passed some kind of temperance law, and the people were to vote on it at the spring election. our country lyceum formed itself into a mock court, and tried king alcohol for various crimes and misdemeanors. father was appointed prosecuting attorney, and he went at it in earnest, as he always did at anything he undertook. he sent for every man in the vicinity who ever drank, or who had good opportunities to observe the effect of drink on others, to appear as a witness against king alcohol. the trial lasted three evenings, with increasing crowds. father's adroitness in drawing facts from witnesses--often against their will--kept the audience laughing and applauding. i remember hearing people say that he had mistaken his calling; that he ought to have been a lawyer. on the last evening, when he addressed the jury, he became eloquent. he pictured the terrible effects of intemperance, the ruined homes, the weeping wives, the ragged children. he denounced king alcohol as guilty of every known crime--of stealing the bread from the mouths of children, of robbing helpless women of everything they valued most, of brutally shedding the blood of thousands, and of filling the whole earth with violence, until the cries of widows and orphans reached to high heaven. when he finished, the house rang with applause. the attorney for the defense tried to reply, but the boys said mr. butler had spoiled his speech. the jury brought in a verdict of guilty. the election came off soon afterwards, and people said that it was strongly influenced, in that township, by father's speech. the next may, mother, my little brother, and i, went to my uncle gorham's, near canton, illinois; while father went to kansas to buy land, intending, however, to live several years at mt. sterling, illinois, before moving to kansas. mrs. rosetta b. hastings. personal recollections chapter i. i came to kansas in the spring of , having been preaching in that part of illinois known as the military tract, during the three preceding years; but my residence was in cedar county, iowa, one hundred and fifty miles from my field of labor, and twenty-six miles to the northwest of the city of davenport. i had been employed for one year in iowa as a co-laborer with bro. n. a. mcconnell; but the church at davenport, which was the strongest and richest church in the cooperation, determined to sustain a settled pastor, and this left the churches too poor to support two preachers, and i was left to find another field of labor. when i first came to cedar county i came simply as a farmer; and there were but nine families in the township in which we settled. but when the country came to be settled up the result was not favorable to the expectation that we should have prosperous churches in that region. those who have watched the progress of the temperance reform in iowa have noticed that, while the prohibitory law is enforced almost throughout the state, there are yet exceptions in the cities of davenport and muscatine and the adjacent counties. here the law is set at defiance. this is owing to the presence of a german, lager-beer-drinking, law-defying population, godless and christless, and that turn the lord's day into a holiday. this tendency had begun to be apparent before i left iowa. when it became manifest that i could not any longer find a field of labor in southeastern iowa, i was recommended to the churches in the counties of schuyler and brown, in the military tract, illinois. my first introduction among them was dramatic, if, indeed, we could give to an incident almost frivolous and laughable, the dignity of a dramatic incident; and yet the matter had a serious side to it. i had been commended by bro. bates, editor of the _iowa christian evangelist_, to the church at rushville, where i held a meeting of days. the meetings grew in interest, there were some important additions, and the church was greatly revived. twelve miles from rushville was the town of ripley, a small village, where the people were engaged in the business of manufacturing pottery ware. here two second adventist preachers, a mr. chapman and his wife, were holding forth. this mr. chapman was a devout, pious, and earnest man, and a good exhorter, and had an unfaltering faith that the lord was immediately to appear. but his wife was the smartest one in the family. she was fluent and voluble. she had an unabashed forehead and a bitter and defiant tongue. it was her hobby to declaim against the popular idea of the existence of the human spirit apart from the body. with her this was equivalent to a witch riding on a broomstick or going to heaven on a moonbeam. spirit is breath--so she dogmatically affirmed--and when a man breathes out his last breath his spirit leaves his body. but it was her especial delight to declaim against the pagan notion of the immortality of the soul, and to affirm that the bible says nothing of the immortality of the soul. a bro. mcpherson undertook to contest the matter with her, but, not finding the scripture he was looking for, she exclaimed with bitter and vixenish speech, "ah! you can't find it! you can't find it! it isn't there! i told you so!" and thus this couple were fast demoralizing the church, billy greenwell, the richest man in the church, being wholly carried away with this fanaticism. john brown lived half way between ripley and rushville, but was a member of the church at rushville. bro. brown was a man of good sense, excellent character, and had been a member of the legislature. he attended our meeting at rushville, and, in the intervals of the meeting, was full of questions concerning this heresy that had been sprung on them at ripley. our meeting at rushville came to a close. it had been a good meeting; the church had been revived, and there had been important additions. i took dinner with bro. brown, and in the afternoon we rode toward ripley. on crossing the ferry at crooked creek, "old rob burton," the ferryman, a tall, stalwart kentuckian, looking down on me, asked, "are you the man that's goin' to preach at ripley to-night?" "yes." "wall, don't you know thar's a woman thar that's goin' to skin you?" "well, i don't know. we shall see how it will be?" at rushville i had done my best, and now, being withdrawn from the excitement of the meeting, felt exhausted; and determined not to touch any debatable question that night. the house was crowded with eager and expectant listeners. my fame had gone before me, and the "woman preacher" was present, ready for a fight. but, alas! my sermon was a bucket of cold water poured on the heads of my brethren. at any other time it would have been accepted as a good and edifying exhortation; but now, how untimely! the meeting was dismissed and the buzzing was as if a hive of bees had just been ready to swarm. the woman's disciples were jubilant; and, above the din and hurly-burly, i heard a thin, squeaking voice say, "give that woman a bible, and she would say more in five minutes than that man has said in his whole dis-c-o-u-rse." this was billy greenwell. brother brown said nothing that night; but the next morning he said to me: "bro. b., the people were disappointed with you last night." "why, bro. b., was it not a good sermon?" "yes; but it was not what the people expected." "bro. b., did the people expect me, uninvited, to pitch into a quarrel with which i have nothing whatever to do?" "oh, is that it? well, wait a little and you shall have an invitation." bro. brown went out, and soon returned with a request that i should discuss the question that mr. chapman and his wife had been debating. i sat down and wrote out a statement of the subjects on which i proposed to speak in all the evenings of the coming week. the first commanded universal attention: "does the spirit die when the body dies?" they had never thought of that. they had been thunderstruck when this woman told them that the bible says nothing about the immortality of the soul, but beyond this they had never gone. there was probably more bible reading that day in ripley than any day before or since. at night the house was jammed, and "the woman" was there, bible in hand. i began: "the bible speaks of a man as composed of body, soul and spirit. the body is that material tabernacle in which a man dwells, and which paul hoped to put off that he might be clothed with a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. the soul is that animal life we have in common with all living and material things. thus jesus is said to have poured out his soul unto death. but what of the spirit? god is spirit, and god can not die. the angels are spirits, and the angels can not die; jesus says so. man has a spirit, and can man's spirit die? but spirit sometimes means breath. yes, and heaven sometimes means the firmament above our heads, where the birds fly. but does it never mean more than this? paradise sometimes means the happy garden where adam and eve dwelt; but does it never mean more than that? so, granting that spirit sometimes means breath, may it not also mean more than that? "when jesus said, 'into thy hands i commend my spirit,' did he mean, 'into thy hands i commend my breath'? so, when the disciples saw jesus walking on the water and cried out, 'it is a spirit,' did jesus say to them, 'this is an old wives' fable; there is no such thing as a spirit'? did he not rather say to them,--'it is i; be not afraid.' so, also, when he appeared to them in a room, the doors being shut, and they cried out, 'it is a spirit,' he said to them, 'handle me and see; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones, as ye see me have.' in all this jesus encouraged the disciples to hold the idea which was then popular among the jews, that the spirit may exist apart from the body, and after the body is dead." i thus discoursed to them for one hour in development of the bible teachings concerning human spirits; and in my turn ridiculed the persons that had ridiculed the ideas that had evidently been held by jesus and the apostles. mrs. chapman had always invited objections; but she was sure to make an endless talk over them. i said, "we will not have an endless confabulation to-night; but i will quote one passage of scripture, and on that i will rest my case. any other person may then quote one passage of scripture and on that rest the case. i have preached one sermon; the other party has preached twenty. so far we will count ourselves even, and it only remains that i should quote my scripture, and let the other party quote the one scripture on the opposite side, and then we will be dismissed." i gave the views of the pharisees and of the sadducees as detailed by josephus, and then quoted luke in the acts of apostles: "the sadducees say there is no resurrection, neither angel nor spirit; but the pharisees confess both." and paul says, "men and brethren, i am a pharisee, the son of a pharisee." so i also say, i am a pharisee, the son of a pharisee, and hold to the existence of human and angelic spirits. when i announced that i should call for objections, i saw mrs. chapman take up her bible in a flutter and nervously turn over its leaves. when i sat down all eyes were turned on her, and there was a death-like stillness in the house. then she rose up, and in a moment was out of the house. she left the town the next morning and never came back. then it was "old bob burton's" turn to speak. he said to billy green, "your chest is locked, and the key is lost in the bottom of the sea." the brethren were gratified that the power of this "soul-sleeping" delusion was broken. billy green never recovered from his infatuation. he afterwards built a house that, in the number of rooms it contained, was wholly beyond his necessities. but he thought that when the lord should come, and he should own all the land that joined him, and should have children to his heart's desire, then he would need all the room. chapter ii. from ripley i went to mt. sterling, the county-seat of brown county. this church had fallen into decay for want of the care of a competent evangelist. here i remained some weeks; and the church was very much revived, and there was a large ingathering. this was originally the home of bro. archie glenn, now conspicuous in building up the university at wichita. from the first bro. glenn, though modest and unobtrusive, was known as a solid and helpful member of the church. he always had the confidence of the people of brown county, and was by them elected to various public offices, at last becoming lieutenant-governor of the state. but his business not prospering to suit him, he removed to wichita, which was at that time a straggling village of uncertain fortunes, situated on a river of doubtful reputation, and located in a country concerning which the public were debating whether it should be called "the great american desert," or a decent place, where civilized men could live and thrive. but bro. glenn did not lose faith in the lord nor in his country. he went to his new home to be a live man. wichita has decided to be a city, and not a straggling village of doubtful and cow-boy reputation; the arkansas river has agreed to behave itself and to co-operate with human hands in giving fertility to its valley, and the geographers have unanimously agreed to strike the "great american desert" from the map of the united states. sister shields has grown up since these old days to be a woman, then a widow, and now a true yoke-fellow with her father in these great undertakings. bro. lewis brockman was pointed out to me, when first i came to mt. sterling, as a disaffected member; but, on a better acquaintance, it became apparent that his disaffection was that the church members had made a solemn vow to keep the ordinances of the lord's house, and did not do it. when better order was obtained, he was once more in harmony with the church; came to atchison county, kansas, and died, a pattern of fidelity to his conscience and to every known duty. during the period of three years in which i remained preaching in the military tract, i visited almost all its churches. the number of disciples was large. they had a large amount of wealth at their disposal, and were not averse to using it to promote the advancement of the cause. but the children of this world are, in their generation, wiser than the children of light, and there is a certain practical wisdom that has been abundantly learned by other religious communities that has only come to our churches through a sore and bitter experience; and it was through the fire of this experience they were passing at the time of which we write. "billy brown" had been a notable evangelist among them. indeed, he had been the father in the gospel of the churches in brown and schuyler counties. he was popularly described as having a head "as big as a half bushel," surmounted by a great shock of hair. he was an iconoclast, and devoted his life to the business of image-breaking, and, of course, the breaking in pieces of the idols of the people created a great tumult. there was this difference, and only this difference, between the work of billy brown and sam jones; sam jones declaims against sins already condemned by the popular conscience, but billy brown assailed convictions enshrined in the innermost sanctuary of the hearts of the people. he did so because these popular superstitions stood in the way of the acceptance by the people of the apostolic gospel. of course, the work of such a man carried with it an inconceivable excitement. at mt. sterling a man in the audience made some objection. "what is your name?" said billy brown. "my name, sir, is trotter." "well, come forward, and i will knock your _trotters_ out from under you." but billy himself sometimes found his match. at ripley he had been preaching after his accustomed style, and riding away from the place of meeting--it was in the spring of the year when the mud was deep--he saw an old man painfully and with difficulty making his way through the mud. knowing that he was a preacher from his white cravat, his broad-brimmed hat and single-breasted coat, he said to him: "well, old daddy, how did you like the preaching?" "haven't heard any," stiffly replied the old gentleman. but when the tumult and excitement of this conflict had passed away, and his converts were brought face to face with the grave duties of a religious life, and with the serious work of keeping the ordinances of the lord's house, they did not know how; they had been born in a whirlwind and could only live in a tempest. notwithstanding, they loved the lord's cause, and they trembled for themselves and their children, if they should not be found faithful. if these churches are not able at the present time to exhibit a growth adequate to their opportunities, it must be remembered, on their behalf, that they have sent to the west an incredibly large number of disciples to serve as the nuclei for other churches throughout that mighty empire that within the past thirty years has grown up between the missouri river and the pacific ocean. the days i spent in these churches are the golden days of my life. there has been no field in which my labor as an evangelist has yielded a richer harvest; none in which there have been bestowed on me more flattering or more kindly attentions. it was the bright and joyous sunshine of a spring morning, before the bursting of the storm. though each year increased my attachment to the people, and apparently added their good-will to myself, there had been coming to the front a difficulty that could not any longer be thrust aside or disregarded. i was one hundred and fifty miles away from home, and from my wife and children. on holding a council of war to consider our future tactics, in which mrs. butler, was commander-in-chief, and myself, second in command, she said to me, "pardee, i am willing to go wherever you say, only when we go there we must go to stay. we must not put our house on wheels. we must not leave our children without settled employment, exposed to all the hazards of a city life, or a life without a permanent habitation." under such circumstances the settling on a home in reference to which it could be said, "here we are to stay," was not an easy matter. the people of the military tract were, almost all of them, kentuckians. there were evidently impending storms in the political horizon. i could not bend my sails to suit every favoring gale; and if, in the future, there should come a time that my conscience should lie in one direction, and my popularity and pecuniary interest in the other, i did not like to invite such a temptation. at any rate, i did not like to place myself in such a position that to bring down on my head popular odium would be to invite pecuniary ruin. these counties in the military tract were old settled counties, and land was high; and i was not rich. at this time the kansas-nebraska bill had been adopted by congress, and kansas had been opened for settlement. it was certain that eastern kansas, in the matter of fertility of soil, and all the elements of agricultural wealth, would be a desirable location. "but there might be a political and social conflict." yes, and there might be a political and social conflict in illinois; or, for the matter of that, it might cover the west as with a blanket. it was certain that eastern kansas would be early settled from missouri; and in no state was there a larger percentage of the people known as disciples. i would, therefore, be among my brethren; and, if i had kept the peace for three years with kentuckians in illinois, could i not do the same thing with missourians in kansas? in any case, there was a fair prospect of gaining in kansas a position of pecuniary independence; and any man can see that such a position was worth all the world to alexander campbell, when he was constrained by his conscience to bring down on his own head the utmost wrath of his baptist brethren. i started in the spring of to ride on horseback through missouri; but was soon made to feel that there were more things in this world than were known in my philosophy. i had determined to remain over sunday in linnville, linn county, missouri, the county-seat of the county, as here was a congregation of disciples; and called on a merchant of the place, who had been mentioned as one of the leading members. he remarked that he had become acquainted with me through the _christian evangelist_, published by bro. bates, in iowa; but, on learning my destination, seemed strangely oblivious that anything more should be due from him to me. and so, having waited patiently about for a goodly time, i mounted my horse and rode on till dark; then seeing a light, and having called at the house, i found an old man who kindly received and lodged me. in the morning it appeared that his house was surrounded by negro cabins. having inquired my destination, he began to talk to me concerning the subject that seemed to be in every man's heart. i replied, submitting to him such views as were held by a majority of northern men. to my surprise he flared up in anger, and said: "if you talk that way when you get to kansas you will never come back again; they will hang you." the thing was so absurd i only laughed in the old man's face, and said to him: "well, you can not teach an old dog new tricks. i have spoken my mind so long that i shall continue to do it if they do hang me," and so bade him good-bye. it was sunday morning, and it was eighteen miles to chillicothe. arriving at the hotel, the people were getting ready for meeting. on questioning them where they were going, the landlord replied: "to the christian church. will you not go along with us?" on asking my name he said: "o yes; i have seen your name in the _christian evangelist._ you have been preaching in illinois. i will introduce you to our preacher, and we will make an appointment for you this afternoon." this landlord was a brother to that congressman graves that shot cilley, a member of congress from maine, in a duel with rifles, at washington. the people described "mine host" as one of "fighting stock "; and spoke of him as being as thoughtful of the comfort, health and welfare of his slaves as of his own children. to me he seemed simply a genial, jovial, friendly and traditional "boniface," chiefly intent on furnishing comfortable fare and an enjoyable place for his guest. by the members of the christian church i was kindly received, and was invited to take dinner with the preacher. after dinner two brethren came in, to whom i had been introduced at the meeting-house. after some desultory talk, they asked me: "_are you an abolitionist_?" i was both angry and confounded. i had never in my life made myself conspicuous in this controversy that was going on between north and south, and why should i be insulted with such a question. i did not answer yes or no, but proceeded to give my views on the subject in general. they listened and remarked that they did not see anything offensive in such views; then made this apology for their seeming rudeness: an old man, a preacher, whom they called father clark, had come from pennsylvania to chillicothe to live with a married daughter, and had said something concerning slavery offensive to the people, and they had called a meeting of the citizens, and he had been driven out of town and ordered never to return. they had, furthermore, resolved that no abolitionist should thereafter be allowed to preach in the city. these brethren explained that, as i would be called on and interrogated by a committee, they thought it would be better that this should be done by friends, than that i should be questioned by strangers. "_are you an abolitionist_?" i was angry with myself for having consented to preach a sermon after being met with such a question. but by mine host, bro. graves, i was treated with the most frank and manly courtesy, albeit that he was brother to the man that shot a brother congressman in a duel with rifles. he seemed to feel like the town clerk at ephesus: "what man is there that knoweth not that the city of the ephesians is a worshiper of the great goddess diana, and of the image that fell down from jupiter? seeing then that these things can not be spoken against, ye ought to be quiet and do nothing rashly." the hannibal & st. joseph railroad was just being located through the city, yet the town was a dead town, though it was surrounded by a fertile and prosperous country. bro. graves seemed awake to all its advantages, and pressed me to remain, pointing out the rapid advance that must take place in the value of its property. but i kept thinking of the question: "are you an abolitionist?" and bade him farewell. at nightfall i found myself beyond gallatin, on the road to st. joseph. as there were no hotels i called at a private house and was hospitably received. this man, on whom i had called, had come from the state of pennsylvania, and had grown to a prosperous farmer. there seemed to be no books or newspapers about the house; but he was shrewd and sagacious to a proverb, and was eager to hear from the land of his fathers, and of what was the cause of all this din and clamor and excitement of the people about him. what was the meaning of the kansas-nebraska bill? what were the intentions of the black republicans? what was the _new york tribune_ doing, that it should raise such a tumult? and what were the purposes of the emigrant aid society that it should be such an offense to the people in missouri? on my own part, i also had much to learn from this man, so shrewd and well-informed, and yet so ignorant. what did it mean that citizens of missouri should go over in force and vote in the territory of kansas? we had heard something of this in illinois, but supposed it was something done by that turbulent and somewhat lawless element that gathers along the borders of civilization; but now it was apparent that this movement was under control of leading citizens of missouri, and had been participated in by conscientious men, members of the various churches of missouri, who would in no wise knowingly do anything wrong. what did it mean? the reader will not be surprised that we should sit up to a late hour of the night, nor that we should renew the subject again in the morning. when i had got ready to leave this man, who had so hospitably entertained me, he explained that he had business on the road on which i was traveling, and that he would accompany me a number of miles. this emigrant from pennsylvania, now a citizen of missouri, who carried his library in his brain and read his books when he conversed with men, and kept his own counsel and lived in peace with his neighbors, was now about to say farewell. with some hesitation he said: "mr. butler, i thank you for all you have told me. i feel just as you do; but i must advise you to be careful how you talk to other men as you have talked to me. there are many in this country that would shoot such a man as you are. good-bye." chapter iii. it is said, "there are two sides to every question." in my association with men in the free states i had learned one side of this question; now i was learning the other side, and began to be able to put in intelligible shape to myself those reasonings by which these men justified their action. they reasoned thus: "war is a state of violence and always involves a trenching upon what we call natural rights; and its decisions depend not so much on who is right or wrong, as on who wields the longest sword and commands the heaviest battalions. and if in carrying on a war some evil comes to innocent parties, this is only one of its necessary consequences, and is justified by the final result; provided always that the war, as a whole, is right and just. and in such a strained and unnatural condition of affairs men can not be governed by the same scrupulous regard for others' rights by which they are governed in time of peace. but the north and south are already practically in a state of war. this comes of the mistakes made at the formation of our government. thomas jefferson and the fathers of the revolution were mistaken in holding slavery wrong. it is a rightful and natural relation, as between an inferior and superior race. the black race is far better off here in america, in slavery, than they would be in africa, in freedom and in paganism; and if there is something of hardship in their lot, it is only because there is hardship in the lot of every human being." these men also said: "consequent on these erroneous views held by thomas jefferson and others, the settlement made as between the north and south has been wrong, from the beginning, it was wrong to close the northwest territory, embracing indiana, illinois, michigan, and wisconsin, against slavery. so also it was wrong to close kansas against this institution by what was called the missouri compromise line, agreed upon on the admission of missouri into the union." so these men reasoned, and they said: "now we propose to go and take by the strong hand those rights of which we have been wrongfully deprived since the beginning of the american government. a little severity now--a resolute seizing on our rights now, in this golden opportunity--will be worth more than the shedding of rivers of blood by and by. therefore the primary and rudimental legislation of this infant territory will be worth everything to us in the final settlement of this question. it is certain that the law is against us; but the law itself is wrong, and has been wrong from the beginning. the right that belongs to us is the material and inalienable right of revolution." we have no right to assume that a majority of the people of missouri held the sentiments we have here indicated: probably they did not. but the dissent was generally unspoken. the men of this stamp commonly adopted the policy of the man with whom i had just parted. but there was dissent in some cases, bitter and vehement, followed sometimes by bloodshed. before i had gone to iowa, and while i yet lived in ohio, i had visited kentucky. an ohio colony had gone down into kentucky and located in the counties of wayne and pulaski, on the cumberland river. a brother of mine had gone with them, and i had made him a visit. i thought then, and think now, that there is no region on which the sun shines, more desirable to live in than the region of the cumberland mountains. at crab orchard i found a man that was born in the state of new york. he had been a soldier at hull's surrender, at detroit, in the war of , with great britain. from detroit he had made his way into kentucky, had married a rich wife with many slaves, and had become a vehement partisan for slavery. but because he was born in the same state with myself, and because i could tell him much about that people that were once his people, he was glad to have me stop with him. being old and choleric, he would go off into a fierce passion against the abolitionists. he would say: "these men are thieves! our niggers are our property, and they steal our property. they might as well steal our horses." after awhile he would begin to talk about his children. he would say: "these niggers are ruining my children! my girls are good for nothing! they can not help themselves! they are so helpless they can not even pick up a needle. and my boys! these niggers are ruining my boys! my boys won't work!" and then he would _go_ on to tell the nameless vices the young men of the city were drawn into through their intimacy with the blacks. i thought, but did not say, "my dear sir, if slavery is working such a ruin on your own children, would not the abolitionists be doing you a kindness if they would steal every nigger you have got?" but there was a still graver aspect that this question was beginning to assume: a woman that is a slave has neither the motive nor the power to protect her own virtue; and the land was threatened to be filled with a nation of mulattoes. but this mixed race would possess all the pride, ambition and talent of the superior race; at the same time they would feel all that undying hatred that a subject people feel toward the men by whom they are subjugated. we would then be sleeping on a volcano, such as may at any hour engulf the empire of russia. all this i pondered in my heart as i slowly made my way toward st. joseph, on the missouri river, which flows along the western border of kansas. and now this question was coming to the front and forcing a settlement, and in kansas would be the first real conflict. in congress they had only paltried with, it; now the people were to try their hand. and what should i do? had i any right as a christian and as an american citizen, when providentially called to this work, to withdraw myself from aiding in its settlement? and should i turn my horse in the opposite direction, go back to my bro. graves at chillicothe, and say to him: "you are a man of undoubted courage, but i am a paltroon and a coward, and i am going to hunt a hole and hide myself, where i will be out of danger when this battle is fought between freedom and slavery." i did not turn back, but revolving all these matters in my mind, reached the city of st. joseph. here i had been commended by a friend to a merchant in the city, a member of the christian church. he received me kindly and treated me courteously, but his partner in business did not seem to be of that mind. he was all out of sorts, and gruffly said, "kansas is a humbug. it will not be settled in thirty years." in revolutions men live fast. i had been ten days on my journey, and the man that now crossed the missouri river at st. joseph was not just the man that ten days before crossed the mississippi at quincy. he was a wiser and a sadder man. on the kansas side the first company i met was a two-horse wagon load of men that had been exploring the territory and were returning. they seemed thoroughly disgusted, and said: "the wind blows so hard in kansas, it would blow a chicken up against the side of a barn and hold it there for twenty-four hours." "kansas will not be settled in thirty years." so said my not very amiable friend in st. joseph. it is now somewhat more than thirty years, and kansas has more than a million of inhabitants. but the state has a higher boast to make than that it has so increased in wealth and population. it has been the first state in the union--indeed, it has been the first government in the world--to incorporate prohibition into its fundamental law; and this is the best possible criticism by which to mark its comparative progress in a christian civilization. chapter iv. after crossing the missouri river i visited some of the principal settlements in the territory, such as atchison, leaven worth, lawrence and topeka. lawrence, topeka and manhattan were settlements made by men from free states, and with an eye single to making kansas a free state. there was no town located on the missouri river, and no settlement made in the counties bordering on the missouri river, that were properly free state settlements. i thought this was a mistake. these counties had by far the largest population, and as these counties would go, the territory would go; and i thought that no considerations of personal danger ought to hinder, that these counties should have respectable settlements of avowed free state men among them. what is now the city of atchison was then a small village that was being built among--the cottonwood trees on the banks of the missouri river, about twenty miles below st. joseph, and the same distance above fort leavenworth. it had been named after the notable david r. atchison, who had been a senator from missouri, and acting vice-president of the united states. d. r. atchison and gen. b. f. stringfellow had at this time won a national notoriety in this struggle now going on in kansas; and both were leading members in the atchison town company. dr. stringfellow was deputed to act as editor-in-chief of the _squatter sovereign_, a paper at that time started in atchison; but the editor was robert s. kelly. bob kelly, as he was popularly called, was a born leader among such a population as at that time filled western missouri. the towns along the missouri river were the outfitting points for that immense overland freighting business, that was at that time carried on across the western plains, to santa fe in mexico and to salt lake, oregon and california; and here congregated a multitude of that wild, lawless, law-defying and law-breaking mob of men, that accompanied these expeditions, and were the habitues of these western plains, or were among the gold seekers of california. bob kelly was left an orphan at an early age, and was from his youth surrounded with such a population. in person he was handsome as an apollo, broad-shouldered and muscular, with fair complexion and blue eyes, and was the natural chief of the dangerous men that were drawn to him by his personal magnetism. moreover, he possessed so much native eloquence, and such an ability to make passionate appeals, as made him a fit person to fire the hearts of these men to deeds of violence, i obtained a claim to acres of land, twelve miles from atchison, and on the banks of the stranger creek. this claim i would be at liberty to buy, at government price, if i should continue to live on it until it should come into market. my nearest neighbor was caleb may, a disciple, and a squatter, from the other side of the river. bro. may was in his way as much a character as bob kelly. he gloried, like john randolph, of roanoke, in being descended from. pocahontas, and that he therefore had indian blood in his veins. born and reared on the frontier, tall, muscular, and raw-boned, an utter stranger to fear, a dead shot with pistol or rifle, cool and self-possessed in danger, he had become known far and near as a desperate and dangerous man when meddled with. but he had been converted, and had become a member of the christian church, and according to the light that was in him he did his best to conform his life to the maxims of the new testament, and conscientiously sought to confine all exhibition of "physical force" to such occasions as those in which he might be compelled to defend himself. then it was not likely to be a healthy business for his antagonist. after securing my claim, and commencing to build a cabin, i began to look around me. fully three-fourths of the squatters of this whole region were from the border counties of missouri. but in western missouri the percentage of disciples was perhaps larger than in any other portion of the united states, consequently i had brethren on every side of me. these men certainly were not refined and educated men, as the phrase goes, still they had the qualities that our lord found in the fisherman of galilee. one thought was in every man's heart, and on every man's tongue. the name _squatter sovereign,_ that had been given to the atchison newspaper, indicated the trend of public opinion. they had been flattered with the idea that if they would come to kansas they should be "squatter sovereigns," that the domestic institutions of the infant territory should be determined not by the nation, nor by congress, but by themselves. and yet, when the election day came, every election precinct in the territory, except one, was taken possession of by bodies of men from missouri, and the elections had been carried, not by _bona side_ citizens, but by an outside invasion. with pain and shame, and bitter resentment, my neighbors told me how they had driven their wagons to the place of voting, on the prairie, and hitched their horses to their wagons, and were quietly going about their business, when with a great whoop and hurrah, which frightened their horses and made them break loose from their wagons, a company of men came in sight, and with swagger and bluster, took possession of the polls, and proceeded to do the voting. meantime whisky flowed like water, and the men, far gone in liquor, turned the place into a bedlam. in utter humiliation and disgust many of the squatters went home. caleb may did not get into the neighborhood till afternoon. before he got to the place of voting, he met joseph potter, and on hearing what was done he threw his hat on the ground, and in a towering rage protested he would no longer vote with a party that would treat the people of the territory in such a way as that. this was done in march, but so far as any public expression of sentiment was concerned, the people seemed dumb. no public meeting was called in the way of protest till the next september, and that meeting was held at big springs, sixty miles from atchison. but if there was no public protest, there was plenty of it in private. the men from the state of missouri grew sick at heart. it was a deep, unspoken, bitter and shame-faced feeling, for it was their old neighbors that had done this. i often asked myself, can it be hoped that an election can be held that shall fairly express the real sentiment of the people, if they allow themselves to be held down under such a reign of terror? the prevalent sentiment of the squatters from missouri was, "we will make kansas a free white state; we will admit no negroes into it." these men regarded the negro as an enemy to themselves. they said: "we were born to the lowly lot of toil, and the negro has made labor a disgrace. neither ourselves nor our children have had opportunity for education, and the negro is the cause of it. moreover, an aristocracy at the south has assumed control of public affairs, and the negro is the cause of that. now we propose to make kansas a free white state, and shut out the negro, who has been the cause of all our calamities." there was, however, a class of men among them that had pity for the negro. i will repeat one story, as it was told me by bro. silas kirkham. bro. kirkham belongs to that family of kirkhams so well known to our brethren in southeastern iowa. bro. kirkham was raised in a slave state. he said: "when i was a boy i had never thought of slavery as being wrong. there was a black boy in the settlement named jim. jim was so good-natured, faithful and well-behaved that we all liked him. jim married a black girl and they had twins--boys--bright, likely little fellows, and jim's wife and twin babies were all the treasure he had in the world." bro. kirkham said: "one day i found jim in the woods, where he had been sent to split rails. he was sitting down with his face buried in his hands, apparently asleep. i thought i would crawl slyly up to him, and spring suddenly on him, and frighten him. i did so, but jim was not asleep at all, but lifted up his head with such a look of unutterable woe that i was frightened myself, and said: 'why, jim, what is the matter?' jim cried out: 'o, my boys! my boys! massa sold my boys!'" bro. kirkham said: "_i_ have vowed everlasting enmity to an institution that will legalize such treatment of a human being." but while these ominous mutterings were heard in so many of the kansas squatter cabins, little did the high and mighty atchison town company, or the editorial staff of the _squatter sovereign_, or the puissant territorial legislature, reck that so soon they must take up the sad refrain of cardinal woolsey: farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness! this is the state of man: to-day he puts forth the tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, and bears his blushing honors thick upon him; the third day comes a frost, a killing frost, and--when he thinks, good easy man, full surely his greatness is a-ripening--nips his root; and then he falls, as i do. the following extract, from an editorial that appeared at this time in the _squatter sovereign_, will show what a rose-colored view these gentlemen took of the situation: slavery in kansas. we receive letters, by nearly every mail, asking our opinion as regards the security of slave property in kansas territory. we can truly say that no territory in uncle sam's dominion can be found where the slave' can be made more secure, or his work command a higher price. our slave population is gradually increasing by the arrival of emigrants and settlers from the slave states, who, having an eye to making a fortune, have wisely concluded to secure a farm in kansas, and stock it well with valuable slaves. situated as missouri is, being surrounded by free states, we would advise the removal of negroes from the frontier counties to kansas, where they will be comparatively safe. abolitionists too well know the character of the kansas squatter to attempt to carry out the nefarious schemes of the underground railroad companies. chapter v. immediately on obtaining my claim, brethren had sought me out and made my acquaintance, and soon it appeared that there were enough disciples in the settlement to constitute a church. but the times were stormy, and we delayed making any movement in that direction. it had now come to be the month of june. there had been refreshing showers. the singing birds had come, and the bright sunshine. the prairie had put on its royal robes, the forest its richest garments, and the people had become impatient with their long isolation from religious meetings. the lord's day was almost ceasing to be the lord's day to them, and they demanded a sermon. we, therefore, came together in the timbered bottoms of caleb may's claim, on the banks of the stranger creek. the gathering was primitive and peculiar, like the gathering at a western camp-meeting--footmen, and men and women on horseback, and whole families in two-horse lumber wagons. some were dressed in kentucky-jeans, and some in broadcloth; there were smooth-shaven men and bearded men; there were hats and bonnets of every form and fashion; all were dressed in such ways as best suited their convenience or necessities. in this crowd were those that, as the years should go by, were destined to grow in wealth, in understanding, in popularity and high position, and they should be known as the first in the land. the singing was not in the highest style of the musical art, but it was hearty and sincere. looking up at the thick branches of the spreading elms above our heads i said: my friends and fellow citizens:--i have never seen trees clothed with leaves of so rich a green as the trees above our heads, i have never seen prairies robed in richer verdure than the prairies around us. since the year of , it has been known that what is called the "platte purchase," in missouri, is the garden spot of the west; and now it is apparent that we have here on the west side of the missouri river what is the exact counterpart of the platte purchase on the east side. it is the same in genial suns, refreshing rains, and unequalled fertility of soil. it is, moreover, true that, owing to the peculiar circumstances under which this territory will be settled we shall have a population inferior to no population on the face of the earth. after the deluge was past, god promised enlargement to the sons of japheth. "god shall enlarge japheth, and he shall dwell in the tents of shem;" and more than , years the sons of japheth have been fulfilling their destiny. they came originally from the mountain regions around mount ararat, and moving westward, they have filled all europe; and these tribes coming from the east have created the modern european nations. the last and westernmost settlement was made on the island of great britain, and here they were stopped from further progress by the atlantic ocean; and here, after many generations of war, they coalesced and mingled their blood together, and thus became the british nation; and thus out of the commingling of the blood of the most enterprising races that came out of the loins of japheth has grown that nation, that in all lands has vindicated its right to be known as the foremost nation of the world. christopher columbus discovered america, and now new causes began to operate that called for the planting of new colonies here in america. martin luther asserted the right of a man to stand immediately in the presence of the lord, to be answerable directly to the lord, and to confess his sins to the lord alone, and from the lord to receive pardon, without the intervention of any pope, priest, or ghostly mediator. this was counted by the catholic church a horrible blasphemy, and the diet of worms was called, and luther was commanded to appear before it and recant. presiding over this diet was charles v., emperor of germany; here were electors, princes and crowned heads, popish priests, bishops and cardinals, together with the principal nobility of catholic europe--these all came together to compel the recantation of friar martin luther. but luther said; "unless i be convinced by scripture and reason, i neither can nor dare retract anything for my conscience is a captive to god's word, and it is neither safe nor right to go against conscience," and a great multitude of men in germany, france, switzerland, and great britain stood beside luther and protested that they were amenable to the lord alone, and that they could do nothing against conscience. but these protestant governments stopped midway between popery and protestantism; for each of these nations, while renouncing the pope of rome, assumed that it was the business of the king to instruct the people what to believe; and so instead of having one pope they had many popes, consequently many protestant sects; and these took the place of that one apostolic church originally established by the apostles. notwithstanding, there were some, in all lands that remained steadfast to the principle enunciated by martin luther: "unless i be convinced by scripture and reason, i neither can nor dare retract"; and so it came to pass that there were protestant persecutions as well as catholic persecutions; and so also it came to pass that men became wearied with this intolerance, and determined to seek beyond the atlantic ocean a place where they could worship god according to the dictates of their own consciences, with none to molest them or make them afraid. it was for such cause that the puritans settled in new england, the quakers in new jersey and pennsylvania, the scotch and irish presbyterians in north carolina; and it was for this cause that the french huguenots, driven out of france by the french king, came to south carolina. the most notable cause that induced the planting of the thirteen original colonies here in north america was religious persecution in the old world. and as the oak grows out of the acorn, so out of these colonies has grown this nation of which we are so proud. great britain became more lutheran than germany, the native land of luther, and god lifted the british nation up to become the chiefest nation of the world; the united states of north america became more lutheran than great britain, and the eyes of the world are fixed on us in admiration and astonishment. god blessed the house of obededom, and all that he had, because the ark of god was in it. but there are spots on the sun, and there are exceeding blemishes in our protestantism, notwithstanding the fact that the glory of the american people has grown out of it. the image that nebuchadnezzar saw in his dream had feet and toes, part of iron and part of potter's clay, partly strong and partly broken. so it is with our protestant sectarianism, and because of it we are partly strong and partly broken. compare the protestant united states with catholic mexico, or compare protestant great britain with catholic spain, and compared with these nations we have the strength of iron, but judged by our sectarianism we have the weakness of miry clay. my friends and fellow citizens, i have the honor to represent to you a people that have said we will go back to that order of things originally established by jesus and the apostles--we will make no vow of loyalty to any but jesus, and we will have no bond of union save the testimonies and commandments of the lord as given to us by the lord himself and the holy apostles. out of this we hope may grow such a union of god's people as jesus prayed for when he prayed that all christians might be one. we are striving for such an order of things that protestants may present a united front against the world, the flesh and the devil, and against all disloyalty to jesus. to this appeal men often make reply: "we can not break loose from our religious surroundings, dear to us through life-long and most tender associations." but, my friends, this objection can have no weight with this audience, assembled here on this glorious lord's day, and on this our first religious meeting. here we have already broken loose from these associations. these ties, how dear so ever to us, we have already sundered. the people with whom we once met, and with whom we once took sweet counsel, the churches in which we once worshiped, shall know us no more forever. here we are free to act, and to correct the mistakes that have been unwittingly made by the churches with which we have formerly been connected, just as our american fathers were free to frame a better government than the government of the nations out of which they came. may i not appeal to you, my friends, and say you owe it to yourselves, you owe it to christians in every land, you owe it to your lord, you owe it to the future state of kansas, to so act as to free the christian profession from the trammels that have hindered its progress and glory ever since the days when our divisions began. if protestantism seas done so much in spite of all its divisions, what will it not do if these hindrances are taken out of the way? kansas is certainly predestinated to be a great state. the fertility of its soil, the healthfulness of its atmosphere, and the fact that its population is to be made up from the bravest, most daring and most enterprising men in the nation, all look in this direction; you ought, then, my friends, to see to it that as far as your influence may go its religion shall be nothing less than primitive and apostolic christianity. in ascertaining what is primitive and apostolic christianity, we shall pay supreme respect to the time when the old or jewish dispensation came to an end, and when the new or christian dispensation began. the first, or jewish dispensation, jesus took out of the way, nailing it to the cross. the second, or christian dispensation, began after jesus arose from the dead and ascended up on high, far above the thrones, dominions, principalities and powers of the world of light, and became the head over all things to the church. this was the proposition with which peter closed his sermon on the day of pentecost: "therefore let all the house of israel know assuredly, that god hath made that same jesus, whom ye have crucified, both lord and christ." to this agree the words of jesus after his resurrection, as recorded in the close of matthew's gospel: "all authority is given to me in heaven and in earth. go ye, therefore, and disciple all nations, baptizing them into the name of the father, and of the son, and of the holy spirit." luke records some things which matthew does not record: "thus it is written, and thus it behooved the messiah to suffer, and to rise from the dead the third day: and that repentance and remission of sins might be preached in his name among all nations, beginning at jerusalem; and ye are witnesses of these things." but mark records some things that neither matthew nor luke have recorded: "go ye into all the, world and preach the gospel to every creature. he that believeth and is baptized shall be saved; but he that believeth not shall be damned." in carrying out this commission, thus recorded by these three evangelists, if we find an ignorant pagan that knows nothing of jesus we shall say to him, as paul said to the philippian jailer, ignorant pagan that he was: "believe on the lord jesus christ and thou shalt be saved and thy house." but if we find men who already believe, as did the three thousand who were pierced in the heart on the day of pentecost, we shall say to them, as peter did: "repent and be baptized every one of you in the name of jesus christ for remission of sins, and you shall receive the gift of the holy spirit." if, however, we find a man that not only believes, but is a penitent believer, such as saul of tarsus was when ananias found him, we shall say, as ananias said: "and now why tarriest thou? arise and be baptized, and wash away thy sins, calling on the name of the lord." in all this there is nothing human, nothing schismatical. all can accept it who are willing to accept the word of the lord. in the baptism we administer, we will give no cause for schism: it shall be a burial, and this, so far as the action of baptism is concerned, will meet the conscience of the greek church, the roman catholic church, and of all protestant churches. do not, my friends, attempt to turn aside this appeal which i now make to you with a laugh or a sneer. this is the lord's word, and the word of the lord is not to be put aside with a sneer. do not scoff at this as a water of salvation. you certainly will not scoff at the word of the lord. and now, my friends, will you not demean yourselves worthy of the high place that god has given you? adam and eve carried in their hands the weal or woe of the unnumbered millions of their children that should come after them. abraham, because of his great faith and because of his high integrity, sent down a blessing upon his fleshly seed for fifty generations; and for the same cause was constituted the spiritual father of a spiritual seed as numerous as the stars of heaven or as the sand upon the seashore. a few galileean fishermen have filled the world with the glory of the lord. luther drove back the darkness of the dark ages and has filled the world with the light of god's word. and now, my friends, you are laying the foundations of many generations, and will you not take heed how these foundations are laid? can you repent if you take god at his word and do as did the apostles and the primitive christians? chapter vi. that sermon was preached almost thirty-three years ago. it was an extemporaneous discourse, and no notes were preserved. nevertheless, there were circumstances attending its delivery, that have indelibly impressed its leading points on the memory of the writer. s. j. h. snyder was a lutheran from pennsylvania, and at that time was a resident of atchison county. he had traveled to see the world, and was a writer of books. he heard the sermon, and was greatly taken with it. he wrote out a report of it, and handed his report to me for criticism and correction. he intended to send it for publication to a paper in pennsylvania. i said to him that his report left out the most essential and vital part of the sermon, and proposed myself to write out an abstract of it for his use. this i did, but my friend mr. snyder concluded: "this is a hard saying, who can hear it?" he was not willing to be counted unsound in the faith by his brethren in pennsylvania, and forwarded the original manuscript. there were also in the audience two young gentlemen, recently come from the new england states to seek their fortune. they were just of that age to think that what they did not know, or at least what the people of new england did not know, was not worth knowing. such a meeting in the open air; such an audience, in which the dress of every man and woman was got up according to their own notions, and that, too, without consulting mrs. grundy; _such a preacher! and such a sermon_! certainly these all were new to them, and did not command their highest admiration. these young gentlemen kept up a sort of running commentary between themselves, on what they saw going on, until, becoming tired of their misbehavior, i turned and said to them in effect: "young gentlemen, you profess to be men of good breeding, and it is understood that well-bred people will behave themselves in meeting." they were very angry, and one of them wrote me a saucy letter about it. but finding little sympathy in the settlement, they went to atchison, and there they found abundant sympathy and open ears to hear. a man who was a preacher, and a pronounced free state man, had come from illinois and had settled on the stranger creek; and who could tell the mischief he might do to his brethren who were squatters from missouri? when these same new england gentlemen were in their turn stripped of all they were worth by the "border ruffians" it changed their feelings toward their free state brethren "mightily." and now that feeling of dissatisfaction that had been all along festering in the hearts of the people, began to come to the surface. an inside view would have revealed a perpetual murmur of discontent. the territorial legislature was now in session, and doing its work, and copies of the laws they had enacted were coming into circulation. no legislature in america had ever been elected as they had been, and we have already learned what a thrill of horror and pain this caused in the hearts of the squatters. it would have been a dictate of the most obvious common sense that a body of men whose claim to be a territorial legislature rested on such a basis should proceed with the utmost moderation. but they were intoxicated with success. it is an old and a wise saw, that whom the gods wish to destroy they first deprive of their reason, and these men were smitten with judicial blindness. no slave state had ever enacted such savage and bloody laws--laws of such barbarous and inhuman severity, for the protection of slave property. and now the people were reading copies of these laws, and nothing could long suppress the evidences of discontent. the following editorial is also copied from the _squatter sovereign_: watch the abolitionists. circumstances have transpired within a few weeks past, in this neighborhood, which place beyond a doubt the existence of an organized band of abolitionists in our midst. we counsel our friends who have slave property to keep a sharp lookout, lest their valuable slaves may be induced to commit acts which might, jeopardize their lives. mr. grafton thomasson lost a valuable negro a week ago, and we have not the least doubt that she was persuaded by one of this lawless gang to destroy herself rather than remain in slavery. in fact, one of this gang was heard to remark that she did perfectly right in drowning herself, and just what he would have done, or what every negro who is held in bondage should do. we ask, shall a man expressing such sentiments be permitted to reside in our midst? be permitted to run at large among our slaves, sowing the seeds of discord and discontent, jeopardizing our lives and property? in another instance we hear of a servant being tampered with, and induced to believe that she was illegally held in bondage; since which time she has been unruly, and shows evidence of discontent. such is the effect produced by permitting the _convicts_ and _criminals_ of the eastern cities shipped out here by the aid societies to reside in our midst. the depredations of this fanatical sect do not stop here. their crimes are more numerous and their acts more bold. it is well known that on independence and walnut creeks, within a few miles of this place, a great number of free slaves and abolitionists are settled whose thieving propensities are well known. we honestly believe that an organized band of these outlaws exists, whose objects are pecuniary gain and spite, to rob us of our property, drive off our cattle and horses, incite our slaves to rebellion, and, when opportunity afford them facilities for escaping, to aid them. within a short time about one hundred and fifty head of cattle have been stolen from this neighborhood, driven off, and sold. eight or nine horses and several mules have been taken out of the emigrants' camp, driven to parts unknown, and the money is now jingling in the pockets of the abolitionists. occurrences of this kind were never before known in this neighborhood, and prior to the shipment of the _filth_ and _scum_ of the eastern cities our property was secure and our slaves were contented and happy. the enormity of these offenses, and the great loss of property, should open the eyes of our citizens to their true situation. we can not feel safe while the air of kansas is polluted with the breath of a single free-soiler. we are not safe, and self-preservation requires the total extermination of this set. let us act immediately, and with such decision as will convince these desperadoes that it is our fixed determination to keep their feet from polluting the soil of kansas. we published in a former chapter the letter of recommendation this same robert s. kelley had written, certifying to the good behavior of the people of the county, and the facts of the case were not altered now; save and only this, that a black woman, the slave of grafton thomasson, had drowned herself. this said thomasson was a drinking man, and when in drink was desperate and dangerous. what passed between this man, when intoxicated, and this slave woman the public have never been informed. an altercation grew out of this between thomasson and j. w. b. kelly, esq., a young lawyer from cincinnati, in which thomasson, a great big bully, flogged kelly, who was a small man, of slender build, and weak in body. a public meeting was called, in which resolutions were adopted praising this big bully for flogging this weak and helpless man; and then this kelly was ordered to leave, and was not seen in kansas afterwards. beyond this, if there was any of this high-handed stealing and robbery we never heard anything of it afterwards. during the month of july, an event occurred destined to have lasting influence on the christian cause in northeastern kansas. a church was organized at mt. pleasant. it is now known as the round prairie church. this church, after passing through varied fortunes, has finally issued in being one of the best and most active churches in kansas. the last act in his public ministry was the organizing of this church by elder duke young, father of judge william young. duke young was one of the pioneer preachers of western missouri. when in his manhood's prime he was abundant in labors, and though he was without any scholastic attainments he had a keen mother wit, good sense, and good natural gifts as a public speaker; and, working in poverty, exposure, hardship, misrepresentation, and implacable opposition, he was one of the men that laid the foundations of the cause in western missouri. becoming old, he came with his son, william young, to kansas, and after organizing the church at mt. pleasant, he failed in health, and ceased his work in the ministry. connected with this church was numeris humber. bro. humber and his wife were among the excellent of the earth. sister humber was a matronly woman, comely in person, greatly beloved, and a queen of song. when d. s. burnett afterwards held a protracted meeting at this place, it was the songs of sister humber and stephen sales, as much as the preaching of d. s. burnett, that made the meeting a wonderful success, and one long to be remembered. bro. humber and bro. young were slave-holders. bro. humber was also an emancipationist in his views of slave-holding, and often said that if a position could be secured suitable for emancipated slaves he would gladly set his slaves free. when at last they were made free by the results of the war, and went to leavenworth to live, it was always a burden on bro. humber's heart to watch over them, and try and save them from the temptations that were laid for their feet in that wicked city. it will be readily seen that no scandal would be created in atchison by organizing a church at mt. pleasant with such men to take the lead in it. chapter vii. it was now the middle of august. my cabin was completed, and i was ready to go back and bring mrs. butler and the children to kansas. bro. elliott accompanied me to atchison, where i intended to take a steamboat to st. louis, thence going up the illinois river to fulton county, illinois, where mrs. butler had been stopping with her sister. the things that had been happening in the territory had been so strange and unheard of, and the threats of the _squatter sovereign_ had been so savage and barbarous, that i wanted to carry back to my friends in illinois some evidence of what was going on. i went, therefore, with bro. elliott to the _squatter sovereign_ printing office to purchase extra copies of that paper. i was waited on by robert s. kelley. after paying for my papers i said to him: "i should have become a subscriber to your paper some time ago only there is one thing i do not like about it." mr. kelley did not know me, and asked: "what is it?" i replied: "i do not like the spirit of violence that characterizes it." he said: "i consider all free-soilers rogues, and they are to be treated as such." i looked him for a moment steadily in the face, and then said to him: "well, sir, i am a free-soiler; and i intend to vote for kansas to be a free state." he fiercely replied: "you will not be allowed to vote." when bro. elliott and myself had left the house, and were in the open air, he clutched me nervously by the arm and said: "bro. butler! bro. butler! you must not do such things; they will kill you!" i replied: "if they do i can not help it." bro. e. was now to go home. but before going he besought me with earnest entreaty not to bring down on my own head the vengeance of these men. i thanked him for his regard for me, and we bade each other good-by. bro. e. had come to feel that my life was precious to the christian brethren in atchison county. except myself they had no preacher, and they needed a preacher. the steamboat bound for st. louis that day had been detained, and would not arrive until the next day. i must, therefore, stay over night in atchison. i conversed freely with the people that afternoon, and said to them: "under the kansas-nebraska bill, we that are free state men have as good a right to come to kansas as you have; and we have as good a right to speak our sentiments as you have." a public meeting was called that night to consider my case, but i did not know it. the steamboat was expected about noon the next day. i had been sitting writing letters at the head of the stairs, in the chamber of the boarding-house where i had slept, and heard some one call my name, and rose up to go down stairs; but was met by six men, bristling with revolvers and bowie-knives, who came up stairs and into my room. the leader was robert s. kelley. they presented me a string of resolutions, denouncing free state men in unmeasured terms, and demanded that i should sign them. i felt my heart flutter, and knew if i should undertake to speak my voice would tremble, and determined to gain time. sitting down i pretended to read the resolutions--they were familiar to me, having been already printed in the _squatter sovereign_--and finally i began to read them aloud. but these men were impatient, and said: "we just want to know will you sign these resolutions?" i had taken my seat by a window, and looking out and down into the street, had seen a great crowd assembled, and determined to get among them. whatever should be done-would better be done in the presence of witnesses. i said not a word, but going to the head of the stairs, where was my writing-stand and pen and ink, i laid the paper down and quickly walked down stairs and into the street. here they caught me by the wrists, from behind, and demanded, "will you sign?" i answered, "_no_," with emphasis. i had got my voice by that time. they dragged me down to the missouri river, cursing me, and telling me they were going to drown me. but when we had got to the river they seemed to have got to the end of their programme, and there we stood. then some little boys, anxious to see the fun go on, told me to get on a large cotton-wood stump close by and defend myself. i told the little fellows i did not know what i was accused of yet. this broke the silence, and the men that had me in charge asked: "did the emigrant aid society send you here?" "no; i have no connection with the emigrant aid society." "well, what did you come for?" "i came because i had a mind to come. what did you come for?" "did you come to make kansas a free state?" "no, not primarily; but i shall vote to make kansas a free state." "are you a correspondent of the _new york tribune_?" "no; i have not written a line to the _tribune_ since i came to kansas." by this time a great crowd had gathered around, and each man took his turn in cross-questioning me, while i replied, as best i could, to this storm of questions, accusations and invectives. we went over the whole ground. we debated every issue that had been debated in congress. they alleged the joint ownership the south had with the north in the common territories of the nation; that slaves are property, and that they had a natural and inalienable right to take their property into any part of the national territory, _and there to protect it by the strong right arm of power_, while i urged the terms of the kansas-nebraska bill, and that under it free state men have a right to come into the territory, and by their votes to make it a free state, if their votes will make it so. at length an old man came near to me, and dropping his voice to a half-whisper, said in a confidential tone: "n-e-ow, mr. butler, i want to advise you as a friend, and for your own good, _when you get away, just keep away._" i knew this man was a yankee, for i am a yankee myself. his name was ira norris. he had been given an office in platte county, mo., and must needs be a partisan for the peculiar institution. i gave my friend norris to understand that i would try to attend to my own business. others sought to persuade me to promise to leave the country and not come back. then when no good result seemed to come from our talk, i said to them: "gentlemen, there is no use in keeping up this debate any longer; if i live anywhere, i shall live in kansas. now do your duty as you understand it, and i will do mine as i understand it. i ask no favors of you." then the leaders of this business went away by themselves and held a consultation. of course i did not know what passed among them, but dr. stringfellow afterwards made the following statement to a gentleman who was getting up a history of kansas: a vote was taken upon the mode of punishment which ought to be accorded to him, and to this day it is probably known but to few persons that a decided verdict of death by hanging was rendered; and furthermore, that mr. kelley, the teller, by making false returns to the excited mob, saved mr. butler's life. mr. kelley is now a resident of montana, and volunteered this information several years ago, while stopping at st. joe with the former senior editor of the _squatter sovereign_, dr. j. h. stringfellow. at the time the pro-slavery party decided to send mr. butler down the missouri river on a raft, dr. stringfellow was absent as a member of the territorial legislature. the crowd had now to be pacified and won over to an arrangement that should give me a chance for my life. a mr. peebles, a dentist from lexington, mo., who was working at the business of dentistry in atchison, and himself a slave-holder, was put forward to do this work. he said: "my friends, we must not hang this man; he is not an abolitionist, he is what they call a free-soiler. the abolitionists steal our niggers, but the free-soilers do not do this. they intend to make kansas a free state by legal methods. but in the outcome of the business, there is not the value of a picayune of difference between a free-soiler and an abolitionist; for if the free-soilers succeed in making kansas a free state, and thus surround missouri with a cordon of free states, our slaves in missouri will not be worth a dime apiece. still we must not hang this man; and i propose that we make a raft and send him down the river as an example." and so to him they all agreed. then the question came up, what kind of a raft shall it be? [ ] some said, "one log"; but the crowd decided it should be two logs fastened together. when the raft was completed i was ordered to take my place on it, after they had painted the letter r. on my forehead with black paint. this letter stood for _rogue_. i had in my pocket a purse of gold, which i proffered to a merchant of the place, an upright business man, with the request that he would send it to my wife; but he declined to take it. he afterwards explained to me that he himself was afraid of the mob. they took a skiff and towed the raft out into the middle of the missouri river. as we swung away from the bank, i rose up and said: "gentlemen, if i am drowned i forgive you; but i have this to say to you: if you are not ashamed of your part in this transaction, i am not ashamed of mine. good-by." floating down the river, alone and helpless, i had opportunity to look about me. i had noticed that they had put up a flag on my raft, but had paid no attention to it; now i looked at it and it charged me with stealing negroes; and it was thought by many to be no sin to shoot a "nigger thief." down that flag must come; and then i remembered that they had said they would follow me down the river and shoot me if i did pull it down. the picture on the flag was that of a white man riding at full gallop, on horseback, with a negro behind him. the flag bore this inscription: "greeley to the rescue: i have a nigger. the rev. mr. butler, agent for the underground railroad." this flag i pulled down, cut off the flag with my pen-knife, and made a paddle of the flag staff, which was a small sapling which they had cut out of the brush, and was forked at the upper end. between these forks they had carefully sewed this flag with twine, and this part of the canvas i left and made it serve as the blade of my paddle; and so in due time i paddled to the kansas shore. the river was rapid, and there were in the river heaps of drift-wood, called "rack-heaps," dangerous places into which the water rushed with great violence; but from these i was mercifully saved, and though i could not swim, i landed a few miles below atchison without harm or accident, and made my way to port william, a small town about twelve miles down the river. [illustration: the flag placed on pardee butler's raft.] chapter viii. at port william i had already become acquainted with a bro. hartman. he had leased a saw-mill, and was running it, and i had bought lumber of him. having reached port william, i went to bro. h. and said, "i want to obtain lodging of you to-night; but as i do not want to betray any man into trouble, i must first tell you what has befallen me." i then told him my mishap at atchison, and said: "now if you do not want to lodge such a man, please say so, and i will go somewhere else." he replied: "you shall lodge with me if it cost me every cent i am worth." he then went on to say that he had leased that mill of men who were very bitter, and very ultra in their views, and that they might be angry with him, and turn him out of the mill. but at last he said: "there is bro. oliphant living in the bluffs; he is under no such embarrassment," and bro. hartman took me there. the next day was the lord's day, and oliver steele was to preach the first sermon in that little village on that day. oliver steele was a notable citizen of platte county, missouri. his name appears in the early days of the _millennial harbinger_ as a citizen of madison county, kentucky. bro. steele complains of the reformers of kentucky, that they are too much wedded to old baptist usages to be true to the primitive and apostolic order of things. then bro. steele came to platte county, missouri, and had become one of its most wealthy and influential citizens. he was an eminent example of a courtly and courteous "old virginia gentleman," and was loved by the rich and loved by the poor, he was loved by white folks and black; loved by the mothers and their babies; and the people patronized his preaching, not because he was a great preacher, for he certainly was not, but because they loved the man. he was an old henry clay whig, and like that great kentucky statesman was an emancipationist. bro. s. was to come over the river and preach the first sermon in this new town, and it was a great event to the people. on returning to port william in the morning bro. hartman said that i must take dinner with him, and he would introduce me to bro. steele. it was not until twenty-five years afterwards, and only after sister hartman had died, that bro. hartman told me what so much altered his feelings. she was a sweet christian woman, and when bro. h. went to her she said to him: "husband, don't you know that in the last great day the lord will say, 'i was a stranger and ye took me in'; and don't you remember how the good samaritan showed mercy to the man that fell among thieves? now we believe that this man is an innocent man; and what will the lord say to us if we turn him out of doors?" at dinner, at the house of bro. hartman, was also dr. oliphant, father of the bro. oliphant with whom i had lodged. he was a brusque, blunt-spoken, honest, anti-slavery northern methodist preacher. he said bluntly at the table: "well, mr. butler, they treated you rather roughly at at-atchison, did they not?" i said, "yes--" attempted to say more, broke down and left the table, and went out of the house. my heart was not as hard here, among sympathizing friends, as it had been the day before, when i had to face a raging mob. when i returned no mother could be more tender seeking out the hurt of her boy bruised in a rough encounter with his fellows, than was oliver steele. he would hear the whole story, sighed over these "evil days," and listened with approval to the vindication i made of the purposes of the free state men. how many men that, through a sense of bitter wrong, are in danger to become desperate, could be won to a better temper the world has never fully tried. the news of what had been done at atchison flew like wild-fire through the country. this proved the last feather that broke the camel's back. it became apparent that the country was full of men that were ready to fight. as for my friend caleb may, he went into atchison and said: "_i am a free state man: now raft me_!" as no one seemed inclined to undertake that job, he faithfully promised them that if there was any more of that business done he would go over into missouri and raise a company of men and clean out the town. meantime my friends at port william provided means to send me down to weston, there to take the steamboat polar star, bound for st. louis. "boycotting" was a word unknown to the english language at that time; and yet i was "boycotted" on board the steamboat. i heard nothing--not a word; and yet i could feel it. i had hoped to be a total stranger, but it was evident i was not, and the most comfort i could find was to keep my state-room, and employ my time writ ing out the appeal i intended to make to the people, through the _missouri democrat_, published in st. louis. at length my work was done, and yet we were only half way to st. louis. the reader will believe that my reflections were not cheerful. what would become of myself? what would become of my wife and children? what would become of kansas, or of the united states? at jefferson city a man had come aboard of the boat who seemed almost as much alone as myself. still the captain and officers of the boat paid him marked attention. one thing i noticed, he abounded in newspapers, and i wanted something to read that should save me from my own reflections. i ventured to ask him for the loan of some of his papers; then when i returned them he went to his trunk and took out a book of travels and gave it to me, saying: "take that, please. it will amuse you." at length we could see the smoke of the city of st. louis, and i gave back to this stranger the book he had loaned me. he said: "no, thank you." i was startled, and said with some surprise: "i do not know why you should do this to a stranger." he laughed and said: "you are not so much a stranger as you think. your name is butler, is it not?" "yes." "and they mobbed you at atchison?" "yes." "well, please call on me at the office of the _missouri democrat."_ "and what is your name?" "_they call me b. gratz brown_". and so providence had prepared the way for making my appeal to the people. b. gratz brown had the preceding winter, at jefferson city, either given or accepted a challenge to fight a duel; but the public authorities had interfered, and some business connected with this matter had called him to jefferson city. but whence had he his knowledge of the mobbing at atchison? the _squatter sovereign_ had been issued immediately after they had put me on the raft, and had contained the following editorial: on thursday last [it was friday], one pardee butler arrived in town with a view of starting for the east, probably with the purpose of getting a fresh supply of free-soilers from the penitentiaries and pestholes in the northern states. finding it inconvenient to depart before the morning, he took lodgings at the hotel and proceeded to visit numerous portions of our town, everywhere avowing himself a free-soiler, and preaching abolition heresies. he declared the recent action of our citizens in regard to j. w. b. kelley the infamous proceedings of a mob, at the same time stating that many persons in atchison who were free-soilers at heart had been intimidated thereby, and prevented from avowing their true sentiments; but that he (butler) would express his views in defiance of the whole community. on the ensuing morning our townsmen assembled _en masse_, and, deeming the presence of such a person highly prejudicial to the safety of our slave population, appointed a committee to wait on mr. butler and request his signature to the resolutions passed at the late pro-slavery meeting. after perusing the resolutions, mr. b. positively declined signing them, and was instantly arrested by the committee. after various plans for his disposal had been considered, it was finally decided to place him on a raft composed of two logs firmly lashed together, that his baggage and a loaf of bread be given him, and having attached a flag to his primitive bark, mr. butler was set adrift in the great missouri, with the letter "r" legibly painted on his forehead. he was escorted some distance down the river by several of our citizens, who, seeing him pass several rock-heaps in quite a skillful manner, bade him adieu and returned to atchison. such treatment may be expected by all scoundrels visiting our town for the purpose of interfering with our time-honored institutions, and the same punishment we will be happy to award to all free-soilers and abolitionists. the _missouri democrat_ was what was known as the "tom ben ton" paper of missouri, and was not ostensibly a _free-soil_ paper, yet it vehemently inveighed against the ruffianism with which free state men had been treated. of course there was sympathy in the office of the _missouri democrat_, that made some amends for the rough treatment i had got at the hands of citizens of missouri. having completed my business in st. louis i turned my face toward my old field of labor in the "military tract," _via_ the illinois river. the reader will believe that my reflections were full of anxieties. what would the brethren say of me? were my prospects blighted from this time forward? chapter ix. the brethren in illinois were at the first amazed at what they heard, and did not know what to think or say. before they could make up their minds, the following editorial appeared in the _schuyler county democrat_, published at rushville: elder pardee butler, the gentleman who was placed on a raft in the missouri river, with a proper uniform for a northern fanatic, is in rushville. we saw handbills posted around town stating that he would hold a meeting in the christian church. we are informed he will deliver a series of lectures, in which, _of course_, he will give vent to his indignation toward the people of kansas, judge douglas and the administration. we thought schuyler county was the last place which a _northern fanatic_ would visit for sympathy. we hope that those that go to hear his lectures, which differ with him in their sentiments, will not interrupt him or give him any pretext by which he could denounce our citizens. to the above notice of myself i made the following reply: [for the prairie telegraph.] messrs. editors: _sirs_--i find the above notice of myself in the last issue of the _schuyler democrat_. while in kansas i diligently worked six days of the week, and on lord's day spoke to my neighbors, not in reference to affairs in kansas, but in reference to our common interest in a better and heavenly country. i do not know that i indicated my political proclivities, in any word or allusion, on any such occasion, but i did, in private conversations with my neighbors, avow my intention to vote for kansas to be a free state, and gave my reasons for so doing. _this was my only offence._ what must you think of yourself, sir, in this notice you take of this transaction? and you pretend to be a conservator of public morals! if there is in town a clergyman that will consent to teach you a few lessons upon the items of justice and gentlemanly behavior, i suggest it may be to your advantage to put yourself under his tuition. you may perhaps learn that it is neither just nor gentlemanly gratuitously to insult a man, because you have _surmised_ that he will show some resentment at the ruffianism of a kansas mob, with which you seem to sympathize. since i came into illinois i have steadily declined to make any statement of this affair in any public address. still it is perhaps due to the world to know some additional facts. how the mob deliberated among themselves . . . i have never yet made war on judge douglas. it is true that the missouri compromise, being a time-honored covenant of peace between north and south, i would much rather it had been suffered to remain; but now i am rather indignant at the clear and palpable violation of the principles of the kansas-nebraska bill, in the attempt made by border ruffians to drive out peaceable citizens from the free states. i am still more indignant that a northern editor can be found to wink at such flagrant and unquestionable wrong. judge douglas may well exclaim, "save me from my friends!" perhaps, upon reflection, you may be convinced of three things: first, that i am not a fanatic, and have not deserved the treatment i have received; second, that your friends may be trusted not to create any disturbance at my meetings; and, third, that instead of seeking to stir up against me the prejudices of ignorant partisans, you may safely devote yourselves to the more honorable employment of seeking to restore in our unhappy country the supremacy of law. very faithfully, pardee butler. rushville, sept. , . the final result was much more favorable than could have been expected, and the brethren gave me an invitation to remain with them through the winter. i tarried six weeks in illinois, and then returned to kansas with mrs. butler and our two children, of whom the eldest is now mrs. rosetta b. hastings. milo carleton had already reached the territory, direct from the western reserve, ohio. he was mrs. butler's brother, and it was determined that the two families should spend the winter together, while i should return to illinois. we will now pause in our personal narrative and tell what had been going on the preceding summer in other parts of the territory. a delegate convention had been called by the free state men to meet during the preceding september at a place called big springs, on the santa fe trail, midway between lawrence and topeka. here the free state men agreed on a plan, to which they steadily adhered through all the sickening horrors that gave to "bleeding" kansas a world-wide and thankless notoriety. they resolved that they would not in any way, shape or manner, recognize the legality of this so-called territorial legislature, nor the machinery it should call into being for the government of the territory. they would bring no suits in its courts; they would attend no elections called by its authority; they would pay no attention to its county organizations; and yet, as far as in them lay, they would do no act that might make them liable to the penalty of its laws. in short, they would be like the quaker, who, when drafted into the army, replies: "thee-must not expect me to fight with carnal weapons;" and when amerced in a fine for non-compliance with the laws, makes the reply, "thee must not expect me to pay money for such carnal uses, but thee can take my property." nevertheless, there was superadded to these peaceful resolutions an un-quaker-like intimation that under certain contingencies they would fight. beyond the wakarusa, and about eight miles from lawrence, was a placed called hickory point. here were some timber claims, and here resided jacob branson, a peaceful and harmless free state man. beside him lay a vacant timber claim, and he invited a young man named dow to take it, dow boarded with branson. when the missourians came into kansas the preceding march, many of them staked out a claim which they pretended to hold. one william white, of westport, mo., pretended, in his way, to hold this claim. there was not a particle of legality in his proceeding. notwithstanding, certain pro-slavery men, among whom were coleman, hargis and buckley, determined to drive off branson and dow. they sent threatening letters to branson, and cut timber on dow's claim; and this made bad blood. one day an altercation took place between dow and the above-named pro-slavery men at a blacksmith shop, and coleman followed dow and shot him. dow was unarmed, and held up his hands and cried, "don't shoot," but coleman lodged a load of buckshot in his breast, and he fell dead, and his body lay in the road till sundown. then branson came and took up the body and buried it. this murder created a prodigious sensation; and a public meeting was called, at which there was violent and threatening talk by the free state men. the three above-named pro-slavery men were all present when the murder was committed. they fled, and their dwellings were burned. coleman went to westport and gave himself up to "sheriff jones." this introduces us to the man that was able to achieve an infamous pre-eminence among that band of conspirators that put in motion a train of causes that issued in the death of half a million of american citizens, and which covered the land with mourning from maine to florida, and from the atlantic to the pacific ocean. this jones is described by the free state men as a bully and a braggart, as only brave when he was not in danger, and as one of the most noisy and obstreperous of the pro-slavery leaders. though living in westport, mo., he was made sheriff of douglas county, fifty miles from his place of residence. buckley swore out a peace warrant against branson--he swore that his life was in danger. sheriff jones took with him these three men, who were parties in the murder of dow, and arrested branson, dragging him out of his bed at night. he had also associated with himself eleven other men. the news spread like wild-fire among the free state men. this jones was supposed to be capable of any atrocity, however horrible, and a company of sixteen men was gathered up for the rescue of branson. of this company sam wood, of lawrence, was the leader. they met jones and his company at blanton's bridge, on the wakarusa river, where jones was crossing to go to lecompte, and called a halt. jones demanded: "what's up?" sam wood replied: "that's what we want to know." wood asked: "is jacob branson in this crowd?" branson replied: "yes, i am here and a prisoner." wood replied: "well, come out here among your friends." jones threatened with oaths and imprecations to shoot. the rescuing party leveled their guns and said: "well, we can shoot, too." nobody was hurt, no gun was fired, and jacob branson, coming out from among his captors, walked away. it will be seen that this was a clear and palpable violation of the plan of procedure which the free state men had agreed upon among themselves, and this act made kansas for three years a dark and bloody ground, and concentrated on this territory the eyes of the whole nation. of the rescuing party only three were citizens of lawrence. sam wood was in his element. he was a man overflowing with patriotism, yet succeeded in doing more harm to his friends than to his enemies. he possessed unmistakable talent; he was a clown and a born actor, and as a public speaker was sure to bring down the house; he was a pronounced free state man; yet in this act he made himself the marplot of his party. chapter x. sheriff jones went away, vowing that he would have revenge, and sent the following dispatch to gov. shannon: douglas co., k. t., nov. , . sir:--last night i, with a posse of ten men, arrested one jacob branson, by virtue of a peace warrant regularly issued, who, on our return, was rescued by a party of _forty men_ who rushed upon us suddenly from behind a house by the roadside, all armed to the teeth with sharpe's rifles. you may consider an open rebellion as already having commenced, and i call upon you for three thousand men to carry out the laws. mr. hargis, the bearer of this letter, will give you more particularly the circumstances. most respectfully, samuel j. jones, sheriff douglas county. to his excellency, wilson shannon, governor kansas territory. on receipt of the above dispatch, gov. shannon wrote to major-general william p. richardson, reciting the story told him by sheriff jones, together with additional stories (equally false), told him by hargis, and closed his letter with the following order: you are therefore hereby commanded to collect together as large a force as you can in your division, and repair, without delay, to lecompton, and report to s. j. jones, sheriff of douglas county, together with the number of your forces, and render him all the aid and assistance in your power in the execution of any legal process in his hands. the forces under your command are to be used for the sole purpose of aiding the sheriff in executing the law, and for no other purpose. i have the honor to be your obedient servant, wilson shannon. gov. shannon knew, as well as he knew his name was wilson shannon, that this meant another invasion of kansas territory. there was no organized militia in kansas. gen. richardson did not live in kansas; he lived in missouri, and it meant missouri militia and not kansas militia. moreover, the governor knew, or at least ought to have known, what an unreliable man this sheriff jones was. jones was postmaster at westport, and shannon was living at shawnee mission, in the neighborhood of westport. and yet, without one moment's inquiry, he placed the issues of life and death of this infant territory in the hands of this lying scoundrel. there was a rallying of the clans of the blue lodges of missouri. the following appeal, sent by brig. gen. eastin, editor of the _leavenworth herald_, and commander of the second brigade, kansas militia, must serve as a sample of the dispatches that were scattered broadcast through the border missouri counties: "to arms! to arms!" it is expected that every lover of _law and order_ will rally at leavenworth on saturday, december , , prepared to march at once to _the scene of rebellion_ to put down the outlaws of douglas county, who are committing depredations upon persons and property, burning down houses and declaring open hostility to the laws, and have forcibly rescued a prisoner from the sheriff. come one, come all! the outlaws are armed to the teeth, and number , men. everyman should bring his rifle and ammunition, and it would be well to bring two or three days' provisions. every man to his post and do his duty. many citizens. in answer to the above appeal , men, mostly from missouri, encamped around lawrence, under such notabilities as maj. gens. strickler and richardson, brig. _gen_. eastin, col. atchison, col. peter t. abell, robert s. kelley, stringfellow and sheriff jones. they had broken into the united states arsenal at liberty, clay county, mo., and stolen guns, cutlasses and such munitions of war as they required. but when this was known the free state men turned out from all the settlements of kansas with equal alacrity, to defend lawrence. they came singly, and in squads and in companies. they came by night and by day. sam wood, tappin and smith, the rescuers of branson, and who were residents of lawrence, left the city, and there were none there against whom sheriff jones had any writs to execute. dr. robinson was appointed commander-in-chief for the defense of the city, and james h. lane was appointed second in command. but lane was the principal figure in the enterprise. he alone had military experience, and he alone had the daring, the genius and the personal magnetism of a real leader. the free state men, for the last year, had been passing through the furnace-fires of a vigorous discipline, and they would have fought as the tennessee and kentucky backwoodsmen of andrew jackson fought behind their cotton bales at the battle of new orleans. they had seen their rights wrested out of their hands by a mob of ruffians, and now they were proposing to settle the matter in that court of last resort that is the final and ultimate appeal of the nations. except gen. lane, they had small knowledge of military tactics, but they knew how to look along the barrel of a rifle; moreover, they would fight behind breastworks, and this to raw troops would have been an immense advantage. it is probable that the first intimation that gov. shannon got of the real state of affairs at lawrence was conveyed to him in the following letter, written by brig. gen. eastin: governor shannon:--information has been received direct from lawrence, which i consider reliable, that the outlaws are well fortified with cannon and sharpe' rifles, and number at least , men. it will, therefore, be difficult to dispossess them. the militia in this portion of the state are entirely unorganized, and mostly without arms. i suggest the propriety of calling upon the military of fort leavenworth. if you have the power to call out the government troops, i think it would be best to do so at once. it might overawe these outlaws and prevent bloodshed. s. j. eastin, brig. gen. northern brigade, k. m. gen. eastin is mistaken in putting their number at , , but whether many or few they certainly would have fought a hard battle. they were picked men from all the kansas settlements. our old friend, caleb may, was there, as grim and as self-possessed as andrew jackson. so also old john brown was there with his four sons, though they did not arrive until gov. shannon had made overtures for peace. the governor telegraphed to washington to obtain authority to call out col. sumner with the united states troops at fort leavenworth. he also wrote to col. sumner to hold himself ready to march at a moment's notice. and now this simple-minded gov. shannon, ex-governor of ohio, who had come to kansas to waste in a few short months the ripe honors he had been so carefully hoarding up for a life-time, bethought himself that it was time for him to go and look with his own eyes after this rebellion he had so foolishly and recklessly stirred up. we have already remarked that gen. james h. lane was the most conspicuous figure in the defense of lawrence. it is proper to pause and consider the character of this man, who shone for a time like a brilliant meteor, and then had his light quenched in the blackness of darkness. he had now been eight months in kansas. he came out of the mexican war with a good reputation as a brilliant and dashing officer, and a man of approved courage. as a politician he had been highly favored by the people of indiana. he was in the convention that nominated president pierce. he was in congress at the time of the passage of the kansas-nebraska bill, and aided in its enactment. he was the friend of stephen a. douglas. yet he came to kansas a man of broken fortunes. he was bankrupt in reputation, bankrupt in property, and bankrupt in morals, and he came away from unhappy family relations. notwithstanding, he brought with him boundless ambition, and a consciousness in his own heart that he possessed genius that might lift him up to the highest pinnacle of honor. his first effort was to reorganize that political party that was in control of the government at washington, and that he had so faithfully served in indiana. as respects slavery, he probably would have said with mr. douglas that he did not care whether it was voted up or voted down. but his effort fell stillborn and dead. dr. john h. stringfellow was an old whig, and so also were many of the pro-slavery leaders, and they would not hear to it that there should be any parties known save the pro-slavery and free state parties. the free state men were equally averse to making any division in their own ranks. mr. lane was to choose, and he did choose _with a vengeance_. bad men usually pay this compliment to a righteous life, that they seek to conceal their wicked deeds and wear the outside seeming of virtue. but this strange man never pretended to be anything else than just what he was. he displayed such audacious boldness as gave an air of respectability even to his wickedness. his public speaking did not belong to any school of oratory known among men; yet, if to sway the people as a tempest bends to its will a field of waving grain, be oratory, then was mr. lane, in the highest sense of the word, an orator. he spoke once in chicago when the people were most excited over the kansas troubles. a great crowd came to hear, and he swayed them to his will, as only such men as henry ward beecher and patrick henry have been able to do. but this gospel was the gospel of hate. implacable, unforgiving hate was his only gospel. at last this man, at once both great and wicked, having attained the highest honors the people had to bestow, died by his own hand. the people believed that he had gone wrong and betrayed them, and they withdrew from him their favor. mr. lane loved popularity more than he loved heaven, and he shot himself through the brain. the writer, unwilling alone to take the responsibility of expressing such a judgment as the above, appealed to a gentlemen whose high position in public life and kindly and conservative temper eminently qualify him to speak, and this is what he says: no one can question the fact that mr. lane's career in kansas exerted a great influence in shaping the affairs and controlling the destiny of the young state. during his life i was alternately swayed by feelings of admiration and distrust. i recognized fully the marvelous energy and equally marvelous influence of the man, but i distrusted his sincerity and lacked confidence in his integrity. when i met him, or listened to one of his impassioned speeches, ne swept me away with the contagion of his seeming enthusiasm, but when i went out from the influence of his personal magnetism i felt that something was lacking in the man to justify a well-grounded confidence. this man that had in him such a commingling of good and evil was now the leading spirit in the defense of lawrence. [ ] chapter xi when sheriff jones saw that the control of this business was being taken out of the hands of himself and his fellow-conspirators he wrote the following letter to gov. shannon: camp at wakarusa, dec. , . to his excellency, gov. shannon: _sir_: in reply to yours of yesterday i have to inform you that the volunteer forces now at this place and lecompton are getting weary of inaction. they will not, i presume, remain but a short time longer, unless a demand for the prisoner is made. i think i shall have sufficient force to protect me by to-morrow morning. the force at lawrence is not half so strong as reported. if i am to wait for government troops, more than two-thirds of the men that are here will _go away very much dissatisfied._ they are leaving hourly as it is. it is reported that the people of lawrence have run off those offenders from town, and, indeed, it is said they are now all out of the way. i have writs for sixteen persons who were with the party that rescued my prisoner. s. n. wood, p. r. brooks and samuel tappan are of lawrence, the balance from the country around. warrants will be put into my hands to-day for the arrest of g. w. brown, and probably others in lecompton. they say that they are willing to obey the laws, but no confidence can be placed in any statements they may make. most respectfully yours, samuel j. jones, sheriff of douglas county. from the above, three facts are apparent: . sheriff jones is not willing that the militia shall go home, and col. sumner and the united states troops take their places. . he has writs against the sixteen rescuers of branson. but of these he has ascertained that thirteen live in the country, and he does not need to go to lawrence to find them. the three that belong in lawrence are gone to parts unknown, and he does not need to go to lawrence to find them. _at this writing sheriff jones has not a single writ against any person in lawrence._ . if he has such a warrant the lawrence people profess themselves willing that he should serve it, but he does not believe them. "no confidence can be placed in any statements that they may make." so far as sheriff jones is concerned, it is now manifest that this was a devilish conspiracy against the people of lawrence, to cut their throats and burn up the town. how far the men that were with him were conscious partners in his guilt, or how far they were ignorant dupes of a man that had murder in his heart, does not appear. the people of lawrence now thought it was time for them to open communication with gov. shannon, and messrs. g. p. lowery and c. w. babcock, after running the gauntlet of the patrols, robbers and guerillas that infested the road to shawnee mission, succeeded in putting in the hands of the governor the following letter: to his excellency, wilson shannon, governor kansas territory: _sir_: as citizens of kansas territory, we desire to call your attention to the fact that a large force of armed men from a foreign state have assembled in the vicinity of lawrence, are now committing depredations upon our citizens, stopping them, opening and appropriating their loadings, arresting, detaining and threatening travelers upon the public road, and that they claim to do this by your authority. we desire to know if they do appear by your authority, and if you will secure the peace and quiet of the community by ordering their instant removal, or compel us to resort to some other means or a higher authority. signed by committee. the governor began to think it was time for him to go to the camp of sheriff jones' army on the wakarusa; and when he came he was frightened at his own work, and became just as eager to get out of the scrape as he had been forward to get into it. he wrote to col. sumner, frantically begging him to come to the rescue; but he had got no orders, and would not move without orders. sheriff jones and the rank and file of his camp were furious that they were held back from pitching into the lawrence people; but the officers had become cognizant of the bloody job they would have on hands, and were willing to be let off. and so the governor patched up a peace, and sent his militia home again, with their curses diverted from the lawrence abolitionists to gov. shannon. cowardly, weak-minded and infirm in purpose as this unhappy man was, he was not wholly a fool; and we may justly believe that he had in his heart a foreboding of that awful day of reckoning that would surely come, when inquisition would be made for the blood of these citizens, and the governor himself would be called to answer, "why were these men slain?" and now that peace--angelic peace--sat brooding over lawrence with her dove-like pinions, they made a love-feast and invited the governor to partake of it; and what with the ravishing music, and the blandishment of flattering tongues, and the intoxication of fair women's eyes and sweet voices, the governor was made to forget, for the time being, that he was the property, body, soul, and spirit, of the "law and order" party; and his soft and plastic nature was beguiled into signing a document constituting the army of defense of lawrence a part of the territorial militia, and giving them authority, under his own hand and seal, to fight with teeth and toe-nails against the outside barbarians that he himself had invoked to cut their throats. when, however, he had come to himself, and had to front the frowns and ungrammatical curses of the "border ruffians," he was fain to lay the blame on the sparkling wine of the feast, and the more sparkling eyes and sparkling wit of beautiful women. these felicitations of the people of lawrence with governor shannon did, however, have a somber and awful background. while this had been going on a boy had been murdered in the vicinity of lawrence. some young men rode out to see about it, and one of them was shot and killed. but a still more ghastly crime threw its baleful shadow over the people. it was perpetrated two days before the governor concluded his treaty of peace. thomas w. barber and robert f. barber were farmers, living about seven miles from lawrence; and on december th started with a mr. pierson to go home to their families. these were two brothers and a brother-in-law. they were intercepted on their way by j. n. burns, of weston, mo., and major george w. clarke, united states agent for the pottawatomie indians. these two men shot thomas w. barber. it is hard to find an explanation of their act, unless it were that they came to lawrence to shoot down abolitionists as they would have shot wolves on the prairie. they had no provocation. they rode apart from their companions to intercept the barbers, and called on them to halt. thomas w. barber was unarmed, and gave mild and truthful answers to their questions. after the shooting the brothers started to ride away, when the murdered man said, "that fellow hit me;" began to sway in his saddle, was supported for a little time by his brother, then fell to the ground dead. his horse also had been shot, and died the same night. familiar as kansas had become with cruel and devilish deeds, there were circumstances connected with this act that made it exceptionally a blood-curdling horror. thomas w. barber was a somewhat notable farmer, and had married a young wife, that loved her husband with a love so passionate that she was sometimes rallied about it by her sister-in-law. it had been with misgivings and forebodings she had consented for barber to go to lawrence. the news of her husband's death had been kept from her; they dared not tell her. a young man was sent to bring her into the city, whither her husband's body had been already carried, and he blurted out, "thomas barber is killed!" and she shrieked, "o, my husband! my husband! have they killed my husband?" it has been said that so frantic were her struggles, that it was with main force they had to hold her in the carriage which conveyed her into the city. much has been written of the pathetic and voiceless woe of this wretched and sorrow-stricken woman, but we will spare the reader the recital. this question, however, we did often ask ourselves: "what had we done that we should be made to suffer thus?" but now there was peace, and sheriff jones, breathing out curses against the governor who had balked him of his anticipated revenge, disbanded his army and went back to his post-office at westport. it was past the middle of december, but some lingered on their way, robbing and stealing. the cold grew intense. a driving snow came down from the north. it was one of the coldest winters kansas had ever known, and there fell one of the deepest snows. and now, winding through the deep snow, benumbed with cold, and all unprovided with clothing suitable for such inclement weather, the rear guard of the ring-streaked, speckled and spotted regiment of kansas and missouri militia passed out of the territory. thirteen leaders of the "law and order" party had met with lane and robinson, acting on behalf of the people of lawrence, and had agreed to the terms of the treaty. but sheriff jones is reported to have said: "had not shannon been a fool i would have wiped out lawrence." it is reported that stringfellow said that "shannon had sold himself and disgraced himself and the whole pro-slavery party." atchison accepted the terms, saying to his followers: "boys, we can not fight now. the position that lawrence has taken is such that it would not do to make an attack on them. but boys, we will fight some time!" the peace was to be broken at the earliest opportunity. chapter xii. the winter of - that i spent in illinois was uneventful. my success was not such as to discourage an evangelist that desires to be useful, neither was it such as to fill him with vanity. the weather was intensely cold, and the snow was deep. it is said that before the coming of an earthquake, the sea gives forth deep moanings, as if it felt the approaching convulsion; so at that time there seemed premonitions in the hearts of the people that the whole nation, north, south, east and west, would be swept by a political cyclone that should leave behind it the desolation that is sometimes, in the west india islands, left in the track of a tropical hurricane. we had heard of the murder of dow, the rescue of branson, and the invasion of lawrence, and these certainly did not give promise that kansas would be a favorable field for evangelical work, at least for a time. the writer had not hitherto spent much of his time in adams county; he now spent a considerable part of the winter there, and visited the churches of quincy, chambersburg, camp point, and many others. the brethren at quincy were making that experiment of monthly preaching that has been found so hazardous, especially to city churches. they have since changed the plan with wonderfully good results. it was at the church at chambersburg that bro. cottingham who has now won a national reputation, achieved some of his earliest successes. the majority of the leading members of these churches had been men and women of full age when they left kentucky. some had tarried a little time in indiana. the memory of some went back to the time when the mississippi valley was almost an unbroken wilderness, with here and there a scattered settlement, made up of a frontier and uneducated people. what are now its great cities were then insignificant hamlets, and its means of commerce were rude flat boats on its rivers, and pack-horses, or clumsy, heavy lumber wagons on its rough and often impassable roads. there were few schools, fewer churches and still fewer educated men. the country was perambulated by itinerant preachers. these were guided by visions and revelations. signs, omens and impressions directed them to their field of labor and controlled their lives. ecstatic joy, vivid impressions, voices in the air, or seeing the lord in the tree-tops, were their evidences of pardon. once every year the people came together to a great camp-meeting. there was intense excitement and enthusiasm, and many got religion; and this was followed by spiritual lethargy, coldness and apostasy. it was a short, hot summer, followed by a long, cold winter of moral and spiritual death. among the old baptists there was preaching once a month. this was all. there were no prayer-meetings, no meeting together every first day of the week to break break and read the holy scriptures. christian morality was at a low ebb, and christian liberality down to zero. at length there came a change. the fountains of the great deep were broken up, and men broke loose from the dominion of these old and man-made systems. john smith took the lead, and was followed by old jacob creath, samuel rogers, john rogers, john allen gano, p. s. fall, and many others. alex. campbell once said: if any man can read the acts of apostles through three times, chapter by chapter, pondering each chapter as he reads, and then can remain an advocate of these old systems of conversion, may the lord have mercy on him! but the old baptists fiercely resisted the reformers, and cast them out as heathen men and publicans. and now the bible was a new revelation to the men that came into this movement. the veil was taken off their eyes, and they could read the scriptures as they had never read them before. they could now see that the bible was a simple and intelligible volume, written to be understood by the common people, and they were only amazed at their former blindness. but they were made to know what persecution means. all the denominations combined against them, and they were compelled to read the scriptures to defend themselves; and thus pressed by their enemies on every hand, they were made to feel how near they were to each other, and how much they loved each other, and it became an easy thing to meet together every first day of the week to sing, to pray, to exhort, and to commemorate the death of their risen lord. but many of them were poor, and had growing families, and they had heard that there was a large and good land in the military tract in illinois, and with many a tearful adieu, and bidding farewell to the they loved so well, like abraham going out into the land that god had given him, into this land flowing with milk and honey they came--and prospered. and here the writer of these "personal recollections" found them, growing strong, and rich, and influential, and more prosperous than any other religious body in adams county. it is now after the lapse of thirty years, to be mentioned to their honor--and to the honor of the churches of the state--that they have made commendable progress in the direction of a christian liberality, and of moral, intellectual, and religious growth; still they are not yet up to the mark. for the purpose of the moral, intellectual and religious education of his people, the lord has given us one day in seven, and in one year he has given us fifty such days. this in seven years is one whole year, and in seventy-five years it is ten years, leaving out five years as the period of babyhood; and this as fitting men for the highest style of religious life, and of american citizenship is, if well employed, the best school on the face of the earth. needs it to be said, that to do this work well, the teachers in this school of the prophets have need to be well qualified? there are certain scriptures bearing on this point we will do well to ponder: meditate on these things; give thyself _wholly_ to them, that thy profitting may appear unto all. no man that warreth entangleth himself with the affairs of this life, that he may please him who hath called him to be a soldier. the lord give thee understanding in all things. we have no churches in this nation to whom these admonitions apply with greater weight of impressive authority than to the churches of illinois. where much is given, there much is required, and to no state in the union has more been given in the way of worldly wealth than to the disciples of that commonwealth. there is not such another body of rich land in this great nation, perhaps not in the world. water is an element essential to the highest productiveness, even of fertile soil, and the vapors rising on the gulf of mexico have not a hillock three hundred feet high to obstruct their flow up the mississippi eastward and northward, until they reach the state of illinois. and the men that do business in the cities of this prosperous state, or till its fertile and alluvial soil, that was lifted up, not many geologic ages ago, from beneath the bottom of the sea, are so rich they do not know how rich they are. but it is a peril to be rich. jesus, paul and solomon unite in saying so, and it is especially a peril when wealth comes suddenly. when a man starts poor, and has felt the sting of contempt because of his poverty, and then finds himself rich and prosperous and flattered, and tempted to indulge in every luxury, then this man is in great peril; and there is no security against this danger like using the wealth that god has given him for the glory of god and the good of men. but there were brethren thirty years ago that needed no admonition as touching the disposition they should make of their world goods. i could give a goodly number of examples, but the reader will pardon me if, because of the narrow limits of these "recollections," i confine myself to one. peter b. garrett, of camp point, adams county, had set himself, with honest purpose, to bring his kentucky brethren up to the level of the demands of primitive and apostolic christianity. every man has his hobby, and bro. g. had his hobby. when the writer first visited camp point, he was demanded of to know if it was not a fixed part of the apostolic order that each disciple should, on the first day of the week, lay by him in store, of money or goods, as the lord had prospered him, putting it into the lord's treasury? i could not quite affirm this, but bro. g. stuck to his hobby. bro. garrett knew the value of a full treasury, and was ready to do his part towards settling a preacher in the church, and paying him. but he could not bring his brethren up to the level of his own aspirations. bro. g. came from kentucky a poor man, but he got hold of a considerable body of good land, when it was cheap, and cultivated it skillfully. then the quincy, galesburg and chicago railroad was build in front of his farm, and the town of camp point grew up adjoining his premises. he also built a flouring mill, and this added to his gains; and thus he grew rich and influential, but he never thought of himself only as plain peter garrett. the writer in fifty years has known many excellent christian families, but he has never known one family that, with saint and sinner, among persons outside and inside of the church, have had a more honorable fame than this christian family. his wife was a motherly woman. she did not assume to know much, but what she did know she knew well, and translated her little store of knowledge into an abundance of good deeds. she knew how to guide the house, take good care of her children, live in peace with her neighbors, love the church and attend its meetings, fear god and entertain strangers; and so this house, like the house of the vicar of wakefield, became a resort for "all the vagrant train," whether of tramps or preachers. his children, from the time they were able to toddle, were taught to do something useful. his little boys were made to bring in wood, and run on errands, and his girls to wash the dishes; and thus this house became a hive of industry, and it came to pass that in process of time, when our beloved bro. garrison, of the _christian-evangelist,_ went out to seek a woman to take care of his house, he very properly sought this favor at the hands of peter garrett's daughter. it is a good thing to follow a good example, and our devoted bro. smart, hitherto of the _witness_, now co-editor of the _evangelist_, went and did likewise. [ ] bro. garret loaned the writer a light spring wagon for the purpose of bringing his family back from kansas, and thus equipped, he started a second time on the journey he had made one year before. one thought filled his heart: will this tumult pass away, and will the american people go forward and fulfill that glorious destiny to which god in his providence has called them? chapter xiii. the news of the coming of the south carolinians had not reached illinois when i started for kansas, but when i had reached western missouri the country was alive with excitement. maj. jefferson buford had arrived with soldiers, and a part of them were quartered in atchison. some persons whose acquaintance i had made, and who were my friends, besought me not to go on. the last night i stayed in missouri was at de kalb. a gentleman who had come from st. joseph stayed over night at the hotel where i put up. he was tall of stature, with a flowing beard sprinkled with gray, and was of a remarkably dignified and impressive presence. we conversed during the evening on general topics, but no allusion was made to the one exciting topic, on which almost all seemed ready to talk _instanter._ the next morning he overtook me. he was on horseback, and mentioned that he was going to atchison, and for some distance rode beside my buggy, continuing the conversation. then, as he could travel faster than myself, he rode on. the reader will recognize this gentleman again in atchison. an account of my adventures [ ] on the other side of the river will be found in a letter addressed by myself to the _herald of freedom_: [for the herald of freedom.] stranger creek, ocena p. o., may , . mr. editor--_dear sir_: the bar of public opinion seems to be the only tribunal to which the free state men of kansas can appeal for redress. i must, therefore, ask your indulgence while i make a statement of facts. one year ago i came to kansas and bought a claim on stranger creek, atchison county. on the th of august, the border ruffians of the town of atchison sent me down the missouri river on a raft. we parted under a mutual pledge: i pledged myself that if my life was spared i would come back to atchison, and they pledged themselves that if i did come back they would hang me. faithful to my promise, in november last i returned to kansas, and visited atchison in open day, announced myself on hand, and returned without molestation. kansas being sparsely settled, without churches or meeting-houses, it was determined that mrs. butler should live on our claim with her brother and her brother's wife, while i should return to illinois, and resume my labors as a preacher. april th i returned to kansas, crossing the missouri river into atchison. i spoke with no one in the town, save with two merchants of the place, with whom i have had business transactions since my first arrival in the territory. having remained only a few moments, i went to my buggy to resume my journey, when i was assaulted by robert s. kelley, co-editor of the _squatter sovereign_, and others, was dragged into a saloon, and there surrounded by a company of south carolinians, who are reported to have been sent out by a southern emigrant aid society. in this last mob i recognized only two that were citizens of atchison or engaged in the former mob. it is not reported that these emigrants from the palmetto state seek out a claim, and make for themselves a home, neither do they enter into any legitimate business. they very expressively describe themselves as having _come out to see kansas through._ they yelled, "kill him! kill him! hang the abolitionist." one of their number bristled up to me and said, "have you got a revolver?" i answered, "no." he handed me a pistol and said, "there, take that, and stand off ten steps; and i will blow you through in an instant." i replied, "i have no use for your weapon." i afterwards heard them congratulating themselves in reference to this, that they had acted in an honorable manner with me. the fellow was furious; but his companions dissuaded him from shooting me, saying they were going to hang me. they pinioned my arms behind my back, obtained a rope, but were interrupted by the entrance of a stranger--a gentleman from missouri, since ascertained to be judge tutt, a lawyer from st. joseph. he said: "my friends, hear me. i am an old man, and it is right you should hear me. i was born in virginia, and have lived many years in missouri. i am a slaveholder, and desire kansas to be made a slave state, if it can be done by honorable means. but you will destroy the cause you are seeking to build up. you have taken this man, who was peaceably passing through your streets and along the public highway, and doing no person any harm. we profess to be 'law and order' men, and ought to be the last to commit violence. if this man has broken the law, let him be judged according to law; but for the sake of missouri, for the sake of kansas, for the sake of the pro-slavery cause, do not act in this way." they dragged me into another building, and appointed a moderator, and got up a kind of lynch law trial. kelley told his story. i rose to my feet, and calmly and in respectful language began to tell mine; but i was jerked to my seat and so roughly handled that i was compelled to desist. my friend from missouri again earnestly besought them to set me at liberty. kelley turned short on him and said: "do you belong to kansas?" judge tutt replied: "no; but i expect to live here in atchison next fall, and in this matter the interests of kansas and missouri are identical." chester lamb, a lawyer in atchison, and samuel dickson, a merchant of the place, both pro slavery men, also united with judge tutt in pleading that i might be set at liberty. while these gentlemen were speaking, i heard my keepers mutter, "if you don't hush up, we will tar and feather you." but when kelley saw how matters stood, he came forward and said he "did not take butler to have him hung, but only tarred and feathered," yet in the saloon he had sad to the mob: "_you shall do as you please._" he dared not take the responsibility of taking my life, but when these unfortunate men, whose one-idea-ism on the subject of slavery and southern rights has become insanity--when these irresponsible south carolinians, sent out to be bull dogs and blood hounds for atchison and stringfellow--when they could be used as tools to take my life, he was ready to do it. our gunpowder moderator cut the matter short by saying, "it is moved that butler be tarred and feathered and receive thirty-nine lashes." a majority said "aye," though a number of voices said "no." the moderator said, "the affirmative has it; butler has to be tarred and feathered and whipped." i began to speculate how that sort of thing would work as far north as the latitude of kansas. there was a good deal of whispering about the house. i saw dark, threatening and ominous looks in the crowd. the moderator again came forward, and, in an altered voice, said: "_it is moved that the last part of the sentence be rescinded."_ it was rescinded, and i was given into the hands of my south carolina overseers to be tarred and feathered. they muttered and growled at this issue of the matter. they said, "if we had known it would come out in this way, we would have let shoot butler at the first. he would have done it quicker than a flash." one little, sharp-visaged, dark-featured south carolinian, who seemed to be the leader of the gang, was particularly displeased. with bitter curses he said, "i am not come all the way from south carolina, spending so much money to do things up in such milk-and-water style as this." they stripped me naked to my waist, covered my body with tar, and for the want of feathers applied cotton. having appointed a committee of seven to certainly hang me the next time i should come into atchison, they tossed my clothes into my buggy, put me therein, accompanied me to the outskirts of the town, and sent me naked out upon the prairie. it was a cold, bleak day. i adjusted my attire about me as best i could, and hastened to rejoin my wife and little ones on the banks of the stranger creek. it was a sorrowful meeting after so long a parting, still we were very thankful that, under the favor of a good providence, it had fared no worse with us all. many will ask now, as they have asked already, what is the true and proper cause of all these troubles i have had in atchison? i have told the world already; i can only repeat my own words. i have said, the head and front of my offending hath this extent, no more: i had spoken among my neighbors favorably to making kansas a free state, and said in the office of the _squatter sovereign_, "i am a free-soiler, and intend to vote for kansas to be a free state." still it will be regarded as incredible that a man should receive such treatment for uttering such words as i report myself to have uttered. the matter is plain enough when the facts are understood. prior to august , , there was no free-soil party organized in atchison county--perhaps not in the whole territory of kansas. free-soilers did not know their own strength, and were disposed to be prudent; some were timid. here in atchison county we determined that if the border ruffians were resolved to drive matters to a bloody issue, the responsibility of doing so should rest wholly with themselves. there are many free-soilers in this county--brave men--who have no conscientious scruples to hinder them from arming themselves, and preparing to repel force with force. the border ruffians sought by a system of terrorism so to intimidate the free-soilers as to prevent them from organizing a free-soil party, or even discussing the subject of freedom and slavery in kansas. they carried this to such an extent of outrageous violence that it came to be currently reported that it was as much as a man's life was worth to say in the town of atchison, "i am a free-soiler." we deprecated violence, and wished a peaceful discussion of the subject. it was therefore most fitting that a man whose profession forbade him to go armed should put to the test of actual experiment whether an american citizen of blameless life could be permitted to enjoy the right of free speech--the privilege of expressing views favorable to making kansas a free state--such views being uttered without anything of angry, abusive or insulting language. it was for this purpose the above words were spoken, and which have been the cause of all my troubles in atchison. if there is any class of men who stand behind the curtain and pull the wires, we would respectfully represent to them that it will do no good to urge these understrappers on to these deeds of violence and ruffianism. we are not a class of men to utter childish complaints at any wrongs we may suffer, _but we know our rights and intend to have them._ subscribing myself the friend of all good and civil men, whether north or south, i am very truly, pardee butler. chapter xiv. we have already told how sheriff jones failed to wipe out lawrence; how gov. shannon patched up a peace, and how that, in no good temper, the "law and order" party returned to the border. but immediately the free state party gave evidence that its spirit had not been broken. a convention had been called to meet at topeka, in november, , to frame a free state constitution, and this was ratified at an election called december following, , votes being cast in its favor, the election having been held only one week after the treaty of peace had been made. then in less than two weeks a second convention was called to meet at lawrence, at which a full board of state officers was nominated, the election having been set to be held on the th of january. at leavenworth, the attempt to hold the election resulted in such mobs and tumult that it was forbidden to be held by a faint-hearted free state mayor, and was consequently adjourned to easton. the free state printing press of mark delahay was, during these troubles, destroyed. at easton, a mob undertook to break up the election, but was driven off, and in the affray one of the attacking party named cook was mortally wounded. then the _kansas pioneer_, published at kickapoo, made an inflammatory appeal to the "law and order" party to rally and avenge cook's death, and in an answer to this appeal the "kickapoo rangers" and captain dunn's company, from leavenworth, in all about fifty men, turned out to go to easton on this errand. a number of gentlemen had gone from leavenworth to easton to attend the election, and had stayed over night, among whom were captain r. p. brown, a resident of salt creek valley, near leavenworth. captain b. was a man well esteemed in his neighborhood, and was a member-elect of the legislature. captain dunn and his company met these men returning to leavenworth, and took them prisoners, carrying them back to easton. here they got up a sort of lynch-law trial for captain brown, but the rabble composing dunn's company, having maddened themselves with drink, broke into the room where the trial was going on, seized captain brown, who was unarmed and helpless, and tortured him with barbarity that has been supposed to be only possible among savages, and then threw the wounded and dying man into an open lumber wagon, in which they hauled him home to his wife, over the rough, frozen roads, in one of the coldest nights of that bitter cold january; stopping meantime at the drinking-houses by the way, they consumed seven hours in making the journey. his wife became insane at the sight of her butchered and dying husband, thrown into the door by these brutal wretches, and was, in that condition, taken to her brother in michigan. all this was testified to, with every _minutia_ of detail, before the investigating committee. the border papers were aflame with appeals to the "law and order" party to go over into kansas and wipe out the pestiferous free state men, who set at naught the territorial legislature. the following sample of these appeals we extract from a speech made by david r. atchison, at platte city: they held an election on the th of last month, and they intend to put the machinery of a state in motion on the th of march, "_i say, prepare yourselves; go over there_. and if they attempt to drive you out, then drive them out. fifty of you with your shot-guns are worth two hundred and fifty of them with their sharpe's rifles." meanwhile a great cry of wrongs and outrages against the free state men had filled the whole north, and congress could not choose, but had to pay attention to it. ex-governor reeder came forward and contested the seat of mr. whitfield as territorial delegate to congress, alleging that mr. w. owed his election to the votes of men not residents of the territory. as a result, a committee of investigation was appointed to go to kansas to take testimony, this committee being composed of sherman of ohio, howard, of michigan, and oliver, of missouri. these took an immense number of depositions, which were published in a volume of more than , octavo pages, and of which , were ordered to be printed. this investigating committee made a majority report signed by howard and sherman, in which they summed up their conclusions under eight heads. of these we shall copy four: majority report. . that each election held in the territory under the organic or territorial law has been carried by organized invasion from the state of missouri, by which the people of the territory have been prevented from exercising the rights secured to them by the organic law. . that the alleged territorial legislature was an illegally constituted body, and had no power to pass valid laws, and their enactments are therefore null and void. . that andrew h. reeder received a greater number of votes of resident citizens than john w. whitfield for delegate. . that in the present condition of the territory a fair election can not be held without a new census, a stringent and well-guarded election law, the selection of impartial judges, and the presence of united states troops at every election. _(signed)_ wm. a. howard, john sherman. mr. oliver made a minority report, summing up his conclusions under seven heads. from this we shall copy three: minority report. . that the territorial legislature was a legally constituted body, and had power to pass valid laws, and their enactments were therefore valid. . that the election under which the sitting delegate, john w. whitfield, holds his seat was held in pursuance of valid law, and should be regarded as a valid election. . that the election under which the contesting delegate, andrew h. reeder, claims his seat, was not held under any law, and should be wholly disregarded by the house. _(signed)_ m. oliver. as a result, congress permanently unseated mr. whitfield, and ordered a new election, thus affirming the conclusions of howard and sherman. this committee began its work in april and ended in june. the "law and order" party did not, however, wait for the conclusion of these proceedings at washington. col. buford, as we have told in a former chapter, arrived early in the spring with his company of south carolinians, and gen. david r. atchison had gathered, along the borders, several hundred men to make a second raid on lawrence. these all marched to lecompton, where they held themselves in readiness to act, as soon as a pretext could be found invoking their help. and now the inevitable samuel j. jones, sheriff of douglas county, again put in an appearance. this time it was to arrest sam wood for the rescue of branson. jones arrested wood on the streets of lawrence. a crowd gathered around, and in the jostling and pushing jones and wood were separated, and wood walked away. no threats were made, and no violence used. the next day was sunday, and jones again appeared, but sam wood was missing. he had stayed that night at the house of the writer, in atchison county, being then on his way to the free states. jones, however, had writs for the arrest of those who had been the occasion of wood's escape, and the sheriff called on some of the church-going people to act as his _posse_ in making his arrests. but these were of "the most straitest sect" of the puritans, and it was contrary to their consciences to do any manner of carnal work on the sabbath day, and in their estimation this was exceedingly carnal work, and they kept their faces set as if they would go to the synagogue. samuel f. tappan was one of the branson rescuers, and jones seized tappan by the collar, and tappan struck jones in the face. this was enough; jones had been resisted, and he went to the governor and demanded a _posse_ of united states soldiers to aid him in making his arrest. thus reinforced with a detachment of united states troops, our valorous sheriff jones went a third time and arrested without resistance six respectable citizens of lawrence, on a charge of contempt of court, because they had declined to break the sabbath in aiding him to make arrests on the lord's day. in due course of law, it should have been his duty to take his prisoners before a magistrate, and allowed them to give bail to appear at a given time to answer for this alleged contempt. but jones elected to keep his prisoners without bail, and to act as his own jailer, and so he encamped in a tent on the prairie, using these united states soldiers as his guard. this was a manifest bait to the people of lawrence to attempt a rescue, but they did not walk into the trap, and so these prisoners slept on the prairie, and their wives slept at home bereaved of their husbands. somebody shot jones. it is presumed that somebody thought he ought to be shot, but it was as great a calamity to lawrence as was the rescue of branson. the people of lawrence removed jones to the free state hotel, showed every sympathy they could show, and offered a reward of $ for the apprehension of the assassin. notwithstanding, all western missouri was immediately aflame with appeals to the people to come to the rescue, and avenge the death of the murdered jones. but the papers making these appeals did not publish the proceedings of the indignation meeting held at lawrence, nor did they tell that a reward had been offered for the apprehension of the assassin, nor did they tell that jones' wound was so slight that he was able to be removed the next day to franklin. meanwhile a conspiracy was hatched at lecompton, in which chief justice lecompte was the chief conspirator, to arrest the leading free state men on a charge of treason, and keep them prisoners without bail, and thus smother out the free state movement. james f. legati was one of the united states grand jurors, and violated his oath of secrecy and made a night journey to give warning to the men that were to be made victims to this conspiracy. gov. charles robinson fled down the missouri river, but was detained at lexington, was brought back under charge of treason, and placed in confinement at lecompton; others fled the territory, and lawrence was left to fight its battles with its old leaders gone. according to the purpose of this conspiracy a large number of free state men were indicted for high treason; and the free state hotel and the two printing presses were returned by the grand jury as _nuisances_, and as such were by judge lecompte ordered to be destroyed. immediately following legati's nocturnal visit, ex-governor reeder received a summons at the hands of deputy marshal fain to appear at lecompton _as a witness_. mr. reeder declined to obey the summons. the next day a writ was served on him to appear on a charge of "contempt of court" for not having appeared as a witness. mr. reeder refused to submit to the arrest for two reasons--first, that his life would be in danger; second, he plead his privilege of exemption from arrest because he was a member-elect of congress. then united states marshal donaldson issued the following proclamation. whereas, certain judicial arrests have been directed to me by the first district court of the united states, etc., to be executed within the county of douglas, and whereas, the attempt to execute them by the united states deputy marshal was evidently resisted by a large number of people of lawrence, and as there is every reason to believe that any attempt to execute these writs will be resisted by a large body of armed men; now, therefore, the law-abiding citizens of the territory are commanded to be and appear at lecompton as soon as practicable, and in numbers sufficient to execute the law. given under my hand this th day of may, . j. b. donaldson, u. s. marshal of the territory of kansas. on receipt of this proclamation the citizens of lawrence called a public meeting and adopted the following preamble and resolution: whereas, by a proclamation to the people of kansas territory, by t b. donaldson, it is alleged that certain judicial writs of arrest have been directed to him by the first district court of the united states, etc. to be executed within the county of douglas, and that an attempt to execute them was evidently resisted by a large number of the citizens of lawrence, and that there is every reason to believe that an attempt to execute said writs will be resisted by a large body of armed men; therefore, _resolved_, by this public meeting of the citizens of lawrence, that the allegations and charges against us, contained in the aforesaid proclamation, are wholly untrue in fact and in the conclusion which is drawn from them. the aforesaid marshal was resisted in no manner whatever, nor by any person whatever, in the execution of said writs, except by him whose arrest the deputy marshal was seeking to make. and that we now, as we have done heretofore, declare our willingness and determination, without resistance, to acquiesce in the service upon us of any judicial writs against us by the united states deputy marshal, _and will furnish him with a posse for that purpose_, if so requested; but that we are ready to resist, if need be, unto death, the ravages and desolation of an invading mob. chapter xv. before marshal donaldson had issued the proclamation copied in our last chapter, the citizens of lawrence had forwarded to gov. shannon the following: whereas, we have most reliable information of the organization of guerrilla bands, who threaten the destruction of our town and its citizens; therefore _resolved_, that messrs. topliff, hutchingson and roberts constitute a committee to inform his excellency of these facts, and to call upon him, in the name of the people of lawrence, for protection against such bands by the united states troops at his disposal. to this the governor made the following reply: executive office, may , . gentlemen: your note of the th inst. is received, and in reply i have to state that there is no force around or approaching lawrence, except the largely constituted _posse_ of the united states marshal and sheriff of douglas county, each of whom, i am informed, has a number of writs in his hands for execution against persons in lawrence. i shall in no way interfere with these officers in the discharge of their official duties. if the citizens of lawrence submit themselves to the territorial laws, and aid and assist the marshal and the sheriff in the execution of processes in their hands, as all good citizens are bound to do when called upon, they will entitle themselves to the protection of the law. but so long as they keep up a military or armed organization to resist the territorial laws and the officers charged with their execution, i shall not interpose to save them from the legitimate consequences of their illegal acts. the following is a list of the notabilities that were in command of the army that was to serve as the _posse_ of marshal donaldson, david r. atchison in command of the platte county riflemen of missouri; capt. dunn, of the kickapoo rangers; gen. b. f. string fellow, robert s. kelley and peter t. abell having charge of the recruits from atchison; col. wilkes, of south carolina; col. titus, of florida; col. boone, of westport, mo., and col. buford, of south carolina. more than three-fourths of this army was composed of non-residents of kansas. a third time the citizens of lawrence called a public meeting, and this time they appeal to marshal donaldson. they say, "we beg leave to ask respectfully, what are the demands against us?" they repeat their oft-repeated assurance that they will submit to arrests, and demand protection against the gathering mob from the men representing the authority of the general government. marshal donaldson only replied with jeers and insults. the people of lawrence were indeed in evil case. the beleagured citizens saw themselves shut in by armed bands, engaged in murder, robbery, and plunder; and this time they appealed to the investigating committee, now gone to leavenworth; but that committee had no power to help them. col. sumner could not help them, unless the governor should speak the word; and shannon was dumb. lane had gone east; robinson was a prisoner; ex-gov. reeder had fled, disguised as a common laborer; and others were in hiding; and perforce the management of affairs had to be given into the hands of new men. a committee of public safety was chosen, and this committee determined on a policy of abject submission and non-resistance. a committee of volunteers from topeka offered their assistance, but were told: "we do not want you." pusillanimous as gov. shannon was, he found he had a man to deal with more pusillanimous than himself, in the person of s. c. pomeroy, chairman of the committee of public safety. citizens of lawrence left in unspeakable disgust. the people of the territory looked on in amazement. the boys jeeringly called the committee of public safety "the committee of the public safety valve." the writer had given his testimony before the investigating committee while they were yet in lawrence. a number of south carolinians had been present while this testimony was being given, and they had protested in a towering rage, "we will shoot butler on sight." it was evident the town had to be given up to the tender mercies of this mob of ruffians. there was nothing to be gained by remaining, and the writer, sick at heart, went back to atchison county; but he afterwards returned to see the blackened ruins of the desolated town. on may st the monster _posse_, led on by marshal donaldson and deputy marshal fain, gathered around the doomed city. the town was quiet--unusually so. deputy marshal fain went into the city and arrested g. w. deitzler, g. w. smith and gains jenkins, on the charge of treason. the marshal went to the free state hotel, that they were soon to batter down, and got his dinner, _and went away without paying for it._ and now the opportune moment had arrived for the final _denouement_. sheriff jones--the mourned and lost and murdered and much-lamented sheriff jones--whose tragic death had fired the hearts of all the missouri border, now put in an appearance and showed himself a mighty lively corpse, and led his _posse_ into the town. the flag of the lone star of south carolina, blood-red, and on which was inscribed the motto, "southern rights," floated beside the stars and stripes. the monster _posse_, with loaded cannon, marched into the city and in front of the free state hotel, and the "committee of the public safety valve" was called for. mr. pomeroy came forward and shook hands with sheriff jones--should not _gentlemen_ shake hands when they meet? sheriff jones demanded the arms of the people, otherwise he would bombard the town. mr. pomeroy went and dug up the cannon that had been buried, and surrendered it to jones. but further than this he could not go: _the people had their arms, and intended to keep them_. then they tried to batter down the free state hotel with cannon. failing in this, they tried to blow it up with powder; and, failing in that, they burned it down. they also destroyed the two printing presses, burning the buildings, and then sacked the town. sheriff jones was beside himself with joy. in frantic excitement he said, "i have done it! i have done it! this is the happiest moment of my life! i determined to make the fanatics bow before me in the dust and kiss the territorial laws, and i have done it! the writs have been executed. boys, you are dismissed." it will be doing senator david r. atchison, ex-vice-president of the united states, a kindness to conclude simply that he was drunk, otherwise he displayed utter savagery and barbarism. he inculcated gallantry to ladies, but said: "if you find any woman with arms in her hands, tread her under foot as you would a snake." the caucassian white woman of lawrence had no more rights of self-protection than the slaves of a south carolina rice plantation--they were wholly and absolutely at the mercy of their masters! we have no comments to make on the work of this drunken rabble; but there is one man that must be held to a terrible responsibility before the judgment-seat of posterity. gov. wilson shannon was not drunk: and it is to be presumed he had read that constitution of the united states which he had so often sworn to support. he knew, therefore, that this document stipulates: . "that the right of the people to _keep_ and bear arms shall not be infringed;" yet he showed a fixed purpose to deprive the lawrence people of their arms. . the governor knew that the constitution guarantees "freedom of speech and of the press" to the american people; yet the burning of these printing presses was an attack on the freedom of the press. . the constitution guarantees that "in all criminal prosecutions the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial." property of large value was destroyed because its owners were charged with high crimes and misdemeanors; yet the owners of this property had never been given a trial. . gov. shannon alleged that it was treasonable for the people of kansas territory to frame a state constitution without an enabling act from congress; yet california had done this very thing, and under that constitution had been admitted as a state. . he treated the free state men as traitors, because they would not admit the legality of the lecompton territorial legislature. but the majority of the investigating committee held the same view with the lawrence people, and congress affirmed the same judgment in permanently unseating mr. whitfield as territorial delegate to congress. would that men could remember that there is a _hereafter_; that _to-morrow_ forever sits in judgment on _to-day._ there are three men most conspicuous in the sacking of lawrence. let us look at them in the electric light of the awful _to-morrow._ since the kansas struggle had begun david r. atchison had made himself the most conspicuous figure. he was the representative of the john c. calhoun school of southern politics, and from the hour of the destruction of lawrence he was to disappear from public view, as absolutely as that free state hotel which was burned by his orders; yet he did not die--he was simply _buried alive_ out of the public sight. he was done with the nation, and the nation was done with him. he went back and lived on his plantation in western missouri, where he was forgotten. it is said he loved his slaves so well, and petted them so much, that they became masters on the plantation, and not himself. he lived to see kansas a free state, with almost a million of inhabitants, and fairly taking the lead of missouri in the elements of education, enterprise, and the highest civilization. we have seen the crawling servility with which gov. shannon served the "law and order" party; yet in less than three months he was to see his office as governor go up in smoke, as these burning buildings had gone up in smoke. mr. s. became frantic when he saw the carnival of bloodshed and murder, of riot and robbery, that had been brought about by his means. dr. gihon, the incoming gov. geary's private secretary, reported that mr. shannon fled the territory in fear of his life. when the troubles were over he came to kansas and sought the pity and forgiveness of that city he had turned over to the tender mercies of a mob of ruffians. it need not be said that he could have done no better, for his successor, gov. geary, had only to speak a word and this tumult of disorder was instantly hushed. as the years went by the people could not believe that a man that displayed so many good and amiable qualities could have been a party to such outrages as characterized his administration. he died in lawrence very much respected. sheriff samuel j. jones strutted his brief hour on this stage in which the play had been both a bloodcurdling tragedy and a comedy; and now he was to step down and out. in the last act he had said, "_i have done it!" and he had done it_! he and his fellow conspirators, whether of high or low degree, had set in operation a train of causes that should issue in abolishing throughout the united states that institution of slavery they had so frantically sought to establish in kansas. joseph said to his brethren, "you meant it for evil, but the lord meant it for good." _sheriff jones and his fellow conspirators were in the lord's hands, but they did not know it_. chapter xvi. when the news came of the sacking of lawrence, the great mass of the squatters had not yet lost faith in the nation, nor had they lost hope that justice would be done, tardy though it might be; but the utmost limits of human endurance were fast being reached. there were, however, many that had already gone beyond this point, and they returned an answer that made the hearts of the people stand still with horror. it was the answer of a wild beast that had been hunted to its lair, and that turns with savage ferocity on its pursuers. it was an answer framed not in words, but in deeds. it said, "we have come to an end. we have been robbed of the rights guaranteed to us by the kansas-nebraska bill. we have been robbed of the rights of american citizens. we have been given the alternative of abject and degrading submission or of extermination. and now we make our answer. we will return blow for blow, wound for wound, stripe for stripe, and burning for burning. murder shall be paid back with murder, robbery with robbery; and every act of aggression shall be paid back with swift and terrible retaliation." it must be remembered that at that time news traveled slow, and that it was slow work to take men from their ordinary farm life and organize them into bands of soldiers, and it was some days before "old john brown, of osawatomie," appeared on the scene of conflict with a company of men. of this company his son, john brown, jr., was captain. but the "old man" had come too late. he was terribly excited, and denounced as a set of cowards the "committee of the public safety valve" that had dug up the hidden cannon and had surrendered it to sheriff jones. captain brown and his company determined to return. old john brown selected a squad of six men to go on a secret expedition. of these, four were his own sons, and one was his son-in-law. his son, captain brown, was unwilling that his father should go, and when the old man would not be persuaded, he cautioned him, "father, don't do anything rash." "old john brown" took old man doyle and two sons and two other men in the dead hour of night and put them to death. the facts of this awful deed have never been made public--there has never been a judicial investigation. it is said that doyle and his sons were desperate characters, and were in the act of driving off free state men; but nothing is certainly known. and now it appeared that the whole country south of the kaw river was full of armed free state guerrilla bands. they rose up out of the earth as if they had been specters--their blows were swift, terrible and remorseless. they visited and robbed the houses of pro-slavery men, as the houses of the free state men had been visited and robbed. they stole the pro-slavery men's horses, stopped them on the public highways, and repeated in every detail and in every act of violence the cruel atrocities that had been so long perpetrated on themselves. they showed no partiality--if they stole the horses of pro-slavery men, they also stole gov. shannon's horses, and the governor posted over the country with a squad of soldiers to find them. the town of franklin, six miles from lawrence, that had been a rendezvous for the "law and order" robbers, and out of which they issued to visit free state settlers' houses, rob free state men on the public highway and make raids on lawrence, was cleaned out. h. clay pate, leader of a "law and order" company of militia, went to hunt john brown and put him to death as he would go to hunt a wild beast. an african lion hunter, when questioned, "is it not fine sport to hunt lions?" replied, "yes, it is fine sport to hunt lions, but if the lion hunts you it is not so fine." h. clay pate went to hunt the lion, and found the lion was hunting him. john brown attacked pate with an inferior force, dispersed his command, and took him prisoner, together with twenty-eight of his men, and kept them in an inaccessible fastness which he made his hiding place. a number of pro-slavery men fled from the territory, telling everywhere a blood-curdling story of hard and cruel treatment. the people of the state of missouri were filled with rage and horror, and its presses groaned with frantic appeals to the people to rise in their might and avenge the blood of their murdered brethren. hitherto they had witnessed with perfect composure the savage butchery of the free state men, and the outrage of free state families; but now the case was bravely altered. it was their ox that was being gored. gov. shannon passed as usual from the extreme of insolence to the extreme of helpless imbecility, and called on col. sumner to come forward and put a stop to this riot of confusion, blood-shedding and violence. the governor really wanted col. s. to disarm only the free state guerrillas; but mr. s. made a more liberal interpretation of his orders, and proceeded to disarm all armed bands in the territory. he visited old john brown's hiding place, told him he must consider himself under arrest, and intimated to deputy marshal fain that he was at liberty to arrest these men, who were under charge of murder. but the marshal replied _that he had no arrests to make_. marshal fain had no stomach for the business of lion hunting. it is said that col. s. gave marshal fain a piece of his mind that was more explicit than polite. col. sumner ordered john brown to give up his prisoners, and disband his men. john brown expostulated with him, that it was not right to require him to do this, while the country was full of armed bands of pro-slavery militia and guerrillas. col. s. agreed to disband and disarm all companies of persons armed, and then john brown agreed to comply with his requests. gen. whitfield was in the vicinity, and at the request of col. s. agreed to remove his men from the territory; but while doing this they continued the business of riot, robbery and murder. thus wearily passed the month of june of , on the south bank of the kaw river. the coming fourth of july was looked forward to with intense interest by both parties, and on the north side of the kaw river, as well as on its south side. the fourth of july was the day on which the legislature, elected under the free state constitution, was to meet at topeka; and on that day, and at that place, a mass convention of all the free state men in kansas had also been called to meet and agree on their future policy. col. sumner had at least done this good service, that the highways were clear, and traveling was safe; but not knowing what might happen, the men generally carried their muskets hidden in their wagons. the writer of these "recollections" went to topeka with the free state men of atchison county. at this convention it appeared that there was the greatest possible divergence of judgment as to the best policy for the free state party to pursue. there was nothing of the noise and bluster that characterizes a drunken mob; they were sober and quiet men; nevertheless, they evidently labored under an intense and burning excitement. some were for war, bloody, relentless and unforgiving war; others advised a more pacific policy. if the reader can imagine the savage determination with which the old scotch covenanters turned at bay when hunted into their mountain fastnesses by their bloody persecutors, then he will have some idea of the spirit that animated a great part of that assembly. two companies of soldiers, handsomely equipped, armed and drilled, one from topeka and one from lawrence, were drawn up in front of the topeka house, where the free state legislature was to meet. it is probable that this crowd of men assembled at this convention could have laid their hands on five hundred muskets hidden away in their wagons, in ten minutes. meanwhile col. sumner had quietly drawn up his company of dragoons just outside of the crowd. in front of the dragoons were two loaded cannon, and by them grimly stood soldiers with burning fuse. while the members of the convention were discussing among themselves their proper policy, united states marshal donaldson came forward, accompanied by judge el-more, and taking possession of the stand from which the speakers were addressing the people, judge el-more read a proclamation from the president and from acting gov. woodson, commanding the legislature to disperse. to this col. sumner had appended the following note: "the proclamation of the president and the orders under it require me to sustain the executive of the territory in executing the laws and preserving the peace. i therefore hereby announce that i shall maintain the proclamation at all hazards." this act of marshal donaldson was fiercely denounced as an impertinent intermedding with other men's business. the general drift of the reasoning was as follows: "our act in framing a constitution and in electing a legislature is not treasonable nor revolutionary. there is no law against it: consequently we are breaking no law. it is, moreover, something that has to be done at some time by the majority of the citizens of this territory, and we hope to be able to convince congress and the president that we are that majority. if we had undertaken to set in operation a government in contravention to the one now recognized by the president, then might there have been some apology for this interference; but we have done nothing of the kind." the writer will say to the reader that gov. walker, an ex-senator from mississippi, and the ablest governor kansas ever had, admitted afterwards that this reasoning of the kansas squatters was perfectly correct. but however this might be, here was a patent fact. here was col. sumner with his united states dragoons, and he was a man to obey orders; and what were we going to do about it? should we fight, or should we not fight? the writer submitted the following resolution: _resolved_, that this convention expresses its determination not to resist the united states troops. the resolution was carried, and a committee was sent to col. sumner to inform him of its adoption. his answer was one to draw the hearts of the people to himself: "i knew," said he, "that you were loyal to the old flag." our readers will be incredulous that such a resolution should be needed, or that there should be any division of sentiment as touching its adoption. it is for this reason we call this incident up. it is that the reader may understand how strained was the state of feeling of many of the free state men. they had spent the past months fighting, and they, in their own minds, associated the united states troops with the oppressors of kansas free state men. when mr. sumner went into the legislative hall to disperse the legislature, he spoke as tenderly as a woman. he said: "gentlemen, this is the most painful act of my life but i must obey orders, and you must disperse." when he wheeled his dragoons to march away the boys cheered col. sumner. they cheered the old flag and the united states soldiers, but they gave such groans for the lecompton legislature as, it was said, frightened the dragoons' horses. there was now no further cause that the writer should tarry longer, and he immediately mounted his horse and rode towards home, with a heart heavy with the thought of all the distempers that had come on unhappy kansas. chapter xvii. we have already told how the campaign was opened, in the spring of , in atchison county, in a letter which we at that time addressed to the editor of the _herald of freedom_. this paper was printed at lawrence, on the printing press destroyed by the "law and order" mob. the weekly issue in which this letter was published was passing through the press on the day the town was sacked, one side having been printed, the other side being yet blank. then the border ruffians came into the town, broke up the press and threw it into the river, and tumbled the half printed weekly issue into the street. the above-named article was on the printed side, and was read by the whole crowd, and they were terribly angry. if the writer had been in town he certainly would not have escaped alive, if this mob could have found him. as it was, their curses would not be edifying reading in a christian newspaper. lecompton could not give its friends food or lodging. it had been located in an out-of-the-way and inaccessible place; its proprietors were sheriff jones, judge lecompton, and men of that _ilk,_ and business men avoided the place as if it had been smitten with a pestilence. the people of the surrounding country were generally free state men, and the south carolinians could not choose, but were forced to return to atchison. they had been angry and impatient when their friends in atchison had constrained them to do things up in such "milk and water" style, and in lawrence they had been held back in the same manner, and they returned in a savage temper. should a cowardly yankee be allowed to defy them, and scoff at them, and call them "bull-dogs and blood-hounds," with impunity? and now, with this man they had to have a settlement. we have already seen how the contending factions spread murder and violence south of the kaw river; but from may till september leavenworth county became a "dark and bloody ground." immediately after the fourth of july, col. sumner had been, because of his too great leniency to free state men, superseded in command at fort leavenworth by persifer f. smith, a man whose heart was hard as a rock of adamant toward the free state people, and under his eyes leavenworth city and county were given up to blood and robbery. in atchison county, from the beginning of these border troubles to the end of them, not one man's life was taken, and yet david r. atchison, gen. b. f. stringfellow, and his law partner, peter t. abell, were the leading members of the atchison town company. robert s. kelley and dr. john h. stringfellow also maintained unchanged their bloody purposes. we find in the _squatter sovereign_, under date of june th, the following editorial, and this displays its uniform temper: the abolitionist: shoot down our men, without provocation, wherever they meet them; let us retaliate in the same manner. a free fight is all we desire. if murder and assassination is the programme of the day, we are in favor of filling the bill. let not the knives of the pro-slavery men be sheathed while there is one abolitionist in the territory. as they have shown no quarters to our men, they deserve none from us. let our motto be written in blood on our flags, "_death to all yankees and traitors in kansas_." why, then, were not these bloody counsels made good by deeds? our circumstances were peculiar. it will be seen above that it was only the yankees and abolitionists in whose bodies the knives of the "law and order" party were to be sheathed; and the yankees in the country were only a handful of men, and were therefore powerless; but between them and these bloody-minded chieftains was interposed a barrier that proved insurmountable. the great mass of the squatters were just from the other side of the river. sometimes a son had left a father, and crossed the river to get a claim; or a brother had left his brother, or a girl had married a young man in the neighborhood, and as the young folks were poor, they had left the old folks and had gone to seek their fortune in the new territory. of course the old folks would still have a care for the young couple. they were in easy reach of each other, and would still visit back and forth. now who does not see that to touch any one of these was to touch all? it was like touching a nest of hornets. the reader will observe that these people had no quarrel with the people of the south: they were bone of their bone and flesh of their flesh. neither had they any special quarrel with southern institutions; only this, that they would rather live in a free state. they did feel that way, and they could not help it. but in one thing they had been sorely wounded. in the invasion of kansas, and in the carrying the elections by violence, their personal rights had been invaded, and they did resent that. and now here were some yankee neighbors whom they knew to be kindly and peaceable people, and whose help they needed in building up their churches; and yet these were to be murdered or driven out of the territory _for nothing!_ and it touched their southern blood. it was neither just nor right, and they would not allow it; and in such an issue there would be a common bond of sympathy on both sides of the river. moreover, such men as oliver steele, judge tutt and the irvings and harts and christophers had grave misgivings what would be the final issue of this system of murder and violence that had been adopted to make kansas a slave state. and so it was that the leaders in this conspiracy, right here in this city and county of atchison, which was their headquarters, found themselves strangely embarrassed and handicapped. their will was good enough, but how to carry out their purpose?--that was the pinch. a private assassination was a thing that looked easy enough at the first sight, but it might turn out that they had undertaken an ugly job for themselves. a meeting of the disciples was held at the house of archibald elliott in the month of june. it was called quietly, and no noise made about it. there was a large attendance, and it was evident that if we could hold regular meetings great good would be done. but the neighborhood was soon filled with alarming rumors. it was said that a company of south carolinians were seen to go into a grove of bushes, about nightfall, where the writer would be expected to pass, and that they were seen to emerge from the same place the next morning. one event, however, adjourned our meetings without date. there was a man living in the western part of the county named barnett, who was a man of considerable attainment, and had been a member of the christian church. but he was given to drink. his wife, however, who was an excellent christian woman, remained steadfast to the church, and barnett, as he saw his hold on the church and his hope of heaven slipping away from him, clung the more loyally to his wife, as though her christian excellencies would save them both. at her request he invited me to preach a sermon at his house, and i consented. but when the south carolinians in atchison heard of it, they sent an insulting message to barnett that they would come and shoot me. barnett's southern blood was all on fire. who were these men that had come to atchison county to ride rough-shod over him in his own house? he sent a message equally defiant back to them, that if they did come he and his neighbors would shoot them. but there was one man in the county that needed to have no nervousness as touching his reputation for personal bravery. that man was caleb may; and he interposed and said: "let us wait patiently for more peaceful times. the son of man did not come to destroy men's lives, but to save them." but this adjourned without date our meetings. one incident must illustrate the strained and peculiar condition of affairs in atchison county. archimedes speck lived on the stranger creek, several miles below the residence of the writer. he was a man of magnificent physical development, and was a pronounced free state man. his wife's people originally came from north carolina, and she was proud of her southern blood; and the husband and wife did not come to kansas to be run over by anybody. yet they were eminently peaceable people, if let alone. these gentlemen in atchison had determined to disarm the free state people living in the country; and mr. speck, being a free state man, open and avowed, they called on him, but he was not at home. they therefore asked his wife: "has your husband a rifle, musket, or fire-arms of any kind?" she brought out an old queen anne's musket, as rusty and worn as if it had been in service ever since the revolutionary war. but while they were inspecting the rusty old thing, whether it was worth carrying away, she took from a closet a bran span new double-barrel fowling-piece, and, putting her finger on the trigger, she said, "now, sir, if you do not lay down that musket and leave the house, i will shoot you." if this gentleman had suddenly roused up a female tiger, he would not have been more terror-stricken than when he found himself facing this woman, blazing with scorn and irrepressible resentment, and he concluded he did not want the rusty old musket, _and did not ask to examine the other one._ mr. s. had threatened to flog one of his pro-slavery neighbors who had insulted him, as he alleged, and the man went to atchison and made oath that he was in fear of his life, and the sheriff was sent out with a warrant to arrest mr. speck. but at this time leavenworth county was full of murder and bloodshed; guerrilla parties, both free state and pro-slavery, were fighting in many parts of the territory, and lane had returned, and was leading the free state men in this warfare, and had threatened with many oaths to wipe out atchison, and there were rumors that he was already near at hand. and so, to provide against all contingencies, the sheriff was accompanied by a _posse_ of forty armed men, who took with them a cannon which had been loaned to atchison by the people of missouri. mrs. speck received the sheriff graciously, explained to him that her husband was absent, but would soon return, but to all questions as touching his present whereabouts, she shook her head mysteriously and refused to explain. the thing looked suspicious. was it possible that lane was even now in the neighborhood? and the sheriff went back to his _posse_ to hold a council of war. he had stationed them on a high bluff on the north bank of the stranger creek, and, looking across the wide timbered bottom to the opposite bluff, they could dimly see a large number of objects approaching through the brush-wood. what could it be? was it lane coming to attack him? and now two horsemen emerged from the brush and rode on a full gallop down the bluff. "it is lane! it is lane!" they cried. "let us ride back to atchison and get ready to defend the town," and on a gallop they skedaddled back to atchison. mr. speck had been with some of his neighbors to bring home a herd of cattle. an old cow had broken from the herd, intending to get back to her former grazing ground, and mr. speck and his neighbors had ridden full gallop to head her off. on reaching home, and learning of the visit of the sheriff, he went at once to atchison to give bonds to keep the peace; and to make all things square, he took with him the rusty old musket and proffered it to the gentleman that had been so solicitous to get it. mr. speck assured him that mrs. s. was now willing he should have it, and _would not shoot him if he took it_. these gentlemen had been making money out of pocket. they had been frightened out of their wits by a spunky woman; and forty armed men, with a loaded cannon, had been stampeded and made to run pell-mell into atchison by a herd of cattle and two or three men on horseback, riding at full gallop after an old cow. these men had undertaken to do a wicked thing, and had been made ridiculous in doing so; and this contributed largely to that revolution in the public opinion of the county, which had been going on for eighteen months, and which at the last compelled a radical change in the policy of these "border ruffian" leaders. but this again gave the chiefs of this conspiracy abundant experience that it pays to do right, and that a good providence had brought them prosperity and honor by defeating their original counsels and turning them into foolishness. but first we must tell of the carnival of riot, ruin, and robbing that had been going on in other parts of the territory. chapter xviii. the _squatter sovereign_, in its issue of july st, made the following announcement: the steamer, star of the west, having on board seventy-eight chicago abolitionists, was overhauled at lexington, mo., and the company disarmed. a large number of rifles and pistols were taken at lexington, and a guard sent upon the boat, to prevent them from landing in the territory. after leaving lexington, it was ascertained that they had not given up all arms, but still held possession of a great number of bowie knives and pistols, which were probably secreted while the search was going on at lexington. at leavenworth city, captain clarkson, with twenty-five men, went on board of the boat and demanded the surrender of all the arms in the possession of the abolitionists. like whipped dogs they sneaked up to clarkson and laid down their weapons to him. the men thus robbed of their arms give the following version of the matter: they say that at lexington they were taken by surprise; that their arms were not accessible to them, and that there was nothing to do but to yield. but that a pledge was made to them, that if they would give up their arms, they should be allowed to proceed peaceably to kansas. they furthermore state that at kansas city col. buford came aboard the boat, accompanied by a company of soldiers; that david r. atchison and gen. b. f. stringfellow came on board, and that after the boat had left the landing these gentlemen informed them that they would in no wise be allowed to enter the territory; that after the boat had stopped at weston, they should be taken back to alton; but that if they would not accept this arrangement, "they should be hung, every mother's son of them." at various times the _squatter sovereign_ and _leavenworth herald_ report similar outrages. the latter paper reports, july th, the sending back seventy-five emigrants that had come upon the steamer sultan. in reference to this occurrence, the _squatter sovereign_ makes the following remark: we do not fully approve of sending these criminals back to the east, to be reshipped to kansas--if not through missouri, through iowa and nebraska. we think they should meet a traitor's death; and the world could not censure us if we, in self-protection, have to resort to such ultra measures. we are of the opinion that if the citizens of leavenworth city, or weston, would _hang_ one or two boatloads of abolitionists, it would do more towards establishing peace in kansas than all the speeches that have been delivered in congress during the present session. _let the experiment be tried_. the missouri river was thus blockaded against the incoming of emigrants from the free states, and this created intense excitement throughout the north. the result was, that the immigration to kansas, instead of being diminished, was largely increased; but it changed its direction, and iowa city became the _entrepôt_ for the incoming tide of free state settlers, which now sought an overland route through iowa and nebraska, and began to reach kansas about the st of august. the leaders of the pro-slavery party made a pathetic appeal to the people of the south to send a corresponding class of emigrants; but the appeal was feebly responded to. slave-holders would not come, because their slaves would be insecure; and now slave-holders felt that they had small cause to come to fight a battle that was not theirs. gov. shannon held the scepter of power with a more and more feeble hand. he was going to resign, and he was not going to resign. but whether he did or did not resign, the substance of power had already passed into the hands of his secretary, mr. woodson, who was hand and glove with his fellows in this conspiracy to make kansas a slave state. meantime col. sumner had been superseded in command at fort leavenworth by persifer f. smith. col. sumner had obeyed orders like the brave soldier that he was, but he had shown too much sympathy for these victims of oppression in the discharge of his shameful duties. [ ] he did his appointed work, but he did not do it with an appetite, and he had been succeeded by a man that felt no more pity toward the free state people than the wolf feels for the lamb out of which he makes his breakfast. the consequences of this state of affairs began soon to appear. the missouri river had been blockaded. trains sent to leavenworth from lawrence and topeka were robbed on the public highway of the merchandise and provisions with which they were loaded, and these interior free state settlements began to feel the sharp pressure of hard necessities, while they a third time saw companies of so-called "law and order" militia occupying various points in the territory which these men proceeded to fortify, and from which they could overawe the inhabitants and make raids on the citizens; and thus the old business of robbery, murder, spoliation and oppression was again begun. and now this new immigration of a squatter soldiery, who came bearing their muskets in one hand and their implements of husbandry in the other, and were perfectly indifferent whether it should be work or fight, came pouring over the nebraska line and into kansas territory. a feeble attempt was made to stop them, but it amounted to nothing. they were not now on a missouri river steamboat. jim lane came with them. he remained _incognito_ a few days, and then threw off his disguise, and capt. joe cook was jim lane. and now the old, hard rule of the law of moses, "an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth," was again the law of kansas. it was, "you have robbed us, and we will rob you; you have subsisted yourselves upon us, and we will subsist ourselves on you; you have blockaded the missouri river, and waylaid our freighting trains, and pillaged them of their freight, with intent to starve out the free state people, and all that belongs to you and yours shall be free plunder to us." the places that had been fortified by this "law and order" militia were one by one stormed and the garrisons driven off. franklin was a second time attacked and its occupants taken prisoners. col. titus had fortified his residence in the suburbs of lecompton, and here he kept a company of men that made raids on the surrounding free state inhabitants. this fort was taken by assault, and col. titus and his men were taken prisoners, while major sedjwick, with a company of united states troops, was encamped only two miles away. the citizens of lecompton were frightened out of their wits, and gov. shannon was found under the bank of the kansas river, badly demoralized, and trying to get across the river on an old scow, and thus escape the danger. he came the next day to lawrence, accompanied by maj. sedjwick, to make peace and negotiate an exchange of prisoners, he announced this as his last official act, and exhorted the people in a speech he made to them, to live in peace with each other, while they shouted in angry retort, "give us back barber and the men that have been murdered under your rule." but in spite of all these reverses that had come upon the "law and order" party, they still had faith that providence is on the side of the heaviest battalions, and that they would yet succeed in driving out these free state rebels; and they proceeded to raise, along the missouri border, a larger army than it would be possible for the free state people to raise. did they not have on their side the president and his cabinet? was not congress on their side? was not persifer f. smith, commandant at fort leavenworth, at least indifferent to all their deeds of violence? and more and better, woodson had succeeded shannon as acting governor, and it would be a bad day that should not see the full fruition of their hopes. but there was one thought to mar their otherwise perfect joy, just as providence always pours a drop of bitterness into every cup. a governor unfriendly to their purposes might be appointed, and it became them, therefore, to make hay while the sun was shining. they, therefore, addressed the following pathetic appeal to the people of the south: we have asked the appointment of a successor who was acquainted with our condition; who, a citizen of our territory, identified with its interests, familiar with its history, would not be prejudiced or misled by the falsehoods which have been so systematically fabricated against us. in his stead we have one appointed who is ignorant of our condition, a stranger to our people; who we have too much cause to fear will, if no worse, prove no more efficient to protect us than his predecessors. with, then, a government which has proved imbecile, has failed to enforce the laws for our protection, with our army of lawless banditti overturning our country--what shall we do? though we have full confidence in the integrity and fidelity of mr. woodson, now acting as governor, we know not at what moment his authority will be suspended. we can not await the convenience of the incoming of the newly appointed governor. we can not hazard a second edition of imbecility or corruption. we must act at once, and effectively. these traitors, assassins, and robbers must be punished; must now be taught a lesson they will remember. it is, then, not only the right, but the duty of all good citizens of missouri and every other state to come to our assistance, and enable us to expel these invaders. mr. woodson, since the resignation of governor shannon, has fearlessly met the responsibilities of the trust forced upon him, has proclaimed the existence of the rebellion, and called on the militia of the territory to assemble for its suppression. we call on you to come, to furnish us assistance in men, provisions, and munitions, that we may drive out the army of the north, who would subvert our government and expel us from our homes. chapter xix. gov. shannon left the territory a disgraced and ruined man. he had proved himself, both to the free state party and the law and order party, a broken staff that pierces the hand of him that leans on it. mr. woodson, who took his place as acting governor, showed himself hale fellow well met with such spirits as sheriff jones and judge lecompte; and this faction made piteous appeals to the great father at washington to give them a man after their own heart, and this they found in john calhoun, surveyor-general of kansas and nebraska, whose official patronage made him a man of considerable influence, and whose freighting outfit, kept for his peculiar business, would have made him eminently useful to this party in the transportation of military stores. but their appeal had been denied them, and instead of surveyor-general calhoun, mr. geary, of pennsylvania, had been appointed. that great party, of which the president was the official head, was convulsed with such internal feuds and contentions, consequent on these very kansas troubles, as threatened its existence. a presidential election was pending, and attention must be paid to this fact, rather than to the desperate schemes of this kansas faction. john w. geary was, therefore, announced as the appointee of the president. mr. g. came with high claims to public favor. he had passed through the mexican war with honor; he had discharged high public trust in california with such fidelity and skill as won for him a distinguished reputation. he was the friend, and almost the neighbor, of the incoming president, james buchanan, and he enjoyed the confidence of the outgoing president, franklin pierce; and was closeted with him and with his secretary of state, mr. marcy, before leaving washington. that nothing might be wanting to his success, he spent a day at jefferson city, mo., with gov. sterling price, and with him arranged to have the blockade removed from the missouri river. mr. geary met at glasgow, mo., the retiring ex-governor, and dr. gihon reports that he was fleeing in terror that his life would be taken by the men for whom he had been such an abject tool. while these parting ceremonies were being performed a steamboat bound down the river, and directly from kansas, came along side the keystone. ex-governor shannon was a passenger, who, upon learning the close proximity of gov. geary, sought an immediate interview with him. the ex-governor was greatly agitated. he had fled in haste and terror from the territory, and still seemed laboring under an apprehension for his personal safety. his description of kansas was suggestive of everything that is frightful and horrible. its condition was deplorable in the extreme. the whole territory was in a state of insurrection, and a destructive civil war was devastating the country. murder ran rampant, and the roads were everywhere strewn with the bodies of slaughtered men. dr. gihon afterwards published a small volume of pages, from which the preceding extract has been taken. the work is entitled "governor geary's administration in kansas." this work does not bear the sign manual of gov. geary, but as it was written by the governor's private secretary, it must be taken as an authentic statement of what these gentlemen saw with their own eyes, and heard with their own ears, as touching the condition of things in the territory. dr. gihon gives the following testimony concerning the troubles in and around leavenworth and their cause: after the removal of shannon on the st of august, when secretary woodson became acting governor until the arrival of gov. geary in september, the belligerents had matters pretty much their own way, and the ruffians improved the time, under pretense of authority from woodson, to perpetrate with impunity the most shocking barbarities. during this time gen. smith received much censure from the free state people. emory, wilkes, stringfellow and others were driving these from their homes in leavenworth, and many of them fled in terror for protection within the enclosures of the fort; when the general caused hand-bills to be posted over the grounds commanding them to leave before a certain specified time, and gave orders to his subordinates to enforce this command. these unfortunate people, among whom were men of the highest respectability, and even women and children, were compelled, some of them without money or suitable clothing, to take to the prairies, exposed at every step to the danger of being murdered by scouting or marauding parties, or at the risk of their lives effect their escape upon the downward-bound boats. some of these were shot in the attempt upon the river banks, whilst others were seized at kansas city and other missouri towns, brought back as prisoners, and disposed of in such a manner as will only be made known at that great day when all human mysteries will be revealed. captain frederick emory, a united states mail contractor, rendered himself conspicuous in leavenworth at the head of a band of ruffians mostly from western missouri. they entered houses, stores and dwellings of free state people, and in the name of "law and order" abused and robbed the occupants, and drove them out into the roads, irrespective of age, sex or condition. under pretense of searching for arms, they approached the house of william phillips, the lawyer who had been previously tarred and feathered and carried to missouri. phillips, supposing he was to be subjected to a similar outrage, and resolved not to submit to the indignity, stood upon his defense. in repelling the assaults of the mob, he killed two of them, when the others burst into the house, and poured a volley of balls into his body, killing him instantly in the presence of his wife and another lady. his brother, who was also present, had an ana broken with bullets, and was compelled to submit to an amputation. fifty of the free state prisoners were then driven on board the polar star, bound for st. louis. on the next day a hundred more were embarked by emory and his men on the steamboat emma. at this time civil war raged in all the populous districts. womi n and children had fled from the territory. no man's life was safe, and every person, when he lay down to rest at night, bolted and barred his doors, and fell asleep grasping firmly his pistol, gun or knife. emory's company were all mounted on "pressed" horses, the owners of some of which were present to point out and claim them; but as there existed no courts or judges from whom the necessary legal process could be obtained, and as gen. smith would not listen to their complaints, they had no means by which to recover their property. emory and his company held their headquarters at leavenworth city, whence they sallied into the surrounding country to "press," _not steal,_ the horses, cattle, wagons and other property of free state men. it was during these excursions that major sackett, of the united states army, found in the road near leavenworth city a number of the bodies of men who had been seized, robbed, murdered and mutilated, and left unburied by the wayside. on the th of august, , a shocking affair occurred in the neighborhood of leavenworth. two ruffians sat at a table in a low groggery, imbibing potations of bad whisky. one of them, named fugert, bet his companion six dollars against a pair of boots that he would go out and in less than two hours bring in the scalp of an abolitionist. he went into the road, and, meeting a mr. hoppe, who was in his carriage just returning to leavenworth from a visit to lawrence, where he had conveyed his wife, fugert deliberately shot him; then, taking out his bowie knife, whilst his victim was still alive, he cut and tore off his scalp from his quivering head. leaving the body of hoppe lying in the road, he elevated his bloody trophy upon a pole, and paraded it through the streets of leavenworth. on the same day a teamster, who was approaching leavenworth, was murdered and scalped by another human monster. a poor german, when the scalp of hoppe was brought into leavenworth, was impudent enough to express his horror of the shocking deed, when he was ordered to run for his life--in attempting which a number of bullets sped after him, and he fell dead in the street. chapter xx. in the month of august, , a company of so-called territorial militia established themselves at hickory point, jefferson county, about twenty miles north of lawrence, and proceeded to make raids on the free state settlements. in one of these raids they pillaged the village of grasshopper falls, robbing the stores of their contents. gen. lane and captains harvey and bickerton determined to attack and dislodge these marauders. but on the th of september gov. geary, having arrived at lecompton, issued a proclamation ordering all armed bands of men, whether known as territorial militia or free state guerrillas, to disperse and retire to their homes. gen. lane determined at once to leave the territory, and sent a message to that effect to capt. harvey, who had arranged to unite his command with that of gen. lane in an attack on hickory point; but the messenger failed to meet harvey, who made the attack alone and captured these robbers. but harvey's men were in their turn taken prisoners by a company of united states troops and were conveyed to lecompton and kept during the winter as treason prisoners. but while the free state forces were thus being scattered, disbanded and taken prisoners, by virtue of gov. geary's proclamation, an army of , men had been enlisted in missouri and along the border towns, and were marching to destroy lawrence and wipe out the free state settlements. delilah bound samson with cords, then said, "the philistines be upon thee, samson"; and so these "law and order" leaders saw the free state forces dispersed by the governor's proclamation, and then thought to bring on the helpless settlements the whole power of this missouri invasion. but we will let mr. geary's private secretary tell the story in his own way: but the most reprehensible character in the drama being enacted was the secretary of the territory, then acting governor. more than three weeks after gov. geary had received his commission and secretary woodson had every reason to believe that he was on his way to the territory, that weak-minded, if not criminally defective, officer issued the following proclamation: whereas, satisfactory evidence exists that the territory of kansas is infested with large bodies of armed men: now, therefore, i, daniel woodson, acting governor of the territory of kansas, do issue my proclamation declaring the said territory to be in a state of open insurrection and rebellion, and i do hereby call upon all law-abiding citizens of the territory to rally to the support of the country and its laws. not satisfied with the proclamation, which of itself was sufficiently mischievous, he wrote private letters to parties in missouri calling for men, money and munitions of war. this proclamation and these letters called together thousands of men, mostly from missouri, with passions inflamed to the highest degree, and whose only thought was wholesale slaughter and destruction. it was the fixed purpose of secretary woodson to keep gov. geary in ignorance of the extensive preparations that were being made to attack and destroy the free state settlements. as yet the governor had not seen woodson's proclamation. governor geary issued the follow-orders: adjt. gen. h. j. strickler:--you will proceed without a moment's delay to disarm and disband the present organized militia of the territory. notwithstanding the positive character of these orders they were utterly disregarded. suspecting that treachery was somewhere at work he forthwith dispatched confidential messengers on the road to westport to ascertain, if possible, what operations were going forward in that vicinity. messengers were constantly arriving from lawrence bringing intelligence that a large army from missouri was encamped on the wakarusa river and was hourly expected to attack the town. as these men were styled territorial militia and were called into service by the late acting governor woodson, gov. geary commanded that officer to take with him adjutant-general strickler with an escort of united states troops and disband, in accordance with the proclamation issued, the forces that had so unwisely been assembled. woodson and strickler left lecompton in the afternoon, and reached the missouri camp early in the evening. here woodson found it impossible to accomplish the object of his mission. no attention or respect was paid to him by those having command of the forces. the army he had gathered refused to acknowledge his authority. he had raised a storm, the elements of which he was powerless to control; neither could the officers be assembled to receive the governor's orders from the adjutant-general. the militia had resolved not to disband, the officers refused to listen to the reading of the proclamation--they were determined upon accomplishing the bloody work they had entered the territory to perform. nothing but the destruction of lawrence and the other free state towns, the massacre of the free state residents, and the appropriation of their lands and other property, could satisfy them. mr. adams, who accompanied secretary woodson to the missouri camp, dispatched the following: lawrence, o'clock midnight, sept. , . to his excellency, gov. geary: sir:--_secretary woodson thought you had better come to the camp of the militia as soon as you can_. theodore adams. before this dispatch reached lecompton the governor had departed with three hundred united states mounted troops and a battery of light artillery, and arrived in lawrence early in the morning, where he found matters precisely as described. skillfully stationing his troops outside the town, in commanding positions, to prevent a collision between the invading forces from missouri and the citizens, he entered lawrence alone, and there he beheld a sight which would have aroused the manhood of the most stolid mortal. about three hundred persons were found in arms, determined to sell their lives at the dearest price to their ruffian enemies. among these were many women, and children of both sexes, armed with guns and otherwise accoutered for battle. they had been goaded to this by the courage of despair. gov. geary addressed the armed citizens of lawrence, and when he assured them of his and the law's protection they offered to deposit their arms at his feet and return to their respective habitations. he bade them go to their homes in confidence, and to carry their arms with them, as the constitution guarantees that right, but to use them only in the last resort to protect their lives and property and the chastity of their females. early in the morning of the th, having left the troops to protect the town, the governor proceeded alone to the camp of the invading forces, then within three miles and drawn up in line of battle. before reaching franklin, he met the advance guard, and upon inquiring who they were and what were their objects, received for answer that they were the territorial militia, and called into service by the governor of kansas, and that they were marching to wipe out lawrence and every abolitionist in the country. mr. geary informed them that he was now governor of kansas, and commander-in-chief of the territorial militia, and ordered the officer in command to countermarch his troops back to the main line, and conduct him to the center, which order, after some hesitation, was reluctantly obeyed. the red face of the rising sun was just peering over the top of blue mound, as the governor, with his strange escort of three hundred mounted men, with red shirts and odd-shaped hats, descended upon the wakarusa plain, where in battle array were ranged at least three thousand armed and desperate men. they were not dressed in the usual habiliments of soldiers, but in every imaginable costume that could be obtained in the western region. most of them were mounted, and manifested an unmistakable disposition to be at their bloody work. in the back-ground stood at least three hundred army tents and as many wagons, while here and there a cannon was planted ready to aid in the anticipated destruction. among the banners floated black flags, to indicate the design that neither age, sex nor condition would be spared in the slaughter that was to ensue. in passing along the lines murmurs of discontent and savage threats of assassination fell upon the governor's ears, but heedless of these and regardless, in fact, of everything but a desire to avert the terrible calamity that was impending, he fearlessly proceeded to the quarters of their leader. this threatening army was under the command of john w. reed, then and now a member of the missouri legislature, assisted by ex-senator atchison, gen. b. f. stringfellow, gen. l. a. maclean, gen. j. w. whitfield, gen. george w. clarke, gens. william a. heiskell, wm. h. richardson and f. a. marshal, col. h. t. titus, capt. frederick emory and others. gov. geary at once summoned the officers together, and addressed them at length and with great feeling. he depicted in a forcible manner the improper position they occupied and the untold horrors that would result from a consummation of their cruel designs; that if they persisted in their mad career the entire union would be involved in a civil war, and thousands and tens of thousands of innocent lives be sacrificed. to atchison he particularly addressed himself, telling him that when he last saw him he was acting as vice-president of the nation and president of the most dignified body of men in the world, the senate of the united states, but now with sorrow and pain he saw him leading on to a civil and disastrous war an army of men with uncontrollable passions, and determined upon wholesale slaughter and destruction. he concluded his remarks by directing attention to his proclamation, and ordered the army to be disbanded and dispersed. some of the more judicious of the officers were not only willing but anxious to obey this order, while others, resolved upon mischief, yielded a reluctant assent. chapter xxi. it is now one-third of a century since kansas began to be settled. great as has been the progress of the states of this union within this period, the progress of kansas has been exceptionally and peculiarly so. its chief glory is not in its large agricultural and mineral resources; it is not in its railroads and lines of telegraph; it is not in the rapidly increasing population of educated men and women, but it is in this, that it was not only the first state in the nation, but the first commonwealth in the world, to solve the problem of the drink evil, the giant curse of christendom, by incorporating prohibition into its fundamental law. in union there is strength. jesus said so. he said, "every kingdom divided against itself is brought to desolation." and so evidently does this principle commend itself to the common sense of men, that we have engraved on our national ensign the motto, "_e pluribus unum_" --one out of many. how did such growth in kansas come to be? not in division, but in union. we have thought it would do us good to look squarely in the face that hard, cruel, and bloody period when it seemed the business of the people to cut each other's throats. but cutting each other's throats does not create such growth as we have had in kansas. two peoples came together in kansas, one from the south and one from the north. they were of one original stock, but circumstances had intervened and made them two peoples. for two years this bloody strife had been going on. it is said that in revolutions men live fast. it was two years, if we count the time by the revolutions of the earth around the sun, but if we count by the experience men had gained, it was many years. dr. gihon tells that when gov. geary disbanded this missouri army on the wakarusa, there grew up a marked antagonism of sentiment among its leaders. he says: "some of the more judicious of the officers were not only willing but anxious to obey this order, whilst others, resolved upon mischief, yielded a very reluctant assent." there was really a large majority that accepted the result with hearty good will, but there was also a small and malcontent minority determined on mischief. gen. b. f. stringfellow, because of the vehement zeal with which he had addicted himself to the enterprise of making kansas a slave state, had won for himself a national notoriety. he had staked life and good fame and everything on the final issue of his work, yet himself and his law partner, peter t. abell, went back from the wakarusa never to lift a finger again in that business. mr. s. is a high-spirited, hot-blooded, proud-spirited virginian. his law partner, col. abell, had a temper as unbending as andrew jackson, and did to the day of his death hold a faith in the institution of slavery as abiding as john c. calhoun. but he was a wise and a just man, and both himself and mr. stringfellow recognized the fact that, with such a population as had come into kansas, its becoming a free state was only a question of time; and both these men were too sagacious to be found fighting against fate. mr. s. had always relished a joke, and, when rallied by his friends on his sudden abandonment of this enterprise, he facetiously replied: "yes, i did try to make kansas a slave state; but i could not do it without slaves, and the south would not send slaves, and so i had to give it up." from the time these gentlemen returned from the wakarusa there was a general softening of the asperities of feeling of the people of atchison and vicinity, and one year after they were prepared to announce to the free state people, "you deal fairly with us, and we will deal fairly with you"--and they made their words good by deeds, for they took free state men into partnership with themselves in the management of the atchison town company. but by this change robert s. kelley found "othello's occupation gone," and the control of the _squatter sovereign_ passed into the hands of john a. martin, now governor of kansas, and "bob kelley" shook off the dust of his feet and walked away, respected for his bravery and for his outspoken honesty and sincerity, even by those that did not love him. the writer will tell of his last interview with the south carolinians in a future chapter of these recollections. peter t. abell and gen. b. f. stringfellow were state's rights men in their political opinions, and, therefore, according to the light that was in them, owed their allegiance to the state of kansas; and from that allegiance they never swerved to the breadth of a hair. still, the people of the south were their brethren, and they gave to them their profoundest sympathy during that bloody struggle that was to decide whether the south should be an independent nation. let us admit that this did put these gentlemen in a strait betwixt two, like paul, the apostle, but they never swerved to the right hand nor to the left. we have, with some particularity, drawn out the history of the two most distinguished of the southern leaders, because that, with slight change, it would be the biography of a great number of citizens of kansas that came from the south. now, who does not see that here is the basis of hearty co-operation, whether in the church or in the world, of men from the south or from the north? provided always we can take into our hearts the law of love: "all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them; for this is the law and the prophets." in further illustration of this remark we will relate an incident concerning a disciple, who will come prominently before us in the formation of our first missionary society. spartan rhea was from missouri, and belonged to a family intensely southern in their convictions. he was commissioned a justice of the peace by the territorial authorities. a horse had been stolen by the kickapoo rangers from gains jenkins, of lawrence. gov. geary requested bro. rhea to recover the horse, and he did so with some peril to himself, and made a journey to lawrence to restore the animal to its proper owner. he sought to make it evident that the men of his party wanted justice done. but dr. gihon also tells us that there was at the wakarusa a small faction of irreconcilables, who, if they could do nothing else, could at least curse. "gen. clarke said he was for pitching into the united states troops rather than abandon the objects of the expedition. gen. maclean didn't see any use of going back until they had whipped the abolitionists. sheriff jones was in favor, now that they had sufficient force, of wiping out lawrence and all the free state towns. and these and others cursed gov. geary for his interference in their well-laid plans. "the broad ground assumed by these rabid leaders of the pro-slavery party in kansas was, that an equilibrium of the slave power must be maintained at any sacrifice in the american union, and this could only be effected by increasing the slave states in proportion with the free. whilst, therefore, the south was willing to give nebraska to the north, they demanded that kansas should be ceded to the south. it was of little consequence what number of northern men located in kansas--they had no right to come unless with the intention to make it a slave state." this malcontent minority did, therefore, become a dangerous and revolutionary faction, entertaining criminal purposes, which they were ready to carry out by desperate methods. they were also in possession of dangerous elements of power. they controlled the territorial legislature, and all the territorial judges were parties in this conspiracy. dr. gihon testifies that "every federal officer in the territory, and every territorial officer from the supreme judges to the deputy marshals, sheriffs and clerks, were wedded to the slave power, and pledged at all hazards to its extension." but daylight had already begun to dawn. some of the wisest pro-slavery men in the territory were beginning to call a halt, and to say: "we will travel no further in this road in which we are being led by these desperate and scheming adventurers." chapter xxii. gov. geary had won ripe and rich honors from the people of this nation in the official positions he had heretofore held, and which he had discharged with such eminent ability. the position of the governor of kansas, as seen from afar, and under the _glamour_ that surrounded it, was a position of high honor. every child has heard the story of old "blue beard," how that, having married a number of wives who had mysteriously disappeared, he courted and married a beautiful young lady, possessing every accomplishment that can give grace and attractiveness to a woman, and had carried her to his castle, where she should have at her disposal an unlimited amount of money and be served by obsequious servants, and stand on a level with all the fine ladies and gentlemen in the land. old blue beard gave to her the keys unlocking all the rooms in his castle, but said to her, "there is one key, unlocking one door, into one room, and into that room you must in nowise enter." but, overcome by her woman's curiosity, she did unlock that door and enter that room, and there she beheld the horrid sight of all the murdered wives of the wicked old blue beard, hanging and rotting on its walls, and now this was also to be her sad fate. kansas was becoming the graveyard of territorial governors. reeder and shannon had already lost their official heads. within six months gov. geary's head was also to drop into the basket. three more governors were to succeed him, each one of whom should in his turn lose his official head. gov. geary's position was indeed very like that of the wife of the wicked blue beard, only that she had certainly some advantages over the governor. she had a great and fine castle, rich and costly dresses, many servants ready to come and go at her beck and call, and the company of great lords and fine ladies; but when gov. geary came to his castle, his private secretary shall tell us what he found: lecompton is situated on the south side of the kansas river, upon as inconvenient and inappropriate a site for a town as any in the territory. it was chosen simply for speculative purposes. it contained, at the time of gov. geary's arrival, some twenty or more houses, the majority of which were employed as groggeries of the lowest description. it was the residence of the celebrated sheriff jones, who is one of the leading members of this town association, and was the resort of horse-thieves and ruffians of the most desperate character. its drinking saloons were infested by these characters, whose drunkenness, gambling, fighting, and all sorts of crime, were indulged in with impunity. here was congregated, and here was the headquarters of, that band of desperate men, who were in a conspiracy to make kansas a slave state at whatever cost of blood, of fraud, or violence. here the territorial legislature met to enact their bloody code of laws, and here the territorial judges held their courts, which were a burlesque on the very name of a civilized and christian jurisprudence; and here, also, were kept the treason prisoners, while atrocious murderers were not molested, because they were "sound on the goose question." we have already told how harvey's men, that had attacked and taken prisoners the "law and order" robbers that pillaged the defenseless village of grasshopper falls, were themselves taken prisoners by the united states troops. these were tried for treason in the pro-slavery courts, and were condemned to various terms of imprisonment, varying from six months to six years. they were kept in a wretched, old, tumbledown house, without doors or windows, during the bitter cold of a kansas winter, guarded by "law and order" militia, exposed to every insult, wallowing in filth, and eaten up with lice. but there was one circumstance to mitigate their hapless condition--their jailer was a good-hearted, honest kentuckian, who had humanity enough to pity them, and bravery enough to do what he could to mitigate the hardships of their lot. their hard-hearted judges had condemned them to wear a ball and chain; but gov. geary refused to provide balls and chains for them, and the honest capt. hampton refused to fasten these symbols of degradation on the limbs of men he knew to be decent american citizens; and thereat sheriff jones became furious. the facts of the case were just these: all the people were, so to speak, fighting. the governor issued his proclamation. these hickory point "law and order" militia were simply robber banditti, and captain harvey and his company thought they ought to be "cleaned out," and proceeded to do so, and this act, though intrinsically it was a righteous act, yet technically, laid them open to the law. this happened on the th of september, but up to the th of september , "law and order" militia, coming into kansas as outside invaders, refused to be disbanded by the governor's proclamation, and both before and after continued the business of murder and robbery. yet this was nothing, because these were "law and order" men. the other was treason, for these were free state men fighting for their homes and firesides. but capt. hampton saw the matter just as it was, and acted accordingly. dr. gihon testified of these treason prisoners, "these prisoners were not all rough and desperate adventurers. some of them were gentlemen of polished education." the sunlight may sparkle and shimmer on the surface of the foul and putrid marsh, noxious with offensive and poisonous exhalations--so dr. gihon throws a kind of grim and ghastly humor over his narrative of the repulsive and brutal surroundings of himself and governor geary during the winter they were imprisoned at lecompton. the doctor tells the following story at the expense of a southern gentleman: a good anecdote is told by a gentleman from one of the southern states, in regard to these free state prisoners, when under the charge of captain hampton. having expressed a desire to see these robbers and murderers, as he styled them, the governor directed him to the prison. he immediately started, and looking in vain for anything that resembled a prison, he approached two men who were enjoying themselves with a game of quoits. "can you tell me," he inquired, "where the prison is where these robbers and murderers are confined?" "that's it," said one of the men, pointing to a house near at hand. "what! that old building, falling to pieces, without either doors or windows?" "that is the only prison we have here," replied the man, deliberately pitching his quoit. "well," said the southern gentleman, "i want to see these prisoners." "i am one of them," said the quoit-player, "and that is another," pointing to his companion. "what! you convicted felons? you the terrible murderers about whom i have heard so much?" "yes, we are certainly two of them. the others are gone over to the house of representatives, to hear the members abuse the governor." "but," says the old gentleman, "they don't allow convicted murderers to go about in this way, without a guard to watch them?" "o! yes," says the man interrogated; "they used to send a guard with us when we went over to the legislative halls, to protect us against violence from the members, but they found that too troublesome, so they gave each of us a revolver and bowie-knife, and told us we should hereafter be required to protect ourselves." "but why don't you run away? there is nothing to prevent you." "why, to tell the truth, we have often been persuaded to do that, but then these rascally legislators have been threatening to assassinate the governor, and we have determined to remain here to watch them and protect him." the old gentleman had no desire to see any more of these thieves, murderers and assassins. there are those who find a spanish bull fight or a civilized american boxing match very enjoyable events. such men would have found great enjoyment in one incident that served to enliven the monotony of the winter's residence of the governor at lecompton. there was one sherrard who came from virginia. he was of a good family, but strong drink had been his ruin. he had been appointed by the legislature sheriff of douglas county in place of s. t. jones, who for some reason was to go out of office. the governor refused to commission this sherrard because he was a drunkard, a brawler, and a cursing, swearing, gambling ruffian and bully. this made sherrard furious, and sheriff zones and all his crowd of bullies were furious with him. then sherrard tried to raise a row by insulting individuals in the personal service of the governor. this failing, sherrard spit in the governor's face; but mr. geary, mindful of the dignity of his office, and that it did not become the governor of kansas to get into a brawl with a common blackguard, walked straight on. afterwards sherrard, who kept himself crazy drunk, provoked a general affray in a large company of men, in which pistols were fired in every direction; when john a, w. jones, the young man on gov. geary's staff whom sherrard had assaulted a few days before, shot him in the forehead. chapter xxiii. one circumstance at last brought to a sudden close gov. geary's term of office. when he had disbanded the three thousand "law and order" militia that were to attack lawrence, that part of them known as the kickapoo rangers were returning home by way of lecompton. one of this number went into a field where "a poor, inoffensive, lame young man" named david c. buffum was plowing, and demanded his horses. buffum protested against this robbery, but the wretch shot buffum and took the horses. the unhappy man gave the following account of the matter: "they asked me for my horses. i told them i was a cripple--a poor lame man--that i had an aged father, a deaf and dumb brother, and two sisters, all depending on me for a living, and my horses were all i had. one of them said i was a abolitionist, and, taking me by the shoulder, he shot me." gov. geary was returning to lecompton, and hearing of what had been done, he called with judge cato at buffum's house, and by the governor's direction judge cato took the dying man's deposition. gov. geary was terribly shocked, and said to himself, "i never witnessed a scene that filled me with so much horror." mr. geary sent a detective on the track of the kickapoo rangers, and found that the murderer was one charley hayes, living in atchison county. he had the horses still in his possession. the governor ordered his arrest, and the grand jury found a bill against him of murder in the first degree. meantime the free state men came to the governor making a bitter complaint of the persecutions they were suffering. they said, "our relatives and friends are arrested and confined for weeks and months in a filthy prison, not fit for dogs to live in, and are kept without proper food or clothing, and are not allowed to give bail even for bailable offenses; while murderers of the other party are allowed to go at large and no attention is paid to them." they said, "the murderers of dow, barber, brown, phillips, hoppe and buffum, have not even been arrested or examined." the governor replied that he had already ordered the arrest of hayes, and that a grand jury of pro-slavery men had found a true bill against him, and that hayes should be tried for his life. but while he was yet speaking a messenger brought word that judge lecompte had released hayes on bail, and that sheriff jones had gone on his bail bond, a man notoriously not worth a dollar; and this when the crime of murder in the first degree, for which hayes had been indicted, was not a bailable offense. the governor was terribly indignant, and ordered hayes to be re-arrested. but while he was absent at the land sales at fort leavenworth, judge lecompte a second time set this wretch at liberty. mr. geary was provoked beyond endurance, and wrote to the president that he would not remain in office and allow such a scoundrel to be kept in a position to pervert the ways of justice. president pierce nominated c. o. harrison, of kentucky, to take lecompte's place, but for some unexplained cause the appointment was not confirmed in the senate, and judge lecompte retained his place, and in unspeakable disgust gov. geary resigned, making his resignation take effect on march , . thus he had spent a winter in the chamber of death of the wicked old blue beard, but did not lose his official head till spring. the writer was acquainted with the family of this charley hayes. they were decent sort of people; but when a young boy charley went on the plains, where he became a brutal ruffian. a good many years ago there was a story current in atchison county, that when this hayes was acting as wagon-boss on the plains, in a train owned by russell, majors & waddell, that one of the teamsters having offended him he tied him up to a wheel of one of the train wagons, and, holding a pistol in one hand, he cowhided him with his black-snake whip with the other. and this teamster was a white man. but there are avenging furies that follow a man, even though the law does not reach him. there is a man now living in atchison county whose truthfulness has never been questioned, and he stated that he spent a winter in the missouri river bottoms, sleeping in the same cabin with charley hayes, and that it seemed as if the devil had a mortgage on the ruffian's soul, and tormented him in his sleep with images of the horrors that awaited him in the future world. that it seemed as if he was wrestling in mortal struggle with the men he had maltreated and murdered, and that they were choking him to death. hayes afterwards died of a consumption presumably brought on by his dissipated habits and by his debaucheries. meantime the writer had started for illinois the preceding summer, had been prostrated for four weeks with a fever, and late in the autumn of had returned to kansas, there to remain. the times were becoming quiet, the peaceful counsels of such leaders as stringfellow and abell were beginning to take effect, and it evidently would be safe for the writer to go to work on his claim. but he needed a supply of corn, and had to go over into the missouri river bottoms to buy it. a heavy snow had fallen. i had a heavy, well-trained yoke of oxen, and my faithful riding horse was obedient in every place. myself and brother-in-law had made a heavy yankee sled that would hold all the load that was put on it. i borrowed from my neighbor, caleb may, two additional yoke of oxen, but they only knew how to pull in a big freighting team, and were not leaders. but putting my own heavy oxen behind, my wild steers in the middle, and my horse in the lead, i made out a good freighting team. but i had to pass through atchison. the business men of the place had already made this overture to me. they had said: "you can come to atchison during the day time and we will guarantee that you shall not be molested, but we would rather you should not be here in the night. the south carolinians are here, and there are other desperate characters here, and in the night we do not know what might happen." and so, on the strength of such an agreement, i had done business in atchison, and to get my corn across the river had gone over one day and back the next. i had yet one more load of corn to haul. there had been a thaw, and then the snow had frozen again, making it in many places slippery traveling. the river bank, from the top of the bank down to the ice of the river, was about twenty feet, and very steep; and this by much traveling had become a perfect glare of ice, so that teams could not hold their footing at all. i had gone over for my last load one day, intending to return the next day, but i had found unexpected hindrances, and when i got to the east bank of the river opposite atchison, it was sometime after dark. i got down as best i could and crossed over on the ice to the atchison side of the river, and i was now to get up that bank of glare ice. [ ] i placed my sled load of corn at the bottom of the bank, and taking my team up in an unfrequented place, i stationed them on the top of the bank directly above my load of corn at the bottom. before coming over i had cut a long, slender pole in the timbered bottoms, and in view of this contingency had also brought extra chains from home, and by means of the chains and this long pole i hitched my team on the top of the hill to my load of corn at the bottom. the thing worked well, and i had my load well on the top of the bank on the level ground; but here the road turned suddenly to the left close along the river bank, and my horse, too eager to get home, turned too soon, and this brought my sled with a sudden crash against a rock, and down went my load to the bottom of the bank again. a chain had broken, and now my load of corn was left in such a position that i evidently could not get it up again without help. in the hindrances to which i had been subjected it had come to be o'clock. i looked about and saw no light save in a saloon that had been built under the bluff to catch custom, for this was the ferry landing. i do not usually visit saloons, but "necessity knows no law," and i walked in; and whom should i find but grafton thomassen, the man that made the raft on which they sent me down the river, sitting and playing cards with a number of south carolinians! they were thunderstruck, and i have to confess that i was almost as much taken aback as they were. but i spoke to them and said, "gentlemen, good evening." then i explained, as well as i could, what had befallen me, and that i had come in for assistance. but they were dumb--they never spoke a word. i waited till my position became embarrassing, then said, "well, gentlemen, you seem to be busy, and i don't want to interrupt; i will go somewhere else." i had already opened the door when grafton thomassen found his voice and said, "boys, it is not right to leave butler without help. let us go and help him." "yes! yes! yes!" they all cried at once, "we will go and help him." and, springing to their feet, and hastily putting on their overcoats, hats and gloves, they came rushing to the door, saying, "yes! yes! we will help you. what is it we can do for you?" i went with them to the river bank, pointed out my sled loaded with corn on the ice, and explained to them it had to be brought up the bank. they asked incredulously, "an' kin ye haul that thar slide up that slippery bank?" i said, "yes, i have done it once," then i explained how the chain had broken, and how my load of corn had gone down onto the ice again. they exclaimed, "o! well now! we have come all the way from south _carliny_ to see a yankee trick an' haint we got it?" they were eager to help, so as to see the fun. when everything was ready i gave my horse in charge of one of them, saying to him he must in nowise let the horse turn till the load of corn was well up and in the traveled road, then gave the word to start. my team was eager to pull, for they were getting impatient; and in fine style they brought the load up on the level ground, and then immediately were in front of the saloon, and i called a halt. when we got everything fixed i said to them, "gentlemen, i thank you. you have done me a real kindness. but the night is cold."--and handing one of them a piece of silver, i said, "please take that and get something to warm you." he took it and with something of hesitation said, "won't you come in and drink with us?" i replied, "please excuse me. you know me; you know i don't drink. but all the same i want you to take it." he said rather proudly, "we did not work for you for pay. we did it to oblige you." but i insisted. i said, "you did me a real kindness, and i want to do you a kindness in return. i want you to take it." then they bade me good night and went into the saloon. the wind had been rising, and the snow was drifting; and it was evident that in many places the road would be obliterated, and i had a long stretch of prairie to travel over on which there was not a human habitation. it was dangerous to undertake it, and i had to stay in atchison. i found an empty corral, where my teams would be decently sheltered, and went to the only hotel in town. the sleeping room they assigned me was separated from the bar-room only by a thin board partition, and i could hear every word that was said. this hotel was the boarding-place of the south carolinians, and they soon began to drop in from about town, and word was passed among them that butler was in the house. then one fellow, who was decidedly drunk, got turbulent, and protested, with terrible oaths, that such a man should not stay in the house, but that he would go in and drag him out of bed. then another company came in and demanded: "what's all this fussing about?" these were my friends, the south carolinians from under the bluff they heard what this fellow had to say, then said: "this thing has to be dried up." they then told what had happened down at the river, and concluded: "butler is a gentleman. he talks like a gentleman; _he treats like a gentleman_; he came into this house like a gentleman, and we will show him that we are gentlemen." and when the drunken fellow became uproarious they hustled him off to bed. i was evidently among friends, and slept soundly and without apprehension till morning. i never saw my south carolina friends again. they returned home at an early day. they had not made kansas a slave state, but they had seen a yankee trick. chapter xxiv. gov. geary, sick in body and sick at heart, had left the territory in fear of private assassination, his best friends at lecompton being the treason prisoners. these, with something of bitterness, remarked that the governor went away in such haste that he had forgotten to pardon them as he had promised; and thus while he got had out of prison, they still stayed in. the party in power at lecompton had said to the president at washington: "we are sick of northern governors. they won't do to tie to. for pity's sake give us a man from the south." and so a southern governor was given them in the person of robert j. walker. rehoboam, the son of solomon, said to the jews: "my little finger shall be thicker than my father's loins." so this lecompton _party_ found the little finger of this southern governor to be thicker than the loins of gov. geary. mr. w. stood so high in public position that no man stood higher than himself, save alone the president. he had been a senator from mississippi, and had been secretary of the treasury in mr. pierce's cabinet. the complications of this kansas question had become such as to call for a man of the highest rank and ability. the main object of mr. walker's mission to kansas was to induce the free state people to vote at the territorial elections, which alone were appointed by the government at washington, and recognized by it. until he could accomplish this, nothing was done toward the pacification of the territory. to induce them to do this, he pledged to the free state men a fair election. but he found that he was speaking to ears that could not hear. he had said in his inaugural address with all apparent fairness: i can not doubt that the convention, after having framed a state constitution, will submit it for ratification or rejection by a majority of the actual _bona fide_ resident settlers of kansas. with these views well known to the president and cabinet, and approved by them, i accepted the appointment of governor of kansas; my instructions from the president, through the secretary of state, under date of the th of march last, sustain the regular legislature of the territory in assembling a convention to form a constitution, and they express the opinion of the president that when such a constitution shall be submitted to the people of the territory, they must be protected in their right of voting for or against that instrument; and the fair expression of the popular will must not be interrupted by fraud or violence. this seemed very fair, but what did it amount to? the people knew that the governor must consent to be a mere cat's paw and convenience of these conspirators, or else be unceremoniously thrust aside; and that the authorities at washington would sustain them and not him. this had been the fate of reeder, of shannon and of geary, and this also would be the fate of the present governor. dr. gihon, on behalf of mr. geary, had bitterly complained that there was not a single officer in the territory responsible either to the people or to the governor; that all were the appointees of the legislature, and responsible to it alone. the lecompton legislature had passed a bill calling a convention to frame a state constitution; and gov. geary had vetoed the bill because it made no provision for submitting the constitution, when framed, to a vote of the people; and the legislature had passed the bill over his veto, and now what power had gov. walker in the matter more that gov. geary? an event happened at that time that was a nine days' wonder, and a nine days' talk among the people; and yet it does not seem to have been put on record in any extant history of the period. the governor had sought the privilege of addressing the free state people on this question of voting, which he made his hobby. it was at a meeting at big springs. gen. lane was present, as also were a large number of free state men, and the governor had pressed on them, as the only road out of their difficulties, the necessity of voting at those territorial elections, which alone were recognized by the government at washington. gen. lane arose to reply, and in a speech of terrible energy and power he arraigned the lecompton party for all their wrongs and outrages; then, when he had reached the climax of his argument, he leaned forward, and, looking at mr. walker from beneath his shaggy eyebrows with his deepset, piercing black eyes, and shaking at him his long bony finger, his whole frame quivering with passion, he said in his deep guttural tones, which seemed more like the growl of a savage wild beast than the voice of a human being: "_gov-er-nor wal-ker, y-o-u c-a-n-'t con-t-r-ol your allies!_" the effect was prodigious; and the free state men were swept away as with a whirlwind. even gov. walker felt the force of the appeal. but he showed himself a brave man; and came back resolutely to the battle. he said: "_i am your governor!_ you must admit that i have at least a _legal_ right to control my allies, so far as to give you a fair election; and i pledge you my word and honor that i will do it. now try me! and see if i do not keep my word!" the free state men began to falter and to ask each other, "is it not best to try the governor, and see if he will be as good as his word?" and from this time forward there began to appear a division in the free state ranks; which sometimes grew to be bitter and acrimonious. this division had indeed begun to appear one year before, when on the fourth of july col. sumner had dispersed the free state legislature at topeka. gov. robinson was at that time a prisoner, and was, therefore, not present; but he said in his next annual message as free state governor: when your bodies met, pursuant to adjournment, in july last, your assembly was interfered with and broken up by a large force of united states troops in battle array, who drove you hence, in gross violation of those constitutional rights _which it was your duty to have protected_. wm. a. phillips, correspondent of the _new york tribune,_ and afterwards a member of congress, was a man terribly in earnest, and he did, on the above-named fourth of july, in a speech, take the position that we ought to fight for our rights and defy col. sumner and his dragoons. the men that demanded that we should fight said: "we can take possession of the houses and fire out of the windows, and thus avoid the onset of col. sumner's cavalry." but the majority said: "we are loyal to the old flag, and in no case, and under no circumstances will be found fighting against it." it was this more conservative majority that began to demand that the free state men should listen to gov. walker's overtures and vote at the coming election. gen. lane had been uncompromising in defying the territorial laws. he had said: "gov. walker has said, 'vote next week.' what for? have we not made our constitution? and do not the people of freedom like it? can't we submit this to the people, and who wants another?" but now he had become at the first reticent, and finally said: "vote." this singular man that constantly kept on exhibiting his desperate determination to resist the bogus laws, really kept in his heart the one supreme purpose to make himself the oracle of the prevailing sentiment among the free state men. when, therefore, gen. lane said, "let us vote," it was good evidence that this had become the prevailing sentiment among the free state party. a convention was held at grasshopper falls, august , , at which this was the main question, and it was decided in favor of voting at the coming election of territorial officers. the hon. henry wilson had recently visited kansas from massachusetts, and he had earnestly entreated the free state men to vote. phillips, conway and redpath still protested against it. gov. robinson, however, gave his voice in favor of voting. an election had already been-held june th to elect delegates to the lecompton constitutional convention, at which the free state men had taken no part. fifteen free state counties had in this election been disfranchished, no election having been ordered in them. at the election of territorial officers, held october , , both parties turned out the free state men cast , votes for the territorial legislature. the lecompton party was reported to have cast , votes. but though the free state men had a numerical majority of votes, yet the districts had been so arranged that the above returns gave a majority in the legislature to the lecompton party. johnson county, bordering on missouri, had been united in one district with douglas county, in which lawrence is situated, and this district had been given eight members. oxford precinct, in johnson county, was a place of not over a dozen houses, and polled votes for township officers, yet it reported , votes for the lecompton party. when, however, gov. walker and mr. stanton came to canvass the votes they threw out this oxford vote. they also set aside , fraudulent votes in mcgee county. the vote at kickapoo, equally fraudulent, was also set aside. this gave a majority to the free state party in the lecompton territorial legislature, and thus gov. walker redeemed his pledge that the people should have a fair election. judge cato felt that it was time to come to the rescue of his friends, and issued a writ directed to "robert j. walker, governor of kansas territory, and frederick p. stanton, secretary of the same," commanding these gentlemen to issue certificates of election to the men who appeared to be elected according to the original returns. gov. walker good-naturedly refused to obey the order of the court, offering to submit to arrest for contempt of court, and tendering the judge _a. posse_ of united states troops to aid in making the arrest. the judge began to see that he had been making a fool of himself, and dropped the subject. these territorial judges had shown themselves capable of any excess of villainy, and had been a sure refuge in every time of trouble to this lecompton party; but even the courts had now failed them, and these "border ruffian" judges were only laughed at by this southern governor. one year before, these conspirators had assembled an army to drive out the free state settlers, and to give the territory into the hands of the south; but gov. geary had interfered to thwart their purpose, and, what was worse, a majority of the leaders of that army, men of note along the missouri border, had declared themselves in sympathy with mr. geary. then they had asked for a southern governor, for would not he be true to the south? and now even this man had failed them, and had given the control of the territorial legislature into the hands of the philistines! they were indeed in evil case. it seemed as if heaven and earth had combined against them, and that only hell was on their side. one last chance remained. if this was a desperate chance, it must be remembered they were playing a desperate game--they would make kansas a slave state in spite of the governor, in spite of the territorial legislature, and in spite of the people of kansas. chapter xxv. the convention that had been called to frame a state constitution, and in which election the free state men had taken no part, had met to do its work in september of , and finished in november; but to the last it refused to make provision to submit the constitution, when framed, to a vote of the people, for acceptance or rejection. but in place of this thing, had virtually said to them: "you must accept this constitution whether you like it or not. we will allow you to vote _for_ the constitution with slavery; or, _for_ the constitution without slavery; but you must vote in every contingency _for_ the constitution." but admitting the people had voted for the constitution _without_ slavery, still a trap was set for them in the following proviso, which would still remain an integral part of the constitution. "if, upon such examination of such poll-books it shall appear that a majority of the legal votes cast at said election be in favor of the 'constitution with no slavery,' then the article providing for slavery shall be stricken from this constitution, and slavery shall no longer exist in the state of kansas; _except that the right of property in slaves now in this territory shall in no manner be interfered with_." thus, which ever way they should vote, kansas would still remain a slave state. of course the free state men did not walk into the trap, but staid away from the election, which was ordered for december , ; and the constitution was adopted by a strictly one-sided vote. and now gov. walker began to realize in the bitterness of his heart that "uneasy lies the head of him that wears a crown." he had staked his manhood, his veracity, his honor, his everything, that this constitution, when framed, should be submitted to a vote of the people for acceptance or rejection, and now he was to be put to shame in the eyes of the whole world; and gen. lane was proved a true prophet when he had said to the governor with such withering power: "gov. walker, you can't control your allies." mr. walker was able to show a private letter from president buchanan, assuring him in the most positive terms, that this constitution, when framed, should be submitted to a vote of the people; but of what avail was such a promise? there was a power behind the throne at washington stronger than the throne itself; and gov. w. was able to see what a hollow mockery was that power which he supposed himself to possess. the governor made known to the people that he would be absent on business for three or four weeks; and he went away to washington, never more to return. there was neither pity nor justice for him there; and in unspeakable disgust he resigned; and mr. stanton took the oath of office and reigned as governor _for one month_. then he also was removed, and gov. denver took his place. thus, five kansas governors had each in their turn been officially decapitated. stanton had been superseded by denver because he had called a special session of the now free state legislature, and it had ordered an immediate election to vote for or against the lecompton constitution, and at this election , votes were polled against it. it had been intended that under whip and spur kansas should be admitted by congress as a slave state before the time should arrive for the regular assembling of the territorial legislature, which had now passed into the hands of the free state men; but by calling a special session of the legislature, he had enabled that body to order an immediate election, that should give official evidence that an overwhelming majority of the people were opposed to the lecompton constitution. and now stephen a. douglas, at washington, came forward as state senator from illinois and made it impossible that kansas should be admitted as a state unless that document should first be submitted to the people for acceptance or rejection. a bill to this effect was finally passed by congress. it was called the english bill. it proffered a magnificent bribe if the people would accept the lecompton constitution--five million five hundred thousand acres of public land should be given to kansas; besides other munificent donations. but the english bill also contained a menace as well as a bribe. it threatened that if the people rejected this offer they should be remanded back for an indefinite period, to all the miseries of a territorial life. in the face of such a menace, and tempted by such a bribe, the whole voting population of the territory turned out at the election, which was ordered to be held august , . at this election, , votes were cast for the constitution, and , against it. from whence then came this overwhelming majority? the majority of the free state party was about two to one. "wilder's annals," the best extant free state authority, puts it at this. "the free state or republican party has carried every election in kansas since this date ( ), usually by two to one." but here is a majority of six to one; and we must go outside of the free state or republican party to find it. dr. john h. stringfellow wrote at this time to the washington union against the admission of kansas under the lecompton constitution. he says: "to do so will break down the democratic party at the north, and seriously endanger the interests and peace of missouri and kansas, if not of the whole union." judge tutt, of st. joseph, mo., had said to the south carolinians: "i was born in virginia, and have lived forty years in missouri. i am a slave-holder, and a pro-slavery man; and i desire kansas to be made a slave state, _if it can be done by honorable means_. but you will break down the cause you are seeking to build up." and judge tutt voiced the sentiments of a large number of pro-slavery men and slave-holders in kansas. the city of atchison gave a majority of votes against the lecompton constitution; and atchison county gave a majority of almost three to one against it; and leavenworth city, which two years before had been the theater of such murders, riots and robberies, gave a majority against the proposition of the english bill of more than ten to one, notwithstanding the huge bribe offered if the people would accept it. we are writing these "recollections" for posterity as well as for the present generation. it is only the verdict of posterity that will justly estimate the men and the influences that went to make up the final result of the early kansas struggle. up to the present time the writers that have written on this subject have been too near the battle, and themselves too much a party in it, to write with perfect impartiality. southern and pro-slavery writers and speakers have not been able to admit that southern men were the original wrong-doers; while northern and free state writers have not been able to rise to the level of such fair dealing, as to admit that when the decisive vote was cast that determined the question of freedom and slavery in kansas, as absolutely as it had already been determined in ohio, indiana and illinois, the free state people were indebted to the nobility of heart and elevation of mind, displayed by southern and pro-slavery men in making the vote so overwhelming as to put the question beyond the possibility of controversy forever; yet this was done in the unprecedented vote of six to one, cast in condemnation of the lecompton constitution. from this time forward the two parties that had been struggling with each other for four years in such fierce antagonism were dead; and in their place have appeared the two political parties that are found throughout the united states; and the lines of difference between the men of the south and the men of the north have been as completely obliterated in thirty years, as they were obliterated in old england, between saxon and norman, after years of savage strife and turmoil. and now, if the superior races of the world have been formed by the amalgamation of the kindred stocks, may we not believe that providence has been preparing in this central state a people that shall bear a distinguished part in that mighty battle that is so swiftly coming to the american nation, in which we will be called to fight against a christian barbarism and a paganized christianity, for all that is precious in our christian civilization, and for all that is true and good in our american form of government? rome fell under an invasion by foreign barbarians; so an inundation of the barbarians of the world is pouring in on us, and threatens to swallow us up; it is like the flood the dragon poured out of his mouth. of our duties growing out of this catastrophe we shall write hereafter. the writer of these "recollections" is a fallible man, like other fallible man. he has shown at least this, that he is ready to stand by his convictions, living and dying; and he holds this conviction fixed and immutable, that there is a crisis coming on us of overtopping and overwhelming magnitude, and demanding the american people should come together and look each other honestly in the face, that they may take into their hearts this weight and extent of the reasons that call that they should join in united effort for the salvation of the nation and the conversion of the world; and that this does not allow that there shall be anything of flimsy, shallow, or hypocritical concealment of the facts of our history. the world has had abundant experience of these border feuds. scotland had her feuds between her highlands and lowlands. in ireland there has been unceasing enmity for years between her protestant and catholic populations. the french and english peoples of canada are never at peace with each other; and now there is a feud that can not be healed between england and ireland. in some of the mountain regions of the southern states, where the people yet retain the clannish temper of their scotch and irish ancestors, there are neighborhood enmities that go down from father to son, from generation to generation; and that issue in such fist fights, brawls, and mobs, as sometimes to tax the whole energy of the public authorities to suppress them. and now, with such foundation laid for the indefinite perpetuation of similar feuds in kansas, we do argue that it has manifested on the part of our population no ordinary qualities of heart and soul, that they were so soon able to eliminate from among themselves their turbulent and dangerous elements. chapter xxvi. the men that had settled in kansas were generally poor, and few had any reserved fund from which to draw their support, but were literally dependent for their daily bread on their labor day by day; and to take away the horses of such a man was literally to take the bread out of the mouths of his children. free state men and pro-slavery men had each in turn been thus despoiled and compelled to flee the territory; or if they remained they were paralyzed and unfitted for work. but the spring and summer of had brought a new order of things. gov. geary had put an end to these disorders, and the presence of s. c. pomeroy and other free state men in atchison was an additional guarantee of peace and security. as a result the kansas squatters had gone to work with a will. old things had passed away, and all things had become new. there did indeed remain a chronic state of disorder in southeastern kansas; but this was local and exceptional. but religious and thoughtful men looked far beyond this question of what shall we eat and what shall we drink, and wherewithal shall we be clothed? intemperate habits were growing fast on the people. coarse profanity and ribald speech were becoming so common as to be the rule and not the exception. fathers and mothers began to tremble when they thought what their boys were coming to; and this turned their thoughts to the question of schools and churches. then all the denominations simultaneously began their work. a church was organized at leavenworth by our brethren, in which s. a. marshall and w. s. yohe were the leading members. dr. marshall had formerly been a resident of pennsylvania, and w. s. yohe was from the south, a slave-holder, a man of considerable wealth, and of eminent personal excellence. the church that had been built up in at mt. pleasant had fallen to pieces in the troublous times, and was now reorganized at what has come to be known as "the old union school house," a place that has been hallowed to precious memories, because of the great revival that took place under the labors of d. s. burnett in the year . the brethren that lived along the valley of the stranger creek and its tributaries, and that had met to worship two years before under the spreading elms that lined its bottoms, now organized themselves into a church at a village called pardee. this ambitious little town was located on the high prairie; but it shared the fate of many other kansas towns, equally aspiring and equally ill-fated. when the railroads were built they followed the courses of the streams, and it was left out in the cold; but for a time it was the center of social, political and religious influence in the county outside of atchison. among the brethren that had been in kansas from its first settlement, and whom we have not mentioned, were john and jacob graves, brothers from tennessee, who have since grown rich in worldly goods, and richer still in good works. there were also brethren landrum and schell, and many others whom we can not name. in the fall of came lewis brockman, who loved the church more than he loved his own life. he was brother to that col. thomas brockman conspicuous in the mormon war in illinois, which resulted in the exodus of the mormons to salt lake, there to build up a kingdom that cherishes a deadly and undying hatred to the united states, its people, and its institutions. norman dunshee, now professor in drake university, des moines, iowa, also came to kansas from the western reserve eclectic institute at hiram, o., in the fall of , and settled at pardee. dr. s. g. moore, of camp point, ., who came in the spring of , was brother-in-law to peter garrett; and these two men were of one heart and one soul in their aspirations for a larger liberality on the part of disciples and a better order of things in our churches; but they had to take up the sad refrain so oft repeated: "we have found the old adam too strong for the young melancthon." dr. moore was a man that, when he knew he was in the right, pushed his enterprises with such a rigorous purpose as sometimes to alienate from himself men who might have been won by a more complaisant temper. his stay in kansas was limited. the dwelling in which he lived was struck by lightning, and bro. and sister moore were seriously injured. from these injuries sister moore has never fully recovered. with broken health she became homesick, and pined to be among her kindred. moreover, a valuable farm that dr. moore had sold at camp point fell back into his hands, and he felt constrained to return to illinois in . with such elements of power the reader will not think it strange that we should go to work with a will to recover the ground we had lost in this social and political turmoil and religious inaction. the writer did not travel much abroad this summer; he found too much to do at home. we had meetings every lord's day, and had frequent additions by letter and by baptism. one day, as my manner was, i gave an invitation to sinners to obey the gospel. there had been no indication, however remote, that any would desire baptism; but my daughter, rosetta, now thirteen years of age, came forward and demanded to be baptized. two years before i had brought her, then eleven years of age, with her mother, to kansas. some part of this time we had spent in the very presence of death; and rosetta and her mother would not have thought it strange if a company of men had come into the house at night with murderous intent. i have not told in these "recollections" how many times i felt it expedient to be away from home; and then rosetta was her mother's only companion. of young company such as girls usually have at her age, she had almost none. we had talked of these daily occurring tragedies until they had lost both their terror and their novelty. these certainly were not fitting surroundings for a little girl, intelligent and thoughtful beyond her years, and of an unduly sensitive and nervous organization. but she was her mother's only girl, this was our only home, and, coming out of the furnace fires of such a life, we could not think it strange that she should feel the need of a heavenly father in whom she could trust, of $ savior's arm on which she could lean, and of a home in the church where she could find help and sympathy. one thought was ever present in my heart, how far could brethren co-operate together who had been on opposite sides? to learn what could be done i made the acquaintance of brethren everywhere. the brilliant and erratic dr. cox, of missouri, had sent an appointment to "old union," and oliver steele came with him. i attended his meeting, and bro. steele, cox and myself accepted the hospitality of bro. humber. bro. cox, being now in the presence of a man reported to be a live abolitionist, opened a discussion on the question of slavery. i had been brought up on the western reserve, ohio, and inherited intense anti-slavery convictions. but i had learned from the writings of a. campbell to judge slave-holders with a charitable judgment. they had inherited the institution of slavery from their fathers, and like the aristocratic institutions of the old world, it had come down to them without any fault of their own. my experiences in kansas certainly had not made me love slavery any better; still, all this, how bitter soever it might be to me, had revealed so much of real nobility in the hearts of many slave-holders that it had not impaired my feeling of good will to them. if i were to grant that they had been associated sometimes with men of desperate morals, had i not also been associated with jim lane, and had i not been compelled to hide myself behind the old maxims, that "politics, like poverty, makes us acquainted with strange bedfellows?" and so i argued with bro. cox the views i held, stoutly asserting them, when, for a wonder to him, bro. steele and bro. humber expressed themselves as coinciding with my views much more than with the views of bro. cox, who held the ultra southern, john c. calhoun theory of slavery. it appeared that these brethren held that if providence has given to the caucasian descendants of japheth, a fairer skin, a higher style of intellectual power, and greater force of will, that the same divine providence has given to the sons of ham a darker color to their skin; but that all are alike the children of the love of one common father; that jesus died for all, and that he will not suffer with impunity any indignity to be offered even to one of the least of these his brethren. to the inquiry why these brethren did not give that freedom to their colored servants which they asserted was their natural right, they made reply, alleging the unfriendly legislation not only of the slave states, but of the free states; and that had interposed grave difficulties in the way of such a step. the big springs convention had framed the first free state platform for kansas, august , , and this, with hard-hearted inhumanity, had avowed the purpose to drive out of kansas the free blacks as well as the slaves. the same principle was also incorporated in the topeka free state constitution. it will throw additional light on this subject if i mention that, in , one year after this conversation with bro. cox, when the free state men had obtained control of the territorial legislature, bro. humber went to lawrence and laid before judge crosier, a leading member of the legislature, from leavenworth, the following proposition. he said: "i will emancipate my slaves, and will sell them land. i want them to remain where i can look after their welfare. i do not want them to be driven out of kansas." judge crosier, while greatly sympathizing with bro. humber, had to tell him the thing was impossible. it is comforting to know that "the world do move;" that colored people do freely enjoy in kansas now the rights bro. humber in vain sought of a free state legislature then on behalf of his slaves. chapter xxvii. the reader has already heard of big springs as a locality where free state conventions were wont to be held. lawrence and topeka were twenty-five miles apart, and both were on the south bank of the kansas river. big springs is midway between these towns, and is situated on the high divide, lying between the kansas river and the wakarusa. here, at big springs, were located four brethren, l. r. campbell, c. m. mock, a. t. byler and jack reeves. bro. campbell was a disciple from indiana, of much more than average attainments, and of great force of character. in his immediate neighborhood, and as he had opportunity, he was a preacher, and when a church was organized he naturally became its leader and elder. his early death seemed the greatest calamity that ever befell the church, though he raised a family of boys that in process of time have taken his place, and make his loss seem not irreparable. c. m. mock was not a preacher, yet there is many a preacher that might well be proud to make himself as widely and as favorable known as "charley mock," and to be remembered with as much affection. he only remained in kansas a few years, and then returned to his original home in rushville, rush county, indiana. we may truthfully say, "what was our loss was their gain." bro. byler was simply a large-hearted and kind-natured farmer from missouri, who was too full of brotherly love to have anything of sectional prejudice about him. george w. hutchinson, whom we will hereafter introduce to our readers, used to call him his "big _boiler_." his death after a few years was sad and pathetic; he had been to lecompton and driving a spirited horse; the horse took fright, and threw him from his buggy and killed him. jack reeves was the son of b. f. reeves, of flat rock, ind., so long the venerated elder of that church, and a sort of patriarch over all the churches. and the above-named brethren, as well as a number of others, hearing that i was preaching near the missouri river, sent for me to come and make them a visit. i accordingly did so, and now, for thirty-one years i have not forgotten to visit them, and they have not forgotten me. from this time forward i preached for them as i had opportunity, and thus began to make the acquaintance of brethren south of the kansas river. the church grew apace. at their organization they had twenty-five members. two years afterwards they were able to report a membership of seventy-two persons. the year passed rapidly away. my time was divided between working on my claim on stranger creek, preaching for the churches that had been organized, and making the acquaintance of brethren wherever i was able to find them. and now the year was upon us, predestinated to bring with it consequences far-reaching, as touching the future of kansas. in this year should be settled the question that had filled the territory with agitation, tumult, and war for four years; and it was in this year that our kansas missionary work was begun, and in which was organized the first missionary society. the time was the early spring of . the place was "old union," a little, log school-house situated in a ravine opening into stranger creek bottoms. the _personnel_ were, first, numeris humber, with his tender heart and quenchless love for missionary work. then there was his sister wife, that with saintly presence and sacred song made us feel that this was the very house of god and gate of heaven. judge william young was also present, who had neither song nor sentimentality about him, but in his unpoetic way looked at everything in the light of cold, hard fact. and yet bro. young is neither cold nor hard, only on the outside. there also was spartan rhea (these brethren were all from missouri), whose fine sense of honor and upright conduct we have already had occasion to commend while acting as justice of the peace during our former troubles. joseph potter was also there, and so, also, was joseph mcbride, a notable preacher of tennessee, that many years ago was one of the pioneers that planted the christian cause in oregon. all told, we had a crowd large enough to fill a little, log school-house. brethren yohe and marshall, of leavenworth city, also gave us assurances of their hearty help and sympathy. this dr. s. a. marshall was a brother-in-law to isaac errett, and always deeply interested himself in this work of building up the churches. the church at pardee was also represented. and this constituted the make-up of our first missionary society. three churches represented, and enough persons decently to fill a little seven-by-nine log school-house. let us learn not to despise the day of small things. as for the amount of money pledged--well, it would not have frightened even one of those little ones, that are scared out of their wits at the thought of an over-paid, over-fed, proud, luxurious and domineering priesthood. as for the missionary chosen to go on this forlorn hope--to explore this africa of spiritual darkness, it was hobson's choice; it was this or none. except myself, there was no man to be thought of that would or could go on this errand, and so there was no contest over the choice of a missionary. conspicuous among these early churches were the churches that were formed in doniphan county. this is the most northeastern county in the state, and is in a great bend of the missouri river, having the river on three sides of it. it is a body of the best land in kansas, and no county had at its first settlement as many disciples. their first beginning was unfortunate. a man named winters, calling himself a preacher, came among them and made a great stir. but he brought with him a woman that was not his wife. with a character unblemished this man would have won an honorable fame; but when questioned he equivocated, but was finally compelled to confess the shameful truth, and in their grief and shame the newly-organized church seemed broken up. jacob i. scott was a man of spotless life and dauntless purpose, and feeling that it would be an unspeakable humiliation to allow everything to go to wreck because of the frailty of one unfortunate man, and learning that i had taken the field in the counties further south, he besought me to come over and help them. in no counties in this state have there been more churches than in doniphan county, but in no county in the state have the churches been more evanescent and unstable, and yet it is not because these brethren have apostatized, but it is that the men that have settled in doniphan county are men that keep on the borders of civilization, and the opening of a great empire for settlement to the west of them tempted them to move onward. indeed, this has been the case in all the churches in eastern kansas. just as soon as we would gather up a strong church it would straightway melt out of our hands, and its members would be scattered from montana to florida, and from the missouri river to oregon. some twenty-five miles to the northwest of my place of residence, in what is now jackson county, on the waters of the cedar creek, was a settlement mainly from platte county, mo. the best known of these was bro. john gardiner, whose heart now for thirty years has held one single thought, the interest and prosperity of the christian church. he has sacrificed much, has labored much, and has done a great deal of preaching without fee or reward. bro. j. w. williams, from southeastern ohio, a man of saintly character and indefatigable purpose, was also of this settlement. there also we organized a church. the places for holding meetings were of the most primitive kind. a log school-house was a luxury; the squatter cabins were too small; but we had to use them during the winter. the groves of timber along the streams were always waiting; but, we only could use them in fair and pleasant weather, and for six months in the year. as for hearers, we were never lacking an audience, we were never lacking for a crowd that were ready to listen with honest good-will to the message which we brought them. it was an eventful summer. more rain fell than in any season i have known. the streams were always full, the bottoms were often flooded, and crossing was sometimes dangerous; but i had a good horse and was not afraid. in religious matters everything was broken up, and men were drifting. but this good came of it, that they were ready to listen to this strange and new thing that was brought to their ears, in which so much was made of the lord's authority, of apostolic teaching and apostolic example, and so little of traditions, theories, and time-honored observances, of which the bible knows nothing, but which have been sanctified by universal acceptance. as for myself, there had been romances enough about my life to make the people wish to see me, and i was proud to know that the boys could remember my sermons and repeat them. the men with whom i was immediately associated in this work, and who had sent me on this errand, were of inestimable advantage to me. they were well and favorably known as men of unblemished reputation in eastern kansas and western missouri. "old duke young," as the father of judge william young had been affectionately called in western missouri, had been an eminently popular frontier and pioneer preacher, and judge young had inherited an honorable distinction as being the son of such a father; and when it was known that i was acting with the concurrence and under the approval of such men, the arrangement was generally accepted as satisfactory. and now i had my heart's best desire. i was in the field as an evangelist; the harvest was abundant and the grain was already ripe and waiting for the sickle. but above all, and beyond all these, was peace in the land. we all had had a lover's quarrel, but we had made it up and were the better friends. everywhere they had their joke with me, as to my method of navigating the missouri river, and to the attire i sometimes put on; but i had come out the upper dog in the fight, and could afford to stand their bantering. there is a warmth, freshness, and enthusiasm in the friendships formed under such conditions that can never be transferred to associations of older and more orderly communities. as a result of this summer's work, here were seven churches full of zeal and rapidly growing, and occupying a field that had been almost absolutely fallow, for outside of the towns there was no religious movement except our own. but at one point we were put at a very great disadvantage. older and better established denominations were able to plant missionaries in such cities as atchison, topeka and lawrence, while we were not; and yet in each of these cities there were from the first a small number of brethren, who might have served as the nucleus of a church. speaking in general terms, monthly preaching never built up a church in any city, and the reader will see that in the very nature of things i could not set myself down to the care of a single congregation. chapter xxviii. the same causes that have made me a preacher, have also made me an abundant contributor to our periodical literature. as i wish to present a living picture of these early days, i will, from time to time, furnish extracts from the contributions i have made to our religious journals: [written for the christian luminary.] ocena p. o., atchison co., kansas ter., may, . having myself had a very full experience of the advantages and disadvantages, the trials, pleasures and perils of a pioneer life, i propose to write a series of essays on the matter of emigrating to the west. while a grave necessity demands that many shall emigrate to the west, it is not to be denied that it is an enterprise fraught with many dangers to the moral and spiritual well-being of the emigrant. we have here men from the four quarters of the civilized world, and have thus congregated together all the vices found in europe and america. the semi-barbarism of the irish catholicism of tipperary and clare is now fairly inaugurated in leavenworth city. all the horses of the livery stables are hired to attend an irish funeral, and as the mourners take a "_wee bit of a dhrap_" before starting, they are lucky if they get the corpse well under ground without a fight. by this time, having become over-joyful, they raise a shout, and with a whoop and hurrah they start for home, and the man that has the fastest horse gets into the city first. the unlucky traveler, whose horse gets mixed up with theirs in this stampede, and who thus involuntarily becomes one of the company at an irish wake, has need to be a good rider. german infidelity has been nurtured in germany by a thousand years of priestly domination and oppression, and is now translated into our kansas towns by germans, who have no lord's day in their week. corresponding with our lord's day, they have a holiday--a day to hunt, to fish, to do up odd jobs, to congregate together and listen to fine music, dance, sing, feast, drink lager beer, and have a good time generally. under the best _regimen_ it is hard for men to keep their hearts from evil; but here, it is a fearful thing for young men, released from all the restraints of their native land, to find the house of revelry and dancing so near the house of god, and the gates of hell, alluring by all the fascinating and seductive attractions of harmonious sounds, so near the gate of heaven. i am appalled at the amount of drinking and gambling that has existed in kansas, especially in the missouri river towns, for the last three years, under the shade of every green tree, on the streets, in every shop, store, grocery and hotel, it has seemed as if the chief business of the people was to gamble and drink. there are other causes full of evil, and fearfully potent to work apostasy and ruin in the west. men come here, not to plead the cause of a suffering and dying saviour; not to give to the people a more pure and self-denying morality, and a higher civilization; but to get rich. they have had a dream, and are come to realize that dream. they have dreamed of one thousand acres of land, bought at one dollar and a quarter per acre, that by the magic growth of some western town becomes worth fifty thousand dollars. they have dreamed of money invested in mythical towns, which towns are to rival in their growth toledo, chicago or st. louis. the dream is to do nothing and get rich. land sharks, speculators, usurers and politicians who aspire to a notoriety they will never win--a station they will never occupy--swarm over the west thicker than frogs in egypt, and more intrusive than were these squatting, crawling, jumping pests, when evoked from the river's slime by the rod of moses. some men are too old when they come to the west. they are like a vine whose tendrils are rudely torn from a branch around which they have wound themselves, and are so hardened by time that they can not entwine themselves around another support. such men forever worship, looking to the east. they form no new friendships; engage in no new enterprises; they care for nobody, and nobody cares for them. they live and die alone. but there are more sad and gentle notes of sorrow that fall upon our ears. the children mourn for the peach tree and the apple tree, with their luscious fruit. the mother-wife asks who will watch the little grave, or tend the rose tree growing at its head, or who will train the woodbine, or care for the pinks and violets? then sadly she sings of home--"home, sweet home!" the father, too, remembers his pasture for his pigs, his calves, and sheep, and cows. he remembers that on one poor forty acres of land he had a house, a barn, an orchard, woodland, maple trees for making maple sugar, a meadow, room for corn, wheat, oats and potatoes, besides pasture for one horse, two oxen, three cows, together with a number of sheep and pigs, then there was the three months' school in winter, and four months in summer. there was the sunday-school and the church, where serious and honest men uttered manly and religious counsel to sincere hearts, which nurtured good and holy purposes. all this he has bartered away for the privilege of being rich--of having more land than he knows what to do with; more corn than he can tend, and pigs till they are a pest to him. having glanced at some of the evils attendant on western life, i must hasten to indicate what class of men should come to the west. the poor of our cities, whose poverty becomes the more haggard by being placed in immediate proximity to measureless profusion, luxury and extravagance--respectable people, whose whole life is a lifelong struggle to keep up appearances, and in whom the securing of affluence is like putting on a corpse the frippery and finery of the ball-room; young men with brave hearts and willing hands--these are the classes that may come, and should come, to the west. and if adam, realizing that the world is all before him, where to choose, looks to the west to find his eden, i would respectfully suggest that he has an infirmity in his left side, and that his best security against the perils of a pioneer life is to take to himself the rib that is wanting. the tenant, living on the farm of another man, should come to the west. he can not plant a tree and call it his own. god gave the whole world to adam and his sons, and the true dignity of every son of adam requires that he should be able to stand in the midst of his own eden and say: "this, under god, is mine." there is yet another class of men that may always go to the west, or to any other place. whether young, or old, or middle-aged--whether rich or poor--they may go, and the blessings of god go with them. these are the men whose hearts are full of faith, and hope, and love--who sympathize with all, and who, consequently, will find friends among all--who are willing to be missionaries of the cross, and to be pillars in the churches they have helped to nurture into life. kansas is full of men who were once members of our churches, but who are stranded on the rocks of apostasy, on whom the storms of life will beat yet a little while, and then they will sink down into ever-lasting ruin. strong drink, the love of money, or, perhaps, the inadequacy of their former teaching, is the occasion of their fall. others, scattered over this great wilderness of sin, remain faithful amidst abounding wickedness, and stretch out their hands and utter the macedonian cry, "come over and help us." the apostolic age was pre-eminently an age of missionary effort. what will the world say of us, and of our confident, and, as some would say, arrogant, pretense to have restored primitive and apostolic christianity, when our israel in so large a part of the great west is such a moral wreck--such a spectacle of scattered, abandoned, and, too often, ruined church members, unknown, untaught and uncared for. the peerless glory of our lord jesus christ--his measureless, boundless and quenchless love--this is the great center of attraction around which the affections of the christian do continually gather. the lord is the center of the moral universe, and all its light is but the emanation of his glory. he dwells in the human heart, and fills it with his love; he dwells in the family, and becomes its ornament as when he dwelt in the house of lazarus; he dwells in the church, and makes it a fold in which he nurtures his lambs. christians wandering over the earth like sheep having no shepherd, isolated from their brethren, dwelling alone--however frequent this spectacle now--is not often witnessed in the new testament. there they congregated in churches. but this experiment of isolation is most perilous to the individual, and a prodigal expenditure of the wealth of the church, which has souls for her hire. it is true that a few persons become centers of attraction to new churches that grow up around them; but very many are lost in the great whirlpool of this world's strife. what, then, is the remedy? evidently this: jesus accepts no divided empire in the human heart. he will have all or nothing. the church of christ, the cause of christ, the people of christ--these must be the centers of attraction to which the heart of the christian turns with all the enthusiasm with which an eastern idolater bows before the shrine of his idol. in return for such devotion jesus gives to his people every imaginable blessing. wealth, power, dominion, science, civilization, genius, learning, power over the elements of nature, and insight into its magnitude, do now belong to the lord's people in europe and america as they never belonged to any people before. yet all these must be laid at jesus' feet before he will make the returning prodigal the recipient of his love. everything must be subordinated to our religion. since the almighty dollar has become the touch-stone by which everything is to be decided, i assert that this is a good speculation: secure a neighborhood homogeneous and not heterogeneous. let its tendencies be favorable to temperance, education and religion, and in doing so a man will have added fifty per cent, to the selling value of his property. the present thrift, wealth, genius, enterprise and intelligence of the people of the new england states is the legitimate outworking of the training bestowed on their sons by the stern, old puritans that first peopled these inhospitable shores. but all temporal and earthly considerations disappear, as fade the stars at the approach of day, when we consider that measureless ruin, that gulf of everlasting despair, that voiceless woe, into which the emigrant may sink himself and family by locating in a profligate, dissipated or irreligious neighborhood, or in a community wholly swallowed up in the love of money, or absorbed in the questions, what shall we eat, or what shall we drink, or wherewithal shall we be clothed? what home on the beautiful prairies, what treasures of fine water and good timber, what corner lots, what property in town or country, can equal in value the guardianship of our lord, the indwelling of god's good spirit, the approval of a good conscience, the smiles of angels and the inheritance of a home in heaven? let no man, therefore, fall into the folly--the unspeakable folly--of subordinating his spiritual and eternal interests to his temporal welfare. "seek ye god and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added." to teach, to discipline and perfect the churches we have already organized; to gather into churches the lost sheep of the house of our israel, scattered over this great wilderness of sin; to try and help those who are still purposing to tempt its dangers; and to lay broad and deep the foundations of a future operation and co-operation that shall ultimate in spreading the gospel from pole to pole, and across the great sea to the farthest domicile of man--this is the purpose which we set before us, and which should be pursued with the zeal and enthusiasm displayed by the followers of the false prophet of mecca; and with the patience of the coral workers, who build for ages and cycles of ages their marble battlements in the waters of the pacific ocean. chapter xxix. in i only spent part of the year preaching in kansas. at the earnest solicitation of ovid butler, the founder and munificent patron of butler university, i spent six months preaching in the state of indiana. a missionary society had been organized in indianapolis, in which ovid butler was the leading spirit, and such men as joseph bryant, and matthew mckeever, brothers-in-law to alexander campbell, together with jonas hartzell, cyrus mcneely, of hopedale, ohio, and eld. john boggs, of cincinnati, and many others, were associated with him in the movement. by these brethren i was for some time partially sustained as a missionary in kansas. the formation of this society had grown out of a difference existing between these brethren and the general missionary society, touching what had become the over-topping and absorbing question, both to the churches and the people of the united states. as this question has ceased to be of any practical interest to the american people, i shall spend no time in its discussion, only to narrate, briefly, what happened to us in kansas, growing out of the existence of these two societies. ovid butler had set his heart on this, that the brethren in indiana should have personal knowledge of the man that himself and others were sustaining in kansas. i found myself greatly misunderstood, and was often hurt at the slights that grew out of these misunderstandings; and i tried hard to make these brethren know just what was in my heart, and what were the objects i was seeking to accomplish. in the early spring of i returned to kansas and resumed my work. geo. w. hutchinson had been a preacher in what was known as the "christian connection" in the new england states, and had been eminently successful in winning converts. but these churches were poor, and he having married a wife, his compensation did not meet his necessities, and like many others he went to california with a hope of bettering his fortunes. afterwards he came to lawrence, in kansas, under the auspices of the emigrant aid society. but his freighting teams having been plundered of a stock of goods, which they were bringing for him from leavenworth to lawrence, he was left to fight his battle as best he might. it was at this conjuncture that he made the acquaintance of the brethren at big springs, and became impressed with the simplicity and scriptural authority of our plea. it is well known that there never was more than a paper wall between ourselves and "the old christian order," and there seemed nothing in the way of bro. hutchison. he had in his heart no theory of a regeneration wrought by a miracle, and which gives to a convert a supernatural evidence of pardon before baptism, and that should, therefore, compel him to reject the words of jesus: "he that believeth and is baptized shall be saved." the christian brethren have been supposed to have some leaning to unitarianism, but he betrayed no such leaning. but while he had no love for the barbarous language in which trinitarians have sometimes spoken of the divine relation subsisting between the father, son and holy spirit, yet he was willing to ascribe to our lord all that is ascribed to him in the holy scriptures. thus joyfully he accepted this new brotherhood he had found in kansas, and our churches just as joyfully set him to preaching. we needed preachers, and here was one already made to our hand. early in the spring of the weather came off exquisitely fine. it was like a hectic flush--the deceptive seeming of health on the cheek of the consumptive. it was a spring without rain, in which the sun was shining beautiful and bright, in which the evenings were balmy and pleasant, and the road good; but to be followed by a summer of scorching heat, of hot winds that burned the vegetation like the breath of a furnace, leaving the people to starve. the inhabitants of kansas will never forget the year , the drought and the famine. it was in the springtime, in the midst of this beautiful weather, we called bro. hutchinson to come to pardee and help us. this protracted meeting resulted in a great ingathering. it was largely made up of young men, who, for the time being, were located on the eastern border of kansas, but that in the stirring and stormy times that were to follow were to be scattered over every part of the great west. and now bro. hutchinson's fame as a revivalist began to spread abroad, and many neighborhoods where there were a few disciples, and who were anxious to build themselves into a congregation, sent for him to come and help them; and thus our churches rapidly grew in number, and our acquaintance with the brethren was greatly extended. as a result, there came to be a common feeling among them that we ought to come together in a state, or rather a territorial, meeting. pursuant to such a purpose, a general meeting was called at big springs, aug. , , c. m. mock having been called to the chair, and w. o. ferguson, of emporia, having been made secretary. the following churches reported themselves as having been organized in the territory: no. of members. pardee, atchison co union church, atchison co leavenworth city big springs, douglas co prairie city, douglas co peoria city, lykins co leroy, coffey co emporia stanton, lykins co iola, allen co humbolt, allen co. burlington, coffey co wolf creek, doniphan co rock creek, doniphan co independence creek, doniphan co cedar creek, doniphan co olathe, johnson co mccarnish, johnson co oskaloosa, jefferson co cedar creek, jackson co thus of organized churches there were reported members, and of unorganized members it was ascertained there were enough to make the number more than one thousand. we find on record, as having been adopted at this meeting, the following resolutions: _resolved_ that the thanks of this convention be tendered to the christian missionary society, at indianapolis, for the service of bro. butler as a missionary in kansas, and that the society be requested to sustain him until the churches in kansas shall be able to sustain their preachers. _resolved_, that brethren g. w. hutchinson, pardee butler, ephraim philips, s. g. brown, w. e. evans, and n. dunshee be recommended to the confidence and support of the brethren as able and faithful preachers of the gospel. whereas, the brethren of southern kansas are in destitute circumstances; and whereas, bro. e. philips, having spent much of his time preaching, without fee, or reward, needs pecuniary support; and whereas, bro. crocker is about to visit the east; therefore, _resolved_, that we commend bro. crocker as worthy to receive contributions made on behalf of bro. philips. _resolved_, that we will encourage and, so far as we have ability, sustain by our prayers and means those who labor for us in word and doctrine. _resolved_, that we are in favor of sunday-schools and bible classes, and that we will use our influence to sustain social meetings in all our churches. _resolved_, that when we adjourn, we adjourn to meet at prairie city, on wednesday before the second lord's day in september, . _resolved_, that the thanks of this convention be tendered to the brethren of big springs for their kindness and liberality during the sessions of this convention. on motion, the convention adjourned to the time and place appointed. c. w. mock, chairman. w. o. ferguson, secretary. the convention in its results was full of encouragement and joy. insignificant as had been our beginning two years before, here were twenty churches and more than one thousand members ready to cooperate together and plant the cause in this infant territory. this meeting also introduced us to many new acquaintances. eld. s. g. brown, of emporia, had been diligently employed planting churches along the neosho river from emporia to leroy. bro. ephraim philips, at leroy, also at that time became known to us. bro. philips, after some years, returned to pennsylvania, and there went into the oil business with his brother; the brothers were successful, and afterwards distinguished themselves by a generous and christian liberality. bro. crocker also, before his death, had won a large place in the hearts of his brethren. elder wm, gans, at that time of lanesfield, but afterwards of olathe, will long be remembered with earnest affection; and it was at this time that he became known to us. for reasons that we have already mentioned, the general missionary society had done nothing for us, but seeing that we were fighting a brave battle, and that we were keeping the peace with each other, they felt themselves moved to help us. eld. d. s. burnett was at this time employed preaching in western missouri, and was deputed by the missionary board to visit g. w. hutchinson at lawrence, who was winning golden opinions as an eminently successful evangelist. bro. h. was not at home, but was away holding a protracted meeting, and bro. burnett therefore called on his wife. mrs. hutchinson was a pious, refined, and educated new england woman, who had married her husband after he had become known as the most successful evangelist in the "old christian order" in the new england states. she had with pain seen him turned aside from his chosen work by hard necessities, and was now greatly rejoiced to see him once more a preacher. bro. b. was an accomplished gentleman, whose polished and cultivated manners sometimes laid him open to the charge of a proud and aristocratic exclusiveness; but this yankee lady herself knew how to queen it, and stood before him with no sense of inferiority. she frankly said to him that herself and husband were abolitionists, but that they knew the value of peace, and would do what could be done, in good conscience, to make peace and keep it. bro. burnett evidently went away from lawrence with a good opinion of this family of yankee abolitionists, and bro. h. was immediately accepted as a missionary of the general missionary society. he used quietly to indicate to me that, as touching this interview, his wife was a better general than himself, and that it was lucky for him that he was not at home. and so we two became missionaries, sustained by two different, and, in one particular, antagonistic missionary societies. of course we did not quarrel; why should we? if i was sometimes charged with abolitionism, was not this man blacker than myself? we often traveled together, and held protracted meetings under the same tent. i had for a lifetime studied this plea which we make for a return to primitive and apostolic christianity, and it was, therefore, my business to press upon the people the duty to yield a loyal obedience to the lord jesus christ as our only lawgiver and king, and thus to renounce all human leadership and the authority of all human opinions; and it became the business of bro. hutchinson to win the people by his magnetic power, and fill them with his own enthusiasm, and thus induce them to act on the convictions that had been already formed in their hearts. i take on myself to say there never have been two more diligent evangelists than were bro. hutchinson and myself in the year that followed the big springs convention. looking over the whole ground, i am able to see that in that year was laid the foundation for that abiding prosperity that has distinguished our effort down to the present time. chapter xxx. there had come to the big springs convention two brethren--father gillespie and his son, william gillespie, living at st. george, on the kansas river, fifty miles above topeka and about eight miles below manhattan. these brethren came to tell us that here were two settlements of brethren waiting to be organized into churches; and bro. hutchinson and myself both visited them during the ensuing autumn. a military road ran up the kansas river from fort leavenworth to fort riley, passing through the village of st. george, but if i were to go to st. george by this route, i would lose thirty miles of travel, and i therefore determined to start directly west from my place of residence. but, in doing so, i would have to cross the pottawatomie indian reserve, on which for forty miles there was not the habitation of a white man. stopping over night with bro. j. w. williams, on the eastern border of the reserve, i started betimes to st. george, traveling to the west. but night came on, and i had not reached the line of white settlements. i picketed my horse on the prairie, made a pillow of my saddle, and slept until morning. the night was warm and pleasant, and i did not suffer with the cold, and in the morning i was ready betimes to ride on to the residence of bro. gillespie. he was so glad to see me. it was worth a journey of one hundred miles to get such a welcome. and then there was sister gillespie, and a house full of young gillespies, and they were all so glad to see me. "have you had your breakfast?" "no." "well, where did you lodge?" this was a poser. i attempted to pass the question by; but nothing would do, and i had to confess i slept under the canopy of heaven. "o, dear! o, dear!" and had it come to this that their preacher had to sleep on the prairie! this was a family of hospitable kentuckians, who were born to a love of music, and the old gentleman was a fiddler, and next to his bible he loved his fiddle. of course, we had a grand, good time, and were all filled with joy; and this was the beginning of the churches on the upper waters of the kansas river. twelve miles above st. george was ashland, where we found bro. n. b. white, father to a. j. white, who has hitherto been pastor of the church at leavenworth city; but since has been acting as district evangelist. bro. n. b. white came from carthage, ky., and long remained a faithful and indefatigable preacher. in my experience as an evangelist, i have known many men of superior christian excellence; but never one man of more singleness and integrity of heart; never one man that had a clearer conception of the ultimate purposes and results of christianity; never a man whose life was more unselfish and self-sacrificing. being of an intensely nervous and high-strung organization, and doing his work in a mixed population that would have taxed the patience of job in its management, it is no wonder that bro. white was sometimes misunderstood, and, like all reformers, was made to feel that he was living before his time. thus passed in abundant labors the year , and the time drew on for our yearly meeting, which had been appointed to be held at prairie city in september, . the brethren came together with real enthusiasm. during the past year the number of disciples had been multiplied, and the cause had been greatly strengthened. it had been a year of constant ingathering. new churches reported themselves at this meeting, and brethren whom we had never known before. as evidence of what was being accomplished i will copy a note which i find appended to the minutes of the prairie city meeting: the following letter was received from a church meeting in monroe township, anderson county, said church being of the "old christian order": _to the elders of the state meeting at prairie city_: we, the church of god meeting at north pottawatomie, do recommend to your honorable body, bro. samuel anderson, as our pastor. we also represent our church as in good standing and in full fellowship, numbering twenty-eight members. bro. anderson, the bearer of the above letter, came before the convention and said: "it does yet appear to me that a man's sins are forgiven as soon as he believes; but i do not think that for this cause there ought to be a schism between us. i am willing to unite with you in exhorting men to obey all the commands of the gospel, and in seeking to unite all christians on the one foundation." but there appeared one cloud in our horizon, one cause to hinder the perfect success of this, our second yearly meeting. the country was full of rumors of war, and there seemed impending a great national conflict. bro. hutchinson had been for one year an eminently successful evangelist; but now he went into the union army as an army chaplain, and thus his work among us ceased. and now the war was upon us; we were predestined to see dark days, and the hearts of the people were full of forebodings of evil. many of our young men went into the army, and for two years the produce raised by the farmers brought almost nothing, and many of our preachers retired from their work. and then there appeared in the land wolves in sheep's clothing--thieves wearing the disguise of loyalty to the "old flag," and who held themselves self-elected to punish "rebel sympathizers," and in the estimation of this gentry the best evidence that could be had that a man was a rebel sympathizer was, that he owned a good span of horses. it is said, "there is no great loss without some small gain," and these evil days gave opportunity to some of us who owed a debt of gratitude for kindness rendered to us when we were in sore straits, to pay back this debt by demanding justice on behalf of loyal citizens of kansas, whose only offense was that they had been born in the south. it is the purpose of this series of articles to tell how two peoples, the one from the south and the other from the north--the one the sons of the puritans, and the other the children of the younger sons of the old english cavaliers--came together and settled in one territory; how they were divided by the question of american slavery, and how they strove in an antagonism as fierce as that which once subsisted between the saxon and norman in old england; how they peacefully settled their controversy, and in one-third of a century have grown into an eminently peaceful, prosperous, enterprising and well-ordered commonwealth, that stands conspicuous as an illustration and proof of the excellence of our national institutions. we are also to tell how that, out of the furnace fires of such a strife, a community of churches grew up that have for their purpose a restoration of primitive and apostolic christianity, and the unity of all christians under a supreme loyalty, to the lord jesus christ as our only leader and lawgiver, and as the great author of our american civilization. we are also to tell how the discipline of such a strife has created a people of such heroic temper, that this has been the first government among the nations to grapple with the saloon power in a final and decisive battle, which has banished it beyond the boundaries of the state, and has branded it as an enemy to christian homes, an enemy to our christian civilization, and an enemy to the welfare of the whole human race. other states have paltered with the evil by means of feeble and frivolous legislation, but kansas has grappled the monster by the throat by incorporating prohibition into its fundamental law. but, above all, we are to press upon the attention of the people the imminence of that danger that is threatening us, and that embodies within itself all other perils that hang over the nation. we are threatened to be overwhelmed by a foreign and alien emigration that brings with it the anarchy of atheism and the unamerican and the anti-american traditions of a paganized christianity. we have now fifteen millions of foreign-born citizens and of their children of the first generation in the united states. the rev. josiah strong estimates that in twelve years their number will be forty-three millions; and a great part of this population is now, and shall hereafter be, under the control of jesuit priests, that seek to maintain in the hearts of these millions loyalty to a foreign prince, resident in rome, as superior to and more binding on their consciences than is that allegiance which they owe to the united states. the city of new york has eighty persons in every one hundred of its population that are either foreign born or else the children of foreign born parents. boston has sixty-three; chicago has eighty-seven; st. louis has seventy-eight; cincinnati, sixty; san francisco, seventy-eight, and detroit and milwaukee have each eighty-four citizens in every one hundred of their population that are either foreign born or else the children of foreign born parents. a nation is dominated by its cities, as england is dominated by london; as france is dominated by paris, and germany by berlin; and our great cities have already become foreign cities, controlled by a foreign vote, and dominated by a foreign public opinion. here in kansas, in cities where there is a dominant element of foreign born citizens, we have to invoke the power of the state to compel obedience to our temperance laws on the part of this alien and un-american population; otherwise they overawe the city government and rebel against the laws. self-evident it is that the presence of such a population is a threat against our social and domestic life, against our government, and against the christian religion. but the presence of such an evil calls for union among ourselves. poland was dismembered and ceased to exist among the nations, because of intestine strifes and divisions among its nobility, who were its governing class; and in the presence of such a danger menacing the american people it would be a madness unspeakable in us to keep up among ourselves either our religious feuds and bickerings, or the animosities heretofore existing between the north and south. we must be one people, or this nation will surely perish. and this oneness is not to be brought about by the utterance of feeble platitudes, nor by the hypocritical profession of a good-will we do not feel; we must follow the guidance of that book of all books that god has given us, by exhibiting that robust and manly courage that looks the truth and the whole truth squarely in the face. after making all necessary discount and rebate because of faults and infirmities, there is enough yet remaining of solid and essential excellence in the citizens of every state in this nation that they can afford to have the honest truth told about themselves. is the sun less glorious because there are spots on the sun? is the moon less beautiful because the man in the moon does not wear a handsome face? on the late fourth of july there was a rallying of the clans of the veterans--the men in blue and the men in gray--on the field of gettysburg, to commemorate the battle they fought twenty-five years before, and to do honor to the bravery displayed by each man in fighting for what he honestly thought to be the right. this was as it should be. but there ought to be the celebration of another battle--it ought to be, even though it may never occur--that should never be forgotten. in that battle there was no dreadful carnage as on the battlefield of gettysburg; there were no desperate charges made by cavalry and infantry; there was no heroic courage displayed under the pitiless peltings of a deadly hail of shot and shell; there were no great generals of national reputation in command, but humble men unknown to fame, in the final result came together, and with honest speech said, "we will shake hands and be friends. we will let bygones be by gones, and see what can be done by a united effort to promote the welfare of all." now we insist that kansas is worthy of more honor than gettysburg. but as in this wicked world the best men do not get the highest honor, nor the best deeds the highest praise, we will be content to bide our time, knowing that the lord does not forget, and that he will speak a good word for us at the great judgment day. kansas led the nation in the abolition of american slavery; kansas ought a second time to lead the nation in a universal amnesty, so that there shall be nothing to hinder that we shall preach the gospel to the devotees of the mother of babylon, and to the millions of godless, christless heathen that are thrown upon our hands, thus making them good christians that they may be good american citizens. chapter xxxi. in our yearly meeting was held at emporia, and in at ottumwa. these meetings were little better than failures. yearly district meetings were kept up in northeastern kansas, in which more vigor was manifested. and now the writer began to feel the pressure of hard necessities. for five years i had kept myself in the field on a salary utterly inadequate to my needs, and had been gradually running into debt, and these debts had to be paid. in anticipation of the future wants of my children, i had invested my available means in land; but as this land was not improved, it yielded me no return. in the distress that came on the people in those days, one means of making money presented itself, and many availed themselves of it. gold had been discovered at pike's peak, and thitherward had flocked a great multitude of people. there were no railroads, and all supplies had to be carried across the plains in freighting wagons. this business was carried on by the roughest class of a rough and frontier population; still, it was an honest business, and honest men might lawfully engage in it, provided they had the hardihood to face the dangers and exposures of such a life. during the years , and , i went into this business with a small freighting outfit. this certainly was not just the thing for a preacher to do, but necessity knows no law. in the spring of , bro. james butcher was going to denver with a freighting train, and he with myself agreed to go in the same train for mutual convenience. the president, abraham lincoln, had ordered a draft, and many young men in missouri had found themselves in a sore strait. in the south were their kindred, and they felt that they could not and would not fight against their own flesh and blood; and to avoid this they determined to flee to the gold mines in the mountains, where every man did what was right in his own eyes--and so they came to atchison or leavenworth and engaged to drive these freighting teams to denver. many of them were sons of rich fathers, well educated, and had never engaged in manual labor, much less in such menial work as this, and when these proud and high-spirited fellows felt what an ignoble life they had been reduced to, the reader may well believe they did not feel good-natured over it. and now, when these young gentlemen came to understand that they were to be associated with a man that was reported to be the representative of the hated yankees, who had made war on the people of the south, and set free their slaves, they bitterly attacked me in wordy warfare. of course i defended myself. and so day after day, in the intervals while our cattle were grazing, we debated every question relative to slavery that has been debated within the last fifty years. their hearts were bitter; they were passionately excited, and would often end the talk, which they themselves had begun, with noisy profanity. they seemed to think they had this advantage of me, that they could swear and i could not. we were now traveling up the valley of the platte river. it was the month of june. the weather had become rainy and there were frequent showers. one night we had corralled our train on an almost dead level bottom, and i was sure, from the appearance of the heavens, that we should have a storm. bro. butcher had been taken sick and had returned home, and, except myself, there were none to think or care what was coming; and yet it was plain to be seen that the air was thick and sultry, and the heavens overcast with clouds, and that everything betokened a tempest. our canvas-covered wagons had been so crowded with merchandise that we could not get into them, and we had slept on blankets on the ground; but here on this dead level bottom, in case of a heavy rain, we would be drowned out by the flooding of the ground. i dragged under my wagon a number of ox-yokes, and with these and some strips of boards i made a platform, and on this i laid a narrow pallet, and crept under the wagon, where i would be sheltered from the rain by the wagon-bed above me. during the night there fell frequent showers, and the boys were soon drowned out from their pallets on the ground. they were tired and sleepy; they were homesick and in bad temper at their mean and unaccustomed surroundings, and were inclined to hold the yankees responsible for it all, and they began to curse and swear in rough and bitter speech. then there came on the most awful thunder storm i ever witnessed. vivid flashes of lightning kept the whole heavens illuminated with a blaze of light, while a thousand electric lights would not so have turned night into day around our corral of train-wagons. crashing peals of thunder were in the air, and the bolts seemed to descend to the earth around us. then there came down a flood of rain that was as if a water spout had burst above our heads. i looked out from my narrow bed, and could see the boys gathered in groups, standing leaning against their wagons, soaked to the skin, and their faces white with ghastly paleness; but not a word was spoken. they had forgotten to swear. then there was a lull in the storm, which subsided into a drizzling cold rain, and i went to sleep. when morning came we were a sorry looking lot. the boys were soaked, and chilled, and _blue_, and dreadfully homesick. words would not tell what these poor fellows would have given if they could have been where they could have been coddled and petted by their mothers and sisters. i saw that a warm cup of coffee and a substantial breakfast would do them good, and i hastened to have it provided. they came with alacrity at the call for breakfast, for they were hungry. when a good square meal had somewhat thawed them out, i said, "boys, what made you quit swearing last night?" the one who was usually their spokesman, and who knew how to be a gentleman if he had a mind to be, said reverently, "we were afraid." from this time forward our debates over slavery and the southern confederacy were at an end, or if we had them it was in a friendly way. given a fair chance, these boys were not so bad as they seemed. in the summer of we had reached the "cutoff," and were within eighty miles of denver. it was late on saturday afternoon when we got to the bijou ranch. we were tired and our teams were tired, and we debated for some time whether we should drive ten miles further, where we would find better feed for our oxen. we did so, though it took us till midnight; and there we rested on sunday. this was providential; for it was on this sunday that the cheyenne indians made their memorable raid and plundered the trains, burned the ranches and stole the horses for three hundred miles along the platte river. they attacked the bijou station that we had left on saturday, but they did not venture any nearer denver; consequently we were safe. on our return we saw how the people had been murdered, the trains plundered and the ranches burned along our route; and it presented a terrible spectacle. a man named butler was killed and scalped on the little blue river, and the people in kansas got the word that it was myself. immediately on my return home i rode up to the church at wolf creek, in doniphan county, where we had a district meeting appointed. it was to them as if i had come from the dead. i went home for dinner with my old friend, bro. john beeler. i noticed his little boy peering attentively at me; he climbed upon a bedstead close behind me, then, jumping down, he ran to his mother, and, pulling sister beeler by the apron, said, "ma! ma! the indians did scalp bro. butler; i can see it on the top of his head." the reader must know that, like "old uncle ned," i have no hair on the top of my head. but, in spite of disasters and hardships, and dark and stormy days, our churches continued to grow and prosper, and we kept up a vigorous and aggressive church organization. on sept. , , the churches of the state came together at their fifth annual state meeting at tecumseh, shawnee county. here the brethren organized a missionary society, fashioned after the plan of our general missionary society, and in which life directorships, life memberships and annual memberships were obtained by the payment of a sum of money. the writer of these recollections will explain that the formation of this society was not his work. he doubted whether the brethren were prepared for it. nevertheless, he was willing to be governed by the majority. by resolution of the state meeting, the writer was requested to prepare for publication with the minutes of the meeting an address, of which the following is a copy: address to the christian brethren of the state of kansas. _beloved brethren_: we present to you in these pages the details of the organization of the christian missionary society of the state of kansas. we hope for your approval and ask for your contributions. the warrior may fight for his country on the battle field; the statesman may seek to develop its resources and improve its laws; the husbandman may make its fields heavy with their weight of golden grain; and those who love domestic life may seek to create in that place they call home a second paradise; but broader, deeper, more comprehensive and sweeter far, is the work of christianity. it underlies all good, and is the only sure basis of progress. for two thousand years china and japan have been without the bible, and what they were then, that they are now. for two thousand years the millions of india have been left without god and without hope in the world, and they have only progressed into infinite degradations. the aboriginal inhabitants of america, left without the bible, have only gone down deeper and deeper into a night as black as that which brooded over old chaos. no herschel counts the stars, numbers the planets, measures the length of their years and computes the number of their days, unless his observatory is illuminated by the rays of the sun of righteousness. no luther thunders against priestcraft, shakes the thrones of tyrants, and wakes the nations to a new life and a new progress, save that luther that finds a bible in his cell. no franklin calls down electricity from the clouds to carry messages across a continent swift as the lightning flashes through the sky, save that franklin whose fathers brought the bible with them from their native land, and prized it more than all the gold of ophir. no mother country has had such reason to be proud of any colony that was ever planted on the face of this green earth, as great britain has had reason to be proud of her colonies in north america, and no colonies ever so loved the bible. judson, howard, wilberforce, and florence nightingale drew the inspiration of their benevolence from a dying saviour's cross, and learned of him who, "though he was rich, yet for our sakes become poor, that we through his poverty might be rich." christianity, as it was given by jesus to the apostles, and by the apostles to mankind, was as perfect as the god who gave it. our whole duty then is this, that we should restore primitive and apostolic christianity again to the world. many reformers have sought to do this; but they have only reformed in part. though they fled from babylon they stopped short of jerusalem. we can not pause in this work which we have begun. we can not allow ourselves to grow cold and our churches to die. we must go forward in that path in which the rays of our glorious sun--the sun of righteousness--grow brighter and brighter unto the perfect day. god does not make christians as he created adam out of the dust of the earth. he works by _means_: "how shall they believe in him of whom they have not heard?" god works through the voice of the bible scattered over the world. if any doubt this, let them reflect that among all the millions of men that inhabit the whole earth not one becomes a christian save him who either hears or reads of a crucified saviour. money is the sinews of this war. true, there is peril in money. it is not safe to be rich; and it is admitted that by wealth preachers may be corrupted. but this is not the present danger. the present peril is, that haggard want, stalking in at the preacher's door, will paralyze his tongue, make his knees feeble and his hands heavy, and turn away his heart from his proper work to the question, what shall i eat? and what shall i drink? and wherewithal shall i be clothed? the preacher is told to put his trust in the lord. but when, after long waiting, no ravens come to feed him, he sometimes loses his heart, and says, "i go a fishing." surely the brethren will not have a controversy with the lord. they will not deny that he has appointed that "they that preach the gospel shall live of the gospel." it is by no weak, sickly, faint-hearted, lukewarm, languid, and spasmodic efforts that the cause is to be kept alive. god will have all or nothing. this is an age in which, if never before, both good men and bad men are truly in earnest. the devil is fearfully and terribly in earnest "therefore rejoice you heavens, and you that dwell in them woe to the inhabitants of the earth and of the sea! for the devil is come down to you, having great wrath, because he knoweth he hath but a short time." _we must give till we feel it. the widow's mite was most precious in the eyes of jesus, because it was her all_. the objects we aim at are unquestionably scriptural. "go disciple all nations." this was the saviour's last command. to sustain our missionaries by the free-will offering of our brethren--this is also scriptural. chapter xxxii. in the year the state meeting was held at prairie city. meantime, however, a vigorous local district organization had been maintained from the first in northeastern kansas. this year its annual meeting was held at leavenworth city, continuing from the first till the th of june. in addition to the ordinary purposes for which this meeting was held, it undertook to perfect the missionary society that had been organized the preceding year at tecumseh. among all the conventions held in kansas, whether of state or district, this must be regarded as the most notable: . it offers devout thanksgiving to the lord for the return of peace to the nation: "_resolved_, that with hearts full of gratitude to almighty god, we hail the return of peace to our long distracted country." . after seven years of labor, beginning in , and ending in , notwithstanding the disorders of the period, this convention is able to give a tabulated report of seventy-nine churches organized in the state with their bishops, deacons and evangelists, and having an aggregate of , . . it is able to report a missionary society, that in the eight months intervening between the tecumseh state meeting and the present convention, has collected and paid over to its four evangelists--j; h. bauserman, pardee butler, s. g. brown and j. j. trott--the sum of $ . . the convention was able to adjourn, full of hope and enthusiasm, and to promise itself that it would do a still better work in the time to come. the names of the following persons appear as the accredited messengers of the churches: leavenworth--j. c. stone, g. h. field, s. a. marshal, h. allen, j. t. gardiner, calvin reasoner. ottumwa--j. t. cox, wm. gans, j. jenks, peter smith. tecumseh--j. driver, m. driver, a. j. alderman. americus--w. c. butler, s. s. chapman. le roy--s. g. brown, allen crocker. little stranger--j. h. bauserman, s. a. lacefield, j. adams, j. p. bauserman. iola--s. brown. nine mile--n. d. tyler, j. t. goode, h. dickson. garnett--j. ramsey, h. cavender. holton--e. cope, j. p. nichols, t. g. walters, a. b. scholes. pardee--pardee butler, n. dunshee. belmont--j. j. trott. monrovia--j. n. holliday, john graves, caleb may. mt. pleasant--joseph potter, thomas miller, joseph mcbride, n. humber. olathe p. e. henderson, john elston, martin davenport, addison bowen. lanesfield--o. s. laws, wm. maxwell, h. c. maxwell. prairie city--h. h. johnson. buck creek--c. m. short, thomas finch, martin stoddard. grasshopper falls--james ritter, s. smith. winchester--cyrus taylor, a. r. cantwell. but we wait for a period of seventeen years, then eld s. t. dodd, of topeka, is appointed by the kansas christian missionary society to write a history of the work of the christian church in kansas, which he does in a tract of thirty-eight pages; and bro. d., writing under date of , makes the following summary of the work done: from to anything like church work was as good as thrown away, except as affording temporary privileges. finally a time came when the clatter of arms and the clatter of raiders were ended; railroads were built, and emigration poured in from all states and nations, among which were many disciples of christ, who should have been builded into existing churches, or collected into new ones; but many were permitted to drift along in carelessness and irresponsibility until their identity as members has been lost. during the past five years there has been a general awakening among our brethren, which has resulted in very many new organizations and the possession of atchison, topeka, wichita, and several other strongholds. bro. dodd makes report of the following state meetings as having been held in kansas: in , grantville; in , le roy; in , st. george; in , emporia; in , topeka; in , olathe; in , ottawa, in , manhattan; in , emporia; in , gates center; in , emporia; in , manhattan; in , salina; in , emporia. to the above summary the writer will add the following list of the earlier territorial and state meetings: in , big springs; in , prairie city; in , emporia; in , ottawa; in , tecumseh; in , prairie city; in , ottawa; in , olathe. to the above statistics we will append the following reflections: . among the preachers that prominently appear in the first seven years of our work, there are none remaining, save the writer of these recollections, some are fallen out by the way. elders s. g. brown, wm. gans, n. b. white, s. a. marshal and allen crocker have died in the faith and hope of the gospel. the name of j. h. bauserman does, indeed, appear, but he had only just begun his work; but having put the armor on, he has never laid it off. the name of j. b. mccleery does not yet appear on the minutes of our yearly meetings, still he was already an evangelist. he had been in ohio the friend and companion of james a. garfield, and soon came to be known as one of the first pulpit orators of the state. the government, like death, "loves a shining mark," and claimed bro. mccleery for its service, and he is now an army chaplain. the churches will never cease to regret his choice, and yet he had a right to make it. . the facts do not bear out the remark of bro. s. t. dodd, that "from to anything like church work was as good as thrown away." with seventy-nine churches organized, and with upwards of three thousand church members in the state, work could scarcely be said to be "as good as thrown away." . notwithstanding, the facts bear witness that there were grave imperfections in our work. after a heroic battle, fought under insuperable difficulties, and when there was every promise of still more brilliant triumphs, the cause went into an eclipse, from which it emerged only after many years of disaster. from and after the year , the churches spread themselves over a territory of two hundred miles in width and four hundred miles in length, and a great number of men became responsible for the good or the evil that should come on the cause of primitive and apostolic christianity. it is probable that since the period of which we are speaking, , disciples have located somewhere in these western territories. if the church should now undertake to make inquisition for these church members, and make inquiry into their present condition, temporal and spiritual, the story of their wants and woes would be full of pathetic eloquence. since the days of the apostles an enthusiasm never has been known greater than that which was felt by the men who, under god, are responsible for this reformation. in the beginning of the present century the missionary spirit among christians was dead, and their zeal was wasted in disgraceful squabbles over inoperative and metaphysical opinions, or over modes of church government of which the bible knows nothing. the protestant sects were divided into two hostile camps, known as calvinists and arminians. the calvinist dogma was that jesus died only for the elect, who were chosen in a by-gone eternity; that all men are spiritually as dead and helpless as was the cold dead dust of the earth out of which adam was created, but that god will quicken into a new life dead sinners who are of the elect, and will give them evidence of their acceptance by the joyful emotions which he will create in their hearts. and so the supreme interest of men centered in this, that they were to seek in their own hearts those raptures and ecstasies that were evidence that they had experienced this spiritual change. the arminians gloried in a free salvation. christ died for all. but they demanded identically the same evidence of pardon demanded by the calvinists, and men found it just as hard to get this arminian evidence of pardon as to get the experience that assured them that they were of the elect, according to the gospel of calvinism; and so it game to pass that this lethargy of christians over missionary work, and these wranglings over human opinions, had, before the revolutionary war, covered the american colonies like a blanket with the spirit of infidelity. the corruption of christianity by the roman catholic church issued in the atheism of the french revolution, and has created the infidelity of modern european nations; so like causes had precipitated a similar result in america. men were groping as the blind grope in darkness, and then came, during the first half of the present century, the proclamation of primitive and apostolic christianity. alexander campbell, john smith, jacob creath and samuel rogers in virginia and kentucky, and walter scott, the haydens and john henry in northeastern ohio, made the people understand that the plan of salvation is as simple as the primer of our childhood; that it is all comprehended in this, that we must bow to the authority of jesus, that we must believe in him and keep his commandments, and that the whole story is told in the four gospels and in the acts of the apostles with such simplicity that he that runs may read, that he that reads may understand, and that he that understands may act. alexander campbell has said that a persecution made up of defamation, proscription and slander may be as hard to hear as that which issues in bonds and imprisonments; and this these early disciples had to bear. but the world was ripe for reformation, and the cause spread like fire on the prairies. those who originally planted these churches in kansas were, in large part, men and women who had drawn their inspiration directly from the founders and leaders of this reformation. to some of them it had been given to sit at the feet of alexander campbell. others had listened to john smith, and had been magnetized by the inimitable wit and wisdom of that marvelous man, and their hearts had drawn heroic courage from his heart. others still had been captivated by the boyish and unstudied drollery of walter scott, only to be swept away by a whirlwind of passionate appeal and terrible invective, or to be melted with the tenderness of his portrayal of the love of jesus. and all these came to kansas bearing a great cause in their hearts, and determined to build up here such churches as they had left behind them. but this was not all. here were not only people among the most refined, well informed, and pious in the nation, but here were those who had been born in a storm of religious fanaticism, and could only live in a whirlwind of excitement. these were the "big-meeting" christians. there were also those whose truthfulness was doubtful, whose business methods were questionable, who could, on occasion, indulge in coarse and vulgar jokes and smutty jests, and whose religion scarce kept them outside the grog-shop. added to all this, there were many whose hearts were yet bleeding with wounds they had received in that terrible struggle out of which the nation had just emerged. and now, afflicted with poverty, drouth, grasshoppers and starvation, we were left an agglomeration of heterogeneous materials, to fight our own battle as best we might. we might hope for help from the lord, but not from our brethren in the older states. they were too busy debating the divine plan of missionary operations to help us. the reader may well believe that the writer of these recollections did not find himself carried to the skies on flowery beds of ease while this was going on, nor did he find himself reposing on a couch soft as downy pillows. chapter xxxiii. whatever may have been thought by a certain class of men, when the writer began his work in kansas, it is now universally admitted among the disciples that temperance work is legitimate church work--that the saloon being an enemy to our homes and our families, and the greatest peril that confronts the church and nation, its extinction is a legitimate object of christian endeavor. there was a young evangelist prominently engaged with us in our early work whose history is so sad, and whose relations, who are of the excellent of the earth, have already had their hearts so wounded because of him, that i have not been able to bring myself to write his name. he was of irish descent, and before he became a preacher, or even a disciple, and while learning his trade, he had formed the drinking habit. he was not a young man of brilliant gifts, but they were solid. moreover, he was humble, patient, industrious and persevering, and, having excellent health and a good physical organization, he gave promise of enduring usefulness. in short, he belonged to that class of young men that, while the people do not spoil them with flattery, yet the church set a great store by them. i can not write the history of his fall, for it was not made known even to his friends; only this, that the time came that he seemed hesitating whether he should continue a preacher, and finally he wholly abandoned the ministry. his wife, who was a most estimable and christian lady, was paralyzed with grief. at length the shameful truth came out--he was a drunkard! a brother undertook to admonish him of the awful fate that awaited him in the future world, but this apostate and disgraced preacher turned fiercely around and said: "_don't talk to me of hell! i am in hell now_!" there was living in the neighborhood of the writer a christian family--though not of the disciples--who had a boy that they regarded as of great promise, and they did what they could to give him a good education. after he had been for a while a school teacher, he became a lawyer, resident in atchison, and finally became a politician. he was talented, social, companionable and ambitious, and soon made himself a man of mark, and was petted and courted by the people, and was the idol of his father and mother. all this brought him much into company. but at that time the brewers and saloonkeepers exercised a despotism over the politicians and public men of the city as absolute as is the despotism of the czar over the russians. but there was this difference: instead of being slaves to a great monarch, these politicians were tools and lick-spittles to a set of coarse, brutal, low-bred liquor dealers, who were exceptionally ignorant, degraded and vile. these wretched and vicious corrupters of the public morals insisted on controlling every caucus, and that the candidates, of whatever party, should be men well pleasing in their sight. if not, then the fat was in the fire, and the candidate was forthwith slaughtered. the writer of these recollections has been a republican as long as there has been a republican party, and has probably loved the party as well as it has deserved. this party, as is well known, has assumed to be "the party of moral and religious ideas." now i have known, in cases not a few, men to be nominated for office by this party--men who were respectable and christian men, and they have told me, and they have made the confession with shame and humiliation--that the party managers have come to them and said, "you are assessed so much for campaign expenses." the pretext was, that this was for legitimate campaign work; and yet they knew that the pretext was a lie, and that it was to constitute a corruption fund, to be put into the saloons. and these men were thus made candidates, to give respectability to the saloonkeepers' party, and, though they did not go into the saloons themselves, they must pay toll to the devil all the same. it was under such circumstances that this boy, who had been raised in our neighborhood, but had grown to be a man, and had entered upon public life, now became a center of attraction to the hale-fellows-well-met of the saloon and the caucus. the reader need not be told that this gifted young lawyer was walking into the very jaws of death. there were soon alarming rumors that he was becoming dangerously addicted to drink, and his friends entreated him to save himself while he could, and he made promise to his mother and wife to reform. but, alas! it was too late! i was traveling home from topeka, and on the railroad train i met a gentleman from atchison--an intimate friend of this young lawyer--and i was congratulating him on the reformation of our mutual friend. he shook his head, and said: "don't deceive yourself. he tells me that he can remain sober two or three months, but that then he can held out no longer, and, not wishing to make a public spectacle of himself, he buys a bottle of liquor, locks himself up in his room, and goes into a regular debauch. then, after three or four days, he is able to appear on the streets again." after a while the friends of this young man buried him. the doctors gave his sickness a respectable name, and reported that he had died of such a disease as decent people may die of, but his friends, with heart-breaking sorrow, knew they were burying a man who had died of a drunken debauch. i have spoken freely of the evils wrought by our border troubles; but now we had to realize that, taking all the men murdered in our early feuds, and comparing them with the men murdered by strong drink in the city of atchison, counting man for man, there have been more men murdered by strong drink than by all our border troubles. there have been more women that have had their hearts broken, more children turned into the streets, more fortunes squandered, in the single city of atchison than in all the kansas war. but there is another point of comparison. the men who wrestled with each other in that early conflict verily thought they were right. they may have been mistaken, but they thought they were in the right; they therefore maintained their own self-respect. but those who have died in this battle of the bottles and the beer glasses have lost everything--self-respect, reputation, honor, everything; and they went to the dogs and their souls went to perdition. i have been a somewhat voluminous writer on many subjects now for forty years, but all this would scarce exceed in amount what i have written in kansas newspapers, during a series of years, on the single subject of temperance. besides, i spent much time in lecturing, for the welfare of the church and of the nation was at stake; and yet, what was done by myself was only a drop in the bucket compared with what went to make up, year after year, a great agitation. at length the people became so aroused that the lawmakers at topeka came to understand that something must be done in the way of temperance legislation; and they gave us a local option law. but crafty politicians obtained that cities of the first and second class should be exempted. this was nothing but mockery. the cities were the very places where the law was most needed, for men from the country went into the city and there they encountered their old enemy, the saloon. and so we kept up the agitation, and demanded that the saloon should be prohibited throughout the state. at length the pressure became so great that the politicians understood a second time that something must be yielded to the popular demand, and they tried another dodge. they said: "we will give you the privilege to vote an amendment to the constitution incorporating prohibition into the constitution of the state." this would at least put off the evil day for two years, for it would take two years before such an amendment could go into operation. but here again was seen the usual treachery. the amendment to be voted on read as follows: "the manufacture and sale of intoxicating liquors shall be forever prohibited in this state, except for medical, scientific and mechanical purposes." this was a stumbling-block laid in the way of feeble-minded christians, for was not this an attack on their christian liberty to use intoxicating wine at the lord's table, and would not this be awful? moreover, it forbade a farmer to manufacture _hard_ cider from his own orchard, and would not this be a _hard_ and tyrannical law? this was vexatious, for we were fighting the saloon, and were not seeking to palter with such frivolous and intermeddling legislation. nevertheless, in spite of these crafty attempts to excite popular odium against the amendment, it was adopted by a majority of more than eight thousand, and it became the duty of the next legislature to enact a law enforcing the amendment. then some of us waited on these "conscript fathers" at topeka, and entreated them, and supplicated them, and almost got down on our knees to them, beseeching- them to use a little courage and common sense. the house of representatives was largely made up of farmers and men from the country, and was overwhelmingly in favor of an honest temperance law; but the senate was largely made up of lawyers and men from the city, and was full of treachery and open and secret enmity. and so the senate took the lead in making the law, and got up a bill that they purposely made as full of imperfections as a sieve is full of holes, and sent it down to the lower house. it was manifestly the duty of the house of representatives to amend the bill, but now a great scare was got up. the cry was raised: "there is treachery! treachery! you must adopt this senate bill without amending it, to the extent of changing the dot of an _i_ or the crossing of a _t_; for if it goes back to the senate it will certainly be killed." _and yet the senate had adopted it by an almost four-fifths majority!_ the fact was, that these senators, with all their bluster and bravado, were trembling in their boots, and dared not face their constituents at home while voting against any temperance law, however stringent, and this gave the friends of the law good warrant to make just such a law as was needed. and so the bill became a law; and then there followed such a farce in the courts as might make us lose faith in our christian civilization and in our civilized jurisprudence. and it came to be understood that a coach-and-four could be driven through the loopholes that had been left in the law, and saloonkeepers began to remark, "prohibition don't prohibit." but from this evil we had what must be regarded a providential deliverance. a judge was found who made up in his own integrity and courage whatever was imperfect in the provisions of the law, and his good example was followed throughout the state. john martin, a lawyer, resident in topeka, is a solid, sensible and honest man. his brethren of the democratic persuasion wanted to make him a candidate for governor, but because they would not insert in their platform a plank affirming that the law--because it was the law--ought to be enforced, he declined to accept the nomination, and geo. w. glick was nominated and elected. then mr. glick, to reciprocate this courtesy, appointed martin to a vacant judgeship in the topeka judicial district; and a whisky case came before judge martin. the principal witness undertook to play the usual dodge of perjury and equivocation, but judge martin stopped the witness and said: "sir, you are to tell whether the liquor you bought was whisky." the witness again began to repeat his story of equivocation: "well, i called for _cold tea_, and i suppose i got what i called for." "stop!" said the judge in a voice of thunder. "this witness is lying! sheriff, take the witness and lock him up in jail." the sheriff had got as far as the door when the witness called out: "judge, are you going to lock me up?" "yes, and i will keep you there till you rot unless you tell the truth." "well, i will tell." the witness was placed again in the witness box. "now," said the judge, "was it whisky you bought of this saloonkeeper?" "_yes, it was whisky_." the example of judge martin was imitated by all the courts, and incredible sums of money have been collected as fines from the saloonkeepers, who, with the brewers, fought the battle to the bitter end, and appealed their cases to the supreme court of the united states. but it has ended in their absolute defeat, and even these gentlemen do now admit that prohibition does prohibit--in kansas. since that time the law has been greatly amended, and the saloons have been driven out of the state. one evil yet remains. just across the missouri river from atchison is east atchison, and here whisky and beer are as free as water. of course, this is a great calamity to us, but we wait in expectation and hope that prohibition will yet be achieved in missouri. john a. brooks lives in missouri; we live in kansas. this man was once a rebel; we were loyal men. yet we pray the father of mercies to spare the life of this man, to prosper him and keep him, until he shall achieve this great good, not only to missouri, but to ourselves. chapter xxxiv. this reformation in the rapidity of its growth is without parallel in the history of protestant parties. those acquainted with its history need not be told that a large number of its members were at first drawn from the baptists. it is indeed a matter of wonder that a presbyterian minister, but a short time identified with the baptists, should exert such an influence over them as to induce a great multitude _of_ churches and church members to resolve that when he was driven out of the baptist church they also would share his fortune, and accept loss of reputation and exclusion from their former brotherhood for the sake of the principles they had learned from him. now, when we reflect that this embraced not only young men, but old men--men already arrived at that period of life at which it is most difficult to change our habits of thinking and acting, it becomes a question of profoundest interest; were these men able to make a change so radical as to plant themselves completely on reformation principles, and to abandon everything in their old baptist order incompatible therewith? when we remember that this movement embraced gray-haired baptist ministers, who all their lifetime had been accustomed to lead and not to follow, we curiously inquire, did they do this, or did they locate themselves on a sort of half-way ground which was a compromise between reformation principles and old baptistism? let us briefly notice wherein they changed, and wherein they did not change. . they laid aside the name baptist and took the name christian. . they built upon the bible alone, instead of the philadelphia confession of faith. . they taught that the church began at pentecost, rather than with the preaching of john the baptist. . they baptized men into a profession of faith in the lord jesus, that he is the messiah, rather than into a christian experience, made up of voices in the air, marvelous and strange sights, trances and rapturous feelings. . they taught that in conversion and sanctification, the holy spirit operates through the truth. thus far the change was radical, but here a large minority paused and brought with them into the reformation their old baptist church usages. the baptists in the great west and south are known as "missionary baptists," and "old baptists," or "hardshell baptists." adoniram judson and luther rice, who had been sent to burmah by a congregational missionary society, made known to the baptists that they themselves had become baptists, and had been repudiated by their own society, and asked for help. the missionary baptists are by far the most enterprising in all that pertains to the spread of christianity. they are the most numerous, most wealthy, best educated, and most liberal. in translating the bible into all languages, in carrying it into all lands, and in sending the gospel to all nations, they have made some amends for that unrelenting bitterness which they have shown toward our brethren from the first day till now. we shall glance at what has hitherto been their order by making certain extracts from the _central baptist_, published in the year . the reader must bear in mind that we are writing of those old days: in arkansas there are but four missionary baptist churches that sustain a regular pastor, or sustain preaching more than once a month. in north alabama, two; in the whole of alabama, twelve; in missouri, twenty-seven. missouri has six hundred white churches, with a membership of fifty thousand, which have preaching once a month. once a month preaching by secularized ministry! is it any wonder that the cause does not go forward faster? not more than two dozen out of seven hundred churches in missouri have service every sunday. let us pause a moment over this picture of southern and western baptist churches, drawn by themselves. in arkansas but four churches had at this time preaching every lord's day; in alabama, twelve, and in missouri twenty-four out of seven hundred! well may the writer ask, "is it any wonder that the cause does not go forward faster?" but if this was the order of the missionary baptists in the year , what must have been the order of the old baptists seventy years before, when "raccoon" john smith was groping his way out of darkness into the light of the gospel, all unconscious of his utter blindness, that the reading of the scriptures would conduce, either directly or indirectly, to his regeneration or sanctification. the people known as "hardshell" baptists do not wish to be called by that name. they wish to be known as old baptists, or united baptists, for they allege that they are the lineal descendants of the united baptists, and that the missionary baptists have apostatized, and gone away after strange gods. the old baptists had long been declaiming against college-bred preachers and a hireling ministry. they had certain pet theories concerning man's inability and god's sovereignty concerning a certain special, supernatural, immediate and efficacious work of grace on the heart of the sinners. they said, "if god wants a missionary, he can send him, and maintain him, too. he needs no human help in the conversion of sinners, whether at home or abroad. we can find no scripture for sunday-schools, bible classes, prayer-meetings, weekly meetings, hireling preachers, missionaries or missionary societies." so they kept to their monthly meetings and monthly preaching. they have no schools of learning, few educated men, no well-educated men, no missionaries, no contributions for missionary purposes, no weekly meetings, no weekly preaching, no weekly breaking of the loaf, no sunday-schools, no bible classes, no prayer-meetings. but they have monthly preaching, by a man who is reputed a pastor over four churches, and who, in the nature of things, can not reside in three of the four churches over which he professes to preside. he obtains but meager pecuniary reward for his preaching. he therefore provides for his own sustenance and that of his family by the labor of his own hands. for this reason he must needs go to his appointments on saturday, and return on monday morning, and is therefore comparatively a stranger to the greater part of his four several flocks. he can not know their daily life. a few preachers among the old baptists preeminently godly, self-sacrificing, and devoted to the lord's cause, have left their families to suffer poverty and want, and have spent their lives in looking after the stray lambs of the flock; but this is not the general rule. this baptist bishop has no authority whatever in any matter of discipline, his function being that of a moderator in a saturday business monthly meeting. the sitting in judgment on the alleged acts of disorderly members belongs to the whole church, men and women, boys and girls. we are now prepared to take the measure of the means of spiritual culture enjoyed by this people. it is just one sermon a month; or, if they are peculiarly favored, it is three sermons a month. the children are left at home. they run wild like so many young apes, and wander along the streams or through the forests; or, if they are brought by their parents to the meeting, there is nothing especially for them. it will be well for us to ponder well the inevitable consumption and slow decay that is surely wearing out these old baptist churches. like the house of saul, they are growing weaker and weaker. what a contrast between their condition now and seventy years ago. then the united baptists were the most powerful religious body in the great west. then jacob creath and jeremiah vardeman could, if they had been so disposed, have elected the governor of kentucky. then the baptists were strong in the affections of the people, and strong in the memory of those men who had, through incredible toil, obloquy, poverty and loss of goods, planted the baptist cause in the american wilderness. alexander campbell, with his eminent gifts of eloquence and learning, was welcomed among the baptists almost as an angel from heaven. but his well-meant efforts to work a reformation in the baptist churches were despised, and he was thrust out as a heathen man and publican. what treasures untold reside in the lord's house, the lord's day, the lord's book, and the ordinances of the lord? it is the glory of christianity. now let the members of a christian church fail to meet at the lord's house for christian worship on the lord's day, and to what snares and temptations do they not subject themselves and their children? what temptations to idleness and to wasting the lord's day in visiting and gossiping, or in drowsy lethargy! the sanctification of the lord's day by meeting in honor of the resurrection of the saviour, and especially with a reference to the celebration of the lord's supper, is essential to the edification, spirituality, holiness, usefulness and happiness of the christian community. it is not designed to throw into the shade any other duties of the christian church while contending for those above stated; but because no society save the disciples of christ so regard, observe and celebrate the lord's day. we endeavor to arrest the attention of our fellow professors to the great design of it and of the coming together of the members of christ's family on that day. when assembled for this chief purpose, the reading of the scriptures, teaching, exhortation, prayer, praise, contributions for the poor, and discipline when called for, are all in order and necessary to the growth of the christian church in all the graces of the spirit, and in all the fruits of holiness.--alex. campbell, in _millennial harbinger,_ vol. i., p. , new series. and what an audacious wrong and unutterable blunder would it be for god's chosen people to adopt an order that should defraud themselves, their children, their neighbors and their neighbor's children of such a glorious privilege. if we could imagine two communities, one of which should, with their children and their children's children, diligently devote the lord's day to purposes of moral, religious and intellectual improvement, while the other community should waste the day in idle and frivolous dissipation, what unmeasured progress would ultimately be made by one beyond that made by the other. and to which of these two classes will that favored people belong to whom will be awarded the high privilege of introducing among jarring sects and parties the true millennial church? and do not these considerations go far to explain the contrast that is everywhere seen to exist between protestant and catholic countries? among protestants the day is a day to be sanctified to purposes of religious worship, among catholics it is a holiday. the peculiarity of our position creates an invincible necessity that we shall make the largest possible provision for the moral, intellectual and religious training and development of our people. this provision is largely found in keeping the ordinances of the lord's house and the lord's day. we have made a vow, and that vow is recorded in heaven, that we will meet together every first day of the week to break bread. to do otherwise--to show a good-natured imbecility of purpose--to drift helplessly along in the usages of the old baptists, conscious in our own hearts that this is not the ancient order of things, and having sternly demanded conformity to the apostolic order, at whatever sacrifice of peace, now to suffer our own brethren to travel on in the old ruts, rather than hazard the pain and trouble that will be the price of reform, would be a folly so inexcusable, a shame so unutterable, that the very stones might well cry out against us. chapter xxxv. professor william h. whitsitt, of the southern baptist theological seminary, at louisville, ky., has written a book that has for its leading feature to make it appear that the disciples are an "offshoot from the sandemanians." the sandemanians, like the baptists, had both faults and virtues. they were one of the earliest sects of the scotch presbyterians to protest against a union of church and state; they practiced a weekly breaking of the loaf; held to a plurality of elders in every church, and were exceptionally helpful to the poor; and surely, even dr. whitsitt will not call these damnable heresies. but they were also rigid separatists. they were calvinists of the straitest sect, and made all their opinions a bond of union. in this they were like the baptists, but essentially dissimilar to the disciples. they exalted feet washing and the holy kiss into church ordinances, and excluded all who did not agree with them in these opinions, just as the baptists exclude from the lord's table all who are not of "our faith and order," though they admit that those persons thus excluded are regenerated, accepted of the lord, and enjoy the indwelling of the holy spirit. differing from the sandemanians in the most essential element of our plea, we hold a very remote relationship to them--that of fortieth cousin, perhaps. the disciples are just as evidently an offshoot from the baptists, as children are an offshoot from the parental stock. twenty years after the writer had begun his work in kansas, he was able to count among fifty churches which had been organized within his knowledge, twenty-five that were dead; and there were six meeting-houses that were left unoccupied or sold for debt. and the church members would say to me: "we can neither preach, nor pray, nor read the scriptures, nor break the loaf to edification, and we are too poor to hire a preacher. what shall we do?" they had no training, save that training they had obtained in the old baptist churches, or one similar in our own, and now that they were scattered over the great west, and were poor in this world's goods, they were indeed in a pitiably helpless condition. i sometimes said, "get up a sunday-school." but the old heads would get together and begin to debate where cain got his wife, or who was the father of melchisedec, or what was the thorn in the flesh that afflicted paul; or they would dispute over the mode of baptism, or the operation of the holy spirit, and the boys, verifying the old adage that the devil always finds work for idle hands to do, and not appreciating this sort of thing, would shoot paper balls at each other and at the old folks, and the girls would do naughty things and grieve their mothers, and the whole thing would go up in smoke. nothing seemed to be left to these brethren, only the protracted meeting and monthly preaching. to many of them "pastorating" was one of the sorceries which, with the mother of babylon, had bewitched the world. these brethren seemed to have forgotten that paul gives highest praise to that elder that not only rules well, but so addicts himself to the ministry of the word and teaching as to require that he shall be sustained by the freewill offerings of the brethren. and when we sought an arrangement by which all should give--each man, according to his ability--we were alarmed with fearful prognostications of evil: "beware! beware!" these brethren said, "you are making a veritable popish bull, and he will gore you to death. beware of missionary societies!" and when we turned to these men and besought them, "tell us, dear brethren, how we shall obtain, without offense, the means to send help to those perishing churches?" they were silent. this was not their function. their vocation was to warn the people against popish bulls and human missionary societies, for which there can not be found a thus saith the lord, in express terms or by an approved precedent. meantime the churches in the older states had contributed one hundred thousand disciples--this has sometimes been the estimated number--as emigrants to the great west, and these were scattered over its wide extended territories, and it was to be shown how far this contribution, more precious than gold or silver or costliest gems, should be as water spilled on the ground, or as treasure cast into the bottom of the sea, or how far it should be as precious seed bearing fruit, some thirty fold, some sixty, and some one hundred fold. when our first churches were organized in kansas, alexander campbell had become old and well-stricken in years. i have already written of the missionary society that was created in , and of the great convention held in leavenworth city in , in which we sought to perfect the workings of that society. within the following year mr. campbell died, and the always welcome _millennial harbinger_ ceased its monthly visits. the voice of mr. c. had been a bugle blast calling men to heroic deeds, and his overshadowing influence had restrained from that tendency to division, for opinion's sake, which is our inheritance from our common protestantism. but now a great emigration had come into kansas from every part of the united states, and among these were many who looked with no favor on any innovation on the traditions of the fathers. mr. c. had said in his notable debate with the rev. n. l. rice, at lexington, ky.: "men formerly of all persuasions, and of all denominations and prejudices, have been baptized on this good confession, and have united in one community. among them are found those who had been romanists, episcopalians, presbyterians, methodists, baptists, restorationists, quakers, arians, unitarians, etc., etc. we have one lord, one faith, one baptism, but various opinions. all these persons, of so many and contradictory opinions, weekly meet around our lord's table in hundreds of churches all over the land. our bond of union is faith in the slain messiah, in his death for our sins and his resurrection for our justification." it is perfectly apparent that to harmonize these elements--often opposite and conflicting--thus brought together in one body was no easy task, but we had more than this to do; we were also to harmonize the fierce antagonisms growing out of our early contests, and then to make those brethren who had been heretofore averse to any combination whatever for religious work other than that of the single congregation--to make them feel the absolute necessity of united action and cooperation. this was indeed a task most difficult. and if the final good results have only slowly become apparent we are entitled to the judgment of charity. it is admitted that every liberty that god has given to men may be abused, and has been abused. marriage, religion, civil government, the rights of property, eating and drinking--in short, all liberty, of whatever kind, may be and has been abused. still we must use our liberty, our very existence depends upon it. i have said it already, and i say again, if sixty millions of the american people can unite together to promote the public tranquillity, and all citizens enjoy more of personal liberty than they could enjoy if every county were an independent principality, then our whole brotherhood, from the atlantic to the pacific, may be trusted to meet together, by their messengers or in person, to promote necessary christian work without endangering our christian liberties. if all the churches of macedonia could unite together to send relief to the poor saints at jerusalem, then, surely, the brethren everywhere may combine together to send relief to people perishing for want of the word of life. and so with much weariness and painfulness, and often with gratuitous and unrequited labor, with long rides by day and by night, and much exposure to heat and cold, to floods and storms, and to rough treatment by wicked men--in short, with that relentless and persistent toil which makes a man old before his time, and in which one man has carried on the work of two men year after year, i have labored on, never doubting, but always hoping for that good time coming, when churches will be just, and give honest pay to honest men who do honest work. my hope has been that if i can not live to profit by that better order of things, it will at least be better for the men that come after me. the wife of a traveling evangelist will always be the proper object of pity and sympathy, if pity and sympathy are to be given. she is not cheered by the smiles of admiring crowds, nor does she feel the intoxication of flattering tongues. she dwells at home in the desolation and loneliness of a practical widowhood, and often ekes out a meager support from a stingy and starveling salary. but somebody has to do this frontier and pioneer work; and might it not as well be me and my wife as any other man and his wife? i have given a wide range to these "recollections." in doing so, i have not followed the example of a cowardly, corrupted and compromising christianity, but rather have imitated the robust and manly courage of the writers of the old and new testament, who tell of the deeds of good men and bad men, and who also use the same freedom in speaking of the evil deeds of wicked rulers that they use in speaking of the things that more immediately concern the spiritual and eternal interests of men. i have made the briefest possible mention of the hapless condition our churches were in twenty years ago. the picture is neither flattering nor cheering; but right royally are the churches now redeeming themselves from the reproach they were under then. a pastor is now being settled in each church as fast as the pecuniary circumstances of the congregation will permit, and a grand enthusiasm in sunday-school work, simplifying and illustrating all its details, has made it possible for the weakest and poorest church to keep itself alive. wherever there are children with their young enthusiasm--and the children, like the poor, are always with us--and wherever there are parents ready to lead their children in the way in which they should go, there the permanency of a church is assured. and now, with many misgivings as touching our immediate future, but with an abiding hope of triumph in the end, i bid the reader farewell. chapter xxxvi. reminiscences. by mrs. rosetta b. hastings. when father went back to illinois, after he was rafted, we visited for several weeks among the churches where he had preached. then we returned with him to kansas, to visit my uncle, and to stay on our claim awhile, lest some person should jump it. we left our goods at mt. sterling, for father had promised to preach there that winter; but he told us that he had determined to move to kansas sooner than he had first expected. we ferried the missouri river near jefferson city, and crossed the kansas river in the woods, where kansas city, kansas, now stands. there was little of kansas city then, except a few warehouses where freight was landed for independence, which was the starting point of the santa fe trail. claims were being taken so rapidly that we remained to hold ours, while father returned to illinois to preach. two families in one room made it rather crowded, but we had a comfortable cabin. it contained a twelve-paned window--the only one in the settlement; cabins usually had no windows, or very small ones. mr. may's folks had oiled paper over a narrow opening, which they closed with a board shutter. i asked their little girl why they did not have a larger window, and she said the indians might get in. but no indians troubled us. when father came home, april th, we all ran out to meet him. but mother's quick eye detected something wrong. "why, i look all right, don't i?" he asked, smiling. when we reached the house she again questioned him, and he sat down, rolled up his sleeve, and showed us his arm, brown with tar, and fuzzy with cotton. then he told us his story. they had not tarred his face, except a spot on his forehead, where, he said, they had stuck a bunch of cotton as large as his two fists. the road to ocena, as our post-office was called, ran up the bluff now known to atchison people as sam kingstown. on the top of that ridge he had stopped, and pulled off his coat of tar and cotton, put on his clothes and come home. a few evenings after that, we heard that a company of south carolinians had camped near mr. may's house. father said they had probably come after either himself or caleb may. so he went up to mr. may's, to see what to do about it. after he left, uncle nailed shakes over the window, and cleaned up his old flint-lock musket, and loaded it carefully. aunt moulded bullets, while mother got the ax and butcher knife, and then stuffed rags in the cracks, and brought in the half-bushel to turn over the light, so that they could not see where to shoot. then we all took turns standing out in the darkness at the corner of the house, to keep watch, and listen for the sound of guns from mr. may's. father came home at eleven. he said the south carolinians had asked permission to sleep in an empty cabin. he and mr. may had followed them, and he had crept under the cabin floor and listened, and they had seemed to be sleeping soundly. so we all went to bed, but father slept with a revolver under his head, which mr. may had insisted on lending him. the next morning the south carolinians went quietly on their journey. we learned afterwards that they were on their way to lay out the town of marysville, in marshall county, and did not know that they were in the same neighborhood with pardee butler and caleb may. father wrote an account of the atchison mob, and took it to lawrence to be published in the _herald of freedom._ the congressional committee summoned him to give his testimony. while there, the lawrence people gave him a pistol, and insisted that he must carry it. father told us how the carolinians had sworn to kill him, when they heard his testimony before the committee; and as soon as he heard they were coming back, after the destruction of lawrence, he knew that he was in danger. brave as he might be, he saw no good in allowing himself to be butchered by those infuriated men, and resolved to keep out of their way. he kept his horse picketed on the grass near where he was at work, with saddle and bridle close by. one day as i was helping him drop sod corn on uncle's claim--two miles from our own--while uncle worked at his new cabin, we saw some horsemen coming over the hill. "they are south carolinians," said father, and saddling his horse, he rode in the opposite direction. in the afternoon he came back, saying that they had followed him all day, and he had circled here and there over the hills, and he had happened to meet two of them, one at a time, and recognized them as some of the men who had mobbed him; and they knew him too, but they had not dared to attack him single-handed. he thought they were trying to get together, to attack him the next time they saw him.-he wanted uncle to change coats and hats with him, so that, if they saw him in the distance, they would not know him. he wore a black coat and hat, and uncle wore a white palmleaf hat, and had with him, in case of rain, an old-fashioned, light gray overcoat. these father put on, and throwing a white cloth over his horse, rode away, telling us that he would not be at home that night, and that we need not look for him until we saw him. day after day those men followed him, like hounds after a wolf. through the day he rode here and there, spending the night with first one neighbor, then another. one day, when uncle was working at his cabin, some south carolinians rode up, and not seeing father, they searched the woods and ravine near by, and rode away. father spent one night with mr. duncan, and had just gone out of sight in the morning, when the south. carolinians rode up. "does pardee butler ride a bay horse?" they asked. "no, sir," replied mr. duncan. "we saw a man ride into the woods just now," said they, "that looked like pardee butler, but he was riding a bay horse." "pardee butler never rides a bay horse." and so they went the other way. father rode a spirited young "copper-bottom" horse, named copper, that looked either bay or gray at a distance, as the light happened to shine. one day, father went to the post-office after his mail, and two young neighbors riding up, and seeing his horse hitched there, thought to have some fun. with loud shouts they galloped up, and hearing them, he stepped to the door, sprang on his horse, and dashed off over the hill, with them after him. but when they reached the top of the hill they found that he was standing on the ground behind his horse, with his pistol levelled at them across his saddle. they were glad to make themselves known, and own up to the joke. father slipped home a few minutes almost every day, to let us know that he was yet alive, and to see if we were safe. every night we fastened up the house, expecting that before morning the ruffians would try to burst in to search for father. those were days of terrible anxiety for mother, for she thought every time father rode away that it was probably their last parting. yet she was brave and quiet, and said little. but father grew tired of being dogged, and told us that he was going to lawrence. he was gone some time and we did not know where he was. my little four year old brother george heard much talk of border ruffians, and he went around flourishing a long thorn for a dagger, and boasting in childish accent: "bad border 'uffians s'an't get my pa. i hit 'em in 'e eye wid my dagger." one day i was helping uncle drop corn, when george came running to us, much excited. "i foun' a border 'uffian! i foun' a border 'uffian! i hit 'em in 'e eye! i hit 'em in 'e eye!" we ran to see what he had found, and he ran ahead, picking up pebbles as he ran, "to fro at 'e bad border 'uffian." what do you think he had found? a mud turtle! and that was his idea of a border ruffian. but he had a chance to see one. one day, while father was away, two men rode up to the house, whom we knew to be border ruffians by their red shirts and the revolvers in their belts. mother told george and me to hide behind the door, while she talked to them. they asked for a drink of water, but while they waited for it, one of them rode almost into the door, and looked around the room--we had only one room--evidently looking for father. george became impatient, and kept whispering "let me out, let me see a border 'uffian. i _will see_ a border 'uffian." and he pulled loose from me and peeped around the edge of the door. when father came home he brought some type, and some half-printed papers, blackened with powder, that he had picked up in the sand on the river bank at lawrence, where the border ruffians had thrown the _herald of freedom_ press and papers into the river. on the printed side of the papers was the article he had written about his last mob., years afterwards i asked father what he was doing when he was gone from home in may and june, . he replied: "i was organizing the republican party in northern kansas. i first went to lawrence, and there the leaders insisted that i ought to visit various points in the northern part of the state, and organize the new party, and i did so." soon after father's return, in june, some of the neighbors announced a meeting for him at bro. elliott's, four miles from our house, of which he speaks in chapter xvii. to that meeting the people came armed, for the report of the appointment had reached atchison. they left their guns in their wagons, or set them in convenient corners, while they listened to the preaching; for they were determined to defend father in case of attack. mr. john quiett, who is yet one of our neighbors, was one of three men who stood guard at the fence, watching for approaching enemies, while father preached. but no attack was made. uncle milo had taken us to the meeting; and mother asked father to go home with us, and he replied, "yes, i am going home once more." mother told him she would be glad to have him go with us, but she was afraid to have him stay all night. "i am going to stay at home for one night, for i have some letters to write," was his reply. mother was very uneasy on the road home, for she said the border ruffians would be watching for us in the woods. but we reached home without molestation. father sat up until after midnight, writing letters, and then went to bed and slept safely. the next day one of our neighbors told us that just at dark that evening she saw a band of men ride into the woods between her house and ours, but she was afraid to come over and tell us. other neighbors saw them go out on monday morning, and ride toward town. a few days afterwards, a neighbor, who stood "on both sides of the fence" in regard to politics, went to atchison, and he told us that nine south carolinians hid in our woods to take father that night, but they had seen his light burning so late that they were afraid, and went back and told that he had forty armed men, who stood guard all night, and they could not take him. but father was not by any means the only one whom the border ruffians molested. they were continually riding around the country, frightening the people, and "pressing" horses--which was another name for stealing them. and the free state man who made himself prominent was liable to be shot any time they could catch him. the free state men kept their horses hidden in the brush, and often hid there themselves. every time any of the neighbors saw several horsemen riding over the prairie, they thought it was the border ruffians. one day caleb may saw quite a company of men riding toward his place. he and his son and hired man stationed themselves under the bank, where both the house and the ford would be within range of their guns. mrs. may was to talk to the horsemen as they rode past the house, and, if they were border ruffians, she was to shut the door, as a signal to the husband to be ready for attack. when they rode up, however, they proved to be mr. speck, and about twenty other neighbors from the lower neighborhood, who had brought their horses up to mr. may's to guard them from the ruffians, who stood in great fear of caleb may. when the ruffians returned to missouri, after one of their raids, some of them told in de kalb, where mr. may lived before coming to kansas, that they had killed him. one of his old neighbors, named jones, rode into de kalb one day, and was accosted by on e of the returned border ruffians with "we've got caleb may this time; got his head on a ten-foot pole." "anybody killed?" queried mr. jones. "oh, no." "anybody hurt?" "no." "then it's a lie!" responded mr. jones. "i know caleb may well enough to know that when you get him somebody 's going to get hurt." mr. may had for years been a temperance man, in the midst of a drinking population of the frontiers of arkansas and missouri, and made the first temperance speech ever made in de kalb. his oldest son, when fifteen, had never tasted whisky. one day, when mr. may had gone on a journey, the boy was in town, and loafers, seeing him pass a saloon, shouted, "cale may's gone; let's have some fun with his boy." so they dragged him into the saloon, and poured whisky down his throat, and sent him home drunk to his mother. when mr. may returned home they told him what had happened. at that time there was a local option temperance law in missouri, under which a majority of the people in a township, by signing a petition to the court, could have the saloons abolished as public nuisances. de kalb was full of saloons, and there was one on almost every road corner in the county. years afterwards i heard mr. may tell the incident, and his eyes flashed, as he said with his slow, strong emphasis, "when i came home and heard what had happened, _you bet i_ was _wrathy_! i just jumped on my horse, and i rode that township up and down, and i never stopped until i had signers enough to my petition, and i cleaned every saloon out of that township." doubtless many a man signed that petition because he dared not refuse; for, although usually kind and quiet, few dared to face his anger. when lawrence was besieged, in may, a company of free state men was raised around here, and they sent john quiett to lawrence to offer their services for the defense of the town, but were refused by mr. pomeroy. soon after the return of the south carolinians from lawrence they found mr. quiett in the atchison postoffice. they at once seized him as a free state leader, and began to debate whether to shoot or hang him. but one of the pro-slavery merchants of atchison interfered, and begged them to let him go. he got out, mounted his horse, and started for home, twelve miles away. but the carolinians, like pharaoh of old, repented that they had let him go, and soon started in pursuit. it was a hot race, for as mr. quiett reached the top of each hill he could see his pursuers coming behind him. but he reached home; and when they came to the creek near his home, they were afraid to pass through the woods--probably fearing an ambush--and returned to town. but parties were sent out to take him when he was unprepared; and, finding that he was hunted, he was afraid to stay at home nights. i have heard mrs. quiett say, that one day, when her husband had been away several days, he came home for a little while, and she gave him something to eat. after eating he lay down to sleep on a lounge that stood along the front side of the bed. she was rocking her baby in the middle of the cabin, when the border ruffians rode up to the house, and one of them, riding so close that his horse's head was inside of the door, leaned forward and looked around the cabin. the door was at the foot of the bed, and it so happened that the lounge on which mr. quiett lay was so close to the bed, and so low, that the edge of the bed just hid his body. the ruffian said not a word, but looked until he seemed satisfied that there was no one in the room but mrs. quiett, and then they both rode away. she said that she could not speak, but felt as though she was frozen to her chair, for she was sure that, if they had seen mr. quiett, they would have shot him before her eyes. not until they were out of sight did she speak or stir. mr. quiett and mr. ross went with father to topeka, when the free state legislature and convention met, july , , of which father speaks in chapter xvi. mr. quiett says that the free state men went there determined to defend the legislature. there were several large companies of well-armed men stationed near, awaiting orders from the convention; and one company armed with sharp's rifles lay behind a board fence by the side of the road. several speakers made excited speeches, urging the members of the convention to be men, and defend their lawful rights, even at the risk of their lives. the free state men were wrought up to the verge of desperation. the vote was about to be taken, whether or not to resist the troops. there was much suppressed excitement; and, had the vote been taken then, it would undoubtedly have been in favor of resistance. father, in the meanwhile, was on a committee, in a back room. mr. quiett began calling for pardee butler. others took up the call, and, hearing it in the committee room, he came out. they demanded a speech on the question in debate. he begged them to bear their wrongs patiently, and to allow no provocation to cause them to resist the united states authorities. he besought them to be loyal to their country, and never fire on the old stars and stripes. mr. quiett said it was a powerful speech, timely and eloquent. when he sat down the tide had turned. the vote was taken, and it was decided not to resist the troops. mr. quiett says that without a doubt that speech not only saved them from a bloody battle that day, but that it saved the territory from a long, fierce war. after they disbanded, the members of the convention went out and sat down on the prairie grass to eat their dinner, which each took from his pocket, or his wagon. mr. quiett and mr. ross took theirs from the wagon, in which they had ridden to topeka; but father had gone on horseback, as he usually did, and took his dinner from the capacious pocket of his preacher's saddle-bags. mr. quiett said that in getting out his dinner, father took a pistol out of his saddlebags. this created much merriment for them, as they thought it would have been of little use to him in case of attack. they told him that if that was where he carried it, the south carolinians would shoot him some day before he could unbuckle his saddle-bags. but father disliked very much to carry arms, and i think he never did in his life, except for about two months during that dreadful summer. about two weeks afterwards we started to illinois, in the buggy. we crossed the river at iowa point. about nine miles northeast of savannah, in gentry county, missouri, father was taken very sick, and we were obliged to stop at the nearest house. the man at whose house we happened to stop was a mr. brown, from maine; and he and his family were very kind to us. there, for four weeks, father lay sick of a fever. one day, while mother was in father's room, mrs. brown questioned me about living in kansas, and whether the border ruffians ever troubled us. so i told her how father had been treated. father called me into the bed-room, and said that i ought not to have told that, under the circumstances; that it would be a dreadful thing for us to be attacked, with him flat on his back, and we among strangers. i replied that i thought it would do no harm, because mr. brown's folks were from the north, and our friends. but he said it might bring trouble on mr. brown if his neighbors should learn that he had harbored pardee butler. when mr. brown came in at noon, his wife told him the news. he went right in, and told father that butler was such a common name, that he had no idea that he had the honor of sheltering pardee butler. "now," said he, "you need not be uneasy while you are here. yonder hang four good sharp's rifles, and i and my boys know how to use them; and nobody shall touch you unless they walk over our dead bodies." as soon as father was able to travel we finished our journey in safety. we visited our old friends in illinois, and father preached on sundays. while we were at mt. sterling, he lectured on temperance one night, and the bad fellows made a little disturbance. the previous afternoon i had visited a little girl in the village, and we had found and thrown away a nest full of rotten eggs. the next time i saw her she said that her big brother was mad at us, for he was saving those eggs, and he and some other big boys had intended to throw them at pardee butler while he was making that temperance speech; but when they went to the barn, their eggs were gone. the truth was, that her big brother was one of many boys who were fast being made drunkards by the village saloons. mother went to ohio on a visit, and father went to iowa to attend to some business. on his return he met one of the state republican committee, who insisted on making arrangements for him to stay in illinois until the presidential election, and speak for fremont. it was raw november weather when we started back to kansas, with a one-horse wagon, drawn by copper, and a heavily loaded mule team, driven by a boy named henry whitaker, who is now one of the merchants of atchison. mother was sick, and we had to stop a week. then the mud became so deep that father had to buy a yoke of oxen and hitch on behind the mules. then it froze up, rough and hard, and we stopped for a blacksmith to make shoes for the oxen, and were directed to stay with a widow who had an empty house. she had built a new house of hewed logs, with a window in it, and we were allowed to stay in the old cabin. she could not keep from talking about that window. "i've lived all my days without ary winder, an' got along mighty well," said she. "for my part, i don't like winders; they make a house look so glarin', like. we uns never had ary one where i had my raisin'. but the childern is gettin' a heap o' stuck up notions these days, an' they jes' set up that we had to have a winder in our new house." the weather was very cold the rest of the way, and father suffered severely from a felon on his hand. when we reached st. joseph the missouri river was frozen, and our teams were the first to cross on the ice. father took the teams to the top of the icy banks, and hitched them to the ends of the wagon-tongues by means of long chains. we traveled all day over unsettled prairie, hoping to reach mr. wymer's house, on independence creek. we reached the place at nine o'clock, but no house; it had been burned. it was very dark, and bitter cold, but we traveled on. at eleven o'clock we found mr. snyder's cabin, where lancaster is now built. a little later and we should have seen no light. a party of belated surveyors had found the house before the family went to bed; and they were just lying down when we drove up. in those days no one thought of refusing a traveler lodging. the cabin was about fourteen feet square. the family had crowded into one bed, part of the surveyors occupied the other, and the rest were on the floor. we had not eaten a bite since morning. the cooking stove was in a little, cold, floorless shed, and there mother baked some corn griddle-cakes for our supper. the surveyors gave their bed to mother and me, and the men all crowded down on the floor--nineteen in one room. the next morning we drove on to our own house before getting breakfast, glad to find it had not been burned. on sunday, may , , a meeting was held at our house, at which it was agreed that a sunday-school should be organized the next sunday, in mr. cobb's grove, near pardee. there we met nearly every sunday that summer, and father usually preached. much of his time that summer was spent in improving forty acres of his farm, on which he raised some sod corn and vegetables, our corn for bread was ground in mr. wigglesworth's treadmill, turned by-oxen. we had no fruit for many years, but a few wild sorts, and the vegetables were a welcome variation in our diet of meat and molasses. august, , , the pardee church was organized, at the house of bro. a. elliott, with twenty-seven members. in october a frame school-house was finished at pardee, which was thereafter used for church purposes. during father's absence the meetings were led by our elders, dr. moore, bro. elliott, and bro. brockman. we often rode to meeting in the ox-wagon, as did some of our neighbors. chapter xxxvii. reminiscences--continued. father again preached in illinois from october, , until new year. he preached in pardee the rest of the winter; but in the spring he began traveling and preaching in various parts of the territory. it was the wettest summer i ever knew, and he was continually swimming streams. mother often told him that a man who could not swim ought not to swim a horse. but he continued to do so until the streams were bridged, many years later. the last time he did so was in the spring of . he was riding a little indian pony, and carried some bundles. the stranger creek was full, and very cold, and when his heavy overcoat became water-soaked, he saw that the pony was about to be swept down the current. sliding off from its back, he kept his arm about its neck, thinking the water would hold part of his weight. but he soon saw that he was pulling it down stream, so that it was likely to be tangled in some willows, and he reached back and caught hold of its tail, and it pulled him safely to shore. he reached home very wet, but with bundles and overcoat all safe. he then determined to have a bridge on the road along his boundary line. but every man, up and down the creek, wanted a bridge on his own line, and so there was much opposition. but he at length succeeded in obtaining a bridge. this was the only one of father's many contests in which he contended for a personal benefit: his other contests were all for the good of the public. from this deviation i will now return to the year . father was so busy preaching in other places, that he only preached occasionally in pardee. he has sometimes been accused of preaching politics. a good brother who formerly lived in missouri, said, not long before father's death: "they used to tell me before i came to kansas that pardee butler preached politics, and i said that if ever i heard him begin to preach politics, i was going to get right up in meeting, and ask him to show his scripture for preaching politics. now i've been hearing him preach, off and on, for twenty years, and i've never got up in meeting yet, for i've never heard him preach any politics." the only sermon that i can remember as containing any allusion to politics, was one that he preached at pardee that summer of . it was from the text, "woe unto you scribes and pharisees, hypocrites! for ye pay tithe of mint and anise and cummin, and have omitted the weightier matters of the law, judgment, mercy, and faith: these ought ye to have done, and not to leave the other undone." after speaking in a general manner of christian duties that are left undone by those who are precise about certain theological points, he spoke plainly of the injustice and unmercifulness of slavery, and besought christians to be careful how they upheld it in any manner, lest they be condemned by the words of the text. another sermon that he preached at pardee, august , , was from i. kings xviii. : "if the lord be god, follow him: but if baal, then follow him." after delineating very graphically the terrible drouth, and the long contest of elijah with ahab and jezebel, he told of the final triumph of religion, and the merited defeat and punishment of wickedness. he finished with an eloquent appeal from the text, "if the lord be god, then serve him." at the close two boys confessed their savior. one of them was an orphan boy, then making his home at my father's house, and since known as judge j. j. locker, of atchison, who died last september. but winter came, and the co-operation that had engaged father that summer felt that they had paid all they could raise. it had not been enough to pay a hired man, and meet our frugal expenses. yet that was the first money he had made for three and a half years, except by his two trips to illinois. he had appealed to the general missionary society, and they had declined to support him, unless he would promise not to say a word about slavery. but the people were calling to him from every direction to come and organize churches. he decided to appeal personally to the churches in the older states. from december, , until may, , he preached constantly in illinois, indiana, michigan and ohio, collecting what money he could. he reported $ as the amount received, expenses $ , leaving a balance of $ . he received enough more during the summer to make his salary # . . the next summer he preached in kansas; but was not gone all the time, as when in other states. when preaching in distant counties he was sometimes gone four or five weeks, but he was sometimes at home a part of every week. when at home he worked very hard on the farm, to accomplish what he saw must be done, that he might go back to his preaching as soon as possible. mother looked after the work in his absence, and was a good manager, but there was much to which she could not attend. father was nervously energetic, always working and walking rapidly. even after he was sixty years old, although he was a slender man, only five feet nine inches in height, with his right arm trembling with palsy, i have known robust young men to complain that they did not like to work for pardee butler, because he would work with them, and they were ashamed to have such an old man do more than they did, and he worked so hard that he wore them out. he scarcely spent an idle moment. other men could be content to pass their time in careless conversation, but he never could. unless he had some subject that he thought especially worthy of conversation, he said little. he seldom spoke of what he had done, and scarcely ever related any of the many experiences of his trips away from home. in his backwoods boyhood experiences he had learned to make or mend almost every article used by a farmer. he was full of projects, always improving something on the place. every spare moment was used, either in fixing something about the farm, or in reading or writing. he sometimes complained that the days were not half long enough to suit him. he once told his sister that the border ruffians never knew what a service they did him when they rafted him, for he had leisure to think while he was going down the river. my brother charley once said that father was so greedy of time he was afraid he might lose a minute. often in the evening we had to make room by the cooking stove for his shaving-horse, or his leather and harness tools, while he worked until ten or eleven o'clock making or mending some implement or harness. and often, after laboring all day, he read or wrote until eleven or twelve o'clock at night. he read a great variety of books and newspapers, but was particularly fond of church history and religious books of a doctrinal nature. he wrote much for various papers, and was a painstaking writer. he usually wrote his articles two or three times, and the account of his second mob that was written for the _herald of freedom_ he re-wrote seven times. he could write best in the morning, and frequently read and wrote half of the forenoon; and then worked and chored until nine or ten at night, to make up lost time. few ever knew the strong desire that he constantly felt for a life devoted wholly to study and preaching. living, as we did in those days, in a log house with only one room, he had no private place for study, but read or wrote in the midst of the family. yet neither crying babies nor the noisy play of older children distracted him. often he sat, with a look of abstraction, in the midst of our conversation; and we frequently had to speak to him several times before we could attract his attention. we have several hundred of his newspaper articles saved in scrap-books. he preached altogether without notes, and never seemed to make any especial preparation for preaching a sermon. i once asked him how long it took him to prepare a sermon, and he replied, "sometimes longer, sometimes shorter, generally two or three years. of course i do not think of it all that time, but i seldom preach on a subject when it first enters my mind, but let it mature. i always have several subjects on hand at once, and when i am reading i retain whatever strikes me as pertaining to anyone of my subjects." "when do you do most of your thinking?" i asked. "whenever i can; mostly on horseback." his education was never finished; he was a student to the day of his death. even during his last sickness he asked me to return a volume of macaulay's "history of england" that i had borrowed, so that some one could read to him from it. in july, , he was sick for some time; but in september reports thus: "since i recovered from my sickness i have held a series of meetings,--one near atchison, which resulted in eight additions; one at big springs, at which four were added by baptism; and one at pardee, where there was one baptized." november , , the northwestern christian missionary society was organized at indianapolis. father attended it, and remained preaching and collecting money until february. he collected about the same amount as the previous year. in march, , father and bro. hutchinson held the meeting at pardee, of which he speaks in chapter xxix., at which there were forty-five additions. father preached on sunday night. the school-house was closely seated with planks, and crowded almost to suffocation, while a crowd stood outside at doors and windows. father preached on the life of paul, although he did not mention paul's name until near the close of the sermon. he spoke of him as a talented young nobleman, brought up in ease and luxury in a great city, to whom were open the highest positions in his nation. there were but few christians in the land, and they were poor and despised. but at length he felt the power of god, and learned to love the savior. he told how he gave up wealth and position, and became poor and despised, and went everywhere preaching christ and his mighty power to save. he told of his wonderful zeal and energy, as he traveled from country to country, preaching christ to eager thousands. he vividly depicted the courage with which he endured trials, hardships, and persecutions. then he told of his last days--a feeble, gray-haired old man, ending his days in a prison, his few faithful friends far away, enemies on every hand, and a painful, violent death in store for him. did he see the folly of his course? and then he quoted paul's triumphant words: "i count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of jesus christ my lord, for whom i have suffered the loss of all things.... for i am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand. i have fought a good fight, i have finished my course, i have kept the faith: henceforth' there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day, and not to me only, but unto all them also that love his appearing." after speaking of the powerful effect of paul's life and teachings, in helping to transform the world, he eloquently appealed to the young men and women to turn their ambition to life's highest object, to follow the example of that grand old hero, and live a life of true heroism in this world, and win honor and immortality in the world to come. the house rang with that rousing old hymn, "come, you sinners, poor and needy," and eleven young men and women rose to their feet and confessed their savior. no sermon to which i have ever listened has impressed itself so deeply on my memory as that sermon twenty-nine years ago. chapter xxxviii. reminiscences--continued. in the spring of father rented his farm, so that he could devote his whole time to preaching. he built a house in pardee, that we might live near school and meeting until george should be old enough to do the work on the farm. there was plenty of open prairie to pasture the cows, and george and i tended them, while mother made cheese to help support the family. father traveled and preached almost constantly that summer, sometimes alone, sometimes in company with bro. hutchinson. at many of the points at which he organized churches, the old members are now either dead or scattered. but bro. john a. campbell, of big springs, where he built up a strong church, writes as follows of his work there: he told me that his first visit to big springs was in may, . my first recollection of him was that he preached there on the th day of july, of that year, when he organized the church with twenty-eight members, my father (l. r. campbell) and c. m. mock being appointed elders. his subject on that occasion was the "unity of all christians," and he spoke with great power. he again preached there on the th day of august, , and his subject was "faith." on that day the first addition to the church was made by baptism. he continued to preach for the church about once each month through - , and a part of . during that time very many were added, but i have no means of knowing the number. in the fall of he held a successful protracted meeting, and another in the winter with bro. g. w. hutchinson. in , he was at the state meeting at big springs, at which the ground plan of our present co-operative plan of missionary work was laid. there was also raised at that meeting money to buy a large tent, with which bro. butler was to travel and preach as state evangelist. again, in the year or he preached once per month at big springs and some adjacent points--once on the waukarusa, oft the subject of the seventh-day sabbath, out of which grew a correspondence for a debate, but it was not; held, owing to a failure to get a suitable house. in the forepart of december past our church held a memorial service for him, and many pleasant things about his relation to dear brethren and sisters were spoken of. the relation between him and myself was always very pleasant, and i delight to bear testimony to his great ability and grand life and character. i regarded him as my father in the gospel, and he was a source of great help and strength to me. the tent of which bro. campbell speaks was made by the ladies in the pardee school-house. in size it was forty by sixty feet, the roof being shaped like the roof of a house. the second state meeting, and many district meetings, were held in it; and father used it in his meetings for nearly ten years, when it was finally torn up by a storm. in the fall of the missionary society wished him to visit indiana again, to stir up an interest, and collect his salary. i find no report of his work that winter, except this item from one of his letters: "there have been seventeen additions at meetings which i have recently attended--six at brownsburg, hendricks county, and eleven at springville, lawrence county, ind." i have found the note-book which he kept from november, , to november, , in which i find this account: he received # . ; traveling expenses, $ . , leaving for his year's work, $ . . that was the year of the "drouth," and he apprised the brethren where he preached of the destitution in kansas. dr. s. g. moore and my uncle, prof. n. dunshee, of pardee, had been appointed to receive contributions for destitute brethren; and they reported the receipt and distribution of $ . , besides boxes of clothing. after father's return, in march, , he traveled almost constantly. i have found, in the note-book mentioned above, the time and place, and either the subject or text of each sermon he preached that year, one hundred and fifty-three in all. here are some of the subjects named: "the gospel;" "christian union;" "kings of israel;" "noah and the deluge;" "types of the law;" "for what did jesus die?" "baptism, its authority and design;" "from whence ami? and whither am i going?" "the material results of christianity;" and "the kingdom of heaven." father had spent all of the money that was due him from property sold in iowa, except a thousand dollars, with which he intended to pay his debts, and finish paying for land in kansas. while he was in indiana that spring that amount was forwarded in a draft to mother. the war was just breaking out, and by the time she could write to father and receive his instructions as to its disposal, the bank broke, and he lost a large part of it. he had already been running in debt for necessary expenses, hoping each year that his support would be increased, and the loss in the bank threw him so much in debt that he felt it would be impossible for him to preach much longer. in september, , he attended the state meeting in prairie city. on thursday the meeting was held in an empty store-room, for the poles had not yet been cut to raise the tent. after some preliminary business father made a short speech, telling them that he must soon quit preaching for them. he told them how necessary it was that churches should be planted at once in this new state, and how he had tried in vain to arouse the brethren at the east to their responsibility in the matter, but that he was at last obliged to give up and go to work, like an honest man, and pay his debts. he told them how he had loved the work, and how willingly he had toiled and suffered hardships, and begged them to hold out faithfully and do what they could; and when his debts were paid, he would return again to the work. when he closed his hearers were nearly all in tears. many went long distances to that meeting, the brethren and sisters from emporia going in a covered wagon, and camping out on the road. father continued to preach, however, much of the time that winter. that part of his farm that was improved was rented for five years, and he had no money to improve the rest. the renter proved an indifferent farmer, and the rent scarcely sufficed to pay the taxes and winter the cattle. so father entered the only paying business, that of freighting, as he relates in chap xxxi. perhaps some may think from reading that chapter that he only took one trip, but he crossed the plains five times. he first went in the spring of , in bro. butcher's train, taking george, who was only ten years old, along to drive one of his teams, because he could not afford to hire a driver. it was a hard, monotonous life, driving all day and camping at night through all weather; but the hardest part of it was that men and boys all had to take their turn standing guard over their cattle at night. after bro. butcher was taken sick on that first trip, father acted as his boss, and on all his later trips he went as wagon-boss of some large train owned by atchison freighters, also taking along two teams of his own. the wagon-bosses were frequently rough, overbearing men, who not only went armed, but who often treated their drivers tyrannically. they not only cowed the boys with abusive language, but with frequent threats of whipping, or shooting, which they sometimes fulfilled. father never carried arms about his person in any of his trips across the plains. but there was something in his quiet, determined manner that enabled him to rule even the most headstrong of the wild young fellows who usually drove the freighting teams. he was once traveling along, for a short time, in company with a train much larger than his own, whose wagon-boss was a big, burly, swaggering fellow, who was drunk much of the time. each train was driving along behind it such oxen as were unfit for work, and some of the other cattle became accidentally mixed with father's drove. the boss, who was already partially drunk, had ridden on to a ranch to get more whisky. father called on his own boys, and the boys of the other train--on the plains the drivers were often called boys, even though they were middle aged men--to help separate them. but those of the other train refused to help. they tried in vain to separate them, until they were tired out. as they neared the ranch father walked up to the well to get a drink, and there sat the drunken boss on his horse. when he saw father, he exclaimed, with a great oath, "---- ---- ----, what you driving my cattle off for?" "i asked your boys to help separate them," replied father, "but they refused, and i and my boys have worried ourselves out at it. if you will order your boys to help we will try again." "---- ---- you, go back and get them cattle out, or i'll send you to ---- !" father looked him steadily in the face, and said quietly, "i would like to see the irons you would do it with." "---- ---- go back and get them cattle out, or i'll shoot you as sure as ---- !" shouted the fellow, jerking out a revolver with a great flourish. the frightened boys stood back, expecting to see him shoot, but father, without moving, coolly replied, "if you want your cattle out, you will get them out yourself; i will do nothing more about it." the fellow, cowed by father's cool, determined gaze, put his revolver back in his belt, rode off, called his men, and they drove the cattle out themselves. in october, , father decided to make a winter trip, because he could earn more money than in the summer. the owners of the train intended wintering their cattle on the buffalo grass in the colorado valleys, which they found cheaper than wintering them on corn in kansas. the drivers were mostly ohio boys, who drove teams because they wanted to reach the pike's peak gold mines. the oxen were a lot of wild texas steers, and it took about half a day to get them yoked up the first time, so that they only traveled about eight miles out from atchison the first day. george did not go that trip, but father took him to town to help them start--because he said that if george was only ten, he knew more about handling wild oxen than all those green ohio boys--and sent him home the second day out. it had been a very pleasant fall; but i never saw it turn cold so suddenly as it did that day. i remember that i spent several hours gathering in squashes and covering up potatoes; and when i returned to the house at p. m. every leaf on the trees and every flower in the garden was frozen stiff, pointing straight out to the southeast. it was the only time i ever saw a frozen flower garden in full bloom. it sleeted nearly all night, and the texas cattle, frightened and chilled by wind and sleet, were so wild that father and all the boys had to herd them all night to keep them from stampeding. their clothes were wet and frozen, for they were not very warmly dressed, and george said he never suffered so much with the cold in his life as he did that night. it was a hard and stormy winter, and the ohio boys, unused to such a life, suffered badly, many of them freezing their hands and feet. when they reached denver the cattle were taken to the valleys, and father traded his own cattle for mules. loading his two wagons with hides, so as to make money both ways, he and the two boys who had driven his teams started for home. i have heard him say that he never saw weather so cold, but that he could keep from freezing by walking. so by dint of much walking he succeeded in reaching home without being frozen. their wagons were so full of hides that they had to sleep on the ground, and he said that on waking in the morning he often found himself buried in snow. wood was scarce, and they sometimes had to haul it quite a distance to build their camp fires at night, and it was sometimes so stormy that they could scarcely cook. during the journey one wagon-load after another of returning pike's peak adventurers had fallen in with them, and kept together for the sake of company and protection against the indians, until they made quite a train. by common consent--accordin' to the human nature of the thing, as they say on the plains--father came to be considered the boss of the train. there was a ranch near the road, kept by a frenchman, who had an indian wife. he had grown rich selling whisky and provisions, and wood and hay. when the half-frozen men, with their hungry teams, came by, he charged them extravagant prices; if they objected he blustered and threatened until he usually scared them into paying what he asked. father and his train camped there one cold night, and some of the men went up to buy wood and hay; but he asked such high prices for them that they went back and asked father to go up. he was busy, and knowing the frenchman's reputation, told them to go back and tell him that the boss said he could not pay such exorbitant prices, but to let them have the wood and hay, and he would come after awhile and pay a good round price for them. the men returned, and told what he said, but the frenchman ordered them to clear out, and threatened to shoot them if they came back again without the money he demanded. he would not even allow them to draw water from the well. again they begged father to go up, but he said he was too busy, and told them to go right back and take the wood, hay and water, and if the frenchman said anything, to tell him that pardee butler told them to do it, and he would settle the bill. they went back, the one drawing water, the others getting wood and hay. out ran the frenchman, very wrathy, leveling his gun at them. "the boss told us to take them, and he'd settle," they said. "who's your boss?" he asked in surprise. "pardee butler." "pardee butler! oh! oh! pardee butler? take 'em! take 'em!" he exclaimed, dropping his gun and throwing up his hands. "oh! pardee butler! take 'em! take 'em!" he continued, fairly dancing around, white with fright, and gesticulating as only a frenchman can. "why, what's the matter? he wont hurt you," said one of the boys. "oh! pardee butler! he bad man. oh! oh!" he answered, still dancing and gesticulating. "oh, no; he is not a bad man; he never hurt anybody in his life." "oh, yees, pardee butler one veree bad man! he must be one bad man, 'cause they put heem down the river on one raft, down in kansas. pardee butler must be one veree bad man!" father made no more winter trips, but spent his winters at lumbering. when he first came to kansas he had bought eighty acres of timber land in the river bottoms, in missouri, two miles below atchison. mills had been erected along the river, and lumber was at last in good demand. so he found profitable use for his teams, and large freighting wagons, in working that timber into lumber. he crossed the plains twice more in the springs of and . the indians often visited their camps, begging for bread, or for sugar or tobacco. father said that on his winter trip it made his heart ache to see the pitiable condition of the women and children, chilling around in the loose wigwams during the winter storms. he often saw the women out in the snow gathering up and carrying great loads of wood on their shoulders. but he said the most pitiable sight he ever saw was little half-starved, half-naked children, too small to walk, creeping around under his mule's heels, eagerly eating the grains of corn that they had dropped. but the indians were every year growing more restless, and often attacked the trains, to obtain provisions, and cattle and mules. father often saw them peering around the bluffs, or along the river banks, watching his movements. but he was very careful, never allowing the boys or stock to wander off alone, and keeping guards out at night. knowing that the indians were growing dangerous, bro. butcher had insisted on lending him a rifle for his later trips. one day they were traveling along the platte river bottoms, the river half a mile to one side, the bluffs a mile or two back on the other. it seemed impossible for anything to hide in the low grass around them; but father knew that here and there in the grass were wet-weather gullies, deep enough for an indian to lie in; and his watchful eye detected the grass moving occasionally, here and there. he halted, telling the men there were indians in the grass. at first they made light of it, saying they knew no indian could hide in that low grass. but he told them that he had been watching for some time, and thought the indians were creeping up on them from the river. he took bro. butcher's rifle out of the wagon, saying, "i am going down there to see; who will go with me?" but none of them offered to go, except a boy of sixteen, who, seeing the rest would not go, shouldered another gun, saying, "for shame! i wont see the old man go alone!" the two went down through the grass, and when they reached the river, they saw a number of indians running away under shelter of the bank. the indians seldom attack determined men, who are on their guard--unless they are on the war-path with a large force--and they saw that father was such a man, and gave him no more trouble. it was on his last trip, in , that the indian raid occurred, which he mentioned in chapter xxxi. on their return they found that armed bands of indians were still riding about the country. one afternoon, when they were within a little over a day's drive of fort kearney, they saw a band of indians prowling about, first in one direction, then in another. the boys were badly frightened, and wanted to run their teams all night, in order to reach the fort. the weather was hot, and the oxen already tired, and father feared that such a forced drive would kill them. so he ordered the boys to camp for the night. they kept out a strong guard, and were not attacked; but reached the fort in safety the next day. the district missionary society of northeastern kansas had held two yearly meetings in the tent at pardee, in august, , and august, , just after father's return each year from his summer trips across the plains. in august, , soon after his return from his last trip, another district meeting was held at wolf creek, doniphan county, which was the home of bro. beeler, and of brethren jonathan and nathan springer. father had held a number of good meetings there, and built up quite a church. but when the railroads went through there the town of severance was built up on one side; and highland, seven or eight miles on the other side, which was already a presbyterian stronghold, received a new impetus. so the church at wolf creek was broken up, and one was organized at severance, and one has since been built up at highland, of which bro. beeler is the leading member. bro. jonathan springer--who has moved to goffs, where he still maintains his old-time zeal--relates an incident which occurred a year or two before that district meeting. father was holding a protracted meeting, when there came into the neighborhood a young preaching brother from one of the southern states, running away from the union soldiers. upon learning who he was, father invited him to preach, and they continued preaching together for a week, holding an excellent meeting, and father said not a word to him about the questions dividing north and south. bro. springer said, "i always thought that bro. butler was a peculiar, a wonderful, and a powerful preacher." speaking of his ability to attract and hold the attention of an audience, bro. springer said, "i once heard him begin a sermon with the question, 'are we dogs, or are we men?'" at the district meeting his sermon was on his favorite theme, "christian union;" and it was two hours in length, yet he held the close attention of the audience to the end. although he often preached on that subject, he always had something fresh to say. he could not crowd all that he had to say about it into one sermon. he was constantly reading of the change of sentiment on christian union among other denominations, and referring to it in his sermons. a few years ago he preached a series of discourses on that subject at pardee, closing as follows: "the protestant denominations will all become one yet, not by other churches coming to any one church, but their differences will almost imperceptibly disappear, and they will all melt into one, and no one will be able to tell how it was done." in the spring of he moved back to the farm, and spent much of the summer in preaching. for the next four years his winters were spent in lumbering, and his summers in preaching, and improving his farm. even while lumbering he preached somewhere nearly every sunday; sometimes at home, sometimes in the schoolhouse near his timber, and sometimes he landed a raft at port william on saturday, and went across and preached for the church at pleasant ridge, leavenworth county. and other sundays he preached at various points easy to reach on saturday evening, and return to his work on monday morning. he rafted many of his logs to port william or leavenworth, and usually helped to take them down; and there was much joking about where he learned the rafting business. it was dangerous, however, for rafts sometimes struck snags, or became unmanageable in the swift current, and went to pieces. when the central branch railroad was built, the company took corn of settlers in payment for lands, cribbing it by the road. instead of shipping off the corn, they shipped texas cattle to the cribs, to eat it up. they soon came to father in great perplexity. their cattle broke every fence they could build, and they did not know what to do with them. so he told them how to build a fence the cattle could not break, and he had a quantity of extra strong lumber sawed for that purpose. when he called at the railroad office to receive pay for his lumber, the clerk paid him in rolls of bills sealed up in paper, with the value marked on the outside. after leaving the office he counted his money, and found that one of the rolls that was marked $ , really contained $ , . returning, he told the clerk he had made a mistake. "we correct no mistakes," was the gruff reply. "young man, you are not doing business for yourself, but for the railroad company; come here and help me count the money." the label had been misplaced. the greater part of father's lumber was sawed at winthrop, now called east atchison, and he did much hauling across the river on the ice. his teams were usually the first to cross when the river froze up, and the last to quit crossing in the spring; but as he was a good judge of the condition of the ice, he never lost a team. i have heard my brother george say that four or five times, when father or himself had, by careful driving, crossed in safety with large double teams and heavy loads, others, trying to cross behind them with light wagons, had broken through, and either lost their teams or been saved with difficulty. one spring the ice was thawing rapidly, and had become quite rotten; but father wanted to take one more heavy load across, and he drove it himself. it was drawn by several yoke of oxen, and their weight sunk the ice so that the water spouted through the air-holes and frightened them. he knew that the beaten track, where the teams had trodden the ice solid, and the accumulated mud had shaded it, had not thawed as fast as the surrounding ice, and that to allow his wagon to swerve a foot, one way or the other, was to risk breaking in. he ran along by the lead yoke, watching them so closely that he did not notice where he was walking, and several times he stepped off, knee-deep in little air-holes; but he took his load safely over. as he went up the bank some half-drunken germans in a sleigh dashed down on the ice and broke through, but were so near the shore that they easily got out. but one of father's wagons ever broke through, and it was driven by a careless hired man. father was ahead with another team. he called back to the man to unhitch quickly and hitch on to the end of the tongue, for fear the team would break through, too, and running back, he put lumber under the wheels, and they pulled the wagon out. father gave away a great deal of wood over there. in those days coal was scarce and high, and, consequently, wood was high also. many families were so glad to receive the wood as a gift, that they were willing to haul it twelve or fourteen miles. and, winter after winter, he also kept two or three poor families supplied with wood from his timber at home, allowing them to come and help themselves. father and mother were always very generous, giving freely of money, wood, fruits, vegetables, milk, or whatever they had to spare, to those more needy than themselves. i can not remember of ever seeing them charge any one for a night's lodging, or turn any one away. when father had anything to sell, he often refused to accept its market value, because he thought it was not really worth the price. a friend once noticed him selling seed potatoes much below the market price, and told him that his generous habit of selling to his neighbors so cheaply would keep him poor. he replied that the market price was extortionate, and that his conscience would not allow him to accept it. in his later years he gave freely to help build various churches; and to state and general missionary societies, and to the many calls for money. he could never stand by and order men around, but always took hold and did the hardest of the work himself; and the excessively heavy work of logging injured his health. he had several severe spells of nervous rheumatism, and from that time his right arm was troubled with the trembling palsy, which grew worse until his death. he had not been able to write with a pen for several years, and his "recollections" were all written by holding a pencil in his right hand, and steadying that with the left hand. once, while he was lumbering, mother remonstrated with him for wearing himself out so fast. he replied that he saw so much needing to be done, and done at once, he felt compelled to push his work off his hands as fast as possible. if it shortened his life, he said it made no difference to him, provided he could accomplish more than in a long life of easy work. i heard him say once that we ought to make our life-work of so much importance, that neither cold, nor storm, nor any other hindrance should be allowed to interfere with the performance of duty. and i seldom knew him to stop for bad weather of any kind. in december, , i had concluded to go to school a term at manhattan, and asked father to take me there, for it was a hundred miles, and there was not a railroad in the state. he sent an appointment to hold a meeting there at that time. the morning that we were to start the thermometer was eighteen degrees below zero, and the wind blowing keenly from the northwest. but if we postponed our journey he would miss an appointment, and so we started. there was no snow, the roads were rough, and we had to travel in a lumber wagon, and were three days on the way. i was well wrapped in blankets, and did not suffer severely, but father, on account of driving, could not wrap up so much, and had to walk nearly half of the time to keep from freezing. his nose and cheeks were slightly frozen the second day, for it did not begin to moderate until the third day. he held a good meeting of eight or ten days. there were about a dozen baptisms, the ice being cut in the river for that purpose. chapter xxxix. reminiscences--continued. in may, , my two-year-old brother, ernest, was accidentally scalded. he lingered a week, then death claimed the youngest of the flock. when the central branch railroad was built the little town of farmington was laid out, a mile to the northwest of father's house--pardee being two miles to the southeast. many of the original members of the pardee church had helped to organize the pleasant grove church, six miles west. father thought it would be wise to break up at pardee., and move church and village to the railroad town, but some objected. thinking that the rest would soon follow, he left pardee, and organized a church of twenty-three members at farmington, october , . bro. mccleery held a successful meeting here the next december, and preached once a month during the following year. for several years much of father's time was given (gratuitously), in caring for this church and sunday-school, and the church soon numbered a hundred members. after the war many colored people came to kansas, and a number of them settled in the neighborhood. they had heard of father, as a friend to the colored people, and some of them wanted to work for him. he frequently employed them, and usually found them faithful and efficient. they liked to work for him because he treated them as he treated white men. as there were not enough of them in the country places to form churches of their own, they attended our sunday-schools and meetings. we were much surprised to find that some of our brethren objected to colored children being in the classes. one good old colored man, who had been a member of the church in missouri, was much respected by the community. a white brother requested our deacon, w. j. may, a son of caleb may, to ask this colored brother to take a back seat, and to pass the bread and wine to him last. bro. may replied: "i shall do no such thing; as long as i am deacon in this church there shall be no respect of persons." a colored man, who had been a servant in the family of one of the governors of virginia, presented himself for membership. he was a neat, good-looking man, with pleasant manners, and had been a member of col. shaw's colored regiment, when they so valiantly stormed fort wagner. a white sister borrowed a pair of gloves, when she went up to give him the hand of fellowship, so that she "wouldn't have to touch a nigger's hand." father wanted to teach them, without giving undue offense, their christian duty to the colored people. he preached a sermon on the parable of the good samaritan, telling how the jews and samaritans hated each other, and how jesus taught in that parable that even the most despised of earth's races are our neighbors. he also told the story of peter's vision at the house of simon, and how god taught him not to call any man or nation of men common or unclean, but to carry the gospel to all nations. the nearest that he came to modern times, in that sermon, was the remark that the jews despised the samaritans as much as the americans despised the africans. he left them to make their own applications of the bible teachings. what an excitement it raised! many said the colored people had to be turned out of the sunday-school, or they would leave; and some did leave. in nearly all our churches father had to meet this prejudice, but he remained firm in his position, that in church and sunday-school there should be neither white nor black, but all should have equal rights. in the spring of father sold his timber land in missouri, and paid the last of his debts. he had some money left, and the first thing he did was to go into a book store, and spend forty dollars for "barnes' notes," and "motley's united netherlands," and "history of the dutch republic." he remarked as he did so, "i have felt the need of these books for years, and this is the first money i could spare for them." men who had seen father working with tireless energy on his farm, or the plains, or "logging" in the timber, sometimes said: "he is craving to get rich." he has often been misunderstood, but in no point more than this. i never knew a man who cared less for wealth than he. the one all-absorbing object of his life was to preach the gospel. but he had also resolved to have the means to pay his debts, and to have a home for his family. about that time he spoke to me, in substance, as follows: the one great anxiety of my life has been to preach. i had intended to go to bethany, and devote my life entirely to preaching. my sore throat caused me to give that up, but going to iowa improved my health, and i began to preach again. when i took my claim in kansas it was with the intention of holding on to the land, while i preached in illinois, until kansas should be thickly enough settled to furnish me preaching here. but you know how necessity has driven me, and how preaching for a meager salary, and neglecting my farm, ran me in debt; and what a hard necessity has been laid on me to pay those debts, and to improve my farm, so that you and your mother and the boys can make a living from it. you have no idea what a sore and bitter trial it has been to me the last six or eight years to see the old churches going to pieces before my eyes, and so many opportunities for planting new churches being lost to us. there is only one thing more i must do, and then i am determined to give myself wholly to preaching. as for myself, i would live in a log house all my days before i would take from my preaching the time necessary to earn and build a better house. but sybil has been a good and faithful wife, and has borne with commendable patience all the trials of the hard life through which i have led her; and it worries her to entertain so much company as we have in her log house. with the lumber and saleable stock i have on hand, i can build it without incurring any further debt. and then i will be ready to preach without being dependent on any man. the house was built; but before it was finished a series of misfortunes befell him, that threw him in debt nearly as badly as before. from snake-bites, disease, and accidents, he lost four or five horses, and several head of cattle, and the cholera killed nearly a thousand dollars' worth of his hogs. he went to work again, but somewhat discouraged, for he saw that his long-deferred hope of devoting his entire time to study and preaching, could never be realized. he was nearly sixty, and had broken his constitution by hard work, and could not much longer have endured the incessant riding and preaching of a traveling evangelist, even could he have been supported. the boys were then old enough to do much of the farm work, and from that time he preached more constantly, but spent more or less time at hard labor. for several years he was employed, for a small salary, at monthly preaching, by churches at big springs, valley falls, round prairie, and other points. in the fall of he concluded to visit once more the churches for which he had preached before coming to kansas, and bid farewell to his old friends. he accordingly spent the following winter in a preaching tour throughout iowa and illinois. the state meeting at emporia, in , in his absence, elected him president of the society. unable to find a state evangelist who would undertake the difficult task of reviving the old churches that had perished--which he thought was the work most needed at that time--he took the field himself. at the state meeting held at yates center the next year, he made the following report: "time spent, five months; sermons preached, one hundred and fifty; churches organized, two; compensation received, $ . ." he also revived many scattered churches and sunday-schools, and obtained regular preaching for some of them. he was greatly worried over the churches of this part of the state. they had been much weakened, and some of them nearly broken up by the tide of emigration that set into the southern and western counties. attempts at co-operative state and district work were impeded by conservative papers, which prejudiced the brethren against missionary societies, and hireling pastors. he spent much time, both with tongue and pen, in answering these sophistries, and teaching the churches their duties. many of the churches were really too poor to support regular preaching, and many that were able, thought themselves unable to do so. yet someone must care for them, or they would perish. he resolved for the rest of his life to preach, without remuneration, where such preaching was most needed. and so the last eight or nine years of his life were spent in preaching on saturdays and sundays for weak churches, and the remainder of the time in working and writing. if a church was building a meeting house, and felt unable to support a preacher while doing so, he preached for it until it was built. if a church had already built, and felt oppressed with debt, he preached for it until the debt was paid. if, from any cause, a church was weak or disorderly, he preached for it until it was again in good order. then he said to the brethren: "i have helped you on your feet, now raise the money and hire some one else to preach for you, and let me go and help some other needy church." mr. hastings and i were married in , and had settled at farmington. from that time mr. hastings had taken much of the care of the farmington church. the church at pardee had revived, and had been doing well under the care of prof. n. dunshee; and, later on, by the assistance of prof. j. m. reid, and of mr. hastings. but, about six years ago, being left without a leader, they begged father to take charge of them, although they were unable to offer him much remuneration. he told them that it would cost them nothing, so far as he was concerned; but that, if he took charge of them, they must promise to support the sunday-school liberally, and to build a church. he, and his family, therefore, changed their membership from farmington back to pardee, where he was elected elder--for he believed that every pastor of a church should be one of its elders--and he preached for them five years. he not only gave largely of his means to build the church, but spent the whole summer in collecting the money, and overseeing the building of the house. he looked after the buying of the materials, and sent his teams to do much of the hauling, and never stopped until the building was furnished, the insurance paid, and his own hands had put the stoves in place. about a year before his death, however, owing to disagreements about the manner of conducting the sunday-school, father resigned his eldership, and preached at other points until his death. but his work for others was not confined to preaching, or church work. he had never tried to make a large town of either farmington or pardee. he knew too well the perils of the city. when he helped to lay out pardee he made it a part of the charter that if liquor should ever be sold on any lot of the town the deed to that lot should be forfeited. his idea was to have a small village, with a good church and school, as the center of a moral and intelligent farming community. he took great interest in schools, sunday-schools, literary societies, and temperance work; in everything, in fact, which tended to the moral and intellectual improvement of the young, or to the well-being of society in general. he spent much time in writing and lecturing on temperance, both before and after the passage of the prohibitory amendment. his articles in the papers denouncing the violation of the prohibitory law as rebellion against the constitution, and all the sympathizers with the law-breakers, as rebels, stirred up such an excitement that when he went to atchison he could scarcely walk the streets on account of the people, both friends and opponents, who stopped him on every turn, to talk of prohibition. the germans all wanted to discuss the matter with him; but one of the leading germans said to him one day, "you must not expect us old germans, who have brought our habits from the old country, to change; but go ahead, mr. butler! go ahead! the young men are with you." father was sometimes accused of "dabbling in politics." if that means that he was an office-seeker, the charge is false. though often urged by his friends to run for office, he invariably refused, telling them that he considered the office of a christian preacher the highest office on earth. but he did think it his duty to attend elections and primary meetings, and work against the whisky ring. he often spent much time, in the fall, speaking and writing to secure the election of temperance men for county officers. the final effort by which he succeeded in arousing a public sentiment strong enough to compel the county officers to close the saloons, was a stirring speech he made at a temperance meeting in atchison, in the spring of , some have thought that father was hard-hearted. plain-spoken he certainly was, and sometimes harsh in dealing with those whom he thought to be doing wrong. he was so thoroughly in earnest that when he thought a certain way right or wrong, it was hard for him to understand that some other way might be equally right or wrong. naturally high-tempered, with a very excitable, nervous organization, it was often a matter of wonder to me to see how much self-control he exercised, under irritating circumstances. he sometimes lost his self-control, and said things that would better have been left unsaid; but when he saw that he had done so he was ready to beg pardon for the offense. but he was kind-hearted and forgiving, and ready to forget injuries done to him. no matter how harshly he might speak of an opponent, or wrong-doer, he would often turn right around and do him a kindness. one of the men who helped to raft him wrote to him three or four years ago, saying that he was writing an account of the kansas troubles, and asking him for some information on points that he had forgotten. father readily complied with his request, telling him that he freely forgave him, and all the rest of his old-time enemies. father was always ready to help the poor, the oppressed, or unfortunate. it was that spirit of sympathy for the weaker party that led him to side with horace greely in , because he thought the republicans were too hard on the conquered southerners. but when he heard of the widespread ku-klux outrages, he concluded that he had been mistaken, and returned heartily to the republican party. i heard a neighbor say a few years ago: "if any one needs help, just go to bro. butler. i never heard of him refusing to help anybody that was in trouble, no matter how much time or trouble it cost him." another neighbor had his house burned. he was old and feeble, and unable to rebuild. other neighbors thought they had done their part when they raised a subscription to build him a new house. but cold weather was coming on, necessitating haste. father, not content with giving money, looked after buying materials, and putting up the building; sent his teams to do the hauling; and, because the ground was freezing up, worked until late at night, digging out sand to plaster it. and this was but one of the many instances of his practical kind-heartedness. he attended the state meeting at hutchinson about a year before his death, where he had been invited to deliver a historical address, sketching his own life and work, and the history of our churches in kansas. he was urgently requested to publish it, and from that circumstance came the publication, in the _christian standard_, of his "recollections." bro. f. m. rains said of that address, "that was the grandest speech ever delivered on kansas soil." the hutchinson _daily news_ spoke of it as follows: "the address was a happy blending of church history, and personal reminiscence, full of fact, humor and pathos, and, most of all, devotion to freedom, morality, temperance, and godliness. few people of today are able to appreciate the privations, and sacrifices, and dangers, with which the pioneer was beset, and these dangers came with special nearness to the man whose mission, courage and conscience made him the open and avowed foe of all sorts of wickedness. the house was packed with intense listeners, and from beginning to end he held the great audience in close attention, and when he finished, the hope that grand old pardee butler might live a hundred years was the unexpressed wish of all." father was always fluent in prayer, and his petitions earnest and timely; but in the last year or two of his life his prayers seemed to grow more fervent and impressive. mrs. hendryx, of wichita, writing to me since his death, speaks thus of a prayer offered by him at the hutchinson convention: "never, while consciousness shall last, will i forget the ring of your father's voice in prayer, at hutchinson. i asked, 'who is that aged veteran? he seems almost inspired.' and they told me it was pardee butler." the earnestness and appropriateness of his prayers were most noticeable on several funeral occasions, and numbers spoke of being affected by them, particularly at bro. locker's funeral. he preached his last sermon at north cedar, a week and a half before his accident. the following saturday, september , he attended bro. locker's funeral. the next day he attended bro. parker's meeting at pleasant grove, where he presided at the lord's table. he had several appointments ahead at the time he was hurt. one of these was to preach the funeral of his old friend, caleb may, who had died in florida, august . his children in florida had sent a request to his son, e. e. may, of farmington, that father should preach a memorial sermon at pardee. father had not done any heavy work for two years, but he still did much light work, and choring, although his health was gradually failing, milking eight or ten cows a day, and driving a young team from ten to twenty miles to his appointments, almost every sunday, seldom stopping for bad weather. it was reported that he was thrown from a colt at the time he was hurt. my brothers wish that report corrected. they think he never was thrown from a horse in his life. they had seen him break many colts, and had never seen him thrown. he had been using the most spirited colt on the place for his riding horse all summer; but that day, september , it was in a distant pasture, and finding my brother charley's colt in the stable, he thought he would ride it to the post-office. it would not stand for him to mount, and he put the halter around a post, holding the end in his hand. as he mounted the saddle the colt jerked both halter and bridle from his hand and trotted off. unable to reach the bridle he hastily dismounted. as he swung his right foot around to the ground the colt kicked it, crushing the ankle joint. he quietly called mother; and brother may, who happened to be passing, helped him into the house, and sent for a surgeon. we feared no worse result at the first than a crippled ankle. he said to bro. white, who visited him a _few_ days after he was hurt, "oh, i will get up all right; a butler never was conquered, you know. my only concern is that i shall not become a permanent cripple." the first week he was hopeful, though suffering much pain. the second week he was delirious, with high fever. then he was prostrated with a severe nervous chill--his already over-wrought nervous system was exhausted by pain. from that time he lay in an unconscious stupor the greater part of the time. he passed quietly away at half-past three a. m., october , , at the age of seventy-two. his funeral took place the following day in the church at pardee. the services were conducted by elders john boggs, of clyde, and j. b. mccleery, of fort leavenworth. the house was full, notwithstanding it was a stormy day, raining continuously from morning until night. word had been sent to all the churches in this and adjacent counties, and hundreds who were preparing to attend the funeral were disappointed by the inclement weather. chapter xl. pro-slavery hindrances. by elder john boggs. although our dear departed brother, elder pardee butler, was never classed with the garrisonian abolitionists, he began his ministerial life when the demands of the south were being felt in all the north, both in church and state. if slavery could not be advocated by the northern conscience it must at least be ignored by all candidates for popular favor. it had divided some of the most popular religious denominations; and was the most exciting subject of discussion known to the religious world at the middle of the present century. among the disciples of christ the slavery question was peculiarly perplexing, as there was a large per cent, of the membership who were actual slaveholders, and the leaders among us, although publicly committed against "_slavery in the abstract_," were endeavoring to soften the hard features of slavery in the southern states by arguing that the relation of master and slave was not sinful _per se_, as it was recognized and regulated both in the jewish and christian scriptures. bro. butler was ordained as a minister of the gospel of christ, among the. disciples, at sullivan, ohio, some time in the year , by a. b. green and j. h. jones, at that time two of the most efficient evangelists in northern ohio he had a good conscience, which passed judgment upon his actions in accordance with the great law of love inculcated by the lord himself and his apostles, and he did not allow the application of any "hot iron" so as to sear it. although he did not come in direct antagonism with the pro-slavery power while he labored in the gospel ministry east of the missouri river, yet it is evident that the slavery question was a most important factor in making up his decision to leave his field of labor in the military tract in illinois, where he gave up present usefulness and ministerial blessedness for a prospective missionary field and a humble home for his family. he had spent four years there in active ministerial labor; and in the second number of his "personal recollections" he calls them "the golden days of my life!" that the hand of god directed the footsteps of pardee butler to kansas just at the time he went there, and to the place where he took a homestead and improved it, and lived on it with his family for a third of a century, no one who believes in an overruling providence can for a moment doubt. at the risk of his life, and at the cost of great privation in his own person, and that of his wife and children, he unfurled the blood-stained banner of the cross, and never allowed it to trail beneath his feet through the long years of "border ruffianism," and the dark days of detraction and misrepresentation. he was the man for the hour; while on the one hand he was not forgetful of the obligations resting upon him to his family--he laid the foundation for a happy home--on the other hand, he was always ready, both in season and out of season, at home and abroad, to preach the unsearchable riches of jesus christ to a lost and dying world. to him more than to any other human instrumentality is the brotherhood of christ's disciples indebted for the early introduction of christianity in the now grand state of kansas; and his name will be honorably and lovingly remembered by all the good and the true, who shall learn of his unselfish life and his untiring devotion to the cause of the master. in the summer of , after he had been in the new territory over three years, bro. butler, in the _luminary_, writes as follows: "to teach, discipline, and perfect the churches we have already organized; to gather into churches the lost sheep of the house of israel, scattered over this great wilderness of sin; to watch over those who are still purposing to tempt its dangers, and to lay broad and deep the foundations of a future operation and co-operation, that shall ultimate in spreading the gospel from pole to pole, and across the great sea to the farthest domicile of man--this is the purpose which we set before us." this brief quotation shows the broadness and completeness of the work, as contemplated by him, and which is now going forward to its accomplishment as never before; and to his almost alone labors at first the work in kansas can be legitimately traced. during this year a territorial board was formed, and bro. butler was appointed as their evangelist; and a correspondence was had between him and the corresponding secretary of the general missionary society in reference to affording aid to the kansas board to help sustain him in his evangelical labors. it was conducted in the most friendly manner and in a true christian spirit, until the slavery question came to the front and prevented the accomplishment of what was hoped for on the one hand, and contemplated on the other. the following extract from bro. butler's third letter will present the issue in the briefest manner possible: dear sir:--you say in letter before me, "it must, therefore, be distinctly understood that if we embark in a missionary enterprise in kansas, this question of slavery and anti-slavery must be ignored." i respond: this reformation is pledged before heaven and earth, and under covenants the most solemn and binding into which men can enter, to guarantee freedom of thought and speech to our brotherhood-i--not indeed on subjects purely abstract, speculative and inoperative, but on bible questions--questions which involve the well-being of humanity. this matter of slavery is a bible question--a question of justice between man and man--of mercy and humanity. it is what jesus would call one of the weightier matters of the law, and demands, therefore, a large place in our investigations. * * * the brethren here in kansas have made no such stipulations with me they have left me to my own discretion in preaching the gospel to sinners, and teaching the saints according to the bible. they have shown themselves too magnanimous to impose on my conscience a restriction which their own manhood would forbid, under similar circumstances, that they should suffer to be imposed on themselves. for myself, i will be no party, now or hereafter, to such an arrangement as that contemplated in your letter now before me. i would not make this "reformation of the nineteenth century" a withered and blasted trunk, scattered by the lightnings of heaven, because it took part with the rich and powerful against the poor and oppressed, and because we have been recreant to those maxims of free discussion which we have so ostentatiously heralded to the world as our cherished principles. in explanation of the first letter received by bro. butler from the corresponding secretary, a second one was sent, from which it is necessary to make the following extracts: i reply, that nothing has been said against teaching a master his duties according to the bible, nor (what is just as important) against teaching servants their duties to their masters, according to the bible--according to the instructions given to evangelists--i. tim. vi. - . my remarks, as the whole letter will show, had reference to the question of slavery _in kansas_. the forms it takes on there are very different from the duties masters owe their servants according to the bible. it is whether a slaveholder is necessarily a sinner, unfit for membership in the christian church--a blood-thirsty oppressor, whose money is the "price of blood," and would "pollute" the treasury of the lord, etc. etc. and, on the other hand, whether american slavery is a divine institution, the perfection of society for the african race, and essential to their happiness--while all abolitionists are fit only for the madhouse or the penitentiary. these and such like are the _forms_ the question of slavery assumes in kansas, as well as in many of the free states, where there are no "masters and servants" in that sense to be taught their duties, in reference to which it was said the question must be entirely ignored. and we can not consent that on one side or the other such pleas shall be made under the sanction of the american christian missionary society. i did not then, nor do i now, suppose that if you were employed by the a. c. m. s. to preach the gospel in kansas, it would fall to your lot to furnish instructions to many masters and servants. if in any churches you may raise up in kansas--evidently destined to be free--you find masters and slaves, of course it will be your duty to instruct them both "according to the bible." but to furnish such instruction, and to go through kansas lecturing on anti-slavery, or mixing up any pro-slavery or any anti-slavery theories and dogmas with the gospel, or to plant churches with the express understanding that no "master" shall be allowed to have membership in it, are very different things. and i had this very matter in view when i wrote to you, for i had some-how heard that the church of which you were a member was about to take just such a stand, and i wanted to have it distinctly understood that so far as action under the direction of the a. c. m. s. was concerned, all such ultraisms must be ignored. . . . you felt anxious to have help to preach the gospel in kansas. i felt anxious to assist you. i saw danger in the way, growing out of the fact that i represent a society whose membership is in the south as well as in the north, and that some factious ultraists are constantly on the watch to sow the seeds of discord. i knew the state of things in kansas as bearing on the slavery question. i knew something, too, of your treatment there, and of your feelings. i saw that if you were employed to preach there, an effort would be made to herald it, as in bro. beardslee's case, as an anti-slavery triumph. this would be unjust to us. and as the practical question of master and slave does not exist there to any extent, i spoke of ignoring the question altogether. if you still insist on the right to urge that question, and take part in the controversy raging in kansas, _under the patronage of the a. c. m. s_., i have only to say it is outside the objects contemplated in our constitution. but if you wish simply to preach the gospel and instruct converts in a knowledge of christian duties, "according to the scriptures," there was certainly no occasion for your second letter to be written. to the foregoing a rejoinder was written by bro. butler, which closed the correspondence with the a. c. m. s., and from which the following extracts are taken, that the readers may understand his position correctly: i reply, . in your former letter i find no reference to the _forms _ the agitation of this question assumes in kansas. i presume you had not a copy of that letter before you when you wrote this one. but you do allude to "forms" the agitation of this question had assumed in cincinnati, and in reference to bro. beardslee and the jamaica mission. i was also instructed that "our missionaries" must not be ensnared into such utterances as the _luminary_ can publish to the world, to add fuel to the flame. the utterances against which i was guarded _seemed_ to be in cincinnati rather than in kansas. i had already published a piece indicative of my views in the _northwestern christian magazine_, and that appeared to be the obnoxious "utterance." . you are misinformed relative to the "forms" the agitation of this question assumes in kansas. the question, shall slaveholders be received as church members? has hardly been debated at all. . neither myself nor any person associated with me has at time proposed to organize a church to exclude slaveholders. . slaveholders have been members of our churches from the first day until now. how, then, could i understand you as referring to anything else than to my own published cincinnati utterances? * * * as respects slavery, the whole power of the master and the obligation of the servant is found in the proper meaning of the words of such precepts as these "masters, render unto your servants that which is just and equal;" "servants, obey your masters," etc. all within such limits is the doctrine which is according to godliness--all beyond, whether on the part of the master or the slave, and which is attempted to be foisted into the church as a part of the apostolic doctrine, is schismatical, and essentially fills up the picture drawn by paul: "if any man teach otherwise, and consent not to wholesome words, even the words of our lord jesus christ, and to the doctrine which is according to godliness; he is proud, knowing nothing'--from such withdraw thyself." in these precepts no right is given to the masters to buy and sell, to traffic in slaves; no right to enslave the children, and the children's children of his servants; no right to hold them in a relentless bondage which knows no limit but the grave, and in which the heritage transmitted by the slave to his children, is a heritage of bondage to all generations. on the th of august, , the same season that the foregoing correspondence took place, bro. butler wrote to the editor of the _christian luminary_ the following letter, which is given entire, as showing the exact position which he occupied ministerially at that time: ocena, atchison co., kan., aug. , . dear sir:--three churches--one meeting at leavenworth city, another at mount pleasant, atchison county, and a third at pardee, same county--have formed an organization for the purpose of propagating the gospel in kansas. for four months i have been in the employ of these churches. my first business was to travel over the territory and ascertain where we have brethren in sufficient numbers to make it expedient to organize churches. to that end i have traveled over that portion of the territory north of the kansas river, and embraced in the counties of leavenworth, atchison, doniphan, jefferson, and calhoun; also, to some extent south of the kansas river. i will not say that this has been the pleasantest labor of my life. a long and wearisome ride across wide prairies, under a burning sun, has often been followed by a fruitless effort to excite interest enough to justify established preaching. i would not convey the idea that this region is not full of promise to the missionary, notwithstanding i am fully persuaded that we are not to expect such _immediate_ results as have followed my own labors elsewhere. we must first sow, and then, in due time, we shall reap, if we faint not. the m. e. church reports preachers in kansas and nebraska; the u. b. church, , sustained in part by contributions from abroad. the missionary baptists make good their right to the name they have chosen, by sustaining four missionaries. i confess it is a matter of profound humiliation to me that the demonstration that ours is primitive apostolic christianity, is found in the fact that we can afford but one missionary in kansas, and that to his support not one dime has been contributed from abroad. the brethren in the territory, under an unexampled pecuniary pressure, and out of their deep poverty, have done all that has been done. two new churches have been organized--one at big springs, douglas county, numbering twenty-eight members; the other at cedar creek, jefferson county, of eleven members. we have also the nucleus of a congregation at atchison, and another at elk city, calhoun county. thus we have in this part of kansas the foundation laid for eight churches, all of which are steadily increasing in numbers; and the brethren composing them, in all the elements of future growth, and in moral and in religious excellence, are at par value with the brotherhood in any of our states or territories. if the older churches, blessed with such abundant means, would aid us in this hour of our need, it is my opinion they would be no poorer on earth and much richer in heaven. but whether they aid us or not, i trust we shall hold our own, and ultimately prove that the weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but mighty through god to the pulling down of strongholds, casting down imaginations and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of god. we have a number of young preachers, who are giving promise of future usefulness. very truly, your brother, pardee butler. p. s.--five persons in this congregation, and one at big springs have been recently added by baptism; also two from other denominations. on the st day of july, , bro. butler made a very interesting report of his labors, and especially of his tour in several of the free states--mostly where he had labored in the gospel before his removal to kansas. as the document is too long for publication entire in this volume, only the more important extracts can be given. the first two paragraphs being only a fuller statement of what is already written, the first extract will show the voluntary indorsement of bro. butler by the churches for which he had been laboring, as follows: whereas, bro. butler has faithfully and diligently performed the labor assigned him as our evangelist; therefore, _resolved_, i. that we do most heartily approve of his labors and general course of conduct during his term of service. . that the officers of this board be directed to procure the services of bro. butler, or some other suitable person, to solicit aid in the states for this society. bro. humber, as president of the board, did not call it together to complete the arrangement contemplated. on my own part, i felt unwilling to importune him. i went on my tour, therefore, simply under the indorsement and approval of my own congregation. i left home december , , and returned may , . i visited the military tract of illinois, northeast iowa, southwest michigan, central and eastern indiana, and northern ohio. the amount of money realized was $ ; expenses, $ , leaving a balance on hand of $ , as the first installment of the fund of our begun mission. of all the churches in which i sought a hearing only one, the church at bedford, ohio, gave me the cold shoulder. in response to my request for the privilege of delivering a lecture before them, in development of our wants and condition in kansas, they responded that they considered it "political," and they had resolved that their house should not be used for political lectures!.... in all the localities visited by me, i found the masses of the people with such convictions as will constrain them to treat slavery in the united states as a moral evil, and to patronize only such societies as assume toward it a similar position. it is asked: what have we to do with slavery? i reply: we, as christians, should have nothing to do with it. but we in kansas are placed under compulsion to have something to do with it. we have slaveholders in our churches; and if the time should come when there will be no slaves in kansas, still we have something to do with it, for within one day's ride of us in platte county, mo., is the largest body of slaveholders in that state. discipline is special to each congregation, but that sense of justice which always stands as the basis of discipline, is common to all the churches of one communion. this public opinion is created by a mutual interchange of sentiment--the books we read and the preachers we hear. for years past slaveholders have ceased to hear those suspected of abolitionism or to read their writings. i will bear very long with error where mutual discussion and free interchange of sentiment promise ultimately to bring all to be of the same mind. am i told that the safety of slave property requires that abolitionists should not be heard in the slave states? i reply: the more shame to those who perpetuate an institution that demands for its security the tyranny of such proscription; and that the human soul of the black man should be so cruelly dwarfed and robbed of his manhood. . . . such are the not very flattering impressions made on my mind during a five months' tour in northern ohio, after an absence of nine years. there must and will be a reform; it has become a public necessity. temporizers are proverbially short-sighted. god gives only to the pure-hearted the divine privilege of foreseeing the coming of those beneficent revolutions, which exalt and dignify humanity. ambitious and selfish men are left to go blindly on and fall into their own pit. at present there will be chaos i the people will not follow those who have been accustomed to lead, notwithstanding those leaders will have power greatly to embarrass the action of those who do not follow them. we have three pressing wants: . a _sustained_ paper that will not bow the knee to the image of this modern baal. such a paper we have, but it should not be concealed, that it must pass through a fiery ordeal, and can only be sustained by the timely efforts of its friends. . we need a convention made up of men who regard slavery as a moral evil, and are disposed to make their own consciences the rule of their action. . we need a missionary fund, which shall be placed in such hands that it shall not be prostituted to the vile purpose of bribing men into silence on the subject of slavery. i am not commissioned specially to speak for the _luminary_, nor to prophesy concerning any convention which may hereafter assemble. i only speak for myself. let it then be candidly admitted that the fund which i have been able to collect is a rather unpromising beginning, and that it does not augur that this mission will be well sustained. i remark, then, i never was adequately sustained. i have been a frontier and a pioneer preacher, and have shared the fortunes of such men. to keep myself in the field i have labored very hard, i have toiled by day, and have subjected my family to the necessity of such labor, privation, and close economy as, perhaps, calls for rebuke instead of praise. the churches at davenport, long grove, de witt, marion, and highland grove, in iowa; and camp point, mt. sterling, and rushville, in illinois, can be addressed as to my former manner of life. i would speak modestly of myself; and have not obtruded these matters before the brethren until rudely assailed as though i never made any sacrifices. i do not complain, and what i have said is offered, as evidence, in some sort, that money appropriated to this mission will not be squandered. in this connection it is thought proper to insert a single quotation from a letter which appeared in the _review_, a paper which published editorially, the most unscrupulous slanders in reference to bro. butler's work in kansas, which letter was written by bro. s. a. marshall, of leavenworth--both an m. d. and a preacher, and than whom no more honorable gentleman ever lived in that city. his testimony is incidental, and therefore so much the stronger: the brethren of the four churches named have tried to co-operate together to sustain bro. pardee butler as home missionary for a little while. he is an able evangelist and generally beloved: and being on the ground and well acquainted with the country, and the manners and customs of the people, could be obtained at much less expense, and perhaps be as useful and acceptable to the people as any other available evangelist. in harmony with the suggestion made by bro. butler in his report, for a convention of our brethren who look upon slavery as a moral evil, call was made for such a meeting to convene in the city of indianapolis on the st day of november, . about six hundred signatures were attached to the call, including many of the most intelligent and influential members of our churches in the north. after much misrepresentation and denunciation, the convention was held in the christian chapel in indianapolis; a constitution for a missionary society adopted and the necessary officers appointed. many of the churches gave it a most hearty endorsement. it was deemed expedient that bro. butler, before returning to kansas, should visit as many churches as practicable. accordingly, he wrote to the _luminary_ under date of december , , from springville, ind., as follows: i have thought best, before returning to kansas, to make a short visit to this part of indiana, where, according to report, almost all the brethren are opposed to our recent missionary movement. in twenty-three days i have preached thirty-two discourses. for the mission we raised, cash, $ ; pledges, $ . three have been added by baptism, and one from the presbyterians who had formerly been immersed. some of our preaching brethren in this part of the state conclude to take the advice of gamaliel: "and now i say unto you, refrain from these men, and let them alone; for if this counsel or this work be of men, it will come to naught; but if it be of god, ye can not overthrow it; lest happily ye be found even to fight against god." in the cause of a common piety and a common humanity. bro. butler returned to kansas, and resumed his labors wherever a door of entrance was opened to him. angry clouds thickened across the political and religious horizon, until, shortly, the storm broke forth in unwonted fury, and swept away from the national statute book every vestige of american slavery. for a quarter of a century longer he continued in the service of the master, laboring successfully in every department of the ministerial work--evangelical, pastoral, and in the advocacy of all moral reforms, and especially as a leader in the warfare waged against the saloon interest in kansas. he lived to see his adopted state take an advanced position in the legal prohibition movement, slavery in the united states abolished, and the cause of bible christianity flourishing as it had never done before. he commanded the respect of all who knew him, and was regarded as one of the chief founders of the church. his presence at all the christian conventions in and out of the state was always hailed with tokens of gladness. still he was aware that there were individual members, and even some churches that never forgave him for the active part he took against the extension of slavery, and his indictments against it as a moral evil--a sin against god and man. fifty years of his eventful life were consecrated to the service of the master and the good of humanity. he died with the ministerial harness on. at the time of the sad casualty which proved to be fatal, he had arrangements for continued work in the churches, both at home and abroad. he finished his course with joy, for he knew there was laid up for him in heaven a crown of righteousness. he labored assiduously in life, and now enjoys the sweet rest which remains for the people of god. chapter xli. temperance and church work, by eld. j. b. mccleery. analysis of character. . an indomitable will. . a sublime courage. . a never-satisfied hungering and thirst for knowledge. . an intense love for truth, and hatred of shams. . a tireless worker. . an advanced thinker. in presenting this analysis it is by no means thought to be complete. there are many phases of his well-known character left untouched, because this chapter would become a book, if all were presented in detail. we touch upon these more salient ones, as presenting the well-known outlines of his later life, and trust the picture will find faithful recognition among his host of admirers. those who have known him ever since the past territorial days of kansas, will concede that, for the accomplishment of a purpose unto which he had once deliberately put his hand, no man ever breathed the fresh air of these broad prairies who followed the trail with more determination and keen, intelligent acquaintance with all bearings, overcoming difficulties, meeting objections, accepting temporary defeat (philosophically), but never relinquishing his purpose until victory crowned his effort, or failure was absolutely inevitable, than he. suited to this was a courage as heroic as leonidas' and sublime as paul's. the stormy days of the fifties and sixties gave evidence of the physical side of this quality, and his entire life, of the moral. he "feared no foe in shining armor," and rather courted than avoided a passage at arms dialectic. eminently a man of peace, and loving the pursuits that make for it, he would see no principle of right unjustly assailed without girding himself for the conflict, and standing where the blows fell thickest. coming to this unknown country at an age when the ordinary mind takes firmest grasp of all intellectual things, and being thus deprived of that mental food necessary to satisfy and make strong, there was ever after a hungering for the things he did not have, that would not be satisfied. i remember talking with him once, while sitting on his lumber wagon, resting his team in the cotton-wood bottoms east of atchison, and he bewailed as much as a man of his fiber could, the fate that compelled him to toil day and night while his soul was starving for that intellectual food which lay all around him, but which he did not have time to gather and devour. this, however, was not abnormal; for, even to the day of his death, he was a devoted disciple, sitting at the feet of every true gamaliel. an intense lover of truth, and a like hater of shams, he analyzed mercilessly; not for the sake of opposing, but in search of kernels and the source of things. if he found the tree was bearing, or destined to bear evil fruit, he would do his utmost that there should be left of it neither root nor branch. accepting good in every presented form, if he suspected evil in the garb of good, there was no waiting for a more opportune time than the then present, for such stripping and exposure as his vigorous logic, sarcasm, wit, pathos, and personal presence could produce. humble, and exceedingly retiring in ordinary, when the truth was assailed, or wolves in sheeps' clothing appeared, he became a lion, fierce and towering; and woe betake the man or system that then became the object of his righteous wrath. such torrents of invective as fell from his tongue; such flashes as gleamed from his gray eagle-eyes; such scorn as glowed in his thin, pallid lips, made every one tremble--an avalanche that swept all before it. to toil, of some character or other, he seemed to be destined. for no sooner did he find a little rest from the field or herd, than all his hurculean energy was thrown into some cherished and waiting mental project. his life is an example of the statement that "genius is the result of labor." neither did he travel in thought alone upon the surface of things. there were subjects, the philosophy of which no contemporary understood better; and upon the social and organic relations of the religious reformation with which he always stood identified, he was twenty years ahead of his confreres. he was a veritable elijah in many things, but he was never known to flee from the face of his enemies. his was a mighty nature; the soul of honor and the embodiment of truth. there are two features of his kansas life, which marked the man, that i wish to portray, viz: his _temperance_ work, and his _religious_ work. these were not in any sense divorced, as though they were not always righteously allied; but, as all know, the prohibition question holds a prominent place in the history of this proud young queen, with her "_ad astra per aspera_," and from the time she was admitted to a place among the sisterhood of states, up to the date that the comparatively little majority of , votes placed her squarely in opposition to the saloon, with all its interests and iniquities, he labored, watched, and prayed, for such a consummation. in this, as in his religious conceptions, he was always in the advance, running new lines and opening broad highways, and inviting fields for the less sturdy but oncoming multitude. as he had battled to prevent this, his adopted state, from being desecrated by the blot of human slavery, so now he voted, preached, lectured, wrote, that it might be delivered from the body and soul destroying curse of the rum power. i have before me his temperance scrap-book, beginning with the proposed amendment to the state constitution, march , , and coming up to the time of his death, in which i find fifty-five newspaper articles written by him, of from one to three columns in length, presenting, in his own terse, humorous, glowing, vigorous, convincing way, all sides of this chameleon-hued question; now analyzing the amendment and the laws to enforce it, turning aside here to answer the cavil of some carping critic, then to demolish and bury some blatant political defender of the whisky element; arraigning the governor, senate and house of representatives for their gingerly treatment of the great question, and sending a trumpet-call to the honest, brave, and sincere temperance workers, both men and women, urging them to greater vigilance and closer compact. these, with numerous short and pithy articles, added to all his sermons and lectures on the subject, occupying a much larger space and far more time, will give an idea of the labor of heart and brain bestowed upon this one question, during this one decade. we have room in this chapter for only one short article from his pen, as an example of the many, indicating how he felt, thought, and wrote during those stirring years. the title of the article is, "the prohibition of the liquor traffic, the constitutional amendment in kansas." he says: this is, perhaps, the first case in which any government in the world has incorporated into its constitution a clause prohibiting forever the sale of intoxicating drinks as a beverage. this is a struggle in which the churches, the preachers, and the sunday-schools are arrayed in mortal antagonism to the saloons and saloon-keepers. both parties are instinctively conscious that this is a contest in which the issue is to kill or be killed. no truce or peace is possible. 'i will put enmity between thy seed and her seed.' the people are drawn into one or the other of these parties by a sort of elective affinity. one class goes with the churches and the sunday-schools; another gravitates to the drinking-house. the one class are swayed and controlled by the law of love--"thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself;" the other by the principle that governed cain--"am i my brother's keeper?" "who cares?" "let every man look out for himself?" "if a man chooses to make a beast of himself, it is none of my business." one of the peculiar things connected with this movement is the fact that by far the most determined and effective opposition to this law comes from foreign-born and naturalized citizens. they have, so to speak, monopolized the liquor traffic; they are bound together by a kind of free masonry, and with small regard to whom they vote with, democrats or republicans, they give the whole weight of their political influence in favor of free liquor. with here and there a notable exception, the roman catholic church throws its influence on the same side; hence its church fairs are carnivals of drunkenness. the two extremes of our american society do also largely join in this clamor for free liquor. "the upper ten thousand," those that arrogate to themselves that they are par excellence, the _elite_ of the nation--albeit that their assumed gentility is sometimes but a shoddy or shabby gentility--make the road from the top of society to the bottom, and from thence to hell, as short as possible, by assuming that it is aristocratic to tipple. when from these so-called upper circles, we go down to the bottom of society, what shall we say of that great multitude of men and women, crushed into poverty, helplessness and ignorance, groping as the blind grope in darkness; and who find in the dram-shop a momentary oblivion to their miseries? to these elements of opposition to prohibition we must add another class of men--the professional politicians. these, like the chameleon, take the color of every object they light on. to them the good lord and the good devil are equally objects of respect, and possible worship; and, having all mental endowments accurately developed, except the endowment of conscience, they hold that all things are legitimate that bring grist to their mill. these will be good prohibitionists when prohibition dances in silver slippers; but now they do duty on the other side. the above picture contains a very fair analysis of the elements of the vote in opposition to the prohibitory amendment, except that, perhaps, we ought to add the vote in opposition to a well-intended class of men who have no proclivity for liquor, and who, perhaps, could give no better reason for their vote but that they abhor innovations, and are content to do as their fathers and grandfathers did before them. notwithstanding, prohibition carried in the state by eight thousand majority. it is noteworthy that six counties, lying along the missouri river, and having in or near them the cities of atchison, leavenworth, wyandotte, white cloud and kansas city, and which also contain the largest foreign-born population in the state, gave heavy majorities against the amendment. it is self-evident that if the execution of this law is left to the municipal authorities of the above-named cities, or to the officers elected in the above-named counties, then the saloon keepers and liquor dealers will, without let or hindrance, trample under foot both the constitution and laws. the proof of this lies in the fact that, in time past, the liquor dealers have ridden rough-shod over all laws enacted in the interest of temperance. for example, the law provided that they should not sell to boys under age; the law provided that they should not sell on the lord's day. the law forbids bribing at elections; but the bribery of strong drink at elections, in the cities, has been just as common as the elections; and church members, and even preachers, who were candidates for office, have been blackmailed to get the money to buy the liquor. it will be asked, what, then, do we gain who live in these river counties, and in these cities, by the passage of this prohibitory law? we gain much. . thus far these law-breaking liquor dealers have acted, in carrying on their business, under the shadow and protection of law. this protection is now withdrawn. . the government has hitherto been in partnership with liquor dealers in the infamous business of making drunkards. this partnership is now dissolved. . the appetite for strong drink is not a natural appetite. it is an appetite artificially created in children, boys and young men. it is not for the public welfare that it should be created at all. the scheme and plan of the popular saloon is to create this appetite, and to strengthen and foster it after it is created. the whole business of the saloon looks in this direction. to this end are its flashing lights, its glittering decanters, its rainbow tints, its jolly good fellowship and boon companionship, and the _bonhomie_ of the portly saloonkeeper. all these, in the purpose and intent for which they exist, mean the death of the body and the soul of the man that enters these gates that lead down to hell. the saloon is a serpent, with the serpent's fascinating beauty and power to charm, but with the serpent's deadly bite. "at the last it biteth like a serpent and stingeth like an adder." kansas has wisely ordained that it will not maintain by the public authority and at the public expense poisonous serpents to sting the people to death, . men object: "the selling of liquor will go on, but you will drive the business into dark places and into the hands of disreputable men." to this temperance men reply: "that is just what we want. we wish to take away every vestige of respectability from the man that sells liquor. we intend that it shall be sold--if it must be sold at all--in dark cellars and in back alleys, and that the men that sell liquor shall take rank among the law-breaking and dangerous classes of society," . the one potent charm and omnipotent argument that has served as a gift to blind the eyes and an opiate to lull to sleep the consciences of the municipal authorities of our cities has been the revenue they have derived from liquor license laws. for example, the city of atchison has derived from this source a revenue of $ , . this revenue was paid not alone by her own citizens, but by all men who were drawn to the city for purposes of business or pleasure and who could be induced to patronize the saloons. and this has been a perpetual menace to the safety of families living in the country who did business in the city. this revenue is gone. it is hopelessly and irrecoverably dried up. the missouri river will turn and flow backward towards its source before this revenue, which is the price of blood, like the thirty pieces of silver for which judas sold his master, will ever come back again. after jesus had cast a legion of demons out of the demoniac that dwelt among the tombs, this man was far more impressible with regard to motives addressed to his better nature than while he was possessed by these demons; so we may charitably hope that now, after ten thousand evil demons have been cast out of the hearts of the mayor and common council of the city of atchison, these dignitaries will be more impressible with regard to motives of morality, humanity, and of the public welfare. meantime, temperance men look on the whole business of liquor license as an unspeakable madness. regarded simply as a question of dollars and cents, they look on it as a horrible nightmare--a hallucination fallen on men nearly allied to that form of mental abberration which carries men to mad-houses and insane asylums, a strange and mysterious perversion of the human faculties. regarded in its economical aspects, they hold that it would be just as good economy and as much the dictate of common sense, to obtain a revenue by licensing murder, theft, burglary, robbery, and harlotry, as it is to license the sale of intoxicating drinks as a beverage. it will be seen, then, that prohibition incorporated into the constitution of kansas, does not, by any means, give us the victory; it only places us in a position to fight a fair and equal battle hereafter. we are, like israel, shouting triumphantly, "i will sing unto the lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously; the horse and his rider hath he drowned in the red sea." but beyond us are parched and desert sands, poisonous serpents, savage wild beasts and mortal enemies. all these must be conquered before we finally rest in the happy canaan. it is now conceded by the best informed actors in this great drama or tragedy, that pardee butler, as much or more than any one man, made the prohibition movement in kansas the marvelous success it is. the generation is yet to come that will rise up to do him rightful honor. from ' to ' pardee butler was the moses to the church in this wilderness, and for years following he was in some sense like paul, "having the care of all the churches." but from the beginning he was the foremost man by virtue of natural and acquired ability, although a reluctant following was often given because of former habitudes and shibboleths, socially. there were other men in different localities who battled grandly for the truth and sowed the seed of the kingdom with firm and loyal hand: brethren yohe and jackson, of leavenworth, followed by the bausermans, joseph and henry, gans of olathe, brown of emporia, white of manhattan, and others equally worthy,--all pioneers in every good sense, and now all gone to their reward, with the exceptions of brethren yohe and the bausermans. without being formally chosen pardee butler was the recognized leader of these sanctified few, and no home where they entered was too humble, or field where they toiled too barren, for the light of his countenance to cheer, or the strength of his arm to be felt. in the polity and development of the church, as in other fields of moral and social struggle, he was far in advance of the time; and up to the day of his death, this was one of the great burdens that rested upon his heart. the membership coming to the territory, and which, of course, formed the nuclei of churches, was a heterogenous compound. in many respects there was no possible assimilation; but so far as the simple tenets of the primitive faith were concerned, there was little or no difference. but as to plurality of bishops in the congregation, their tenure and jurisdiction of office, the relations of comity between sister churches, the duties and powers of an evangelist, the laying on of hands in induction into authority, instrumental music in the congregation, the sunday-school and its organization, the order of social worship, the mid-week meeting for prayer, and numerous other matters of scriptural life, there were as many shades of opinion as there were of dialects; and the tenacity with which they were maintained, those not familiar with the time and its environments can hardly hope to know. yet upon all these and kindred questions, bro. butler had singularly clear-cut and advanced opinions. he has often said to me, "how very obtuse the churches seem to be on the plain teaching of scripture. and the preachers are equally ignorant, or else they are willing to go limping and halting, when they could as well and better be easily marching and leading their sanctified hosts to marvelous victory." he did not feel, or even make manifest, that he recognized his greatness in these directions only as he labored to bring the congregations and their officers up to his ideals. in the first struggles to bring the scattered congregations into co-operative unity, he was the head and heart of the movement; and through all the varied successes and failures of those non-cohesive times and men, he never lost courage or intimated aught else than the success which now crowns the work. i regarded him as the finest ecclesiastical historian among us, and because of his knowledge here, coupled with the philosophy that grew out of it, linked to the genius of christianity itself, he was, by educational intuition, a missionary zealot. carey and the judsons, and barclay and livingstone, with all others of like character, were what he termed "ripe fruit" from the good tree. he was to the churches in kansas what these men and women were to the people among whom they labored. visiting every outpost, gathering the straggling sheep into folds and striving to secure shepherds for them, stripping the fleecy garments from the wolves, uncovering the sophistries of the various polytheisms, immersing the converts and exhorting the saints, the thirty-five years he spent in kansas were years of severest mental, moral and physical labor; and from which he asked no respite until god called him. truthfully this scripture may be written as his epitaph: "blessed are the dead who die in the lord from henceforth; yea, saith the spirit, for they rest from their labors and their works do follow them." chapter xlii. the following tributes of friendship were published in the _atchison champion_, after father's death: two kansas pioneers. by john a. martin, ex-governor of kansas. rev. pardee butler, who died at his old home, near farmington, on saturday last, was, for a full generation past, one of the most prominent figures in kansas history. he was a minister of the christian church, and located in this county early in . he came to kansas to fight slavery. he was a sincere man. he was a brave man. he had in him the stuff of which martyrs are made. he deliberately chose, on coming to the young territory, the county in which the advocates of slavery seemed to be strongest and most violent. he made no secret of his opinions on the question of slavery, nor of his purpose to oppose the attempt to make kansas, a slave state. he was not a fighting man, in the worldly sense of that word; but in its broader and higher significance, he was an aggressive, fearless, tireless fighter. he would not kill, but he did not hesitate to brave death. he would not shoot, but he did not quail or cower before guns, for knives, or ropes. the _champion_ publishes, this morning, some extracts from its own columns, when it was a newspaper with another name and other principles, narrating some of the incidents of his early life in kansas. they are historic. during a marvelous era they stirred the heart and aroused the conscience of the nation. this humble preacher, coming to the territory for a cause, and bravely enduring the pangs of martyrdom for his opinions, became, at once, the representative of millions of men. the story of his wrongs was told in every newspaper of the land, and was discussed around the firesides of a million homes. the brutal pro-slavery mob of atchison saw in him only an impudent and absurd opponent of an institution that controlled courts, legislatures and congress; the awakening nation saw that he stood for free speech, for liberty, for law, and for humanity; and the indignities heaped upon him touched and stirred the heart of the north in its profoundest depths. pardee butler, facing the drunken, ignorant, howling, brutal pro-slavery mobs of atchison, must have been, to them, a unique figure. they could not understand him. the writer has heard men who were present, but not participants, when the mob had him in charge, say that the mingled hatred and respect with which the ruffians regarded him, was singularly manifest. he bore himself with quiet dignity and composure. he did not attempt to resist, nor, on the other hand, did he manifest the slightest evidence of fear. to their loud and violent threatenings, he made answer with quiet, manly dignity. it would have gratified the ruffians beyond measure if they could have induced him to recant, or to make some pledge that would compromise his frankly expressed opinions--some promise of silence concerning or acquiescence in, or non-interference with, their cherished purpose to establish slavery in kansas. if he had yielded even so much as this, they would gladly have let him go. but never for a moment did he falter, or waver, or equivocate. he refused to make any promise. he stood upon his rights as an american citizen. he was opposed to slavery in kansas, and intended to oppose it as long as he lived. he came to kansas to aid in making it a free state, and no fear of personal injury would change his purpose, he was one man among hundreds, but he intended, then and at all times, in atchison or elsewhere, to express his convictions, and with voice and vote maintain his opinions. all this he said, quietly and without a trace of boasting, but with a firmness that won from the mob a most unyielding respect. and this saved him from a worse fate. if he had quailed or equivocated, they would have triumphed; if he had boasted or threatened, they would have hanged him. he did neither. and so they first set him adrift on a raft, and again tarred and feathered him; and on both occasions manly courage and sincere faith were victorious over brute force and mad passion. mr. butler lived his life, during all the years of his residence in this county, illustrating the same lofty purposes and sincere convictions. he was not always correct in his judgments, but he was always earnest. he was interested in every good cause. during his whole life he was an ardent temperance man. he was a practical, as well as an ardent, advocate of temperance, and the organization of the so-called "third party" prohibitionists, excited, at once, his indignation and contempt. he was one of the first prohibitionists of kansas to distrust st. john, and to denounce him as a self-seeking, ambitious demagogue. he had no use for any man who was not entirely sincere, or who was not willing to subordinate his own personal interest for the sake of principle. among the free state pioneers, of atchison county, pardee butler and caleb may were first in influence and usefulness. the latter died only a few weeks ago, in florida. the _champion_ made notice of his death at the time. the two men, in their personal characteristics, had nothing in common. col. may was a man of very limited education; mr. butler was schooled in books. col. may had lived all his life on the frontier; mr. butler came from one of the oldest communities in ohio. col. may believed in the weapons of carnal warfare; mr. butler put his faith in the power of reason. both were men of approved and unquestionable courage, but if the pro-slavery mob had attempted to capture col. may, a revolver, held with a steady hand, would have blazed his defiance; mr. butler submitted, without resistance to the mob's will. the ruffians did not understand this peaceful but resolute antagonist, but they were compelled to respect his determined purpose. when col. may wrote to their leader a letter telling the pro-slavery rulers of atchison that his home was his castle, and if any man attacked it, he would meet with a bloody reception, and that he (may) intended to come to atchison whenever he pleased, and meant to come armed, they laughed at his rude chirography, and made merry over his "spelling by ear," but they understood his meaning perfectly, and knew, also, that he would do exactly what he said. and they never disturbed him. in his personal appearance col. may was an ideal "leatherstockings." he might have sat for a portrait of cooper's famous frontier hero and indian trailer. over six feet in height, angular, muscular, somewhat awkward in repose, with cool, bright gray eyes, deep set under shaggy eyebrows, and having immense reach of arm--his was an imposing figure. mr. butler was a born puritan; col. may was a born frontiersman. [ ] mr. butler opposed slavery on moral grounds, and because he hated injustice or wrong in any form. col. may hated slavery, and fought it, because he believed the institution was detrimental to his own race. born in kentucky and reared in missouri, he had seen the effects of slavery all about him, harming him and his, and so he hated it. kansas owes both of these pioneers a debt of respect and gratitude. the world was better that they lived in it. freedom found in them devoted loyalty to her cause. they both loved kansas, and their lives were inseparably associated with the stirring events of the most momentous years of her history. they served her well. brave and strong and useful, they fought a good fight and kept the faith. honor to their memory. a wreath of tribute. by rev. d. c. milner, formerly pastor of the presbyterian church at atchison, kan. editor of the champion:--having read, with much interest, your sketch of pardee butler, i am moved to lay a wreath of tribute upon the grave of the old hero. he was a man of most invincible courage. earl morton, by the open grave of john knox, said, "here lies one who never feared the face of man." mr. butler was a john knox sort of man. those who have visited him at his home of late years will remember how modestly, yet with some pride, he would tell the story of that day in atchison when the mob started him down the river on the frail raft, and how he would exhibit the banner so carefully preserved. it would be of much interest if we could have the full story, told by himself, of the raft journey; of the after "tar and cotton" affair; and also, of the night, some time after that, when some of the very men who helped to mob him, assisted him across the river with his loaded team when he was in some trouble. he lived to see the overthrow of the slave power, which he hated with all the intensity of his nature. he also witnessed the revolution in kansas as to the liquor power. the files of the _champion_ for the spring of , have an account of a notable meeting in the court-house at atchison of the friends of law and order. the friends of the saloon, for nearly five years after prohibition was the law of the state, had ignored the law, and challenged its enforcement. this convention was the first general gathering of the citizens of atchison county to protest against this lawlessness, and demanded that the officers of the law close the saloons. pardee butler was one of the leading spirits in the convention. many will recall his fiery speech of that day. he spoke of the thirty years of his life in kansas, and of the great events that had happened. he then denounced the actual rebellion then in existence, and called for its suppression. that convention was the beginning of the end of the downfall of the organized saloon power in atchison. pardee butler was in sympathy with good men in every good cause. while a born controversialist, and strong in his convictions, he was glad to work with christians of any name in building up the kingdom of god in the world. he identified himself heartily with the sunday-school work, and was anxious that everything should be done for children and youth, not only to make them believers, but good men and good citizens. i agree heartily with what noble prentis has recently said of him: "we knew him well in his later years; a brave and earnest man; full of ideas for making this world better, and confident that they would succeed. he has gone to the company of those who, on every field for these hundreds of years, where the battle for the sacred rights of man was to be fought out, have cried, _'o lord, make bare thine arm!'_ and have bared their own." manhattan, kan., october , . footnotes: [ ] when they were making the raft father noticed that one of the logs was sound and the other rotten. they fastened them together by nailing shakes--shingles--from one to the other. some one remarked that the nails would pull out the first time the raft struck a snag. then they said they would drive in long wooden pins. but father noticed that the long pins were driven into the sound log, while the ends on the rotten log were only fastened by the nails. one of the logs of which the raft was made was much longer than the other, and on the end of the longer log they put the flag. and over the rough swift current father walked the dizzy length of that single log and took down the flag. mother still keeps that flag as a precious relic. several years ago one of the men engaged in that mob ran for office in northern kansas. his opponent borrowed the flag, to use in the campaign, and returned it in good order. but we have since learned that he had several copies of it painted, and that one of them is now in the rooms of the kansas historical society, in the showcase with john brown's cap, and is shown as the veritable flag that was on pardee butler's raft. [ ] the thirteenth kansas regiment, which was raised in , was composed of atchison county men. they voted to request father to become their chaplain, and they sent him word, requesting him to apply to gen. lane for the appointment. he did so, and received a letter from gen. lane, asking, "how much will you pay for the place?" father replied, "if the position of chaplain is sold for a price, i do not want it." [ ] bro. garrett not only gave freely of his money to the church, but he gave freely of time, and trouble, and anxious watching. he also gave liberally and constantly of provisions and other necessaries to his poorer neighbors. his brother-in-law, dr. moore, complained that he was spoiling the church by taking such constant care of it. "o well," said bro. garrett one day, "every church has to have a wheel-horse, and i might as well be the wheel-horse as any body." [ ] when father took this letter to lawrence, he met mr. redpath, the _tribune_ reporter, who requested permission to copy it for the _new york tribune_. before mr. redpath had completed his copy, the editor of the _herald of freedom_ demanded the manuscript to put in type. the edition of the _herald of freedom_ containing it was destroyed, and father only obtained a mutilated copy of it. but from that portion printed in the _tribune_, and what was left of the _herald of freedom_, he secured a complete copy of the letter. [ ] when col. sumner's soldiers were asked what they would do if they were ordered to fire on the free state men, they replied, "we would aim above their heads." [ ] when father reached the east bank it was so slippery that the oxen would not go down. so he hitched them to the back of the sled, and, with a handspike, pried it to the edge of the bank, and started it down. of course it slid down the hill, and pulled the oxen with it. [ ] mr. may was not the blustering rough that many people suppose a frontiersman to be. he was a quiet, hard-working farmer, kind and neighborly, but ready to defend his own rights, and those of his friends, or of the poor and down-trodden. his proverbial phrase was, "whatever i do, i want to do it so well that the world will be none the worse for my having lived in it." his son, e. e. may, says that he used to say that he learned from his bible to hate slavery. he could lead a prayer-meeting as easily as he could lead a regiment, and he could defend the scriptures as readily as he could defend his home. i once heard him say that he had never kept a hired man for any length of time, but that he succeeded in persuading him to join the church before he left him. mrs. r. b. h. images provided by the library of congress, manuscript division [tr: ***] = transcriber note slave narratives a folk history of slavery in the united states from interviews with former slaves typewritten records prepared by the federal writers' project, - assembled by the library of congress project work projects administration for the district of columbia sponsored by the library of congress washington volume vi kansas narratives prepared by the federal writers' project of the works progress administration for the state of kansas informants holbert, clayton simms, bill williams, belle the american guide topeka, kansas ex slave story ottawa, kansas by: leta gray (interviewer) "my name is clayton holbert, and i am an ex slave. i am eighty-six years old. i was born and raised in linn county, tennessee. my master's name was pleasant "ples" holbert. my master had a fairly large plantation; he had, i imagine, around one hundred slaves." "i was working the fields during the wind-up of the civil war. they always had a man in the field to teach the small boys to work, and i was one of the boys. i was learning to plant corn, etc. my father, brother and uncle went to war on the union side." "we raised corn, barley, and cotton, and produced all of our living on the plantation. there was no such thing as going to town to buy things. all of our clothing was homespun, our socks were knitted, and everything. we had our looms, and made our own suits, we also had reels, and we carved, spun, and knitted. we always wore yarn socks for winter, which we made. it didn't get cold, in the winter in tennessee, just a little frost was all. we fixed all of our cotton and wool ourselves." "for our meat we used to kill fifteen, twenty, or fifty, and sometimes a hundred hogs. we usually had hickory. it was considered the best for smoking meat, when we butchered. our meat we had then was the finest possible. it had a lot more flavor than that which you get now. if a person ran out of meat, he would go over to his neighbor's house, and borrow or buy meat, we didn't think about going to town. when we wanted fresh meat we or some of the neighbors would kill a hog or sheep, and would divide this, and then when we butchered we would give them part of ours. people were more friendly then then they are now. they have almost lost respect for each other. now if you would give your neighbor something they would never think of paying it back. you could also borrow wheat or whatever you wanted, and you could pay it back whenever you thrashed." "we also made our own sorghum, dried our own fruits. we usually dried all of our things as we never heard of such a thing as canning." "we always had brandy, wine, and cider on hand, and nothing was thought of it. we used to give it to the children even. when we had corn husks, log rolling, etc., we would invite all of the neighbors over, and then we would serve refreshments of wine, brandy or cider." "we made our own maple syrup from the maple sugar trees. this is a lot better than the refined sugar people have nowdays, and is good for you too. you can't get this now though, except sometimes and it is awfully high priced. on the plantations the slaves usually had a house of their own for their families. they usually built their houses in a circle, so you didn't have to go out doors hardly to go to the house next to you. if you wanted your house away from the rest of the houses, they could build you a house away from the others and separate." i was never sold, i always had just my one master. when slave owners died, if they had no near relatives to inherit their property, they would 'will' the slaves their freedom, instead of giving them to someone else. my grandmother, and my mother were both freed like this, but what they called 'nigger traders' captured them, and two or three others, and they took them just like they would animals, and sold them, that was how 'ples' holbert got my mother. my grandmother was sent to texas. my mother said she wrote and had one letter from my grandmother after that, but she never saw her again." "my mother used to be a cook, and when she was busy cooking, my mistress would nurse both me and her baby, who was four weeks older than me. if it happened the other way around, my mother would nurse both of us. they didn't think anything about it. when the old people died, and they left small orphan children, the slaves would raise the children. my young master was raised like this, he has written to me several times, since i have been out here in kansas, but the last time i wrote, i have had no reply, so i suppose he was dead." "when anyone died, they used to bury the body at least six feet under the ground. there wasn't such a thing as a cemetery then, they were just buried right on the plantation, usually close to the house. they would put the body in a wagon, and walk to where to bury the person, and they would sing all of the way." "the slaves used to dance or go to the prayer meeting to pass their time. there were also festivals we went to, during the christmas vacation. there was always a big celebration on christmas. we worked until christmas eve and from that time until new year's we had a vacation. we had no such thing as thanksgiving, we had never heard of such a thing." "in august when it was the hottest we always had a vacation after our crops were all laid by. that was the time when we usually had several picnics, barbecues or anything we wanted to do to pass our time away." "after the war was over, and my father, brother and uncle had gone to war, it left my mother alone practically. my mother had always been a cook, and that was all she knew, and after the war she got her freedom, she and me, i was seven or eight years old, and my brother was fourteen, and my sister was about sixteen. my mother didn't know what to do, and i guess we looked kind of pitiful, finally my master said that we could stay and work for him a year, people worked by the year then. we stayed there that year, and then we also stayed there the following year, and he paid us the second year. after that we went to another place, roof macaroy, and then my sister got married while we were there, and then she moved on her husband's master's place, and then we went too. after that i moved on another part and farmed for two or three years, and then we moved to another part of the plantation and lived there three or four years. that was almost the center of things, and we held church there. all of the colored people would gather there. the colored people who had been in the north were better educated than the people in the south. they would come down to the south and help the rest of us. the white people would also try to promote religion among the colored people. our church was a big log cabin. we lived in it, but we moved from one of the large rooms into a small one, so we could have church. i remember one time after we had been down on the creek bank fishing, that was what we always did on sunday, because we didn't know any better, my master called us boys and told us we should go to sunday school instead of going fishing. i remember that to this day, and i have only been fishing one or two times since. then i didn't know what he was talking about, but two or three years later i learned what sunday school was, and i started to go." "i went to a subscription school. we would all pay a man to come to teach us. i used to work for my room and board on saturday's, and go to school five days a week. that would have been all right, if i had kept it up, but i didn't for very long, i learned to read and write pretty good though. there were no government school then that were free." "we didn't have a name. the slaves were always known by the master's last name, and after we were freed we just took the last name of our masters and used it. after we had got our freedom papers, they had our ages and all on them, they were lost so we guess at our ages." "most of the slave owners were good to their slaves although some of them were brutish of course." "in a lot of people began coming out here to kansas, and in there were several, but in there were an awful lot of colored people immigrating. we came in to kansas city, october . we landed about midnight. we came by train. then there was nothing but little huts in the bottoms. the santa fe depot didn't amount to anything. the armours' packing house was even smaller than that. there was a swinging bridge over the river. the kaw valley was considered good-for-nothing, but to raise hemp. there was an awful lot of it grown there though, and there were also beavers in the kaw river, and they used to cut down trees to build their dams. i worked several years and in i came to franklin county." "we raised a lot of corn, and castor beans. that was the money crop. corn at that time wasn't hard to raise. people never plowed their corn more than three times, and they got from forty to fifty bushels per acre. there were no weeds and it was virgin soil. one year i got seventy-two bushel of corn per acre, and i just plowed it once. that may sound 'fishy' but it is true." "there used to be a castor bean mill here, and i have seen the wagons of castor beans lined from logan street to first street, waiting to unload. they had to number the wagons to avoid trouble and they made them keep their places. there also used to be a water mill here, but it burned." "there were lots of indians here in the chippewas. they were harmless though. they were great to come in town, and shoot for pennies. they were good shots, and it kept you going to keep them supplied with pennies, for them to shoot with their bows and arrows, as they almost always hit them. they were always dressed in their red blankets." "i have never used ones for work. they were used quite a bit, although i have never used them. they were considered to be good after they were broken." "i was about twenty-two years old when i married, and i have raised six children. they live over by appanoose. i ruined my health hauling wood. i was always a big fellow, i used to weigh over two hundred eighty-five pounds, but i worked too hard, working both summer and winter." "my father's mother lived 'till she was around ninety or a hundred years old. she got so bent at the last she was practically bent double. she lived about two years after she was set free." "i used to live up around appanoose, but i came to franklin county and i have stayed here ever since." the american guide topeka, kansas ex slave story ottawa, kansas interviewer: leta gray told by bill simms, ex slave, age years, ottawa, kansas. [tr: information moved from bottom of last page.] "my name is bill simms." "i was born in osceola, missouri, march , ." "i lived on the farm with my mother, and my master, whose name was simms. i had an older sister, about two years older than i was. my master needed some money so he sold her, and i have never seen her since except just a time or two." "on the plantation we raised cows, sheep, cotton, tobacco, corn, which were our principal crops. there was plenty of wild hogs, turkey, ant deer and other game. the deer used to come up and feed with the cattle in the feed yards, and we could get all the wild hogs we wanted by simply shooting them in the timber." "a man who owned ten slaves was considered wealthy, and if he got hard up for money, he would advertise and sell some slaves, like my oldest sister was sold on the block with her children. she sold for eleven hundred dollars, a baby in her arms sold for three hundred dollars. another sold for six hundred dollars and the other for a little less than that. my master was offered fifteen hundred dollars for me several times, but he refused to sell me, because i was considered a good husky, slave. my family is all dead, and i am the only one living. "the slaves usually lived in a two-room house made of native lumber. the houses were all small. a four or five room house was considered a mansion. we made our own clothes, had spinning wheels and raised and combed our own cotton, clipped the wool from our sheep's backs, combed and spun it into cotton and wool clothes. we never knew what boughten clothes were. i learned to make shoes when i was just a boy and i made the shoes for the whole family. i used to chop wood and make rails and do all kinds of farm work." "i had a good master, most of the masters were good to their slaves. when a slave got too old to work they would give him a small cabin on the plantation and have the other slaves to wait on him. they would furnish him with victuals, and clothes until he died." "slaves were never allowed to talk to white people other than their masters or someone their master knew, as they were afraid the white man might have the slave run away. the masters aimed to keep their slaves in ignorance and the ignorant slaves were all in favor of the rebel army, only the more intelligent were in favor of the union army." "when the war started, my master sent me to work for the confederate army. i worked most of the time for three years off and on, hauling canons, driving mules, hauling ammunition, and provisions. the union army pressed in on us and the rebel army moved back. i was sent home. when the union army came close enough i ran away from home and joined the union army. there i drove six-mule team and worked at wagon work, driving ammunition and all kinds of provisions until the war ended. then i returned home to my old master, who had stayed there with my mother. my master owned about four hundred acres of good land, and had had ten slaves. most of the slaves stayed at home. my master hired me to work for him. he gave my mother forty acres of land with a cabin on it and sold me a forty acres, for twenty dollars, when i could pay him. this was timbered land and had lots of good trees for lumber, especially walnut. one tree on this ground was worth one hundred dollars, if i could only get it cut and marketed, i could pay for my land. my master's wife had been dead for several years and they had no children. the nearest relative being a nephew. they wanted my master's land and was afraid he would give it all away to us slaves, so they killed him, and would have killed us if we had stayed at home. i took my mother and ran into the adjoining, claire county. we settled there and stayed for sometime, but i wanted to see kansas, the state i had heard so much about." "i couldn't get nobody to go with me, so i started out afoot across the prairies for kansas. after i got some distance from home it was all prairie. i had to walk all day long following buffalo trail. at night i would go off a little ways from the trail and lay down and sleep. in the morning i'd wake up and could see nothing but the sun and prairie. not a house, not a tree, no living thing, not even could i hear a bird. i had little to eat, i had a little bread in my pocket. i didn't even have a pocket knife, no weapon of any kind. i was not afraid, but i wouldn't start out that way again. the only shade i could find in the daytime was the rosin weed on the prairie. i would lay down so it would throw the shade in my face and rest, then get up and go again. it was in the spring of the year in june. i came to lawrence, kansas, where i stayed two years working on the farm. in i went to work for a man by the month at $ a month and i made more money than the owner did, because the grasshoppers ate up the crops. i was hired to cut up the corn for him, but the grasshoppers ate it up first. he could not pay me for sometime. grasshoppers were so thick you couldn't step on the ground without stepping on about a dozen at each step. i got my money and came to ottawa in december , about christmas time." "my master's name was simms and i was known as simms bill, just like horses. when i came out here i just changed my name from simms bill, to bill simms." "ottawa was very small at the time i came here, and there were several indians close by that used to come to town. the indians held their war dance on what is now the courthouse grounds. i planted the trees that are now standing on the courthouse grounds. i still planted trees until three or four years ago. there were few farms fenced and what were, were on the streams. the prairie land was all open. this is what north ottawa was, nothing but prairie north of logan street, and a few houses between logan street and the river. ottawa didn't have many business houses. there was also an oil mill where they bought castor beans, and made castor oil on the north side of the marais des cygnes river one block west of main street. there was one hotel, which was called leafton house and it stood on what is now the southwest corner of main and second streets." "i knew peter kaiser, when i came here, and a.p. elder was just a boy then." "the people lived pretty primitive. we didn't have kerosene. our only lights were tallow candles, mostly grease lamps, they were just a pan with grease in it, and one end of the rag dragging out over the side which we would light. there were no sewers at that time." "i had no chance to go to school when a boy, but after i came to kansas i was too old to go to school, and i had to work, but i attended night school, and learned to read and write and figure." "the farm land was nearly all broke up by ox teams, using about six oxen on a plow. in missouri we lived near the santa fe trail, and the settlers traveling on the trail used oxen, and some of them used cows. the cows seem to stand the road better than the oxen and also gave some milk. the travelers usually aimed to reach the prairie states in the spring, so they could have grass for their oxen and horses during the summer." "i have lived here ever since i came here. i was married when i was about thirty years old. i married a slave girl from georgia. back in missouri, if a slave wanted to marry a woman on another plantation he had to ask the master, and if both masters agreed they were married. the man stayed at his owners, and the wife at her owners. he could go to see her on saturday night and sunday. sometimes only every two weeks. if a man was a big strong man, neighboring plantation owners would ask him to come over and see his gals, hoping that he might want to marry one of them, but if a negro was a small man he was not cared for as a husband, as they valued their slaves as only for what they could do, just like they would horses. when they were married and if they had children they belonged to the man who owned the woman. osceola is where the saying originated, 'i'm from missouri, show me.' after the war the smart guys came through and talked the people into voting bonds, but there was no railroad built and most counties paid their bonds, but the county in which osceola stands refused to pay for their bonds because there was no railroad built, and they told the collectors to 'show me the railroad and we will pay,' and that is where 'show me' originated." "my wife died when we had three children. she had had to work hard all her life and she said she didn't want her children to have to work as hard as she had, and i promised her on her death bed, that i would educate our girls. so i worked and sent the girls to school. my two girls both graduated from ottawa university, the oldest one being the first colored girl to ever graduate from that school. after graduation she went to teach school in oklahoma, but only got twenty-five dollars a month, and i had to work and send her money to pay her expenses. the younger girl also graduated and went to teach school, but she did not teach school long, until she married a well-to-do farmer in oklahoma. the older girl got her wages raised until she got one hundred and twenty-five dollars per month. i have worked at farm work and tree husbandry all my life. my oldest daughter bought me my first suit of clothes i ever had." "i have been living alone about twenty-five years. i don't know hew old i was, but my oldest daughter had written my mother before she died, and got our family record, which my mother kept in her old bible. each year she writes me and tells me on my birthday how old i am." the american guide topeka, kansas ex slave story hutchinson, kansas interviewer: e. jean foote belle williams was born in slavery about the year or . her mother's name was elizabeth hulsie, being the slave of sid hulsie, her last name being the name of her master. the hulsie plantation was located in carroll county, arkansas. belle williams, better known as "auntie belle" is most interesting. she lives in her own little home in the one hundred block on harvey street, hutchinson, kansas. she is too old and crippled to do hard work, so spends most of her time smoking her pipe and rocking in her old armchair on the little porch of her home. she is jolly, and most interesting. "yes, i was a slave," she said. "i was born a slave on a plantation in carroll county, arkansas and lived there 'till after the war. law sakes, honey, i can see them 'feds' yet, just as plain as if it was yesterday. we had a long lane--you know what a lane is--well, here they come! i run for mah mammy, and i'll never forget how she grabbed me and let out a yell, "it's them feds, them blue coats." "you see my massa was a good massa. he didn't believe in whipping niggers and he didn't believe in selling niggers, and so my mammy and me, we didn't want to leave our mistress and massa. we called them 'mother hulsie' and 'massa sid.' one officer told my mammy that she could take along with her, anything out of the cabin that she wanted. mammy looked around and said, "i don't want to take nothin' but my chillun," so we all told mother hulsie 'goodbye,' and when my mammy told her goodbye, why mother hulsie cried and cried, and said, 'i just can't let you go, elizabeth, but go on peacefully, and maybe some day you can come back and see me.'" as the story came word after word, big tears dropped on the thin black hands, and she reached for her tobacco can and pipe. the can was missing, so i offered to get it for her, for i was anxious for one peep into "auntie's" little house, but i couldn't find the can, so after moans and sighs, she got to her feet and found her favorite granger twist. after settling; again in her chair, and when her pipe was at its best, "auntie" continued, "oh, honey, it was awful! you see i never been nowhere and i was scairt so i hung onto my mammy. the soldiers took us to camp that night, and after staying there several days, we went on to springfield, missouri, and it was right at fifty-two years ago that i came here. i was married to fuller, my first husband and had seven chilluns. he helped me raise them that lived and, after he died, i married williams and had two chilluns, but he didn't help me raise my chilluns. why, honey, i raised my chilluns and my chilluns' chilluns, and even one great-grandchild now. why, i always been a slave. i worked for all the early white families in this here town that needed help." i asked "auntie" if she were ever sold on the block, and she answered, "law sakes, honey, i must tell you. no, i never was sold, but nuthin' but the dear blessed lawd saved me. you see massa sid had gone away for a few days, and his boys was takin' care of things, when some nigger traders came and wanted to buy some niggers, and they picked on my grandmammy and me. how old was i? well, i reckon i was about fourteen. you see, honey, i never could read or write, but i can count, and i can remember--lawdy! how i can remember. well, there i was on the block, just scairt and shivering--i was just cold all over--and them there nigger traders was jest a talkin', when down that long lane came massa sid, and i'm tellin' you, it was the dear lawd that sent him. he was a ridin' on his hoss, and he stopped right in front of me, standing there on the block. he looked at his boys, then he turned to them nigger traders and yelled out, "what you all doin' here?" the boys told him there was just so many niggers on the place, and they wanted some money and when the nigger traders come along they thought they would sell a few niggers. honey, i'm tellin' you, massa sid turned to them nigger traders and said, "you nigger traders get out of here. these are my niggers and i don't sell niggers. i can feed them all, i don't want any help." he grabbed me right off of the block and put me on the hoss in front of him and set me down in front of my cabin. sceered, oh lawdy i was sceered! no, suh, massa sid never sold no niggers." "i must tell you about what happened one night while we were all there in the camp. one of the massa's boys that loved my uncle, came crawling on all fours, just like a pig, into camp. he passed the pickets, and when he found my uncle he laid there on the ground in my uncle's arms and cried like a baby. my uncle was old but he cried too and after a while he told the boy that he must go back--he was 'fraid that the pickets would see him and he would be shot, so he went with him, crawling on all fours just like a pig, till he got him past the pickets, and our young master never saw my uncle any more. oh, honey, them was heart-breakin' times. the first night we was in camp, my mammy got to thinking about mother hulsie and how she was left all alone with all the work, and not a soul to help her. the blue coats had gone through the house and upset everything, so in the morning she asked the captain if she could ask just one thing of him, and that was that she and my uncle go back to mother hulsie just for the day, and help put everything away and do the washing. the captain said they could go, but they must be back by five o'clock, and not one nigger child could go along, so they went back for the day and mammy did all the washing, every rag that she could find, and my uncle chopped and stacked outside the house, all the wood that he could chop that day, and then they came back to camp. my mammy said she'd never forget mother hulsie wringing her hands and crying, 'oh lawd, what will i do?' as they went down the land." note: project gutenberg also has an html version of this file which includes the original illustrations. see -h.htm or -h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h/ -h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/ / / / / / -h.zip) nancy macintyre a tale of the prairies by lester shepard parker [illustration: "i was takin' leave of nancy, standin' out there in the night."] _to my wee daughter rachel ellen parker this little story is affectionately inscribed_ contents billy's revery the quarrel the disappointment the decision the search the return nancy's story list of illustrations "i was takin' leave of nancy standin out there in the night" (frontispiece) "then i dragged him on the prairie through a turk's head cactus bed" "i am standing by her dug-out, open stands the sagging door" "bringing back a hat of water, through the dim light and the rain" "loaded up their prairie schooner, and vamoosed the ranch, 'fore light" "he was startled by a stranger's sudden presence and 'hello!'" "faithful simon, weak and starving, groaned and fell beneath his pack" "resting calm in fancied safety sat the elder macintyre" "once again the twisted branches of the lone and friendly tree" "fiercer with each flying moment drove the scorching blasts of death" "standing there, a pictured goddess sketched against a lowering storm" "but, instead, i shot, to scare him, all the buttons off his coat" billy's revery no use talking, it's perplexing, everything don't look the same; never had these curious feelin's till those macintyres came. quit my plowing long 'fore dinner, didn't hitch my team again; spent the day with these new neighbors, getting 'quainted with the men. talk about the prairie roses! purtiest flow'rs in all the world, but they look like weeds for beauty when i think of that new girl. strange, she seems so kind of friendly when i'm awkward, every way, and my tongue gets hitched and hobbled, everything i try to say! there's one person, that jim johnson, that there man i can't abide; he's been milling around near nancy,-- durn his dirty, yaller hide! never really liked that johnson; now, each time i hear his name, feel this state's too thickly settled,-- that is, since that new girl came. if this making love to women went like breaking in a horse, i might stand some show of winning, 'cause i've learned that game, of course; but this moonshine folks call 'courting,' i ain't never played that part; i can't keep from talking foolish when i'm thinking with my heart. now, those women that you read of in these story picture books, they can't ride in roping distance of that girl in style and looks. they have waists more like an insect, corset shaped and double cinched; feet just right to make a watch charm, small, of course, because they're pinched. this here nancy's like god made her,-- she don't wear no saddle girth, but she's supple as a willow, and the purtiest thing on earth. i'm in earnest; let me ask you-- 'cause i want to reason fair-- what durn business has that rope-necked johnson sneaking over there? hands so soft and strong and tender, when i shook a "how de do," they was loaded sure with something seemed to thrill me through and through; hair as black as fire-burnt prairie; eyes that dance and flash and flirt; every time she smiled she showed you teeth as white's my sunday shirt. baked us biscuits light as cotton; i can't eat mine any more,-- i must get some better breeches,-- kind o' 'shamed of those i wore; but i'm goin' there to-morrow, like enough i'll stay all day, seems to me too dry for plowing-- durn that johnson, anyway! i ain't much on deep-down thinkin', reasoning out the way things go, so i s'pose i'll keep on foolin' till in time i get to know. i've had chills and fever 'n' ague; suffered till their course was run. maybe love just keeps on runnin', till a man has lost--or won. one thing certain: i have got it; seems to struck in good and hard. makes me sometimes soft and tender; next thing i would fight my pard. appetite is surely failing, sometimes i don't eat a bite; dream of nancy all the daytime, that durn johnson, half the night. i've just got to get to plowin', break a fire-guard 'round my shack, plant my sod corn, fix my garden; everything is goin' to rack. i can't work the way i used to; got to quittin' early now, since a little thing that happened, i can't just remember how. i was takin' leave of nancy, standin' out there in the night, and i put my arms around her-- heart stopped beatin', just from fright. can't express the kind of feelin',-- words wa'n't never made for this,-- as i drew her face up closer, and i stole my first sweet kiss. the quarrel things have moved along some smoother since a week ago to-night, seems my blood turned all to p'ison-- me and johnson had a fight. caught him twice up there to nancy's; told him plain to stay away; but he didn't seem to notice anything i had to say. caught him settin' there and talkin' 'bout the things that he had done-- durndest liar on the prairie-- laughing like he thought 'twas fun, settin' there beside o' nancy-- settin' down is all he does, good for nothin', bug-eyed, loafin', wrinkled, yaller, meddlin' cuss! i just let him keep on settin' all the whole long evenin' through; when he started off i follered, told him what i meant to do. "why," says he, "now, don't git foolish; i ain't skeered o' your light breeze; i'll go thar and set by nancy, spite o' you, when i blame please." well, i don't just clear remember all the doin's that took place, but you'll know the story better if you'll look at johnson's face. as we rode we clinched and wrestled, then we tumbled to the ground, tore the bunch grass up, and cactus, for a hundred yards around. got him down, and in the scrimmage felt my lasso on the ground, tied his legs and bent him over, bound him like he's sittin' down; hustled quick to mount my pony, threw the loose end round the horn, thought i'd learn that mr. johnson he'd missed out in bein' born. then i dragged him on the prairie, through a turk's head cactus bed, prickly pears and shoestring bushes,-- 'twasn't decent what he said. he's so dev'lish fond of settin', thought i'd fix his settin' end so's he'd be more kinder careful settin' by that girl again. [illustration: "then i dragged him on the prairie through a turk's head cactus bed."] the disappointment there's a feeling in my bosom, like a hound that's lost the game, after chasing over bunch grass till his feet are sore and lame. i am standing by her dug-out, open stands the sagging door; every grassblade speaks of nancy, but she's gone, to come no more. for her father and her mother, and her brothers, late last night, loaded up their prairie schooner, and vamoosed the ranch, 'fore light. 'taint no use to stand here cussin', but my heart slumps down like lead when i think of losing nancy and to know my dreams are dead. it was here i held you, nancy, when i showed you all my heart; when i told you i would always be your friend and take your part. oh, i thought that in life's lottery i had drawn the biggest prize, when i kissed you there that evening and looked down into your eyes; for i never had such feelin's fill my hide clean through and through such a hungry, starving longing, to be always close to you. but you've gone with all your family, and i'm left to mourn my loss, while the posse hunts your daddie, 'cause he stole bill kelly's hoss. now, i don't know where you're roaming, and i don't know where'll you'll land; but i wish you knew my feelin's, and 'twas clear just how i stand: how the good lord, high in heaven, put a throbbing heart in here, but it starts to pumping backwards when it feels that you don't keer. i'm a roving old jay-hawker, never caught like this before, but i'd give my last possession for a glimpse of you once more. if we lose your old fool father folks 'round here can stand the loss, he was raised in old missoura, or he'd never stole that hoss. [illustration: "i am standing by her dug-out, open stands the sagging door."] when my mind gets to recalling all the happy times we had, good red liquor and tobacco gets to tasting kind o' bad. you remember on your birthday how i drove 'round kind o' late, and we went to donkey collins' to a dance, to celebrate? when you got up in my wagon, bless my heart, you sure was sweet! you was bound that you'd go barefoot, 'cause your new shoes hurt your feet. well, i tell you, pretty nancy, every minute of that ride seemed like floating through the heavens, 'cause you set there by my side. when we pulled up at old collins', quite a bunch was there before, you could hear the fiddler calling, and the scraping on the floor. through the dingy sodhouse window gleamed a sickly yellow light, where i helped you from the wagon, holding you so loving tight. then they called out, "choose your pardners, numbers five, six, seven, and eight," and we hustled up to join in, for we knew that we were late. after starting up the music something happened--you know what-- all because i loved you, nancy, and their manners made me hot. i just glanced around the circle, when we came to "balance, all;" to that mess of cowhide-covered feet that stomped at every call. sure enough, the thing i looked for come to pass when aleck rose tried to _dos-a-dos_ by you, dear, and, instead, waltzed on your toes. recollect? i stopped the fiddler, and i stopped that stomping crowd, using language that was decent, but was mighty clear and loud: "now, you fellers from the sand hills, fight me, or if you refuse you don't dance with me and nancy while a one of you wears shoes!" yes, they took them off, miss nancy, in respect for you and me, putting all on equal footing, just the way it ought to be. and we went through all the figures that we knew in that quadrille, but it didn't seem like dancin', steppin' round so awful still. fiddler, even, did his calling in a sort of quiet hush-- "swing your pardners," "back to places," "sounds to me like paddlin' mush." "man in center," "circle round him," "all join hands," and "'way you go," "wait fur betsy, she's in trouble, with a splinter in her toe." when i took you home, towards morning, such a night i never saw. how the kansas wind was blowing! swift and keen and kind o' raw. blew more furious every minute, blew a hole clear through the skies; blew so loud, like demons hissing, that the moon was 'fraid to rise. got so fierce it blew the stars out, saw them flicker, then go dead, while the blackness, mad and murky, rolled in thunder overhead. goin' with it, durn my whiskers! hind wheels riz plumb off the ground; goin' 'gainst it, you and me, dear, had to push the hosses down. now and then a raindrop whistled like a bullet past my head; and i hollered out to you, dear, "scrooch down in the wagon bed." then they come as big as hen eggs; struck the hosses stinging raps, till the frightened, tremblin' critters leaped beneath the angry slaps. lord a'mighty, how they scampered! while i gripped the lines in tight, as the wagon box sailed upward like a mighty wind-borne kite. down below us ran the hosses, while we floated through the air, but through all that roaring shakeup, you, dear, never turned a hair. when the lightning flashed around us, rabbits stopped to let us by,-- looked as if they said by halting, "we can't race with things that fly!" coyotes sneaked off in the slough grass, prairie dogs stayed in their holes; we was lubricated blazes,-- couldn't stop to save our souls. up the hills we flew like swallows, down the slopes, a hurricane, bumped and jumped the humps and hollows, dragged the ground and riz again. and i prayed, "dear lord, save nancy, for a desperate lover's sake!" you was hangin' to my gallus, and i felt it strain and break. felt you holdin' to my boot-leg, slattin' in the roarin' gale, so, to save you, i worked for'ard, got the nigh hoss by the tail. miles on miles we tore on blindly, had to let the critters roam, till, at last, they turned their noses to the north, and towards their home. we went charging down a valley, stopped in something soft and deep; wagon box and you and me, dear, landed in a mixed-up heap. both the hosses' legs was buried and i knew that that was proof we had 'lighted on the top of old jim davis's dug-out roof. now, old jim was sleeping soundly close beside his faithful wife; peace had smoothed his savage wrinkles, all his dreams were free from strife. he was safe from ragin' cyclones, wolves could never force his door, all the ills of life had vanished, on his mountain torrent snore. so when our descent awoke him sitting bolt upright in bed, with the flying hoofs above him, kicking hair off of his head, he aroused his sleeping helpmeet; loud his curses and abuse, "mary, hike your lazy carcass, hell has turned the devil loose." [illustration: "bringing back a hat of water, through the dim light and the rain."] while ole jim was shooting at us-- couldn't make him understand; kept his blamed old gun a-going till he got me through the hand-- not a whimper did you utter, but you grabbed the hosses' heads, coaxed and helped them in their trouble, while they strove like thoroughbreds, lunging, plunging, you stayed with them till they both were clear and free. riding one, you lashed them forward, circled round and picked up me, helped me mount, while jim was loading; then we struck off through the night, right across the storm-swept prairie, till the east was streaked with light. i was faint and sick and dizzy, from my shattered, bleeding hand, and it seemed as if the jolting gave me more than i could stand. once i reeled, and would have fallen, if you hadn't held me there; put your dear arm tight around me, whispered, "billy, don't you care." then you headed straight for water, threw the lines, dismounted first, smoothed the grass down for my pillow, while the hosses quenched their thirst. then you bathed my throbbing forehead,-- love and healing in the touch,-- sayin', "billy, pardner, listen: that there shootin' wasn't much!" from your skirt you tore a piece out, dressed my wounds so neat and quick, that i felt the lord had sent you just to soothe and heal the sick. bringing back a hat of water, through the dim light and the rain, thought i saw your face turn paler, like you felt a twinge o' pain; but as you knelt down beside me i could hear you humming low some mysterious song, stopped short by, "billy, man, we sure must go!" and the sun turned loose his glory, through the tempest-riven sky, till it touched us like a blessing from the father there on high. i am standing by her dug-out; open swings the sagging door, every grassblade speaks of nancy; but she's gone, to come no more, for her father and her mother, and her brothers, late last night, loaded up their prairie schooner, and vamoosed the ranch, 'fore light. there's the bed poles and the stove hole; not a thing is left for me, as a keepsake of my nancy, anywhere that i can see. what! a paper, pinned up yonder, kind o' folded like a note! it has writin', sure as blazes! it is somethin' nancy wrote. "my dere billy, you will wunder why i ever rote you this; i am sorry i am leevin daddie needs me in his biz. i don't reely like this quiet kind of sober farmer life; i like something allus doin, but for this, i'd be your wife. i got two of old jim's bullets, didn't like to let you know, cause the one that you was luggin' seemed to fret and hurt you so. daddie cut them out that evenin; i don't mind a little such, but, dere billy, don't you worry, old jim's shootin wasn't much." the decision since that girl went off and left me, i can't plan just what to do. saw tom frothingham this mornin', he says johnson's gone off, too. my old mother used to tell me, when i lagged at any task, "keep on working, do no shirking, you will bring the thing to pass." that advice has been my motto: everything that i've begun, i've stayed with it, sick or weary, till the job was squarely done. but this case is kind o' different; though i ain't the kind that grieves, how you goin' to work that motto when the job gets up and leaves? s'pose, in thinkin' and decidin', i refuse to do my part;-- just sit down and let my mem'ry finish breaking up my heart-- s'pose i give up like a coward, let the world say i ain't game, 'cause by leavin' i should forfeit my poor eighty-acre claim. i ain't 'fraid to do my duty if i'm clear what it's about, but this scrape is so peculiar that my mind's smoked up with doubt. i believe that nancy loves me, and it may be she'll stay true; but i wonder why the blazes that durn johnson's gone off too. blamed if i don't get my hosses, saddle zeb and lead old si, and we'll search the wind-swept prairie till we find that girl, or die! who'd a thought a man's whole future could get twisted up like this? all his plans burn up like tinder in the fire of one sweet kiss! "zeb, come here, and good old simon-- listen while i talk to you; put your noses on my shoulder while i tell you what we'll do. your fool master's deep in trouble, can't explain to you just how, but until we find my nancy, you shall never pull a plow." the search in the west, where twilight glories paint with blood each sky-line cloud, while the virgin rolling prairie slowly dons her evening shroud; while the killdeer plover settles from its quick and noisy flight; while the prairie cock is blowing warning of the coming night-- there against the fiery background where the day and night have met, move three disappearing figures, outlined sharp in silhouette. zeb and si and bill, the lover, chafing under each delay, pass below the red horizon, toward the river trail away. far across the upland prairie to the valley-land below, where the tall and tangled joint-grass makes the horses pant and blow, there the silent solomon river reaching westward to its source, with its fringe of sombre timber guides the lover on his course. all the night he keeps his saddle, urging zeb and simon on, till the trail clears up before him in the gray of early dawn. where it turns in towards the river, arched above with vine-growth rank, he, dismounting, ties the horses near the steep and treacherous bank. more than light and shade and landscape meet the plainsman's searching look, for the paths that lie before him are the pages of his book. stooping down and reading slowly, noting every trace around, of the travel gone before him, every mark upon the ground, down the winding, deep-cut roadway furrowed out by grinding tire, where the ruts lead to the water, in the half-dried plastic mire, he beholds the telltale marking of an odd-shaped band of steel, welded to secure the fellies of old macintyre's wheel. high above the wind is moaning in a lonely, fretful mood, through the lofty spreading branches of the elm and cottonwood. where the willows hide the fordway with their fringe of lighter green, is the dam, decayed and broken, where the beavers once have been. on the sycamore bent o'er it, with its gleaming trunk of white, sits the barred owl, idly blinking at the early morning's light, while, within its spacious hollow, where the rotting heart had clung till removed by age and fire, sleeps the wild cat with her young. plunging through the sluggish water, scarcely halting for a drink, toiling through the sticky quagmire, they attain the farther brink. here the trail leads to the westward,-- once the redman's wild domain; now the shallow rutted highway of the settler's wagon train. here and there along the edges, paths work through the waving grass, where at night from bluff to river, sneaking coyotes find a pass. here the meadow lark sings gaily as she leaves her hidden nest, while the sun of early morning double-tints her orange breast. up this broad and fertile valley, tracing all its winding ways, plodding on with dogged patience through a score of weary days, camping in the lonely timber, sleeping on the scorching plain, bearing heat and thirst and hunger, sore fatigue and wind and rain-- halting only when the telltale mark was missing in the track; only when he called a greeting, as he passed some settler's shack; till the valley and its timber vanished, where the rolling sward of the westward-sweeping prairie marks the trail 'cross mingo's ford. here for hours he searched the crossing and the wheel-ruts leading on to the north, a full day's journey, but the guiding mark was gone. not a vestige here remaining of the sign that could be told, for old mac had traveled swiftly and the trail was mixed and old. two whole days bill searched and waited, hoping for some other clew, weighing questions of direction, undecided what to do. till, one night, while cooking supper by the camp-fire's genial glow, he was startled by a stranger's sudden presence and "hello!" tall of stature, dark of visage, by the wind well dried and tanned, clad in "shaps" and spurs that jingled, with a bull whip in his hand. close behind him in the shadows, eyes aglow with red and green, stood a blazed-face texas pony, ewe-necked, cat-hammed, wild, and mean. "hello, stranger! glad to see you, got my cattle fixed for night; just got through, and riding round 'em, 'cross the bluff, i saw your light. no, thanks, pardner, had my supper; seems your fire is short o' wood; i just thought i'd see who's camped here-- gee! that bacon does smell good!" when the frugal meal was over, when the pipes were filled and lit, and the cowboy ceased his stories weak in moral, rank in wit, billy plied him long with questions, wording each with thought and care, lest his zeal for information should reveal his mission there. "tell me who you've seen go by here, just within the last few days; what they had for teams and outfits; how the country round here lays. have you seen a prairie schooner-- old style freighter--pass this way? both wheel hosses white-nosed sorrels, lead team of a dun and gray?" [illustration: "loaded up their prairie schooner, and vamoosed the ranch 'fore light."] [illustration: "he was startled by a stranger's sudden presence and 'hello!'"] "i remember some such outfit, if i've got your idee right. think they camped a mile below here week ago last thursday night. pulled in sometime 'long 'bout sundown, turned their stock in yonder draw, but an oldish sort of fellow was the only one i saw; rode a speckled chestnut pony with a white star in his face; asked some questions 'bout the country, 'bout the proper crossing-place. pulled out sometime long 'fore daylight. didn't see them when they passed, but from all the indications they was trav'ling pretty fast. "crossed right here where we are settin', saw their trail that very day; struck plumb north, and by my reck'nin' towards the north they'll likely stay. north of here, by my experience, he'll find grass that's mighty fine. chances are that he'll keep goin' till he strikes nebraska's line. it was just the next day after that my cattle scattered so; some strayed off 'way south to jimson's, one bunch in the bend below. that's the day i met that feller (eyes so black he couldn't see) who kept pumpin' me with questions like you've just been askin' me. "asked about that prairie schooner, said that they was friends of hisn, like to wore me plumb to frazzles with his everlasting quiz'n. rode a piebald, knock-kneed broncho; coat was battered, ripped, and torn; he was yaller, long, and g'anted like a steer with holler horn. an' you oughter seen his breeches! he must sure be shy on sense; why, they looked like he'd been riding on a bucking barb wire fence. you won't meet him, 'cause i saw him coming back across this way, going eastward where he come from; took the back trail yesterday. "said he'd found the old man's outfit moving westward on north fork. can't remember all he told me, for he runs a heap to talk. said he'd found out what he wanted; said he 'had a plan or two, and the folks that knowed jim johnson, knowed that he would put 'em through.' then there's others took the west trail; they got that way huntin' range-- funny how folks when they come here get to itchin' for a change! i've been stayin' too confinin'; never left this herd but once. i'm the oldest puncher round here,-- been here over fourteen months." long before the sun had risen, while the night mist's ghostly veil hid from view the sloughs and hollows, billy took the northern trail. through the sunflowers in the low land, plodding over sandstone knolls, winding through the level stretches dotted thick with treacherous holes where the prairie dogs sat chattering, bolt upright upon their mounds, while the ground owls sought their burrows, startled by the warning sounds; stumbling into buffalo wallows, dug out in an earlier day by the halting herds that rested, rolled and bellowed in their play. now and then the sheltered hillside waved its varicolored flowers as a greeting to the trav'ler, solace to the toilsome hours. old jack rabbit hopped before him, then sat up, to watch him pass, dusky horned-toads scurried nimbly through the withered buffalo grass. here and there the buzzing rattler whirred a warning, head alert, then retreated from the snapping, stinging strokes of billy's quirt. day by day the wild breeze flying, with'ring in its scorching heat, hummed a tune to labored beating of the plodding horses' feet. day by day this panorama passing slowly, dully by, with the sun's brass disc high gleaming from a white and cloudless sky, sometimes drew fantastic pictures. many a strange and gruesome sign-- phantom trees and fairy castles-- blurred the far horizon line. then they'd vanish like the fancies of a fever-smitten brain, and returning, changed in outline, elsewhere on the mighty plain would allure the eyesore trav'ler till the very sky above seemed to mock with vague mirages every surety of love. when each weary day was over, halting near some watering-place, bill unpacked his meager outfit, turned the horses loose to graze, baked his varicolored dough-bread, on a fire of cattle chips; coffee made of green-scummed water, nectar to his thirsty lips. on the ground he spread his blanket and reclining there alone, heard the swiftly sweeping breezes sing in dreary monotone strange wild anthems, weird and lonesome, like lost spirits floating by, while afar in broken measure swelled the coyotes' yelping cry. all the varied information gathered from the few he passed-- some from herders, some from stragglers gave the missing clew at last as to where old mac was heading; for that telltale band of steel stamped along the endless roadway printed by the turning wheel, pressed its image on the memory of the settlers coming back, who, when questioned by the searcher, told him that the telltale track had begun to veer to westward after crossing by the way leading up the north platte river, where the sand wastes stretch away. as he crossed this barren prairie's sweeping waste of poverty, billy paused beside the cripple of a wind-torn twisted tree, standing there, marooned forever, where its hapless seed had blown, miles on miles from forest neighbor, struggling out its life alone. here he stopped, with head uncovered, conscious of a strange appeal, yielding to the voiceless longing human hearts are bound to feel when their lot is isolation, and a field of sterile soil dwarfs and twists the struggling spirit as the body bends with toil. here, that subtle, silent craving, which with life will never end, of the lonesome and the needy for the comfort of a friend, drew the trav'ler to this tree waif, and he spread his outfit near, and they held that sacred converse which the soul alone can hear. while the horses browsed the sage brush, and the sun withdrew his light, and the moon in mournful splendor ushered in the lonely night, he lay down beneath the branches, wrapped in musings strange and deep-- thoughts that bore him off in silence o'er the placid sea of sleep. in his dreams he saw a monarch decked in sumptuous array, seated on a throne of glory bearing royal title, day. then some mighty power transcendent, thrust him from his gorgeous throne, turning all the realm to darkness, and the world was left alone. as the shades of gloom were spreading, by strange flashing threads of light he beheld in dim-drawn outline, on the background of the night, phantom horse and girlish rider, speeding on in reckless race, till she turned directly toward him and he saw her fearless face! [illustration: "faithful simon, weak and starving, groaned and fell beneath his pack...."] with the journey's slow progression slipped away the summer days, merging with the sleepy beauty of the lazy autumn haze; and the frosts and drought combining waged relentless battle there, withering up the scanty ranges, leaving all the country bare. when he entered colorado, following still the barren plain where for months the mocking heavens never spared a drop of rain, faithful simon, weak and starving, following feebly in the track pulled upon his straining halter, groaned and fell beneath his pack. vain were all the kind entreaties, vain the simple nursing done to relieve his palsied weakness-- poor old simon's course was run. billy spent the night beside him, but with next day's early dawn, with the east's first flush of scarlet, simon's faithful soul passed on. then, with hands outstretched before him, half remembering what was said when a child he saw the sexton sprinkle earth upon the dead-- "dust to dust, and then to ashes-- i forget the other part-- i can't say the words i want to, i can't think--all's in my heart. "over twenty years, old pardner, we have been companions true; you have always kept your end up in the hardships we've gone through. if we'd stayed, and i had never seen her face or touched her hand, we should still have been contented, on our little piece of land. this strange spell won't let me falter, though the chasing never ends; seems that nothing ever'll stop it, sickness, death, or loss of friends. where this love will drive a fellow, i ain't wise enough to tell; sometimes think it leads to heaven by a trail that runs through hell." weeks thereafter, plodding northward crossing over lodge pole creek, threading colorado's stretches-- sandy deserts wild and bleak-- where the sun wars on the living, struggling 'neath his blinding light, then resigns his work of ravage to the chilling frosts of night; where the bleaching bones of horses here and there bestrew the plains, telling many a ghastly story of misguided settlers' trains-- where the early frontier ranger marked the first trail to cheyenne, billy, following its wand'rings, found the missing mark again. then the labored pace grew faster as he passed each camping place, marking well the lessening distance in the long-contested race. riding through wyoming's foothills, with their rugged summit lines stretched across the clear horizon, fringed with pointed spruce and pines, he beheld, one early morning, rising slowly to the sky, smoke--the thin and gauzy column of a camp fire built close by; and, on looking down the valley with exultant, ringing cheer, he beheld the prairie schooner and the macintyres near. on an open spot of grass land gilded by the rising sun, sloping sharply to the crevice where the mountain waters run, ike, reclining, watched the horses, now increased to quite a band, while above him, in the timber, brother bill, with gun in hand, held it poised in sudden wonder, half in attitude to shoot, as he saw the coming rider, heard his loudly yelled salute. near an old abandoned cabin, huddled by the breakfast fire, resting calm in fancied safety sat the elder macintyre. [illustration: "resting calm in fancied safety sat the elder macintyre."] "you! why, billy, where d'you come from? what new game you playing now? if you're out on posse business by the gods, jest start your row! what you saying? you are friendly? wal, i'm glad to hear it's so; and i s'pose you made the journey way out here to let me know! oh! you're talking 'bout our nancy! now i just begin to see. set down, billy; you are askin' something that sure puzzles me. nancy ain't like other women-- what i say may hit you queer, but it's jest as well to tell you-- that there girl--she isn't here. "don't stampede your words, now, billy. slow 'em down and let 'em walk. lord a'mighty, man! keep quiet! never heard such crazy talk! where's the girl? wal, let me tell you-- t'aint no use to take on so-- where is nancy? p'r'aps in heaven; i can't tell yer,--i don't know. when we left last spring from kansas, travelin' mostly in the night, we was chased up by a posse; fourth day out we had a fight. we had jest unhitched the hosses, making camp at old man's creek-- gimme some o' that tobacker, i've been out for more'n a week. "we had jest unhitched the hosses, nance was riding kelly's mare, when we heard them all a-comin'-- they had seen us pull in there. nancy said,' i'll hold 'em, daddie, get the outfit over here, and i'll trail you in the mornin'; i will see they don't get near.' it was in that heavy timber-- growing dark and spittin' rain-- where the creek runs to the eastward, makes that loop, and back again. we was in a reg'lar pocket; creek banks made a kind of bluff all around us, so it looked like we was trapped there, sure enough. "wal, we had a time in movin'; things got mixed up in the rush; lead team broke a piece of harness pulling through the underbrush. then the wagon turned clean over, but we drug her plumb across, hitched with ropes and other fixin's, usin' every extra hoss. wal, you never heard such shootin', bullets whizzin' everywhere; pumped 'em on us till it sounded like they had an army there. nancy stayed and cracked it to 'em, kind o' circlin' round and round; i could tell the two six-shooters she was usin', by the sound. "you can bet we did some trav'lin' all that night and all next day; i could still a-hear the shootin' after we was miles away. i supposed we'd see the girl come ridin' up to us 'fore long, that is--i was jest a-thinkin'-- if there wasn't somethin' wrong. but, in spite of all our lookin', sometimes slackin' up our gait, always thinkin' we should see her every time we'd stop and wait. we have never seen her, billy, and i own i'm balked a bit, fur i know that she's a critter made of nothin' else but grit. "i wish i could go and find her, but 'twould be too hot for me; long before i got back that fur i'd be strung up to a tree. so i've been a kind o' thinkin', since i see what's both'rin' you, 'bout a thing--i hate to ask it-- that i'd like for you to do. i don't think that girl has ever-- it sure hurts me, what i say-- but i'm sure that in the scrimmage nancy never got away. billy, you go back and find her; you are all i've got to send, you can sort o' fix things decent, where she is--in old man's bend." the return every life is but a journey-- trav'ling on from place to place-- starting from the point god gave us with an ever-varying pace. outward, onward, spurred by motives in our wand'rings here and there, sometimes led by hope alluring, sometimes halted by despair; but the life that travels farthest on that deeper strength depends, for with love, there is no turning; when love dies the journey ends. back across the broken foothills, with a courage none can feel till the burning pangs of sorrow turn the heart-strings into steel; back across the winter's playground, tracing out the paths he trod, with each muttered execration ending in a prayer to god. blasts that howled with fiendish laughter, by their loud derisive cry seemed to mock his labored progress as they passed him swiftly by; icy, blizzard-driven snowflakes into ghost-like fancies whirled, painting on the barren canvas, gaunt death battling for the world. back across the snow-strewn desert, fighting famine face to face, trusting to his horse to take him to each former camping place. once zeb stopped beside a snowdrift with a loud and startling neigh; tried to tell his half-dazed master where his mate, old simon, lay. pressing on, he reached the border of nebraska's whitened plain, where his mind in maudlin fancies yielded to the bitter strain, as he saw far in the distance, like a battered mast at sea, once again the twisted branches of the lone and friendly tree. [illustration: "once again the twisted branches of the lone and friendly tree."] "git up, zeb. come, see! she's waving! waving there for you and me. see her there, so white and pretty, standing by our friend, the tree! quit that stumbling! now then, streak it! hit the gait you used to do when we hired out for the round up and you beat the first one through. there she is! there's where i saw her when we stayed there all that night; though 'twas dark, i saw her riding, by those flashing threads of light; she's been waiting! oh, i left her in this awful lonely place! god forgive me! nancy! hear me! oh, that face--that poor white face!" one cold morning, old zach baxter, riding o'er this snowbound sea saw a famished pony standing near a queer and lonely tree. from his frost-encrusted nostrils came a plaintive whinny, low, as the man rode up beside him struggling through the drifted snow. when the old man tried to lead him, he refused to turn away; but he pawed the drift beneath him, where his stricken master lay. and below the cold, white cover, in a deathlike stupor deep, old zach found a sorry stranger shrouded for his last long sleep. tearing at the ragged bundle lodged between the horse's feet, clutching at the frozen blanket, brushing back the crusted sleet, faithful in his rude endeavors, rousing by his loud commands, roughly shaking, turning, rubbing, zach breathed on his face and hands; till the stiffened limbs responded and the closed eyes opened wide, dazed and puzzled at the stranger working fiercely at his side. billy felt the strong arms raise him, felt the frost king's stinging breath as he struggled, half unconscious, in the wav'ring fight with death. in the east, the sun dogs glistened like tall shafts of marble, bright, o'er the whitened grave of nature,-- ghostly spires of frozen light, flying frost flakes snapping, sparkling, dancing in a wild display, turned into a mist of diamonds as they mocked the newborn day. old zach's pony bearing double, reeking steam from every pore, reached at last the covered pathway leading to the dug-out door. with his arms clasped tight round billy, zach half dragged his helpless load through the lowly, mud-walled entrance of his rudely built abode. there, upon the narrow bunk bed spread with nondescript attire, zach enfolded him in wrappings while he started up a fire; and no nurse, however skillful, whatsoever her degree, ever gave more loyal service to a patient, than did he. poor and meager were the comforts of zach's cave-like prairie home, permeated with the odor of the fresh-dug virgin loam. pungent wreaths of smoke, slow drifting, floated lazily above, to the dried grass of the ceiling from the cracked and rusty stove. willow poles athwart for rafters sagged beneath the dirt roof's strain, and a piece of grease-smeared paper formed the only window-pane. in the center, on the dirt floor stood a table-like affair fashioned from a wagon end-gate, where zach spread his scanty fare. there for weeks lay billy, helpless, racked with mad'ning fever pains, as the burning sun of summer scorches sere the desert plains. then he lay with cold, white features and the feeble, scarce drawn breath, as the silent winter prairie lies beneath its shroud of death. ofttimes when the raging sickness sent the hot blood to his brain, he would point with frantic gesture to the dingy window pane, calling in excited mutterings, eyes transfixed in frenzied fright-- "there she is! now, can't you see her? see her face there in the light!" then old zach would try to soothe him in his simple-hearted way; "she won't hurt you," he would tell him, "i'll go drive her clear away. i've seen things--now listen, pardner-- those things happened once to me once down there in old dodge city, winding up a three weeks' spree. what you see is jest a 'lusion, 'cause you're crazy in your head; when your thinker's runnin' proper you'll find 'she' is gone or dead. there, now, pardner, see what this is! ain't it purty? your tin cup; found a little pinch o' coffee. that's the boy, now, drink it up!" when the breeze of spring in whispers stirred the withered bunch-grass plume, humming hymns of resurrection over nature's silent tomb, and the fleeing clouds of heaven, bending low at god's command, spilled their tribute from the ocean on the long-forsaken land, and the sun, with mellow kindness spread abroad his softened rays, calling bud and blade and blossom from their sleep of many days, billy heard, at last, the music of the glad earth's jubilee, felt a new strength stir within him, and a longing to be free. one day, o'er the hill's low summit, whence the prairie dipped away, there appeared a moving wagon with its canvas patched and gray, like a vessel on the ocean under taut and close-reefed sail, rising slowly on the billows heaped up by the driving gale. veering towards the little dug-out, making for a friendly shore, heaving to, the schooner anchored close beside the open door. loud and hearty were the greetings, for the driver of the team was tom frothingham, a neighbor, who had lived near billy's claim. bit by bit he told the story-- how he'd wandered all around since he left his kansas homestead and the folks near north pole mound; how he'd traveled all through texas with the roving fever on, camping oft in strange new places, where no other soul had gone. so the news, now half forgotten in his absence from the place, came in broken recollections-- careful efforts to retrace all the incidents of interest to the sick one listening there, who, with pale and careworn features, heard the story with despair. "three weeks after you left kansas i hitched up and came away. still, i reckoned you intended to improve your claim and stay; for your eighty was a picture-- running spring and good clear land-- everything a body needed for a starter, right at hand. well, some others left 'fore i did-- you remember mac, of course, how he got the moving notion when bill kelly missed his horse? chased him clear to old man's crossing, so i heard the posse say; thought they had him fairly cornered, but, by jings! he got away. "there are stranger things than fiction; what is natural may seem queer, so i s'pose we needn't wonder at the things we see out here. one thing happened since you left there that i call a burning shame-- did you know that rope-necked johnson jumped your eighty-acre claim? last i saw him, he was plowing, and he laughed and tried to joke: said 'twas kind of you to leave him all the ground that you had broke; said your house was so untidy he was sleeping out of doors, till he got a girl to help him wash the pans and scrub the floors. "lots of people coming in there from most every foreign land-- massachusetts and missouri-- made a mess i couldn't stand. every man that's made of manhood wants to live where he is free, so i'm bound to keep on moving when they get to crowding me. then another thing that happened: puzzled every one around when they heard one morning early, that bill kelly's horse was found. aleck rose told me about it after i had packed and gone; said the mare strayed in the dooryard with mac's steel-horn saddle on." as each day in steady conquest charged the ranks of fleeing night, winning back the stolen hours with their golden spears of light; as the living in all nature felt that mighty spirit's sway, so the sick man caught the power and his illness wore away. one clear morning, as aurora silver-tinted all the plain, in his weatherbeaten saddle billy took the trail again. "good by, boy," old zach repeated, "i'm most sure you'll never see any more o' them 'ere 'lusions, anyway, what you called 'she.'" day by day the low horizon spread its narrow circle round, as if fate had drawn a barrier, and forbade advance beyond. though the journey dragged on slowly, night time brought its sure reward, for the added miles behind him stretched at length to mingo's ford, where the breeze bore from the upland broken fragments of the song of the cowboy with his cattle, as he drove the strays along; where the voice of flowing water and the treble of the birds, swelled the hallowed evening anthem to the bass of lowing herds. then the trail along the solomon where the timber, making friends with the ever-widening valley, filled the rounded river bends; then the rankling recollection, as he passed some well-known place where before, with hope and vigor, he had sped in fruitless chase. then the lonely camp at nightfall, where the wind in monotone thrummed the harp strings of the grass stems, breathing low its song, "alone!" where the stars, fixed in the heavens, to his upturned face would say, with their heartless glint of distance, "she thou seek'st is far away." then the long, far-reaching bottoms rank with withered blue-joint grass, with its broken stems entangled in a matted jungle mass; then across the higher prairie, searching out a shorter way, to the creek that joined the river where mac crossed and got away; then the twinge of bitter sorrow as he neared his journey's end, and beheld the fringe of timber on the banks of old man's bend, where no living sign or token broke the gloom that brooded there, save a solitary buzzard floating idly in the air. from these high and broken hilltops he could trace the river's flow, and the creek's untamed meandering, with its looplike bend below, seeming in the light of evening like a giant serpent there, which had coiled about its victim, and lay resting in its lair. breaking through the tangled brushwood as the night was coming on, creeping down the steep embankment where the muddy waters run, billy crossed within the timber where the shroud of deeper gloom, and its chilling breath of darkness marked the hidden prairie tomb. as the soul in deep communion, seeks some isolated bower where the body's sordid cravings yield beneath the spirit's power, so the searcher, bowed in reverence, left untouched his evening fare as he listened to the voices of the shadows gathering there. here no lighted torch or camp fire with its weak and fitful ray, could illume the mystic journey of prayer's consecrated way. here the silence brought its message of forebodings, vague and deep, in its visions to the dreamer, through the mystery of sleep. in his dreams he saw a monarch decked in sumptuous array, seated on a throne of glory, bearing royal title, day. then some mighty power transcendent, thrust him from his gorgeous throne, turning all the realm to darkness, and the world was left alone. as the shades of gloom were spreading, by strange flashing threads of light he beheld in dim-drawn outline, on the background of the night, phantom horse and girlish rider, speeding on in reckless race, till she turned directly toward him and he saw her fearless face. then, behold! the king returning with a pageantry so bright, that the shadow-clad usurpers fled in ignominious fright. as he saw the hosts approaching through a cloud of battle smoke, charging wildly down upon him, he, in sudden fear, awoke. as he looked, the blackened heavens splashed with demon-tinted blood from the hue of burning prairie throbbed above the fiery flood. leaping o'er the rounded bluff-tops, down the valley's long incline, he could see the lurid column spread its blazing battle line. like a troop of charging horsemen sweeping on with maddened roar, mowing down the grass battalions, crackling flames swept all before. then the driftwood's rifted breastwork, left there by the waters high, flashed up in a hissing furnace, as the red-armed fiends leaped by. clinging to the swaying saddle and the plunging horse's mane, billy dashed through falling embers to the level, open plain. on the right and left, the head fires rushing on at furious pace, stretched beside the horse and rider in the life-and-death-fought race. here the gale with venomed fury met in vortex from afar, raising high the flaming pennons of the fiery fiends of war. flashing by, the blazing grass stems sped like arrows through the air, falling on the distant prairie, kindling fresh fires everywhere. pressing through the low-flung smoke clouds-- stifling fumes of hades' breath-- fiercer with each flying moment drove those scorching blasts of death. thrice his horse, 'neath quirt and rowel bravely struggling, almost fell, as he fled in desperation o'er the trail that led through hell. one poor singed and panting coyote through the perils of the ride hemmed in by the flames pursuing ran close by the horse's side. scarce a meager pace behind them, pressing hard the coyote's rear, raced a frantic old jack rabbit, ears laid low in speed and fear. reaching now a stretch of upland, here the coyote changed his course, breaking through the narrow side-fire, followed fast by hare and horse; and, upon the smoking prairie over which the fire had passed, steaming horse and stricken rider found a breathing space at last. [illustration: "fiercer with each flying moment drove those scorching blasts of death."] when the morning sun in splendor rose upon the blackened plain, his red beams revealed the lover back at old man's bend again. waist deep in its soothing waters bathing blistered brow and hands; while near by, in pain a-tremble, faithful zeb impatient stands. through the bend he searched and wandered, but except the furrowed bark, of a gnarled and aged elm tree which revealed one bullet-mark, naught was left save blackened embers; and the words he "knew in part"-- "dust to dust and then to ashes"-- told the story of his heart. back along the solomon river, trailing towards the humble claim he had lost when love and duty fired his soul to "being game"; back, across the beaver fordway, where love first had found the track, now returning with the rankling sting of hate to bring him back-- hate, that hunger made more bitter when his last jerked beef was gone; climbing trees to cut off branches for his horse to browse upon; back, where once the flower-decked prairie, spread its bloom of hope and bliss, now a blackened field of mourning, from the fire of one sweet kiss. till one day, he saw beyond him, in the distance, purple crowned, that old monarch of the prairie, guard of ages, north pole mound. then the field where zeb and simon pulled the old sod-breaking plow stretching like a narrow ribbon on the land that lay below. now the horse's steps grew lighter as he passed each well-known sign of the old familiar landscape, and they crossed the eighty's line, where the spring of running waters gave envenomed purpose birth, as he drank its bubbling offering from the pulsing heart of earth. then, ascending from the hollow, full before his eyes appeared home--his home--the low-walled sodhouse which his toiling hands had reared. near the straw shed stood the wagon he had brought from wichita, and beneath the grass-fringed gable hung his trusty crosscut saw. in the dooryard, near the window, lay the broken homemade chair, where, at evening, love-born fancies revelled, as he rested there; love, whose scattered seed had fallen on a mystic field of fate, where the tangled vine extending bore the bitter fruit of hate. hurrying nearer, he dismounted, trembling with the rage he felt, as he cast aside the bridle and drew taut his cartridge belt. throwing down his torn sombrero, there, before the tight-closed door, on the cowardly usurper loud and bitter vengeance swore. "come, you dirty, green-scummed scoundrel, with your sneaking 'plan or two'! just come out, you rope-necked buzzard! see how far you'll put them through. you can keep the eighty acres, hell will write your pedigree, but i'll rub your crooked nose-piece in the dirt you stole from me. "come outside, you sneaking coyote! if you've got a drop of man in your greasy, thieving carcass, finish up what you began." fiercer grew his coarse invective, louder yet his taunting calls, when no answer to his challenge came from out the low sod walls. uncontrolled, his furious anger spoke in quick and murderous roar as he pumped his old six-shooter through the barred and bolted door. when he paused the rude door opened, and before its splintered place stood the vision of the shadows, and he saw her fearless face. as the artist in his painting plans the background to enhance all the beauty of his subject both in pose and countenance, so the poor and dark interior lent its gloom to magnify all the power and witching beauty of her face and lustrous eye. standing there, a pictured goddess sketched against a lowering storm, bearing on her pallid features that supernal gift of calm. "nancy! woman! god in heaven, speak, girl! can this thing be true? are you here with that--that scoundrel, after all that i've gone through? do you stand there, fiend or human, after lending him your hand, first to break an honest spirit, then to steal away my land? must a man who loves a woman like a devil's imp be driven through the tortures of damnation for a single glimpse of heaven? tell me where the cur is hiding-- i've no wish to hurt his bride, but i'll braid a twelve-foot bull whip from his dirty, yaller hide! "speak to me and tell me, woman, how the god in heaven above starts the fires of hell a-burning from a spark of human love; why he ever made a woman who could play a fickle part; why he ever made a fellow with his soul tied to his heart; why he made life just a gamble-- i can't talk the way i feel-- in the game that i've been playing, you know this ain't no square deal! i will go away and leave you, but 'twould kind o' ease the pain if you'd only tell me, nancy-- if you'd try--to--just explain. [illustration: "standing there, a pictured goddess sketched against a lowering storm."] "if you wouldn't stand there looking with a face of livid white like the specter of the prairie that i saw one horrid night, riding through the endless darkness like a being doomed from birth just to roam outside of heaven and denied a place on earth. say one word to me! speak, nancy, if you have a voice and live! tell the worst, e'en though you ask me to be patient and forgive. i will listen--i will suffer-- i will do the best i can; nancy, sweetheart! hear the pleading of a broken-hearted man," "see here, billy! you gone crazy? charging like you got a fit? johnson ain't in--just at present-- won't you stop and rest a bit? don't act strange. there's no hard feelings, though i've never seen before any man that knocked like you did on a peaceful neighbor's door. come right in; now, don't be backward, like old times to have _you_ 'round! you look tired, like you'd traveled over quite a stretch of ground. sit right here in this old rocker; johnson fixed it up one day, feeling certain you would never come meandering 'round this way. "don't get up and act uneasy, rest yourself, now, if you can, you don't mind me like jim johnson-- he's a most obedient man. you went off and left your eighty, roaming where the luck-wind blows, like a tumbleweed in winter, where you've been, lord only knows. while jim's gone we'll talk together, as we used to, months ago, when i tried to quench the burning of a love i didn't know. listen, billy, while i tell you all about my 'fickle part'; when i'm done you may know better how god made a woman's heart. "while you're resting, i'll get supper, though there ain't much here to eat, 'cepting bran, to make some muffins, and a little rabbit meat. wish i had that pinch of coffee i saved up for--oh, so long, till one day i went and used it, though i somehow felt 'twas wrong; for i kind o' thought that sometime some one might be coming here worn out with a long, long journey, and would crave that kind o' cheer. now, then, billy, draw your stool up; what we've got is scant and plain-- i ain't hungry--honest--billy, while you eat--why--i'll 'explain.'" nancy's story "i went off and left you, billy, 'cause i'm used to being free, and i love my dear old daddie-- he has been so good to me. ever since i learned to toddle we've been living on the run, and my first and only playthings were a saddle and a gun. when i went away with daddie, after trav'ling nigh a week, we were caught up by the posse in the bend on old man's creek. think i'd let them take my daddie? no: i held them all at bay, while the boys hitched up the horses, crossed the creek and got away. "i just told them i would follow after all the fuss was through, but instead, all night i wandered, thinking all the time of you; for when we were last together you cast over me a spell that just seemed to change my nature, in a way that words can't tell; for it left a fire a-burning like a live and glowing coal, that at length blazed into longing till i craved with all my soul to be back, somehow, where you were, and to hear you tell once more that you loved me. that man-story i had never heard before. "then i trailed back o'er the prairie, riding steady every night, picking out the wildest country with my luck to guide me right. when i'd see the hungry morning eat the stars up in the east, i would hide in gulch or timber like a wild and hunted beast. how i learned to love the darkness as it spread its mighty arm, close around me, like a lover, fondly shielding me from harm! and i knew the sweet caresses of the earth and sky above, as the night's mysterious voices soothed me with their tale of love. "then i'd ride like forty devils just to catch upon my face all the kisses which the tempest pressed upon me in the race. how i thought of poor old daddie, whom, perhaps, i'd see no more if i went clear back to your place, while he hurried on before! i could hardly bear the burden when i'd think of--both of you; but that fire you set a-burning, one night told me what to do-- i would see and ask you, billy, if you wouldn't go with me where we both could be with daddie, way out west, where he must be. "then at last the night that loved me, turned its pent-up furies loose, roaring out on me its anger and unpitying abuse. how the rain beat down upon me! how the lightning burned its track through the clouds of storm and thunder as i reached your sod-walled shack! all was dark within, and quiet, when i rapped upon the door. then i saw the flash of matches and the lamplight on the floor; heard you stomp your heavy boots on, heard you walk and draw the bar, but the door, when thrown wide open, showed jim johnson standing thar. "'what you doing here?' i shouted, when i saw his hateful leer; 'tell me what this means, jim johnson. where is billy? ain't he here?' he was standing on the doorstep, and the light that shone within seemed to twist his wrinkled features in a sort of wonder-grin. 'well! well! nancy! sure's i'm livin'! out there in the pouring wet! sure i'll care for you, miss nancy, i'll protect you, don't you fret! i'm a friend that you can count on, does me good to see your face! come in, gal, and dry your garments, you have struck the very place!' "you don't blame me, do you, billy, if i did go in and stay, warming by your stove and fire, just to hear what he would say? i will try to tell his story as he told it, if i can, putting in what i remember of his 'interesting plan.' 'now, then, gal, i heard you calling as you stood there in the dark, on a fellow, named bill truly, but you shot 'way off the mark. billy ain't here now, and further, he won't be here, you can bet; anyhow, that's what he told me two weeks past, when we last met. "'when your folks all skipped the country i decided i'd move, too; thought perhaps you'd get in trouble and i'd try to help you through; so i got beyond the posse, rode like fire upon your track, found your dad, and _you_ not with him, so i turned and came right back. riding home along the solomon,-- for the truth i pledge my word-- i met billy with his horses three miles east of mingo's ford. stopped and shook my hand and told me he was so far on his way to a ranch 'way up in utah, where he'd made his plans to stay. "'said he wanted to be friendly, so the things that he had left, if i cherished no hard feelings, i could look on as his gift. "if you come across miss nancy you can say to her for me, that i've got another sweetheart, and that she is wholly free." billy'd never do to tie to-- he's too fickle, gal, for you-- so i just propose to offer you a man that will stay true. i have worked it out, miss nancy-- it's the problem of my life; i have planned that you shall stay here as my own dear little wife.' "'look here, johnson! you're a liar, when you say he's set me free! when you met him there at mingo's he had gone to hunt for me. don't you dare to touch me, scoundrel! don't you dare to slur his name! you're a cur--a thief--jim johnson! you have jumped my sweetheart's claim. don't you dare to venture near me! or you'll wish you'd not begun. all your schemes and double dealings, all your hatched-up plans are done. you start now and pack your fixin's! don't you leave the smallest bit! every filthy thing you own here, pack it up--you dog, and _git!_' "he was standing there uncertain, and i felt to clinch his throat; but, instead, i shot--to scare him-- all the buttons off his coat. then i pumped two in the corner, where he'd sunk down on his knees-- slit his ear and cut his collar, never listening to his pleas. told him if he didn't mosey i would plant his carcass whole, in a grave i'd dig that evening on the eighty he had stole. then he promised, but i chased him 'way across the old saline, and so far as i have knowledge, he has never since been seen. "when i got back here 'fore morning, thought of having kelly's mare, so i rode her to his stable and i left her standing there. for i knew that you'd consider twas the proper thing to do, if you came back here and found me holding down your claim for you. but i felt right sorry, billy, when i looked around next day, in the box there in the corner where the pans and dishes lay; for in fixing for my breakfast, my! the crockery was slim! more than half of it was busted by the bullets fired at jim: [illustration: "but, instead, i shot, to scare him, all the buttons off his coat."] "i forgot to tell you, billy, that for thirteen months or more, you're the only man that's ever crossed the threshold of that door. i have stayed alone and waited, full of faith that you would come, so that i--might go to daddie, and that you'd--have back your home. though perhaps i've sometimes suffered from the cold and from the heat, and i've gone for days together, here, without a bite to eat, 'twasn't hunger of the body that i craved to satisfy, i was starved for--you--and daddie, as the weary weeks trailed by. "how i tried to think and reason why the fire from one caress turned my burning, yearning spirit to a cinder of distress. some one told me, i remember, long ago when i was small, god made every star up yonder, everything--the world and all. then i thought that in his workshop, up there in the heavens above, he had made that curious hunger of the heart that we call love. p'r'aps my troubles and the waiting stirred me to this queer-like whim; but i couldn't help it, billy, i just had to talk to him. "in the night, when god wa'n't busy and could hear the slightest sound, i would venture from my hiding to the top of north pole mound. i was sure he'd never let his angels come out this-a-way, but would use the wind to carry, prayers out here, that people pray. so i'd hold my hands, and stopping gusts that tried to struggle free, tell them this here simple message they must take to you from me: 'please, dear god, won't you tell billy that i'm holding down his claim? he don't come 'cause he's in trouble. thank you, god. he ain't to blame.'" long before her honest story faltered to its hallowed close, pushing back his untouched supper, tremblingly her guest arose. vain for him to curb emotion, or to stammer out his praise through a storm of rude devotion, cast in halting human phrase. vain for him to frame a message never meant for words to tell, at the joy of reaching heaven by that trail that led through hell. but his fervent benediction was a passionate embrace, and the amen love's own ending, as he kissed her fearless face. ====================================================================== university of kansas publications museum of natural history ----------- volume , no. , pp. - ------------------------- october , ------------------------- observations on the mississippi kite in southwestern kansas by henry s. fitch university of kansas lawrence university of kansas publications, museum of natural history editors: e. raymond hall, chairman, henry s. fitch, theodore h. eaton, jr. volume , no. , pp. - published october , university of kansas lawrence, kansas printed by jean m. neibarger, state printer topeka. kansas [union logo] - observations on the mississippi kite in southwestern kansas by henry s. fitch the mississippi kite (_ictinia mississippiensis_) is one of the common raptors of kansas, occurring regularly and abundantly in summer in that part of the state south of the arkansas river. in , in an attempt to find out more about the ecology of the species in kansas, i made several trips to parts of the state where kites could be found in numbers, notably to meade county state park in the southwestern part of the state, ½ miles south and five miles west of meade. little has been written regarding the species in this extreme northwestern part of its breeding range, where it thrives under ecological conditions much different from those that prevail elsewhere in its range. also, the social behavior and food habits have been given relatively little attention. in my field study i was helped by my son, john h. fitch, who climbed to many kite nests and spent many hours observing in the field. my daughter, alice v. fitch, likewise aided me by keeping nests under surveillance. dr. claude w. hibbard of the university of michigan and mr. harry smith, superintendent of meade state park, also kindly provided much useful information concerning the history of the colony of mississippi kites at the park. mr. william n. berg analyzed pellets, and dr. george w. byers kindly checked many of the identifications, and provided generic and specific determinations for some of the insects. in general, the range, habits and ecology of the mississippi kite are already well known through the publications of audubon ( ), chapman ( ), bendire ( ), ganier ( ), wayne ( ), nice ( ), bent ( ), sutton ( ) and eisenmann ( ). the breeding range is the southeastern united states, chiefly within the austroriparian life-zone, but extending northwest through much of oklahoma and into southern kansas. the species is highly migratory. wintering mississippi kites are known from argentina and paraguay (eisenmann, _op. cit._: ), and most of the population probably winters in southern south america, but records outside the breeding range are few. the mississippi kite is perhaps one of the most social raptors. it is highly gregarious, not only in its migrations but in breeding colonies. all breeding pairs seen were closely associated with other individuals, with no territorial hostility; signs of intraspecific intolerance are rare, even where the kites are abundant. in the nesting season many of both sexes perch together in the same tree, and groups tend to keep together as they forage. secondary sexual differences are slight. seven males in the university of kansas museum of natural history collection average ( to ) millimeters in length, and six females average ( to ) millimeters. sutton (_op. cit._: ) collected breeding kites near arnett, oklahoma in and and recorded that eleven males averaged ( to ) grams and five females averaged ( to ) grams. as indicated by sutton, the head is paler in the adult male than in the female, and at close range this difference will serve for identification of the sexes. the difference in size is scarcely noticeable in the field. habitat in kansas this kite seems to prefer open and even barren terrain, in contrast with its habitat in forests of the southeastern states. typical habitat of kansas is that of the high plains, dominated by a short-grass climax of blue grama (_bouteloua gracilis_) and buffalo grass (_buchloë dactyloides_), with sagebrush (_artemisia_ sp.), prickly pear (_opuntia_ sp.) and other somewhat xerophytic vegetation. in the gypsum hills of south-central kansas near the oklahoma border, the mississippi kite finds habitat conditions exceptionally favorable. this is an area of broken topography, dissected by small steep-sided ravines, often with brush and scrubby trees on the slopes. at meade county state park groves of cottonwoods (_populus deltoides_) provided abundant places for perching and nesting. at this locality an artesian well provided an abundant year round water supply, which was impounded into an artificial lake half a mile long and a little less than a quarter mile wide. water was also impounded in a series of small ponds maintained for the benefit of fish and waterfowl. along with other improvements extensive plantings of cottonwoods and other trees were made with relief labor in the nineteen thirties. trees were scarce on the area originally, but by there were almost continuous groves in an area nearly two miles long and three quarters of a mile wide encompassing the lake and ponds and adjacent areas. in conversation at the park in august , dr. c. w. hibbard told me of his observations on the colony of kites since when his paleontological field work in that area was begun. he indicated an area of less than two acres west of the artesian well to which the colony had been limited in its nesting in , because at that time few trees were available as nest sites. in subsequent years, as the trees in the artificially established groves increased in size and height, and other trees became established naturally where the impoundments had created favorably moist conditions, the nesting colony expanded in all directions, and the number of kites increased tremendously. when my observations were made in , the nesting area was co-extensive with the cottonwood groves, and there were literally thousands of trees within the area that provided adequate sites for nests. numbers the maximum number of kites seen flying at one time at the park was , on august , . probably almost all there were adults, because fledglings, even though able to fly strongly by this date, were still spending most of their time perched. the colony of kites was usually scattered over at least two square miles, and at most times some were perched, others were flying low and solitarily, hence it is improbable that the total population or a high percentage of it could be seen together at any one time or place. more than nests were located in , and probably at least as many more were overlooked. there must have been a breeding population of at least kites, and probably as many as in the park in . h. b. tordoff recorded on the label of k. u. mus. nat. hist. no. , taken on september , , in barber county, kansas, that it was one of at least at a communal roost. feeding the park and its vicinity stood out as a veritable oasis in an almost treeless region of open rolling topography, with a short-grass type of vegetation dominating. the kites displayed versatility in their choice of places to forage. often they soared over the cottonwood groves, the lake, or the ponds, but at other times they flew far out over the plains, and seemed to prefer such open situations. a small herd of buffalo was maintained at the park, and their closely grazed pastures of several hundred acres were favorite foraging grounds for the kites. often the kites and buffalo were seen in close association, and at times the kites must have benefited from the movements of the buffalo, serving to flush certain insects such as grasshoppers. the latter were probably the chief food source of the kites in the heavily grazed pastures. bent ( : ) stated: "a flock of from to will sail about a person, a horseman or a team, traveling through grassy flats or bushy places, and seize the cicadas as they are scared up." dr. hibbard told me that on one occasion when he had caught a number of cicadas, he fed them to a pair of kites by tossing them into the air one by one, and each was seized by a kite which was flying nearby waiting expectantly. mississippi kites are noted for their buoyant and seemingly almost effortless flight, and their prey is caught while they are on the wing. in extended flights the kites soar, drift and circle with frequent easy flapping, at variable heights. sometimes they are several hundred feet above the ground. doubtless the height is influenced by the types of insects that are flying, and where they can be found most readily. even at close range the catching of prey by a kite is likely to be overlooked by an observer. after being snatched from the air, the prey is usually eaten while the kite is still in flight, and the movements of the head in pecking at the objects held in the talons are much more noticeable than the slight veering from the course of flight that signals the actual capture. kites were often watched while they were hunting in the open areas around the park. on june , , my son and i observed perched together in a small tree. from time to time each kite would leave the tree in a short flight low over the surface of a nearby pool, where it would snatch up prey, probably a dragonfly in many instances, and would return to a perch to feed. most of the time one or several kites were in flight while the majority were perched. similar observations were made on smaller groups perched on fence posts along the edges of large pastures. gregarious tendencies were evident from the fact that two or more of the kites perched fairly near together on separate but sometimes adjacent fence posts. each kite in turn would glide from its post, skim low over the ground surface for a few seconds, seize its prey with a sudden slight swerving, and return to the fence (usually to a different post from the one it had left) to feed upon the insect captured. grasshoppers of many species were abundant in the area. it seemed that grasshoppers were flushed from the ground by the bird flying near them and were picked off before they were well underway. in any case the prey was taken from the air rather than from the ground in all observed instances. ganier ( : ) mentioned seeing one of these kites alight on the ground in a cotton field, where it stayed for more than a minute, but perching on the ground is unusual. most often kites that were catching their prey by skimming close to the ground did not return to a perch but ate while they were flying. associations of groups on posts at edges of fields, in trees or in flight were ephemeral as each bird seemed driven by a restless urge to be in motion. the kites generally gave the impression of catching their prey effortlessly and casually in the course of their flights. however, on july , , one flying over a pond was seen to swoop three times in rapid succession at a dragonfly without catching it. the kite then flew higher, circled, and swooped three times more at the dragonfly, catching it on the last attempt. most of the insects preyed upon are slower and less elusive than dragonflies, which are largely immune to the attacks of flying predators because of their great prowess in flight. only on rare occasions could the kind of prey captured be observed in the field. food habits were studied by collecting pellets of the kites at the park, and analyzing them. the pellets were usually disgorged early in the morning while the kites were still on their night roosts in large cottonwoods. often several kites roosted in the same tree. the pellets were of characteristic appearance, elliptical, approximately millimeters in diameter, millimeters long, pinkish or purplish, composed of insects' exoskeletons compacted, and comminuted to about the consistency they would have after passing through a meat grinder. a total of pellets was collected-- on august , ; on july , ; on august and , , and on august to , . a total of separate items was tentatively identified. obviously the material was far from ideal for the identification of prey, which had to be reconstructed from minute fragments. the kites are dainty feeders and discard the larger and less digestible parts such as wings, legs, and heads. often it was uncertain how many individuals or how many kinds of insects were represented in a pellet. probably most pellets contained many individuals of the same species, but these were not separable. hence, only . items per pellet were found, whereas sutton found an average of . items in each of the stomachs that he examined. best information concerning kinds of prey utilized was obtained soon after the fledglings had left the nest; on various occasions these still clumsy young dropped nearly intact insects that were delivered to them by the adults. these insects, recovered from beneath the perches, were the basis for all specific and generic determinations; other material was determinable only to order or to family. one of the most significant outcomes of the examination of pellets was the finding that vertebrates were scarcely, if at all, represented in the food. three pellets contained shreds that seemed to be mammal hairs, but in the absence of other remains, the diagnosis is somewhat doubtful. many species of small mammals, birds, reptiles and amphibians were common in the park or its vicinity, but insects made up nearly all the recorded prey. audubon ( : ) mentioned lizards and small snakes in the food and gave a dramatic but perhaps imaginative account of a kite swooping and snatching a lizard (anole) from the topmost branch of a tree. goss ( : ) stated: "i have seen them swoop down, and, with their claws, snatch lizards from the ground, rocks and old logs, sometimes stopping to eat them, but, as a rule, feeding on the wing." bendire ( : ) stated that the food was mostly insects "probably varied with a diet of small rodents, lizards and snakes." wayne ( : ) stated that the food consisted almost entirely of insects and lizards. bent ( : - ), after stating that small snakes, lizards and frogs were sometimes taken, cited a statement in the notes of g. w. stevens that the latter had found the remains of toads, mice and young rabbits in nests with young. however, sutton (_op. cit._: ) in a detailed analysis of the stomach contents of kites in oklahoma, found only insects and remains of one small fish among a total of prey items. predation on vertebrates must be rare, and perhaps requires further verification in view of the rather vague character of the records so far published. the following list includes both the prey found beneath perches of fledglings and that identified from pellets, the latter mostly from adult kites. coleopteran unspecified carabid cicindelid unspecified _cicindela_ sp. hydrophilid unspecified _hydrous_ sp. scarabaeid unspecified _canthon_ sp. silphid _necrophorus_ sp. orthopteran unspecified locustid unspecified _arphia crassa_ _melanoplus_ cf. _differentialis_, _schistocerca_ cf. _lineata_ _xanthippus corallipes_ tettigoniid unspecified _daihinia_ sp. homopteran cicadid unspecified _tibicen_ cf. _pruinosa_ lepidopteran (unspecified moth), at meade state park i gained the impression that much of the foraging is carried on near the nest. the short time lapse between successive feedings was one indication, and from time to time while keeping nests under observation, i saw kites that were individually recognizable as the owners coursing back and forth in the vicinity. however, only a few individuals were recognizable. for several minutes before and after delivering food, such an adult was often seen soaring within to yards of the nest, or sometimes much closer. a somewhat different impression was received on august , , at natural bridge, south of sun city, barber county, kansas, where i observed two pairs of kites feeding fledglings. one fledgling was seen to be fed ten times in a ½ hour period. the transfer of food from the adult usually required less than a minute. then the adult would leave the tree, in a ravine, and drift away. circling and soaring, it seemed to be wandering aimlessly, but within two or three minutes it was usually out of sight over the horizon. in what appeared to be slow, lazy, flight it usually drifted off to the west, to more upland areas of short grass and sage brush. once, watching from a high knoll i succeeded in keeping it in view for almost five minutes, and during most of this time it appeared to be between one and two miles away, but it finally moved off even farther. dr. hibbard mentioned seeing kites in the vicinity of the jinglebob ranch eight to ten miles from the park, and he believed that these individuals had come from the park since there was no suitable habitat in the intervening areas. actually, the distance could have been covered in a few minutes' flying time, but it is unlikely that these individuals were feeding young at the park, else they would not have wandered so far. on several occasions groups of from three to individuals were seen in open terrain as much as four or five miles from the park. breeding cycle probably kites arriving from their northward migration are already paired. in those observed at the park in the first week of june, there was no indication of courtship, or of sexual rivalry. on june , , incubation had begun. the birds had arrived some three weeks earlier, according to smith. although arriving from the south long after most raptors have begun their nesting, the kites are not further delayed by establishment of territories and choosing of mates, and nesting is underway soon after their arrival. according to sutton ( : ) the nest-building is an exceedingly leisurely process. in the first two weeks after their arrival he observed that the kites only occasionally bring a twig to the nest, usually repairing last year's structure rather than starting a new one. sutton recorded egg-laying on may and and hatching on june in northwestern oklahoma, and the timing of these events must be similar in meade county, kansas. shortly before sunset on june a pair was observed at close range from a parked automobile as the kites perched on roadside fence posts about feet apart at the park boundary. at this time the birds lacked their usual restlessness and were perching quietly, neither preening nor attempting to find prey. with no preliminaries the male flew to the female and lit on her back to copulate. the female was receptive but did not crouch in a horizontal position. the mounting lasted for approximately a minute. during the first seconds the male was fully occupied with balancing and positioning himself, and copulation occurred only during the latter half of the mounting. during this interval cloacal contact was effected three times, but was only momentary each time. the birds were silent. after the male left, the female continued to perch until flushed by my movements. judging from the nests that were examined, the kites of the meade park area are well synchronized in their nesting, as all arrive at approximately the same time. bent ( : ) stated that if a kite's nest is robbed, the birds will lay a second set, either in the old nest or a new one, about two weeks later. all young seen at meade state park seemed to represent an age range of considerably less than two weeks, and, presumably, no renestings were involved. nests were variable in size. some were remarkably small in relation to size of the kites, and would scarcely have been credited to this species, had not the kites been seen sitting on them. nests were from to (average ) inches long and from to (average . ) inches wide, in forks or crotches of branches. the branches supporting the nests were from ½ to inches in diameter. the nests were constructed of twigs of approximately pencil size. of nests at the park, were in cottonwoods, six were in willows, and two were in elms. the figures probably reflect the relative numbers of each of these species of tree rather than any clear-cut preference of the kites. by the time nesting has begun the trees have leafed out, and the nests are well concealed. at the time of my visit to the park, july to , nestlings were well grown, and were beginning to feather out. on august and the young were well feathered, but flight feathers were not fully grown and the young remained in the nest or perched on nearby branches. on august to the young were fully fledged, and were able to fly strongly but they still spent most of their time perching and those of a brood tended to stay near together, usually in the nest tree. in a total of ½ hours of observation, feedings were observed--on the average one per . minutes. the interval changed from an average of . minutes for feedings on july to , to . minutes for feedings on august , and to . minutes for feedings on august . the longer interval on july to may have resulted from the greater furtiveness of the adult kites at this stage in their nesting cycle. nests usually were watched through field glasses at distances of to feet. ordinarily kites are not disturbed by the presence of a person at these distances, but when delivering food to the nest they seemed somewhat distracted and sometimes stopped only momentarily then left, still carrying the food. usually they swooped at the observer when leaving; rarely they swooped at him as they approached the nest. all observations were between a.m. and p.m., and there was no obvious trend according to time. earlier and later in the day the rate of delivery is probably less. the kites are notably late risers, and their activity increases gradually after sunrise; in late afternoon activity tapers off again. in feedings, the average visit to the nest lasted seconds but this average included a few relatively long stops, up to four minutes in length, and per cent of the visits were for intervals of seconds or less. insects often protruded from the bills of the adult kites delivering food, but most of the food was carried in the throat. sometimes the gorge was much distended, although nothing protruded from the mouth. the adult upon alighting sometimes would pass food to the nestling, and sometimes would disgorge a mass of food in the nest in front of the nestling. when the young were small, the adult after having disgorged a food mass, remained to pick up the food, bit by bit, and place it in the mouth of the nestling. however, after the young were partly feathered out the adult merely left the food for them. the nestling sometimes would peck at the disgorged material for several minutes after the adult left before all of the food was eaten. the small nestlings are generally silent, but when handled or otherwise disturbed, they give soft lisping peeps. by early august, when the young have ventured from the nest bowl to nearby branches, they become vocal and their calls can be heard more often than those of the adults. the call of the adult has been well rendered by sutton ( : ) with the syllables "phee phew"--a whistle in which the first syllable is short (lasting only about one-fourth of a second) with a rising inflection, clipped off short, while the second syllable has a downward inflection, and is drawn out to two or three times the length of the first syllable. the call of the fledgling is soft, with a lisping quality; that of the adult is much like it but is sharper and more piercing. fledglings call frequently while waiting to be fed, but as an adult approaches with food, the calls are given in rapid succession and slurred to a high thin squablike squeaking or squealing. when fledglings are able to fly and have left the nest, the adults generally pass food to them directly, rather than dropping the regurgitated mass, which might fall to the ground and be lost. on august a fledgling was seen following an adult in flight, and was also seen to eat while it was flying. at this stage, when an adult fed one young of a brood, the other would sometimes fly to the spot in an attempt to share the meal. however, the transfer of food was usually rapid and the adult would leave within a few seconds. young often were seen to fly out from the nest tree and maneuver in the vicinity, flying in a roughly circular course perhaps feet in diameter and then returning to the nest tree, thereby familiarizing themselves with their surroundings. according to the consensus of published accounts, there are usually two eggs per clutch, occasionally one or three. however, ganier ( : ), who studied the species in mississippi, wrote: "of all the nests i have examined [number unspecified] only one was found to contain more than a single egg." nice ( : ) recorded sets of two each and seven of one each in oklahoma. in the course of my observations, clutches of two were recorded. a group of four fledglings were observed concentrating their activities at a nest more than feet from any other known nests; possibly all belonged to the same brood, but this was not definitely determined. many of the nests that were in use in appeared to be relics from earlier years, as the material was darkened and disintegrating, but probably a new layer of sticks had been added on the top. bent (_op. cit._: ) mentioned this kite's habit of frequently using the same nest in successive years. on one occasion as i drove over a little-used road in the park and passed a cottonwood grove where kites were nesting, one of the birds swooped down and struck the top of the automobile. in a subsequent conversation, harry smith asked me if this had happened, and said that this particular kite had struck his truck frequently when he drove past its nest. this had occurred at the same place in three successive years, and smith was convinced that the same kite had used the nest each year, although the bird was not recognizable except by its unusually aggressive behavior. on dozens of occasions in the course of my observations kites swooped at me when i was near their nests, but, except for this one individual, they always veered away at a distance of several feet or several yards. at the time of my visit to the park in early june, kites were relatively silent and secretive in their behavior. approximately half of those that were incubating flushed when a person walked near the tree, but others continued to sit on their eggs until a person had climbed to within a few feet of the nest. upon being flushed, such a kite, in per cent of observed instances, swooped at least once at the intruder, but some of the kites would soar overhead, watching without making any active defense. at the time of my next visit, july to , when the kites were feeding well grown nestlings, behavior at the nest was much different. as soon as a nest was located the parents began scolding and swooping. at the first nest observed, a group of eight kites had congregated within two minutes to scold and harass the intruders. even kites whose nests were kept under observation frequently, never became fully reconciled to the intrusion but there was much difference between individuals in this respect. some were reluctant to deliver food and, having secured prey, would fly about in the vicinity without coming to the nest. mortality factors and defense joint defense against a common enemy was noted on july , , when kites were seen swooping at a swainson's hawk perched near the top of a large cottonwood, where it was partly protected by foliage and branches. when i flushed the hawk, it was pursued and harassed by the kites, some of which followed it for nearly a quarter mile although there were no nests of the kites nearby. on august a group of six kites was seen heckling a fledgling swainson's hawk, which crouched among thick foliage in the top of a tall cottonwood, as the kites swooped at it, sometimes brushing it with their wings when they swept past. dr. hibbard mentioned an instance in which a horned owl was flushed, and was chased and heckled by a red-tailed hawk and by a group of kites. the latter seemed to regard the owl as the greater enemy, but ordinarily any large raptor arouses their hostility. because of their exceptionally swift and skillful flight, the adult kites have few natural enemies, but the eggs or nestlings are vulnerable to such enemies as crows, jays, the larger hawks and owls, and to certain mammalian predators, notably raccoons. also, many nests probably are destroyed by the sudden and violent summer storms that are characteristic of the high plains. bendire ( : ) cited observations by goss that in a hailstorm in barber county, kansas, eggs were destroyed in many kites' nests and some of the nests were almost completely demolished. several nests found by me to have incubating eggs in the first week of june were abandoned or had disappeared completely by july , but the cause was not evident. one nest that was under observation on july had nestlings approximately two-thirds grown on that date, but on august only a few sticks remained, and the carcass of a fledgling dangled from a limb ten feet below the nest. even at the park where firearms are prohibited, kites are sometimes shot by ignorant or malicious persons. in general, kansas ranchers recognize the harmless and beneficial habits of kites, appreciate their esthetic appeal and protect them, but many persons use them as convenient targets, with utter disregard for the federal laws protecting them. because of the strong popular prejudice against raptorial birds in general, laws protecting them are usually not enforced. law enforcement officers do not take action even when clear-cut violations come to their attention. arrest and prosecution for the killing of any kind of raptor is almost out of the question in kansas. ratio of immatures to adults in the juvenal plumage flight feathers of the kites are brown, barred with white, much different in appearance from the dark, slaty plumage of adults. bent (_op. cit._: ) stated that these barred flight feathers are retained through the second summer, and he quoted mr. g. w. stevens as having found kites breeding in this immature plumage. on june , , i attempted to determine the ratio of these yearling kites to others in the population at the park. most of the kites seen were in flight too far away to discern definitely whether or not they were juveniles, and records were limited to those seen at relatively close range. in a total of records only pertained to these yearlings and the remaining were identified as of adults. beyond doubt in the course of my counts some individuals were recorded repeatedly, therefore the counts are not entirely acceptable. however, on each occasion that kites were seen in numbers in early summer, the adults greatly outnumbered the juveniles. the approximate nine to one ratio of adults to yearlings seems much too high. even if the difference is much less than indicated, the high ratio of adults to yearlings would seem to imply that the adults have a long life expectancy. a rather improbable alternative is that some of the yearlings remain in winter quarters or wander elsewhere rather than accompanying the adults on the return migration to their breeding grounds. still another alternative is that the breeding season of was relatively unsuccessful, but this idea is negated by my own observations at the park in late , as recently fledged young were numerous then. at the time of my visit to the park august to , , all young had recently left the nests and were able to fly. however, their behavior was so much different from that of the adults that a reliable ratio could not be obtained. the fledglings tended to remain in the nest tree, or to make relatively short flights near it, while the adults occupied with catching of prey for themselves and their young, spent much of their time aloft. the adults were hence far more conspicuous than the fledglings. however, it is my impression that the fledglings were from one-third to one-fourth as numerous as the adults. if this ratio is correct, and if all adults had bred, from two-thirds to three-fourths of the eggs and/or nestlings must have been destroyed. this rate of loss seems reasonable in view of the known histories of nests observed in june and again in july, and of the fates of birds' nests in general. summary mississippi kites were studied in southwestern kansas in the summer of , at various localities, especially at meade state park. at this locality, near the northwestern limit of the breeding range, the kite thrives in typical high plains habitat dominated by a short-grass type of vegetation, but availability of trees suitable for nests is a limiting factor. since maturing of extensive groves of cottonwoods and other trees planted at meade state park, the colony of kites has increased tremendously and the breeding population probably exceeded in . the kites are social in all their activities and do not maintain territories. the sexes differ little in appearance, but males are slightly smaller than females and have paler heads. food consists almost entirely of flying insects, and these are usually eaten while the kite is in flight. kites that are feeding nestlings may travel up to two miles from the nest or perhaps considerably farther in the course of their foraging. for feedings of nestlings the observed intervals averaged . minutes. most published references to the food habits mention predation on small vertebrates, especially lizards, but including also snakes, toads, rodents, and even rabbits. in my study a total of pellets were collected and insects were tentatively identified but the total number of insects in the pellets was much larger. no vertebrates were identified from this sample and among prey items identified from kite stomachs collected in oklahoma, by sutton, vertebrae of a small fish were the only vertebrate remains. further verification of predation on mammals, reptiles and amphibians by this species is needed. of the insects distinguished in pellets, beetles including carabids, cicindelids, hydrophilids, scarabaeids, and silphids were most numerous ( ) and grasshoppers ( ) were second; also there were cicadas and three moths. kites arrive in kansas about the second week in may. often old nests are repaired and used over again. hatching is about mid-june. normally there are two eggs per clutch. by mid-august the fledglings are learning to fly. by the latter part of august they are learning to capture their insect prey, and in early september southward movement of the entire population begins. eggs and/or young in many nests are destroyed by hail or high wind in the sudden violent storms that are characteristic of the high plains. mississippi kites are often shot by misguided persons, and benefit little from the protection supposedly provided by federal law. however, the adults probably have few natural enemies. the high ratio of older adults to yearlings indicates that the life expectancy is long. through their second summer the kites retain their barred immature plumage, and can be readily distinguished from adults. only ten per cent of the kites recorded in june sight records at the park were in juvenile plumage. literature cited audubon, j. j. . the birds of america. philadelphia, pp. xv + . bendire, c. e. . life histories of north american birds. u. s. national mus. spec. bull. , viii + pp. bent, a. c. . life histories of north american birds of prey. bull. u. s. nat. mus., , x + pp. pls. chapman, f. m. . on the birds observed near corpus christi, texas, during parts of march and april, . bull. amer. mus. nat. hist., : - . eisenmann, e. . mississippi kite in argentina, with comments on migration and plumage in the genus _ictinia_. auk, : - . ganier, a. f. . the mississippi kite (_ictinia mississippiensis_). the osprey, vol. (new series), no. : - . goss, n. s. . history of the birds of kansas. geo. w. crane and co., topeka, pp. nice, m. m. . the birds of oklahoma (rev.). publ. univ. oklahoma, vol. , biol. surv. no. , pp. sutton, g. m. . the mississippi kite in spring. condor, ( ): - . wayne, a. t. . birds of south carolina. contr. charleston mus., no. , viii + pp. the daggett printing co., charleston, s. c. _transmitted june , ._ - * * * * * transcriber's notes emphasis notation: _text_ : represents italics typographical corrections with the exception of the five typographical corrections listed below, the text of this file is that which is contained in the original printed volume: page : misspelling - misisippiensis => mississippiensis page : missing period - op cit. => op. cit. page : missing period - op cit. => op. cit. page : misspelling - sqeaking => squeaking page : misspelling - harrassed => harassed selected records of reptiles and amphibians from kansas by john breukelman and hobart m. smith university of kansas publications museum of natural history volume , no. , pp. - august , university of kansas lawrence university of kansas publications, museum of natural history editors: e. raymond hall, chairman, donald s. farner, donald f. hoffmeister volume , no. , pp. - published august , university of kansas lawrence, kansas printed by ferd voiland, jr., state printer topeka, kansas - selected records of reptiles and amphibians from kansas by john breukelman and hobart m. smith preparation of a handbook of reptiles and amphibians by the junior author has led to a survey of the collections of these animals at kansas state teachers college in emporia. numerous locality records of interest and importance have been accumulated there through the efforts of the senior author and a number of his students, particularly mr. allen downs. the more important records, including the first record for kansas of _rana sylvatica_, are reported here. we have not mentioned specimens that are from counties from which the university of kansas museum of natural history already has specimens. specimens examined by smith are indicated by an asterisk *; those identified by the late dr. f. n. blanchard are indicated by an encircled period ¤ (none of these specimens are now available). all other specimens here recorded have been examined either by the senior author or by mr. allen downs, or by both. specimen numbers, unless otherwise indicated, are those of the kansas state teachers college collection. #triturus viridescens louisianensis# (wolterstorff), newt.--_cherokee co._: mile north and miles east of crestline (no. ).* this is a terrestrial adult, and provides the second known locality for the species in the state. #ambystoma texanum# (matthes), narrow-mouthed salamander.--_lyon co._: emporia. #ambystoma tigrinum mavortium# (baird), tiger salamander.--_lyon co._: (no. ); miles east of americus. _ness co._: ness city (no. ). #scaphiopus bombifrons# cope, plains spadefoot.--_ness co._: miles west, . miles north of ness city (no. ). #bufo americanus americanus# (holbrook), american toad.--_chase co._: miles southwest of saffordville. _cherokee co._: miles southeast of columbus. _lyon co._: miles south of plymouth (no. )*; emporia (nos. , ).* the records from chase and lyon counties represent the westernmost localities for the species in kansas. #bufo cognatus# say, great plains toad.--_ness co._: miles west and . miles north of ness city (no. ). #bufo woodhousii woodhousii# (girard), rocky mountain toad.--_clark co._: miles south of bucklin (no. ).* _decatur co._: sappa creek near oberlin ( spec.).* _ford. co._: miles southwest of dodge city ( spec.).* _lyon co._: emporia (no. ).* _ness co._: ness city (nos. - , , )*; miles west, . miles north of ness city (no. ).* _sheridan co._: sheridan county state park (nos. - ). #acris crepitans# baird, northern cricket frog.--_ness co._: miles west and . miles north of ness city (nos. , , - ).* #pseudacris nigrita triseriata# (wied), striped chorus frog.--_lyon co._: miles south of plymouth; miles north of emporia (no. ); miles west of olpe; miles northeast of emporia (nos. - ).* _neosho co._: miles west of erie. #hyla versicolor versicolor# (le conte), common tree toad.--_chautauqua co._: elk city (no. ). #rana catesbeiana# shaw, bullfrog.--_ness co._: miles west and . miles north of ness city (no. ).* _wallace co._: miles east of sharon springs ( spec.).* #rana pipiens brachycephala# cope, leopard frog.--_clark co._: miles south of bucklin (nos. - ).* _ness co._: miles west and . miles north of ness city (nos. , , , ).* #rana sylvatica cantabrigensis# baird, wood frog.--_lyon co._: extreme southwestern corner, miles east of chase county line, between the verdigris river and the corner of the county ( specimen, now mus. nat. hist., univ. kans., no. ).* this specimen provides for the first time a basis for inclusion of the species in the fauna of kansas. it measures mm. snout to vent; hind leg from vent mm.; tibia mm. the ratio of hind leg to snout-vent measurement is . , and that of the tibia to snout-vent measurement is . . both figures are too high for _rana s. sylvatica_, in which the former ratio varies between . and . , the latter ratio between . and . . the ratios agree well with those of _r. s. cantabrigensis_, in which the former ratio varies from . to . , the latter from . to . . direct comparison of the specimen with typical examples of both subspecies substantiates its allocation to _r. s. cantabrigensis_. in the vicinity of kansas, specimens of this species are known from missouri (st. louis and stone counties only) and northwestern arkansas (washington county: winslow and prairie grove, mus. nat. hist., univ. kans., nos. , , ). reëxamination of these specimens confirms their identity as _rana sylvatica sylvatica_ to which the missouri specimens from stone county undoubtedly also belong. accordingly this race is still to be anticipated in extreme southeastern kansas. reference of the specimen from lyon county to _rana s. cantabrigensis_ presents a problem in distribution, for the race is not known from nearer kansas than north dakota, minnesota, wisconsin and southern illinois, except for a record given by cope (bull. u. s. nat. mus., no. : , ) from "western missouri." hurter (trans. st. louis acad. sci., : , ) restricts this record to cooper county, and presumably verifies cope's identification. hurter, too, recognized the other form, _r. sylvatica_, in missouri (marble cave, stone county). cope distinguished between the two races (as they are now recognized) and recorded typical _r. sylvatica_ from st. louis. accordingly the specimen from cooper county may be considered properly identified racially. it apparently is from the locality nearest to kansas at which the race has been taken. it seems highly probable that the kansas occurrence, and possibly those in arkansas and missouri also, is a relict one. it is highly improbable that the species has a continuous distribution in either state. a wider or more southern distribution in the past seems evident. the group to which it belongs certainly has had a more southern range, as indicated by taylor's discovery in meade county, kansas (univ. kans. sci. bull., : , ), of a fossil species of _rana_ (_parvissima_), from the upper pliocene, presumably related to _sylvatica_. it may or may not have been a direct ancestor of the living species. #microhyla olivacea# (hallowell), northern narrow-mouthed toad.--_lyon co._: miles southwest of emporia. _wilson co._: miles northeast of fall river. #crotaphytus collaris collaris# (say), collared lizard.--_geary co._: miles south of fort riley. _wabaunsee co._: miles northeast of alma. #holbrookia maculata maculata# (girard), earless lizard.--_chase co._: miles south of saffordville (no. )*; miles southwest of saffordville; mile south of saffordville (no. )*; miles southwest of olpe. _hodgeman co._: jetmore. _lyon co._: miles south of plymouth; miles southeast of emporia; miles southwest of emporia. _ness co._: miles west and . miles north of ness city (nos. , , - , - )*, miles west and . miles south of ness city (nos. , , ).* #sceloporus undulatus garmani# boulenger, northern plains lizard.--_ellsworth co._: carneiro; miles south of ellsworth. _mcpherson co._: miles west of roxbury (no. ). _ness co._: miles west and . miles north of ness city (no. , ).* #phrynosoma cornutum# (harlan), texas horned lizard.--_ellsworth co._: miles south of ellsworth. _lyon co._: mile south of emporia; miles southwest of emporia. _saline co._: coronado heights; miles northwest of lindsborg. #ophisaurus ventralis# (linnaeus), glass-snake lizard.--_lyon co._: emporia; mile southwest of emporia (no. ).* _rooks co._: miles southwest of stockton (no. ).* #cnemidophorus sexlineatus# (linnaeus), six-lined racerunner.--_ellsworth co._: carneiro. _lyon co._: . miles northwest of reading. _shawnee co._: miles east of topeka (no. ).* #leiolopisma laterale# (say), brown skink.--_labette co._: miles northwest of mound valley (no. ).* _lyon co._: . miles northwest of reading. _wilson co._: miles southwest of coyville (no. ).* #eumeces fasciatus# (linnaeus), common five-lined skink.--_bourbon co._: mile north of fulton. _chase co._: miles southwest of saffordville; miles south of clements; miles south of saffordville. _franklin co._: miles east of ottawa; miles south of ottawa; miles southwest of lane; miles east of ottawa; miles southwest of ottawa. _labette co._: miles southwest of dennis; miles northwest of mound valley. _lyon co._: . miles northwest of reading. _miami co._: . miles south of fontana. _montgomery co._: miles west of independence. _neosho co._: miles northwest of erie (no. ).* #eumeces obsoletus# (baird and girard), sonoran skink.--_coffey co._: miles south of gridley (no. ).* _ellsworth co._: miles south of ellsworth. _franklin co._: miles south of lane. _linn co._: . miles north of trading post. _lyon co._: . miles northwest of reading; miles south of plymouth; . miles northeast of dunlap; miles southwest of bushong; emporia (no. )*; dunlap (no. ).* _mcpherson co._: miles west of lindsborg. _morris co._: miles east of skiddy; mile east of skiddy. _neosho co._: miles north of parsons. _wilson co._: miles east of buffalo. #eumeces septentrionalis septentrionalis# (baird), northern prairie skink.--_chase co._: miles south of clements; mile south of saffordville; miles southwest of olpe (no. ). #diadophis punctatus arnyi# (kennicott), prairie ring-necked snake.--_bourbon co._: mile north of fulton. _chase co._: miles southwest of saffordville (no. )*; elmdale (no. )*; miles west of bazaar. _franklin co._: . miles southeast of peoria; miles south of lane. _linn co._: . miles north of trading post. _lyon co._: . miles northwest of reading (nos. , )*; emporia. _morris co._: miles south of council grove (nos. - ). _neosho co._: miles northwest of erie (no. ).* _osage co._: miles southwest of auburn. _shawnee co._: miles east of topeka. _wabaunsee co._: miles northeast of alma. _wilson co._: miles east of buffalo. #carphophis amoena vermis# (kennicott), western worm snake.--_bourbon co._: miles northwest of fort scott. _chase co._: miles southwest of cottonwood falls (no. ).* _geary co._: miles southwest of wreford. _greenwood co._: miles northwest of lamont (nos. , ).* _johnson co._: miles east of de soto. _labette co._: miles northeast of parsons (no. ).* _linn co._: . miles south of pleasanton. _lyon co._: miles northeast of reading; miles northwest of emporia. _neosho co._: miles northwest of erie (no. ).* _shawnee co._: wakarusa. _wilson co._: miles northwest of neodesha (no. ).* #heterodon contortrix contortrix# (linnaeus), common hog-nosed snake.--_saline co._: coronado heights; miles northwest of lindsborg. #heterodon nasicus nasicus# baird and girard, western hog-nosed snake.--_chautauqua co._: peru. _ness co._: miles west and . miles south of ness city (no. )*; miles northwest of ness city (nos. , ).* _rooks co._: stockton (no. ). _scott co._: near scott city (nos. - , ).* #coluber constrictor flaviventris# (say), blue racer.--_butler co._: miles south of el dorado. _chase co._: miles south of saffordville (nos. , , - , , ).* _chautauqua co._: mile south of chautauqua (no. ).* _geary co._: miles southwest of wreford. _labette co._: miles northwest of mound valley (no. ).* _lyon co._: miles northwest of reading (no. )*; miles west of olpe (no. )*; miles northwest of emporia (no. )*; miles southwest of emporia (no. ).* _mcpherson co._: miles west of roxbury. _morris co._: miles west of delavan. _neosho co._: miles northwest of erie; miles southeast of chanute. _ness co._: miles northwest of ness city (no. ).* _wilson co._: miles east of buffalo; miles northwest of neodesha; miles northeast of fall river. #masticophis flagellum flagellum# (shaw), eastern coachwhip.--_wilson co._: miles northwest of neodesha (no. ).* _elk co._: miles west of grenola (no. ).* #masticophis flagellum testaceous# (say), western coachwhip.--_ness co._: miles northwest of ness city (no. ).* _rooks co._: stockton (nos. , ).* #elaphe laeta laeta# (baird and girard), emory rat snake.--_chase co._: miles southwest of saffordville (nos. - , , , )*; wolf creek; miles northeast of strong city (no. ).* _coffey co._: miles east of lebo. _mcpherson co._: lindsborg. _morris co._: miles south of council grove (no. ).* _saline co._: salemsborg. _wilson co._: miles east of buffalo (no. ).* #elaphe obsoleta obsoleta# (say), pilot black snake.--_atchison co._: atchison (no. ).* _labette co._: miles north of oswego (no. ).* _lyon co._: emporia (nos. , , )*; miles northwest of emporia (no. ); . miles northwest of reading (no. ).* _morris co._: . miles north of wilsey. _neosho co._: miles northwest of erie (nos. , ).* _wabaunsee co._: miles southwest of alma. _wilson co._: miles northeast of fall river. #pituophis catenifer sayi# (schlegel), common bull snake.--_atchison co._: atchison. _chase co._: miles east of elmdale; toledo; miles west of emporia; saffordville (no. ).* _cherokee co._: miles southeast of columbus. _coffey co._: miles west of waverly. _ford co._: bucklin (no. ).* _franklin co._: miles southwest of lane. _hodgeman co._: jetmore. _jefferson co._: miles south of nortonville. _mcpherson co._: lindsborg. _morris co._: miles southeast of diamond springs; miles west of council grove; miles west of dwight; miles north of burdick; miles east of delavan. _ness co._: miles west and . miles north of ness city (nos. , , ).* _rooks co._: miles southwest of stockton (nos. , ).* #lampropeltis calligaster calligaster# (harlan), yellow-bellied king snake.--_butler co._: u. s. highway near greenwood county line. _coffey co._: miles east of emporia. _franklin co._: miles southwest of ottawa (no. ).* _lyon co._: miles east of emporia (no. )*; miles east of emporia; miles southeast of olpe; southwest of emporia (no. ); miles south of plymouth (no. )*; . miles northwest of reading (no. ).* _mcpherson co._: western edge of lindsborg. _osage co._: miles northeast of overbrook. #lampropeltis getulus holbrooki# (stejneger), speckled king snake.--_chase co._: miles southwest of saffordville (no. ); miles southwest of elmdale (no. ).* _hodgeman co._: jetmore. _lyon co._: miles east of emporia; miles southwest of bushong (no. ).* _marion co._: miles east of antelope (no. ).* _morris co._: mile east of skiddy. _woodson co._: lake fegan (no. ).* _wilson co._: miles east of buffalo (no. ).* #lampropeltis triangulum gentilis# (baird and girard), western milk snake.--_chase co._: miles southwest of saffordville (nos. , , ).¤ _gove co._: fair grounds (no. ). _greenwood co._: miles southwest of lamont (no. )¤; miles south of wilbur. _scott co._: near scott city (no. ).* #lampropeltis triangulum syspila# (cope), red milk snake.--_cherokee co._: miles east of crestline (no. ). _franklin co._: miles southwest of lane (no. ).¤ #sonora episcopa# (kennicott), great plains ground snake.--_wilson co._: miles northwest of neodesha (nos. - , - ).* #natrix erythrogaster transversa# (hallowell), yellow-bellied water snake.--_chase co._: miles south of clements; miles southwest of saffordville; miles east of cottonwood falls; miles east of matfield green; miles south of plymouth (no. ); elmdale hill, . miles east of elmdale (no. )*; miles southwest of olpe (no. ).* _lyon co._: miles south of plymouth (no. ); emporia (no. )*; miles northwest of emporia (no. ); mile north of hartford (no. )*; miles southeast of saffordville (no. ). #natrix grahami# (baird and girard), graham water snake.--_lyon co._: admire; miles south of plymouth (no. )*; miles east of emporia (no. )*; . miles north of hartford (no. )*; miles east of emporia (no. )*; emporia (no. ).* #natrix rhombifera# (hallowell), diamond-backed water snake.--_lyon co._: mile south of emporia (nos. - )*; miles northwest of emporia (nos. , , , )*; miles southeast of emporia (nos. - )*; miles northwest of reading. #natrix sipedon sipedon# (linnaeus), common water snake.--_barber co._: miles west of medicine lodge. _bourbon co._: mile north of fulton (no. ).* _lyon co._: miles northeast of emporia (no. )*; miles south of plymouth (no. )*; mile west of neosho rapids; miles southeast of emporia (no. , )*; miles northeast of emporia (no. ); miles northwest of emporia (no. ); miles northwest of emporia (nos. , , , , )*; miles south of hartford (no. ); mile north of hartford (nos. , ); miles southwest of emporia (no. ); emporia (no. ). _morris co._: miles southwest of council grove. _shawnee co._: miles east of topeka (no. ).* #haldea striatula# (linnaeus), southern ground snake.--_cherokee co._: miles east of crestline (no. )*; miles north of baxter springs; mile north and miles east of crestline. #thamnophis radix radix# (baird and girard), plains garter snake.--_chase co._: miles southwest of saffordville. _lyon co._: emporia (nos. , )*; . miles northwest of reading. _ness co._: miles northwest of ness city (no. ).* #thamnophis sauritus proximus# (say), western ribbon snake.--_chase co._: mile south of saffordville (no. ).* _lyon co._: miles southeast of emporia (no. )*; miles northwest of emporia (nos. - )*; miles southeast of emporia (no. )*; miles northwest of reading (no. ).* _wilson co._: miles east of buffalo. #thamnophis sirtalis parietalis# (say), red-sided garter snake.--_barber co._: miles north of medicine lodge. _dickinson co._: . miles northwest of herington. _lyon co._: . miles southeast of emporia (no. )*; mile northeast of emporia (nos. - )*; miles northwest of emporia (no. )*; miles northwest of emporia (no. ).* _wabaunsee co._: miles northeast of alma. #tropidoclonion lineatum# (hallowell), lined snake.--_chase co._: saffordville; miles northeast of bazaar. _labette co._: mile north of montana (no. ).* _lyon co._: emporia; miles south and miles west of emporia. _marion co._: miles east of antelope (no. ).* _morris co._: miles east of woodbine (nos. - ).* _rooks co._: miles northwest of stockton (nos. , ).* #tantilla gracilis# baird and girard, slender tantilla.--_cherokee co._: miles east of crestline (nos. - ). _geary co._: miles south of fort riley. _wilson co._: miles east of buffalo; miles northeast of fall river; miles northwest of neodesha. #tantilla nigriceps nigriceps# kennicott, great plains black-headed snake.--_rooks co._: miles northwest of stockton (no. ); stockton (no. ). this is the northernmost known record for the species. #agkistrodon mokeson mokeson# (daudin), southern copperhead.--_atchison co._: atchison (nos. , , , )*; miles north of atchison (no. ).* _bourbon co._: miles northwest of fort scott (no. ).* _cherokee co._: mile north and miles east of crestline (nos. - )*; miles east of riverton (no. ).* _coffey co._: miles northeast of burlington. _franklin co._: miles southwest of lane (nos. - , ).* _lyon co._: . miles northwest of reading (no. ).* _wabaunsee co._: miles northeast of alma (no. ).* _woodson co._: lake fegan (nos. , , - , ).* #sistrurus catenatus tergeminus# (say), western massasauga.--_chase co._: miles southwest of saffordville (nos. , , , , )*; miles southwest of elko (no. )*; miles northeast of matfield green (no. )*; miles south of clements; miles southwest of elmdale (no. ); miles southwest of olpe (no. ).* _lyon co._: miles south of plymouth (nos. , )*; miles southwest of emporia (no. )*; miles northwest of bushong (no. )*; miles northeast of emporia (no. ). _wabaunsee co._: kansas state highway just north of lyon county (no. ).* #crotalus horridus horridus# (linnaeus), timber rattlesnake.--_atchison co._: atchison (nos. - )*; miles north of atchison (nos. - ).* #crotalus viridis viridis# (rafinesque), prairie rattlesnake.--_hodgeman co._: jetmore. #sternotherus odoratus# (latreille), common musk turtle.--_cherokee co._: mile north and miles east of crestline (no. ). #kinosternon flavescens flavescens# (agassiz), yellow mud turtle.--_ford co._: rattlesnake creek miles south of bucklin ( spec.).* _pratt co._: miles southeast of pratt. _sheridan co._: sheridan county state park (no. ). #chelydra serpentina serpentina# (linnaeus), common snapping turtle.--_chase co._: miles southwest of olpe (no. ); miles east of cottonwood falls; miles northeast of strong city. _greenwood co._: ( spec.).* _lyon co._: . miles northwest of reading (no. ); miles south of plymouth; miles north of emporia; admire; miles northwest of olpe; emporia. _sheridan co._: state lake; miles northeast of quinter. #terrapene ornata# (agassiz), ornate box turtle.--_chase co._: miles southwest of olpe; miles south of clements; miles southwest of saffordville. _coffey co._: miles south of gridley (no. )*; mile west of agricola (no. ).* _ellsworth co._: miles south of ellsworth. _greenwood co._: ( spec.).* _hodgeman co._: jetmore. _lyon co._: miles south of plymouth; miles southwest of emporia; miles west of olpe. _morris co._: miles northwest of council grove; mile east of skiddy; miles south of council grove. _rice co._: sterling. _rooks co._: solomon river near stockton (no. ).* #terrapene triunguis# (agassiz), carolina box turtle.--_coffey co._: mile west of agricola (no. ).* #chrysemys picta bellii# (gray), painted turtle.--_chase co._: kahola creek, near morris county line. _dickinson co._: . miles north of herington. _ford co._: rattlesnake creek; miles south of bucklin ( spec.).* _lyon co._: miles north of emporia; miles south of plymouth. _ness co._: miles west and . miles north of ness city (nos. , ).* _sheridan co._: sheridan county state park (no. ). _wilson co._: miles southeast of buffalo. _woodson co._: owl creek north of yates center ( spec.).* #pseudemys floridana hoyi# (agassiz), toothed turtle.--_greenwood co._: holmer creek south of hamilton on kansas state highway (mus. nat. hist., univ. kans., no. ).* this is the second published locality for the species in kansas; it has previously been reported from a locality . miles northeast of coyville, woodson county (burt and hoyle, trans. kans. acad. sci., : , ). #pseudemys scripta elegans# (wied), scribe turtle.--_chase co._: miles southwest of saffordville. _lyon co._: miles northwest of emporia; miles south of plymouth. #amyda mutica# (le sueur), spineless soft-shelled turtle.--_mcpherson co._: lindsborg. #amyda spinifera spinifera# (le sueur), spiny soft-shelled turtle.--_chase co._: miles southwest of olpe; miles southwest of saffordville (no. ).* _lyon co._: miles east of emporia. _ness co._: . miles northwest of ness. _sheridan co._: state lake; miles northeast of quinter. - ==================================================================== university of kansas publications museum of natural history volume , no. , pp. - , plates, figs. in text, tables ---------------------- may , ------------------------- fishes of chautauqua, cowley and elk counties, kansas by artie l. metcalf university of kansas lawrence university of kansas publications, museum of natural history editors: e. raymond hall, chairman, henry s. fitch, robert w. wilson volume , no. , pp. - , plates, figs. in text, tables published may , university of kansas lawrence, kansas a contribution from the state biological survey of kansas printed in the state printing plant topeka, kansas - fishes of chautauqua, cowley and elk counties, kansas by artie l. metcalf contents page introduction physical characteristics of the streams climate present flora history conservation previous ichthyological collections acknowledgments materials and methods collecting stations annotated list of species fishes of doubtful or possible occurrence faunal comparisons of different streams distributional variations within the same stream faunas of intermittent streams east-west distribution summary literature cited introduction aims of the distributional study here reported on concerning the fishes of a part of the arkansas river basin of south-central kansas were as follows: ( ) ascertain what species occur in streams of the three counties. ( ) ascertain habitat preferences for the species found. ( ) distinguish faunal associations existing in different parts of the same stream. ( ) describe differences and similarities among the fish faunas of the several streams in the area. ( ) relate the findings to the over-all picture of east-west distribution of fishes in kansas. ( ) list any demonstrable effects of intermittency of streams on fish distribution within the area. cowley and chautauqua counties form part of the southern border of kansas, and elk county lies directly north of chautauqua. the following report concerns data only from those three counties unless otherwise noted. they make up an area of , square miles having a population of , persons in ( , in , and , in ). the most populous portion of the area is western cowley county where arkansas city with , inhabitants and winfield with , inhabitants are located. each of the other towns has less than , inhabitants. in the flint hills, which cross the central portion of the area surveyed, population is sparse and chiefly in the valleys. topographically, the area is divisible into three general sections: the extensive wellington formation and the floodplain of the arkansas river in western cowley county; the flint hills in the central part of the area; and the "chautauqua hills" in the eastern part. the drainage pattern is shown in figure . the wellington formation, which is devoid of sharp relief, borders the floodplain of the arkansas river through most of its course in cowley county. a short distance south of arkansas city, however, the arkansas is joined by the walnut river and enters a narrow valley walled by steep, wooded slopes. frye and leonard ( : ) suggest that this valley was originally carved by the walnut river, when the arkansas river flowed southward west of its present course. they further suggest that during nebraskan glacial time the arkansas probably was diverted to the rapidly downcutting walnut. the arkansas river has a gradient of . ft. per mile in cowley county. this gradient and others cited were computed, by use of a cartometer, from maps made by the state geological survey of kansas and the united states geological survey. northward along the walnut, steep bluffs and eroded gulleys characterize both sides of the river, especially in southern cowley county. two massive limestones, the fort riley and the winfield, form the bluffs in most places. the well-defined winfield limestone is persistent on the west bank of the river across the entire county. the walnut has only a few small tributaries in the southern half of cowley county (fig. ). in the northern half, however, it is joined from the east by timber creek and rock creek. timber creek drains a large level area, formed by the eroded upper portion of the fort riley limestone, in the north-central portion of the county. the gradient of timber creek is . feet per mile. the gradient of the walnut river is only . ft. per mile from its point of entrance into the county to its mouth. [illustration: fig. . map of cowley, chautauqua and elk counties, kansas, showing the streams mentioned in the text.] grouse creek, like the walnut, has formed a valley of one to three miles in width, rimmed by prominent wooded bluffs. those on the west side are capped by the fort riley limestone with the resistant wreford and crouse limestones forming lower escarpments. on the east side the wreford and crouse limestones provide the only escarpments along the stream above the vinton community, except for occasional lower outcrops of morrill limestone. below vinton the fort riley limestone again appears, capping the hills above the wreford limestone. the headwaters of the western tributaries of grouse creek are generally in the doyle shale formation; the eastern tributaries are in the wreford limestone, matfield shale, and barnestone limestone formations. the gradient of grouse creek is ft. per mile, of silver creek . ft. per mile, and of crab creek . ft. per mile. the big caney river (fig. ), having a gradient of . ft. per mile in the area studied, drains an area with considerable geological and topographic variation. the main stream and its western tributaries originate in permian formations, whereas the eastern tributaries originate in pennsylvanian formations. cedar creek is exemplary of western tributaries of big caney. this creek arises in the wreford limestone, as do several nearby tributaries of grouse creek. although the grouse tributaries descend through only part of the council grove group, cedar creek flows downward through the entire grove, admire, and wabaunsee groups and part of the shawnee group (moore, ). in only miles, cedar creek traverses formations comprising more than per cent of the entire exposed stratigraphic section in cowley county. bass ( : ) states that reliefs of feet within a mile are present in parts of this area. large terraces of limestone characterize the eastern flank of the flint hills, which the western tributaries of big caney drain. most striking is the foraker limestone. it characteristically consists of three massive members in cowley county, the uppermost of which forms the prominent first crest of the flint hills. as the rapid-flowing western tributaries of big caney descend over these successive limestone members, large quantities of chert and limestone rubble are transported and deposited in stream beds of the system. in many places the streams of the big caney system flow over resistant limestone members, which form a bedrock bottom. the eastern tributaries of big caney drain, for the most part, formations of the wabaunsee group of the pennsylvanian. most of these streams have lower gradients than those entering big caney from the west. the tributaries of big caney, along with length in miles and gradient in feet per mile, are as follows: spring creek, . , . ; union creek, . , . ; otter creek, . , . ; cedar creek, . , . ; rock creek, . , . ; wolf creek, . , . ; turkey creek, . , . ; grant creek, . , . ; and sycamore creek, . , . . spring creek and union creek are short and have formed no extensive floodplain. the high gradients of these creeks are characteristic also of the upper portions of several other tributaries such as cedar creek and otter creek. middle caney creek (fig. ) has its source in the wabaunsee and shawnee groups of the pennsylvanian but its watershed is dominated by the "chautauqua hills" of the douglas group. this area is described by moore ( : ) as "an upland formed by hard sandstone layers." the rough rounded hills supporting thick growths of oaks differ in appearance from both the big caney watershed on the west and the verdigris river watershed on the east. the gradient of middle caney in chautauqua county is . feet per mile. its largest tributary, north caney creek, has a gradient of . feet per mile. the elk river basin resembles the big caney river basin topographically. elk river has a gradient of . feet per mile. physical characteristics of streams the stream channels derive their physical characteristics from the geological make-up of the area and from land-use. the arkansas river typically has low banks; however, in a few places, as in the ne / of section , t. s, r. e, it cuts into limestone members to form steep rocky banks. the bottom is predominantly sand. in years of heavy rainfall the river is turbid, but during , when it occupied only a small portion of its channel, it was clear each time observed. all streams surveyed were clear except after short periods of flooding in june, and except in some isolated pools where cattle had access to the water. in the walnut river, sand bottoms occur in the lower part of the stream but the sand is coarser than that of the arkansas river. upstream, gravel and rubble bottoms become more common. steep rocky banks border most of the course of the walnut. during , stream-flow was confined to the center of the channel, remote from these rocky banks. the rubble and bedrock bottoms found in most streams of the flint hills have been described. in the alluvial valleys of their lower courses mud bottoms are found. gravel is present in some places but sand is absent. banks are variable but often steep and wooded. along east- or west-flowing streams the north bank characteristically is low and sloping whereas the south bank is high, rises abruptly, and in many places is continuous with wooded hills. the lower sections of otter creek, cedar creek, and rock creek fit this description (bass, : ) especially well, as does elk river near howard. streams in the chautauqua hills resemble those of the flint hills in physical characteristics, except that a larger admixture of sandstone occurs in the rubble. climate the climate of the area is characterized by those fluctuations of temperature, wind, and rainfall typical of the great plains. the mean annual temperature is degrees; the mean july temperature is degrees; the mean january temperature is approximately degrees. the mean annual precipitation is . in cowley county, . in chautauqua county, and . in elk county. wind movement is great; flora ( : ) states that south-central kansas ranks close to some of the windiest inland areas in the united states. the area has been periodically subjected to droughts and floods. such phenomena are of special interest to ichthyological workers in the area. at the time of this study drought conditions, which began in , prevailed. even in this period of drought, however, flooding occurred on grouse creek and water was high in big caney river after heavy local rains on the headwaters of these streams on june , . some of the lower tributaries of these same streams (such as crab creek and cedar creek) did not flow while the mainstreams were flooding. this illustrates the local nature of many of the summer rains in the area. table indicates maximum, minimum, and average discharges in cubic feet per second at several stations in the area and on nearby streams. these figures were provided by the u. s. geological survey. table .--cubic feet per second of water discharged at gauging stations in chautauqua, elk, montgomery, and cowley counties for years prior to . ======================================================================= gauging |drainage |avg |maximum| |minimum| station |area |dis- |dis- | |dis- | |(sq. mi.)|charge|charge | date |charge | date ---------------|---------|------|-------|----------|-------|----------- arkansas river | , | , | , | june , | |october , at arkansas | | | | | | city | | | | | | ---------------|---------|------|-------|----------|-------|---------- walnut river | , | | , | april ,| | , at winfield | | | | | | ---------------|---------|------|-------|----------|-------|---------- big caney river| | | , | april ,| | , , at elgin | | | | | | , ---------------|---------|------|-------|----------|-------|---------- elk river near | | | , | april ,| | , , elk city | | | | | | ---------------|---------|------|-------|----------|-------|---------- fall river near| | | , | april ,| | , , fall river | | | | | | ---------------|---------|------|-------|----------|-------|---------- verdigris river| , | , | , | april ,| | , , at independence| | | | | | , , | | | | | | ----------------------------------------------------------------------- something of the effect that drought and flash-flood have had on big caney river is shown by the monthly means of daily discharge from october, , to september, , at the stream-gauging station near elgin, kansas (table ). within these monthly variations there are also pronounced daily fluctuations; on big caney river approximately / mile south of elgin, kansas, discharge in cubic feet per second for may, , ranged from . to , . and for may, , from . to . . table .--monthly means of daily discharge in cubic feet per second for big caney river at elgin, kansas _month_ _ - _ _ - _ october . . november . . december . . january . . february . . march . . april . . may . . june . . july . . august . . september . . present flora the flora of the region varies greatly at the present time. land-use has altered the original floral communities, especially in the intensively cultivated area of western cowley county and in the river valleys. the sandy arkansas river floodplain exhibits several stages ranging from sparsely vegetated sandy mounds near the river through stages of johnson grass, willow, and cottonwood, to an elm-hackberry fringe-forest. the wellington formation bordering the floodplain supports a prairie flora where not disturbed by cultivation; gates ( : ) designates this as a part of the mixed bluestem and short-grass region. _andropogon gerardi_ vitman., _andropogon scoparius_ michx., _sorghastrum nutans_ (l.), and _panicum virgatum_ l. are important grasses in the hilly pasture-lands. although much of this land is virgin prairie, the tall, lush condition of the grasses described by early writers such as mooso ( : ), and by local residents, is not seen today. these residents speak of slough grasses (probably _tripsacum dactyloides_ l. and _spartina pectinata_ link.) that originally formed rank growths. these no doubt helped conserve water and stabilize flow in small headwater creeks. remnants of some of these sloughs can still be found. the streams in the flint hills have fringe-forests of elm, hackberry, walnut, ash, and willow. eastward from the flint hills these fringe-forests become thicker with a greater admixture of hickories and oaks. the north slopes of hills also become more wooded. however, grassland remains predominant over woodland in western chautauqua and elk counties, whereas in the eastern one-half of chautauqua county and the eastern one-third of elk county the wooded chautauqua hills prevail. this is one of the most extensive wooded upland areas in kansas. hale ( : ) describes this woodland as part of an ecotonal scrub-oak forest bordering the great plains south through texas. he found stand dominants in these wooded areas to be _quercus marilandica_ muenchh., _quercus stellata_ wang., and _quercus velutina_ lam. few true aquatic plants were observed in the arkansas river although mats of duckweed were found in shallow backwater pools at station a- (fig. ) on december , . in the walnut river _najas guadalupensis_ spreng. was common at station w- . stones were usually covered with algae in both the arkansas and walnut rivers. a red bloom, possibly attributable to _euglena rubra_ (johnson), was observed on a tributary of the walnut river on july , , at station w- . green algae were abundant at all stations in the caney, elk, and grouse systems during may and june, , and reappeared late in september. _chara_ sp. was common in these streams in april and may. the most characteristic rooted aquatic of streams in the flint hills was _justicia americana_ l. at station g- on grouse creek and station c- on big caney river (fig. ), _nelumbo lutea_ (willd.) was found. _myriophyllum heterophyllum_ michx. formed dense floating mats at a number of stations. other aquatic plants observed in the caney, elk, and grouse systems included _potamogeton gramineus_ l., _potamogeton nodosus_ poir., _potamogeton foliosus_ raf., _sagittaria latifolia_ willd., _typha latifolia_ l., and _jussiaea diffusa_ forsk. history in , a survey was made of the southern boundary of kansas. several diaries (miller, ; caldwell, ; bieber, ) were kept by members of the surveying party, which traveled from east to west. these accounts contain complaints of difficulty in traversing a country of broken ridges and gulleys as the party approached the area now comprising chautauqua county. one account by hugh campbell, astronomical computer for the party (caldwell, ) mentions rocky ridges covered with dense growth of "black jack," while another by col. joseph johnson, commander (miller, ) speaks of "a good deal of oakes in the heights"--indicating that the upland oak forest of the chautauqua hills was in existence at that time. on reaching big caney river near elgin, campbell wrote of a stream with very high banks and of a valley timbered with oak and black walnut. while the party was encamped on big caney river some fishing was done. campbell (caldwell, : ) described the fish taken as "cat, trout or bass, buffalo and garr." eugene bandel (bieber, : ) wrote, "this forenoon we did not expect to leave camp, and therefore we went fishing. in about two hours we caught more fish than the whole company could eat. there were some forty fish caught, some of them weighing over ten pounds." it was noted that the waters of big caney and its tributaries were "very clear." progressing up rock creek, johnson wrote of entering a high rolling plain covered with fine grass, and crossed occasionally by clear wooded streams (probably big and little beaver creeks and grouse creek). the diary of hugh campbell (caldwell, : ) contains a description of the arkansas river valley near the oklahoma border. "the arkansas river at this point is about yards wide, its waters are muddy, not quite so much so, as those of the mississippi or rio bravo. its valley is wooded and about two miles in width, the main bottom here, being on the east side. on the west it is a rolling prairie as far as the eye can see, affording excellent grass." some seining was done while encamped on the arkansas river and "buffalo, catfish, sturgeons, and gars" were taken (bieber, : ). an editorial in the winfield courier of november , , vigorously registers concern about a direct effect of settlement on fish populations in rivers of the area: "the fish in the streams of cowley county are being slaughtered by the thousands, by the unlawful use of the seine and the deadly hoop net. fish are sold on the market every day, sometimes a tubful at a time, which never swallowed a hook. "the fish law says it is unlawful to seine, snare, or trap fish but some of the smaller streams in the county, it is said are so full of hoop and trammel nets that a minnow cannot get up or down stream. these nets not only destroy what fish there are in the streams but they keep other fish from coming in, they are not operated as a rule by farmers to supply their own tables but by fellows who catch the fish to sell with no thought or care for the welfare of others who like to catch and eat fish. "if there is a fishwarden in cowley county so far as his utility goes the county would be as well off without him and his inactivity has caused many of those interested to get together for the purpose of seeing that the law is enforced. "depredations like this work injury in more ways than one. they not only deplete the streams of fish large enough to eat and destroy the source of supply but if the u. s. fish commission discovers that the law is not enforced and the fish not protected, there will be no free government fish placed in cowley county streams. it is useless for the government to spend thousands of dollars to keep the streams well supplied if a few outlaws are allowed to ruthlessly destroy them. the new organization has its eye on certain parties now and something is liable to drop unexpectedly soon." graham ( : ) listed species of fish that had already been introduced into kansas waters prior to by the state fish commission. these early references indicate that direct effects of settlement on the native flora and fauna were recognized early. concern such as that expressed in the editorial above persists today; however, it is not clear whether the fish fauna of the streams of the area has been essentially changed by man's predation. the indirect effects through human modifications of the environment seem to be of much importance. three modifications which have especially affected streams have been agricultural use, urbanization, and industrialization. the effect of land-use on streams is closely related to its effect on the flora of the watershed. turbidity, sedimentation, and the rate, periodicity, and manner of flow all bear some relationship to the land-use of the watershed. stream-flow in the area has been discussed in the section on climate. the effects of urbanization are more tangible and better recognized than those of agricultural land-use. streams that flow through cities and other populous areas undergo some modification, especially of the streamside flora. another effect of urbanization has been increased loads of sewage discharged into the streams. the combined populations of arkansas city and winfield rose from , in to , in . arkansas city found it necessary to construct a sewage system in ; winfield in . there are, at the present time, nine towns within the area that have municipal sewage systems. the state training home at winfield also has a sewage system. the kansas state board of health, division of sanitation, has provided information concerning adequacy of these systems and certain others in nearby counties as of february , . this information is shown in table . representatives of the division of sanitation, kansas state board of health, expressed the belief that pollution by both domestic sewage and industrial wastes would be largely eliminated in the "lower arkansas" and in the walnut watershed by . important oil and gas resources have been discovered in each of the three counties. the first producing wells were drilled between and (jewett and abernathy, : ). the arkansas river flows through several oilfields in its course across cowley county (jewett and abernathy, : ). a number of producing wells have been drilled in the grouse creek watershed since and many of these wells are near the banks of the creek. in the big caney watershed of cowley and chautauqua counties there has been little oil production in recent years; however, a few small pools are presently producing in southwestern elk county. clapp ( : ) stated that "many of the finest streams of our state are now destitute of fish on account of oil and salt pollution. the walnut river, once as fine a bass stream as could be found anywhere, and a beautiful stream, too, is now a murky oil run, and does not contain a single fish so far as i know. the fall and verdigris rivers are practically ruined. both the caney rivers are affected, and may soon be ruined for fishing." doze ( : ) noted "some of the finest streams in the state have been ruined as habitat for wild life, the walnut river is probably the most flagrant example." table .--sewage disposal facilities in some south-central kansas communities. ======================================================================= community | status on february , | remarks | | -----------------------+------------------------+---------------------- cowley county: | | arkansas city | discharging raw sewage | adequate plant in | | design stage. geuda springs | discharging raw sewage | winfield | inadequate | state training school| adequate | udall | adequate | -----------------------+------------------------+---------------------- chautauqua county: | | cedar vale | inadequate | sedan | adequate | in operation | | days. elgin | adequate | -----------------------+------------------------+---------------------- elk county: | | moline | inadequate | howard | adequate | -----------------------+------------------------+---------------------- sumner county: | | belle plaine | discharging raw sewage | adequate plant under | | construction. mulvane | discharging raw sewage | adequate plant under | | construction. oxford | discharging raw sewage | construction on | | adequate plant to | | start soon. -----------------------+------------------------+---------------------- butler county: | | augusta | adequate | el dorado | discharging raw sewage | adequate plant under | | construction. douglass | discharging raw sewage | adequate plant to | | go into operation | | within days. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- pollution by petroleum wastes from refineries has also affected the streams studied. the only refinery within the area is at arkansas city. in butler county there are four refineries on the walnut watershed upstream from the area surveyed. metzler ( ) noted that "fish-kills" occurred from the mid- 's until in connection with wastes periodically discharged from these refineries. however, the largest kill, in , was attributed to excessive brine pollution. in arkansas city a meat-packing plant, a large railroad workshop, two flour mills, two milk plants, and several small manufacturing plants contribute wastes which may figure in industrial pollution. there are milk plants and small poultry processing plants at winfield. in chautauqua and elk counties there is little industrial activity. conservation in recent years several measures have been implemented or proposed to conserve the water and land resources of the arkansas river basin. droughts and floods have focused public attention on such conservation. less spectacular, but nevertheless important, problems confronting conservationists include streambank erosion, channel deterioration, silting, recreational demands for water, and irrigation needs. congress has authorized the u. s. corps of engineers (by the flood control act of ) to construct six dam and reservoir projects in the verdigris watershed. two of these--hulah reservoir in osage county, oklahoma, on big caney river, and fall river reservoir in greenwood county, kansas--have been completed. other reservoirs authorized in the verdigris watershed include toronto, neodesha, and elk city (table mound) in kansas and oologah in oklahoma. construction is underway on the toronto reservoir and some planning has been accomplished on the neodesha and elk city projects. the possibilities of irrigation projects in the verdigris and walnut river basins are under investigation by the united states bureau of reclamation (foley, _et al._, :f ). an area of square miles in chautauqua and montgomery counties is included in the aiken creek "pilot watershed project," a co-operative effort by federal, state, and local agencies to obtain information as to the effects of an integrated watershed protection program (foley, _et al._, : ). previous ichthyological collections few accounts of fishes in the area here reported on have been published. evermann and fordice ( : ) made a collection from timber creek at winfield in . the state biological survey collected actively from to , but localities visited in the arkansas river system were limited to the neosho and verdigris river basins (breukelman, : ). the only collection made in the area considered here was on the elk river in elk county on july , . the total species list of this collection is not known. in the years - minna e. jewell collected at various places in central kansas. on june , , jewell and frank jobes made collections on timber creek and silver creek in cowley county. hoyle ( : ) mentions collections made by himself and dr. charles e. burt, who was then professor of biology at southwestern college, winfield, kansas. records in the department of biology, kansas state teachers college at emporia, indicate that dr. burt and others made collections in the area which have not been published on. table .--collections made by dr. frank b. cross of the state biological survey in . ==================================================================== collection number | date | river | location ------------------+---------------+-----------+--------------------- c- | april , | elk | sec. , t s, r e ------------------+---------------+-----------+--------------------- c- | april , | sycamore | sec. , t s, r e ------------------+---------------+-----------+--------------------- c- | april , | big caney | sec. , t s, r e ------------------+---------------+-----------+--------------------- c- | april , | walnut | sec. or , t s, | | | r e -------------------------------------------------------------------- claire schelske ( ) studied fishes of the fall and verdigris rivers in wilson and montgomery counties from march, , to february, . in the annotated list of species that follows, records other than mine are designated by the following symbols: e&f--evermann and fordice sbs--state biological survey ( - ) j&j--jewell and jobes (collection on silver creek) c--collection number--cross (state biological survey, ) ummz--university of michigan museum of zoology oam--oklahoma a&m college museum of zoology acknowledgments i am grateful to professor frank b. cross for his interest in my investigation, for his counsel, and for his penetrating criticism of this paper. this study would have been impossible without the assistance of several persons who helped in the field. mr. artie c. metcalf and mr. delbert metcalf deserve special thanks for their enthusiastic and untiring co-operation in collecting and preserving of specimens. mrs. artie c. metcalf, miss patricia metcalf, mr. chester metcalf, and mr. forrest w. metcalf gave help which is much appreciated. i am indebted to the following persons for numerous valuable suggestions: dr. john breukelman, kansas state teachers college, emporia, kansas; dr. george moore, oklahoma a&m college, and mr. w. l. minckley, lawrence, kansas. materials and methods collections were made by means of: ( ) a four-foot net of nylon screen; ( ) a Ã� -foot "common-sense" woven seine with / -inch mesh; ( ) a Ã� -foot knotted mesh seine; ( ) a Ã� -foot / -inch mesh seine; ( ) pole and line (natural and artificial baits). at most stations the four-foot, ten-foot, and twenty-foot seines were used; however, the equipment that was used varied according to the size of pool, number of obstructions, nature of bottom, amount of flow, and type of streambank. usually several hours were spent at each station and several stations were revisited from time to time. percentages noted in the list of species represent the relative number taken in the first five seine-hauls at each station. collecting stations collecting was done at stations listed below and shown in fig. . each station was assigned a letter, designating the stream system on which the station was located, and a number which indicates the position of the station on the stream. this number increases progressively upstream from mouth to source. code letters used are as follows: a--arkansas river; w--walnut river system; b--beaver creek system; c--big caney river system; g--grouse creek system; m--middle caney creek system; e--elk river system. all dates are in the year . [illustration: fig. . map of cowley, chautauqua and elk counties, kansas, showing stations at which collecting was done.] a- . arkansas river. sec. and , t. s, r. e. june and august . braided channel with sand bottom. water slightly turbid, with layer of oil sludge on bottom. a- . arkansas river. sec. , t. s, r. e. august . flowing through diverse channels. average depth inches. bottom sand. (plate , fig. .) a- . arkansas river. sec. , t. s, r. e. august and december . flowing over fine sand. average depth inches. some areas of backwater with oil sludge on bottom. w- . walnut river. sec. , t. s, r. e. july . flowing rapidly, with large volume, because of recent rains. average width feet. bottom gravel. water turbid. w- . walnut river. sec. , t. s, r. e. july . rubble riffles and large shallow pools with gravel bottoms. average width, feet. water clear. w- . walnut river. sec. , t. s, r. e. july . pools and riffles below tunnel mill dam at winfield. water clear. w- . badger creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. july . small pools. average width feet, average length feet, average depth inches. water turbid and malodorous. bottoms and banks mud. much detritus present. w- . timber creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. june . intermittent pools, widely separated. average width feet, average depth inches. bottom mud and gravel. b- . big beaver creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. may . isolated pools. average width feet, average depth one foot. water turbid. bottom rubble. b- . little beaver creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. july . intermittent pools. average width feet, average length feet, average depth inches. bottoms rubble, mud, and bedrock. b- . big beaver creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. july . series of small turbid pools. g- . grouse creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. may , september , and september . intermittent pools in close succession. average width feet, average depth inches. water turbid on may but clear in september. bottom rubble. steep banks. little shade for pools. g- . grouse creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. august . series of shallow intermittent pools. average width feet, average length feet, average depth inches. bottom bedrock and mud. (plate , fig. .) g- . grouse creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. july . intermittent pools. average width feet, average length feet, average depth inches. bottom bedrock and gravel. _justicia americana_ l. abundant. g- . grouse creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. june and september . intermittent pools. average width feet, average length feet, average depth inches. water turbid in june, clear in september. _najas guadalupensis_ spreng., and _myriophyllum heterophyllum_ michx. common. g- . grouse creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. july . succession of riffles and pools. water clear. volume of flow approximately one cubic foot per second, but creek bankful after heavy rains on june . average width feet, average depth inches. g- . grouse creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. july . small intermittent pools to which cattle had access. water turbid, bottom mud and rubble. average width feet, average depth inches. stream-bed covered with tangled growths of _sorghum halepense_ (l.). g- . grouse creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. july . stream flowing slightly. water clear. average width of pools feet; average depth inches. bottom bedrock and gravel. _myriophyllum heterophyllum_ michx., _nelumbo lutea_ (willd.), and _justicia americana_ l. common in shallow water. g- . silver creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. july . intermittent pools. average width feet, average length feet, average depth inches. water clear. g- . silver creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. july . small upland brook with volume less than one-half cfs. average width feet, average depth inches. water clear, bottom mostly rubble. g- . crab creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. june . intermittent pools, showing evidence of having flowed after rains on june . average width feet, average depth inches. g- . crab creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. july . small intermittent pools. average width feet, average length feet, average depth inches. water clear. bottom rubble and mud. g- . crab creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. june and july . isolated pools. average width feet, average depth one foot. water turbid. bottom bedrock and rubble. _myriophyllum heterophyllum_ and _justicia americana_ abundant. g- . crab creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. july . isolated pools feet by feet. average depth inches. water turbid. g- . unnamed creek (hereafter called grand summit creek). sec. , t. s, r. e. august . intermittent pools. average width feet, average length feet, average depth inches. water clear. bottom rubble. [illustration: plate . station a- . arkansas river. (cowley county, section , t. s, r. e.) . station g- . grouse creek. (cowley county, section , t. s, r. e.)] [illustration: plate . station c- . cedar creek. (cowley county, section , t. s, r. e.) . station c- . spring creek. (elk county, section , t. s, r. e.) volume of flow of this small creek is indicated by riffle in foreground.] g- . unnamed creek (same as above). sec. , t. s, r. e. july . small upland creek bordered by bluestem pastures. pools with average width of feet, average length feet, average depth inches. water slightly turbid. bottom rubble and mud. g- . crab creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. july . small isolated pools. average width feet, average length feet, average depth inches. water turbid. g- . crab creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. july . upland brook bordered by bluestem pastures. unshaded intermittent pools. average width feet, average length feet, average depth inches. water turbid. c- . big caney river. sec. , t. s, r. e. july . intermittent pools. average width feet, average length feet, average depth inches. bottom rubble and bedrock. water clear to slightly turbid. c- . big caney river. sec. , t. s, r. e. september . series of intermittent pools. bottom rubble and large stones. c- . big caney river. sec. , t. s, r. e. june . large shallow pool below ledge feet high forming "osro falls." bottom bedrock. c- . big caney river. sec. , t. s, r. e. june . three large pools ( feet by feet) with connecting riffles. water turbid. bottom bedrock and rubble. c- . big caney river. sec. and , t. s, r. e. may , may , june , june , june , and june . from a low-water dam, feet high, downstream for / mile. pools alternating with rubble and bedrock riffles. collecting was done at different times of day and night, and when stream was flowing and intermittent. c- . big caney river. sec. , t. s, r. e. june . intermittent pools with bedrock bottom. water slightly turbid. average width feet, average depth inches. c- . otter creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. june . pools and riffles. water clear. algae abundant. average width feet, average depth inches. c- . big caney river. sec. , t. s, r. e. june . intermittent pools. average width feet, average depth inches. water clear. bottom rubble and gravel. aquatic plants included _chara_ sp., _sagittaria latifolia_ willd., _jussiaea diffusa_ forsk., and _nelumbo lutea_ (willd.). c- . big caney river. sec. and , t. s, r. e. june . clear, flowing stream, feet wide, volume estimated at cfs. bottom gravel and rubble. extensive gravel riffles. c- . big caney river. sec. and , t. s, r. e. june . water clear and flowing rapidly, volume estimated at - cfs. bottom rubble with a few muddy backwater areas. c- . big caney river. sec. , t. s, r. e. july . flowing, with less than cfs. average width feet, average depth inches. water extremely clear. bottom gravel and rubble. _myriophyllum heterophyllum_, _potamogeton foliosus_, and _justicia americana_ common. c- . cedar creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. march , april , june , june , and august . pools and riffles along / mile of stream were seined in the early collections. in august only small isolated pools remained. bottom bedrock and rubble. much detritus along streambanks. (plate , fig. .) c- . otter creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. june . flowing, less than cfs. pools interspersed with rubble riffles. water clear. c- . otter creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. may , and september . series of small pools. average width feet, average depth inches. shallow rubble riffles. water extremely clear. temperature ° at : p.m. on may ; ° at : p.m. on september . c- . spring creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. june . small, clear, upland brook with rubble bottom. pools feet in average width and inches in average depth. numerous shallow rubble riffles. c- . spring creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. july . small intermittent pools. average width feet; average depth inches. bottom gravel. (plate , fig. .) c- . west fork big caney river. sec. , t. s, r. e. july . small pool below low-water dam. pool feet by feet with average depth of inches. c- . east fork big caney river. sec. , t. s, r. e. july . isolated pool feet by feet with an average depth of inches. m- . middle caney creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. july . intermittent pools. average width feet, average depth inches. water stained brown. oil fields nearby but no sludge or surface film of oil noted. bottom rubble and bedrock. m- . pool creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. may . pool feet by feet below limestone ledge approximately feet high forming butcher's falls. other smaller pools sampled. water clear. bottom bedrock and rubble. e- . elk river. sec. , t. s, r. e. july . four intermittent pools seined. average width feet, average depth inches. bottom bedrock, rubble, and mud. water turbid. e- . elk river. sec. , t. s, r. e. june . intermittent pools below and above sandstone ledge approximately feet high forming "falls" at elk falls. average width feet, average depth inches. bottom bedrock, rubble and mud. water slightly turbid. e- . elk river. sec. , t. s, r. e. june . two small pools, feet by feet with average depth of inches. bottom bedrock. e- . elk river. sec. , t. s, r. e. june . one long pool feet by feet with a variety of depths and bottom conditions ranging from mud to bedrock. average depth inches. water turbid and pools unshaded. e- . elk river. sec. , t. s, r. e. august . intermittent pools. average width feet, average depth inches. bottom rubble. water clear. e- . elk river. sec. , t. s, r. e. august . small isolated pools. river mostly dry. bottom bedrock. water slightly turbid with gray-green "bloom." e- . wildcat creek. sec. , t. s, r. e. volume of flow less than one cfs. average width feet, average depth inches. domestic sewage pollution from town of moline suspected. annotated list of species #lepisosteus osseus oxyurus# (linnaeus): stations a- , w- , w- , g- , g- , g- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- . of longnose gar taken, were young-of-the-year. the latter were from shallow isolated pools (bedrock bottom at c- , c- , c- ; gravel bottom at c- ). at station w- in moderate flood conditions several young-of-the-year were found in the most sheltered water next to the banks. the longnose gar was found only in the lower parts of the streams surveyed (but were observed by me in smaller tributaries of these streams in years when the streams had a greater volume of flow). a preference for downstream habitat is suggested in several other surveys: cross ( : , a: ) on the south fork of the cottonwood and on stillwater creek; cross and moore ( : ) on the poteau and fourche maline rivers; moore and buck ( : ) on the chikaskia river. #lepisosteus platostomus# rafinesque: one shortnose gar (k. u. ) has been taken from the arkansas river in cowley county. this gar was taken by mr. richard rinker on a bank line on april , , at station a- . #dorosoma cepedianum# (le sueur): stations w- , g- , c- , c- , m- , e- , e- . in smaller streams such as the elk and caney rivers adult gizzard shad seemed scarce. they were more common in collections made in larger rivers (walnut, verdigris, and neosho). in impoundments of this region shad often become extremely abundant. schoonover ( : ) found that shad comprised per cent by number and per cent by weight of fishes taken in a survey of fall river reservoir. #carpiodes carpio carpio# (rafinesque): stations a- , a- , a- , w- , g- , c- . hubbs and lagler ( : ) stated that the river carpsucker was "mostly confined to large silty rivers." of the stations listed above c- least fits this description being a large shallow pool about / acre in area having bedrock bottom and slightly turbid water. the other stations conform to conditions described by hubbs and lagler (_loc. cit._). #carpiodes velifer# (rafinesque): sbs. three specimens of the highfin carpsucker (k. u. - ) were collected on july , , from an unspecified location on elk river in elk county. #ictiobus bubalus# (rafinesque): stations w- , g- , g- , c- , c- , c- , c- , e- , e- , e- . the smallmouth buffalo shared the downstream proclivities of the river carpsucker. in half of the collections (g- , c- , e- , e- , e- ) only large juveniles were taken; in the other half only young-of-the-year were found. in one pool at station c- hundreds of young buffalo and gar were observed. this large shallow pool was Ã� feet, with an average depth of inches. the bottom consisted of bedrock. station c- was a small pool with bedrock bottom, eight feet in diameter, with an average depth of only inches. station e- was also a small isolated pool with bedrock bottom and an average depth of inches. #ictiobus niger# (rafinesque): station c- . only two specimens of the black buffalo were taken. an adult was caught on spinning tackle, with doughballs for bait. the second specimen was a juvenile taken by seining one mile below station c- on september . #ictiobus cyprinella# (valenciennes): station g- . two juvenal bigmouth buffalo were taken in a shallow pool, along with several juvenal smallmouth buffalo. #moxostoma aureolum pisolabrum# trautman and #moxostoma carinatum# (cope): sbs. two specimens of _moxostoma aureolum pisolabrum_ (k. u. - ) and one specimen of _moxostoma carinatum_ (k. u. ) were taken from an unspecified locality on elk river in elk county on july , . there are no other records for any of these fish in the collection area. _m. aureolum pisolabrum_ has been taken in recent years in eastern kansas (trautman, : ) and has been found as far west as the chikaskia drainage in northern oklahoma by moore and buck ( : ). that occasional northern redhorse enter the larger rivers of the area here reported on seems probable. _m. carinatum_ has been reported only a few times from kansas. the only recent records are from the verdigris river (schelske, : ). elkins ( : ) took four specimens of _m. carinatum_ from cutoff pools on salt creek in osage county, oklahoma, in . this recent record suggests that occurrences in southern kansas are probable. #moxostoma erythrurum# (rafinesque): stations g- , g- , g- , g- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , e- , e- , e- (c- , c- , c- ). the golden redhorse was common in several of the streams surveyed, and utilized the upland parts of streams more extensively than any of the other catostomids occurring in the area. _m. erythrurum_ and _ictiobus bubalus_ were taken together at only two stations. in no case was _i. bubalus_ taken from a tributary of grouse creek or of big caney river. in contrast _m. erythrurum_ reached its greatest concentrations in such habitat, although it was always a minor component of the total fish population. stations c- and e- were the lowermost environments in which this redhorse was taken. the largest relative number of golden redhorse was found at station g- on crab creek where . per cent of the fishes taken were of this species. this station consisted of intermittent pools averaging one foot in depth. bottoms were bedrock and rubble and the water was clear and shaded. the fish were consistently taken in the deeper, open part of the pool where aquatic vegetation, which covered most of the pool, was absent. another station at which _m. erythrurum_ was abundant was c- on cedar creek. here a long, narrow, clear pool was the habitat, with average depth of inches, and bottom of bedrock. #minytrema melanops# (rafinesque): stations g- , c- , c- , e- . occurrences of the spotted sucker were scattered. at stations c- and g- single specimens were taken. at station e- (july ) one specimen was taken at the mouth of a small tributary where water was turbid and quiet. this specimen (k. u. ) was the largest ( - / inches total length) found, and possessed pits of lost tubercles. #cyprinus carpio# linnaeus: stations a- , w- , w- , w- , w- , g- , g- , g- , g- , c- , c- , e- . carp were taken most often in downstream habitat. no carp were taken above station c- on big caney river. the earliest date on which young were taken was july , when specimens, approximately / inch in total length, were taken from the walnut river at station w- . the small carp showed a preference for small shallow pools; adults were found in deeper pools. #hybopsis aestivalis tetranemus# (gilbert): station a- . only one specimen of the speckled chub was taken. the species has been recorded from nearby localities in the arkansas river and its tributaries both in kansas and oklahoma. its habitat seems to be shallow water over clean, fine sand, and it occurs in strong current in mid-channel in the arkansas river. suitable habitat does not occur in other parts of the area covered by this report. #notropis blennius# (girard): stations a- , a- , a- . the river shiner was taken only in the arkansas river and in small numbers. in all instances _n. blennius_ was found over sandy bottom in flowing water. females were gravid at station a- on june . to my knowledge there are no published records of this shiner from the arkansas river basin in kansas. in oklahoma this species prefers the large, sandy streams such as the arkansas river. cross and moore ( : ) found it in the poteau river only near the mouth. #notropis boops# gilbert: stations g- , g- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , e- , e- , m- , m- . widespread occurrence of the bigeye shiner in this area seems surprising. except for this area it is known in kansas only from the spring river drainage in the southeastern corner of the state (cross, b: ). _n. boops_ chose habitats that seemed most nearly like ozarkian terrain. the largest relative number of bigeye shiners was taken at c- in a clear stream described in the discussion of _notropis rubellus_. at this station _n. boops_ comprised . per cent, and _n. boops_ and _n. rubellus_ together comprised . per cent of all fish taken. at station g- on grouse creek the percentage of _n. boops_ was . . here, as at station c- , water was clear. at both stations _myriophyllum heterophyllum_ was abundant and at g- _nelumbo lutea_ was also common. at g- _n. boops_ seemed most abundant in the deeper water, but at c- most shiners were found in the shallower part of a large pool. two other collections in which _n. boops_ were common were from spring creek. it is a small, clear flint hills brook running swiftly over clean gravel and rubble. it had, however, been intermittent or completely dry in its upper portion throughout the winter of -' and until june , . in collections at c- on june , _n. boops_ formed . per cent of the fish taken. farther upstream, at c- on july , in an area one mile from the nearest pool of water that existed prior to the rains of june , _n. boops_ made up . per cent of the fish taken. in streams heading in the hilly area of western elk county, the relative abundance of _notropis boops_ decreased progressively downstream. on upper elk river percentages were lower than on upper grouse creek and upper big caney river. hubbs and lagler ( : ) characterize the habitat of this species as clear creeks of limestone uplands. there are numerous records of the bigeye shiner from extreme eastern oklahoma. it has been reported as far west as beaver creek in osage county, oklahoma. beaver creek originates in cowley county, kansas, near the origin of cedar creek and crab creek. drought had left a few pools of water in beaver creek in kansas at the time of my survey. the fish-fauna seemed sparse and _n. boops_ was not among the species taken. of interest in considering the somewhat isolated occurrence of the bigeye shiner in the flint hills area of kansas is a record of it by ortenburger and hubbs ( : ) from panther creek, comanche county, oklahoma, in the wichita mountain area of that state. #notropis buchanani# meek: stations g- , e- (c- ). at station g- the ghost shiner was taken in small numbers in the shallow end of a long pool ( Ã� feet.) the three individuals taken at station e- were in an isolated pool ( Ã� feet) averaging - / feet in depth. water was turbid, and warm due to lack of shade. the habitat preferences of this species and of the related species _n. volucellus_ have been described as follows by hubbs and ortenburger ( b: ): "it seems probable that _volucellus_ when occurring in the range of _buchanani_ occupies upland streams, whereas _buchanani_ is chiefly a form of the large rivers and adjacent creek mouths." the results of this survey and impressions gained from other collections, some of which are unpublished, are in agreement with this view. a collection on the verdigris river at independence, kansas, directly downstream from the mouth of the elk river, showed _n. buchanani_ to be common while _n. volucellus_ was not taken. at station e- upstream from e- , however, _n. volucellus_ was taken but _n. buchanani_ was not found. in the upper neosho basin, cross ( a: ) took _n. volucellus_ but not _n. buchanani_. other collections have shown _n. buchanani_ to be abundant in the lower neosho river in kansas. moore and paden ( : ) observe that _n. buchanani_ was found only near the mouth of the illinois river in oklahoma and was sharply segregated ecologically from _n. volucellus_ that occupied a niche in the clear main channels in contrast to the more sluggish waters inhabited by _n. buchanani_. #notropis camurus# (jordan and meek): stations c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , e- , e- (c- ). highest concentrations of the bluntface shiner were found close to the mouths of two tributaries of big caney river: rock creek and otter creek. on rock creek (station c- ) this shiner was abundant in a shallow pool below a riffle where water was flowing rapidly. many large males in breeding condition were taken (june ). the species formed . per cent of the fish taken. on otter creek (station c- ) the species was common in shallow bedrock pools below riffles. it formed . per cent of the fish taken. at station c- , _n. camurus_ was characteristically found in an area of shallow pools and riffles. at station c- it was found in clear flowing water over rubble bottom and in small coves over mud bottom. at c- (july ) _n. camurus_ was taken only in one small pool with rapidly flowing water below a riffle. in this pool _n. camurus_ was the dominant fish. at station c- , on april , _n. camurus_ was abundant in the stream, which was then clear and flowing. on august , it was not taken from the same pool, which was then turbid and drying. the frequent occurrence of this species in clear, flowing water seems significant. cross ( a: ) notes that the bluntface shiner prefers moderately fast, clear water. hall ( : ) found _n. camurus_ only in upland tributaries east of grand river and not in lowland tributaries west of the river. moore and buck ( : ) took this species in the chikaskia river, which was at that time a clear, flowing stream. they noted that in oklahoma it seems to be found only in relatively clear water. _n. camurus_ did not seem to ascend the smaller tributaries of big caney river as did _n. rubellus_ and _n. boops_ even when these tributaries were flowing. #notropis deliciosus missuriensis# (cope): stations a- , a- , a- , w- , w- , w- (c- ). sand shiners seemed to be abundant in the arkansas river, rare in the walnut river and absent from other streams surveyed. this shiner was most abundant in shallow, flowing water in the arkansas river; in backwaters, where _gambusia affinis_ prevailed, _n. deliciosus_ formed only a small percentage of the fish population. #notropis girardi# hubbs and ortenburger: stations a- and a- . at station a- the arkansas river shiner made up . per cent of all fish taken. at a- , it was found only in rapidly-flowing water over clean sand in the main channels. it was absent from the shallow, slowly-flowing water where _n. deliciosus missuriensis_ was abundant. at a- _n. girardi_ made up per cent of the total catch, and again preferred the deeper, faster water over clean-swept sand. failure to find _n. girardi_ at station a- is not understood. females were gravid in both collections (august and ). in neither collection were young-of-the-year taken. moore ( : ) has suggested that _n. girardi_ requires periods of high water and turbidity to spawn. additional collecting was done at station a- on december , . a few adults were taken in flowing water but no young were found. in this area, _n. girardi_ showed no tendency to ascend tributaries of the arkansas river. not far to the west, however, this pattern changes as shown by hubbs and ortenburger ( a: ) who took this fish at seven of ten stations on the cimarron, canadian, and salt fork of the arkansas. _n. girardi_ was taken only in the lowermost stations on both stillwater creek (cross, : ) and the chikaskia river (moore and buck, : ). in the next major stream west of the chikaskia, the medicine river, _n. girardi_ seems to occur farther upstream than in the chikaskia. (collection c- - by dr. a. b. leonard and dr. frank b. cross on elm creek near medicine lodge on july , .) #notropis lutrensis# (baird and girard): stations a- , a- , w- , w- , w- , w- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , b- , b- , b- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , m- , e- , e- , e- , e- (e&f, c- , c- , c- ). the red shiner was taken in every stream surveyed. the relative abundance seemed to be greatest in two types of habitat which were separated geographically. the first habitat was in large rivers such as the arkansas and walnut. in the arkansas river the red shiner consistently made up per cent to per cent of the catch. on the walnut river percentages ranged from per cent (station w- ) to per cent (station w- ). the second habitat in which numbers of _n. lutrensis_ reached high proportions was in the upper parts of the most intermittent tributaries. at the uppermost station in silver creek this species formed per cent of the fish taken. in crab creek the following percentages were taken in six collections from mouth to source: . %, . %, %, %, . %, and %. in the mainstream of grouse creek the highest percentage taken was . near the mouth at station g- . in middle sections of grouse creek this species was either absent or made up less than per cent of the fish taken. at no station on big caney river was the red shiner abundant. the smallest relative numbers were found at upstream stations, in contrast to collections made on tributaries of grouse creek. this distributional pattern possibly may be explained by the severe conditions under which fish have been forced to live in the upper tributaries of grouse creek. water was more turbid, and pools were smaller than in big caney. these factors possibly decimate numbers of the less hardy species permitting expansion by more adaptable species, among which seems to be _n. lutrensis_. in the upper tributaries of big caney river conditions have not been so severe due to greater flow from springs and less cultivation of the watershed in most places. under such conditions _n. lutrensis_ seems to remain a minor faunal constituent. #notropis percobromus# (cope): stations a- , a- , w- , w- , w- , g- . at station w- the plains shiner constituted per cent of the fish taken. the river was flowing rapidly with large volume at the time of this collection, and all specimens were taken near the bank in comparatively quiet water over gravel bottom. at station w- , below tunnel mill dam at winfield, _n. percobromus_ comprised . per cent of the fish taken, second only to _lepomis humilis_ in relative abundance. immediately below the west end of the dam, plains shiners were so concentrated that fifty or more were taken in one haul of a four-foot nylon net. the amount of water overflowing the dam at this point was slight. water was shallow ( - inches) and the bottom consisted of the pitted apron or of fine gravel. at the east end of the dam where water was deeper ( - feet) and the flow over the dam greater, large numbers of _lepomis humilis_ were taken while _n. percobromus_ was rare. in the arkansas river smaller relative numbers of this shiner were obtained. at station a- , it formed . per cent of the total. at this station _n. percobromus_ was taken with _n. lutrensis_ in water about inches deep next to a bank where the current was sluggish and tangled roots and detritus offered some shelter. at station g- on grouse creek the plains shiner made up . per cent of the fish taken. the habitat consisted of intermittent pools with rubble bottoms at this station, which was four miles upstream from the mouth of the creek. the plains shiner seems rarely to ascend the upland streams of the area. #notropis rubellus# (agassiz): stations c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- (j&j). no fish in these collections showed a more persistent preference than _notropis rubellus_ for clear, cool streams. all collections of the rosyface shiner were in the big caney river system, but at only four stations in this system was it common. at station c- the highest relative numbers ( . per cent) were obtained. this site possessed the most limpid water of any station on the mainstream of big caney. aquatic plants (_myriophyllum heterophyllum_ and _potamogeton nodosus_) were common. other fishes that flourished at this station were _n. boops_, _n. camurus_, _campostoma anomalum_, and _etheostoma spectabile_. the water temperature was ° at surface and ° at bottom whereas air temperature was °. _n. rubellus_ was common at all stations in otter creek, the clear, upland character of which has been discussed. in may and june only adults were found. on september , examination of several pools in upper otter creek revealed numerous young-of-the-year in small spring-fed pools. literature is scarce concerning this shiner in kansas. cross ( a: ) stated that it was abundant in the south fork of the cottonwood river and was one of those fishes primarily associated with the ozarkian fauna, rather than with the fauna of the plains. elliott ( ) found _n. rubellus_ in spring creek, a tributary of fall river which seems similar to otter creek in physical features. between the fall river and big caney river systems is the elk river, from which there is no record of the rosyface shiner. perhaps its absence is related to the intermittent condition of this stream at present. the elk river is poor in spring-fed tributaries, which seem to be favorite environs of the rosyface shiner. _n. rubellus_ was taken by minna jewell and frank jobes in silver creek on june , (ummz ). the shiner was not found in any stream west of the big caney system in my collections. in oklahoma, hall ( : ) found _n. rubellus_ in upland tributaries on the east side of grand river and not in the lowland tributaries on the west side. martin and campbell ( : ) characterize _n. rubellus_ as preferring riffle channels in moderate to fast current in the black river, missouri. it is the only species so characterized by them which was taken in my collections. moore and paden ( : ) state "_notropis rubellus_ is one of the most abundant fishes of the illinois river, being found in all habitats but showing a distinct preference for fast water...." #notropis topeka# (gilbert): two specimens (formerly indiana university ) of the topeka shiner labeled "winfield, kansas" are now at the university of michigan museum of zoology. collector and other data are not given. evermann and fordice ( : ) noted that two specimens of _n. topeka_ were taken from sand creek near newton in harvey county, but do not list it from cowley county near winfield. they deposited their fish in the museum of indiana university. #notropis umbratilis# (girard): stations g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , b- , b- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , e- , e- , e- , e- , m- , m- (j&j, c- , c- ). the redfin shiner flourished in all the streams surveyed except the arkansas and walnut rivers. _n. umbratilis_ has been found in upland tributaries of the walnut river, some of which originate in terrain similar to that in which elk river, big caney river, and grouse creek originate. (collection c- - by cross on durechon creek, october , .) this suggests downstream reduction in relative numbers of this species, a tendency which also seemed to exist on both big caney river and grouse creek. _n. umbratilis_ was the most abundant species in big caney river except at the lowermost stations where it was surpassed in relative abundance by _n. lutrensis_ and _gambusia affinis_. _n. umbratilis_ was a pool-dweller, becoming more concentrated in the deeper pools as summer advanced. in may and early june, large concentrations of adult _n. umbratilis_ were common in the shallow ends of pools together with _n. rubellus_, _n. boops_, _pimephales notatus_, and _pimephales tenellus_. by july and august, only young of the year were taken in shallow water, and adults were scarcely in evidence. #notropis volucellus# (cope): stations g- , g- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , m- , e- , e- . the mimic shiner was a minor element in the fauna, . per cent at station c- being the largest percentage taken. in the big caney river system _n. volucellus_ was taken only in the main stream. in the grouse creek drainage it was found at two stations in the upper part of the watershed, where water is clearer, gradient greater, and pools well-shaded and cool. in the elk river the mimic shiner was taken only in the upper part of the main stream. the dominant shiner in situations where _n. volucellus_ was taken was, in all cases, _n. umbratilis_. elliott ( ) found _n. volucellus_ in spring creek, a tributary of fall river. farther north in the flint hills region, _n. volucellus_ was reported by cross ( a: ). #notemigonus crysoleucas# (mitchell): station w- . this isolated record for the golden shiner consisted of nine specimens collected on june in timber creek, a tributary of the walnut river. most of the creek was dry. _n. crysoleucas_ was taken in one pool with dimensions of feet by feet with an average depth of inches. this creek is sluggish and silt-laden, even under conditions of favorable precipitation. hubbs and ortenburger ( b: ) observed that the golden shiner prefers sluggish water. hall ( : ) took the golden shiner only in the lowland tributaries west of grand river and not east of the river in upland tributaries. #phenacobius mirabilis# girard: stations w- , c- . in no case was the suckermouth minnow common; it never comprised more than per cent of the fish population. #pimephales notatus# (rafinesque): stations w- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , b- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , m- , m- , e- , e- , e- , e- , e- (j&j, c- , c- , c- ). this was much the most abundant of the four species of _pimephales_ in this area. it was taken at stations as compared with for _p. tenellus_, for _p. promelas_, and for _p. vigilax_. the bluntnose minnow was taken almost everywhere except in the main stream of the arkansas and walnut rivers and in lower grouse creek. _p. notatus_ seemed to prefer clearer streams of the flint hills part of my area. there was a marked increase in percentages taken in the upland tributaries of both caney river and grouse creek. in the elk river, too, higher concentrations were found upstream. the highest relative numbers of bluntnose minnows were taken at station g- on crab creek, station c- on cedar creek and station c- on spring creek. at g- , this minnow was abundant in the deeper isolated pools. males in breeding condition were taken on june . in cedar creek the population of bluntnose minnows was observed periodically in one pool in which they were dominant. this pool was feet by feet, shallow, and with bedrock bottom. at its upper end, however, there was a small area of heavily-shaded deeper water. throughout the spring bluntnose minnows were found in large schools in the shallow area. as the summer progressed they were no longer there, but seining revealed their presence in the deeper, upper end. at station c- on spring creek on july male _p. notatus_ were taken in extreme breeding condition, being light brick-red in color and with large tubercles. #pimephales tenellus# (girard): stations g- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , m- , e- , e- (c- c- ). the mountain minnow was never taken far from the mainstream of big caney, middle caney, or elk river. in this respect it differed from _p. notatus_, which reached large concentrations in the small upland tributaries. on the other hand, _p. tenellus_ was not so abundant as _p. vigilax_ in the silty larger streams. in no collection was the mountain minnow common. the highest percentages were . per cent (station c- ), and . per cent (station c- ) on big caney river. these stations consisted of clear, flowing water over rubble bottoms. males at c- (june ) were in breeding condition. moore and buck ( : ) reported finding this species among rocks in very fast water rather than in the quiet backwaters frequented by _p. vigilax_. other records of the mountain minnow from the flint hills indicate that it seeks areas of maximum gradient and flow; in this distributional respect it is like _notropis camurus_. the two species are recorded together from other streams in this region such as the chikaskia (moore and buck, : ), cottonwood (cross, a: ), and spring creek, tributary of fall river (elliott, ). it is conceivable that a preference for flowing water might explain its restriction to the medium-sized, less intermittent streams in this area. the only tributary which the species seemed to ascend to any extent was otter creek, which is seldom intermittent downstream. #pimephales vigilax perspicuus# (girard): stations a- , c- , c- . the parrot minnow was found only in downstream habitats. collection c- (june ) on rock creek was made about / mile from the mouth of this tributary of big caney and the creek here had almost the same character as the river proper. the presence of other channel fishes such as _ictiobus bubalus_ indicates the downstream nature of the creek. some males of _p. vigilax_ in breeding condition were taken in this collection. at c- , only one specimen was found in a turbid, isolated pool with bedrock bottom. at a- only one parrot minnow was taken; it was in deep, fairly quiet water near the bank. other collections outside the three-county area revealed the following: in the neosho river, several parrot minnows were found in quiet backwaters and in shallow pools. in the verdigris river three were taken directly under water spilling over the dam at this station, while others were found, together with _p. promelas_, in the mouth of a small creek that provided a backwater habitat with mud bottom. cross and moore ( : ) found this species only at stations in the lower portion of the poteau river. farther west the minnow may ascend the smaller sandy streams to greater distances. moore and buck ( : ) took parrot minnows at six of stations on the chikaskia river and found the species as far upstream as drury, kansas. elliott ( ), in comparing the south ninnescah and spring creek fish faunas, found only _p. vigilax_ and _p. promelas_ on the sandy, "flatter" ninnescah and only _p. notatus_ and _p. tenellus_ on spring creek, an upland, flint hills stream in greenwood county. #pimephales promelas# rafinesque: stations a- , a- , w- , w- , g- , b- , m- , e- (e&f, c- ). occurrences of the fathead minnow were scattered, but included all streams sampled except big caney. three of the collections were in small intermittent streams where conditions were generally unfavorable for fishes and in one instance extremely foul. two of these stations had turbid water and all suffered from siltation. in middle caney creek the species was rare but in the elk river (june ) more than specimens, predominantly young, were taken. this station consisted of a large isolated pool with a variety of bottom types. water was turbid and the surface temperature was high ( ° f.). in different parts of the pool the following numbers of specimens were taken in single seine-hauls: over shallow bedrock; over gravel ( - / feet deep); over mud bottom ( foot deep). _p. promelas_ was found also in the large, flowing rivers: arkansas, walnut, verdigris, and neosho. the species was scarce in the arkansas river, and was found principally in muddy coves. in the walnut (w- ), this minnow comprised . per cent of the fish taken and was common in quiet pools. #campostoma anomalum# rafinesque: stations w- , g- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , b- (e&f, c- , c- ). although the stoneroller was found in most streams surveyed, it was taken most often in the big caney system, where it occurred at of the stations. in contrast, it was represented at only one of stations on grouse creek. high percentages were found in three creeks--cedar, otter, and spring. as noted above, these streams are normally clear, swift and have steep gradients and many rubble and gravel riffles. on these riffles young stonerollers abounded. station c- on spring creek typifies the habitat in which this species was most abundant. the stream has an average width of feet and depth of a few inches. the volume of flow was less than cubic foot per second but turbulence was great. water was clear and the bottom was gravel and rubble. following rains in june, stonerollers quickly occupied parts of spring creek (upstream from c- ) that had been dry throughout the previous winter. on april many _c. anomalum_ and _etheostoma spectabile_ were taken in shallow pools and riffles in an extensive bedrock-riffle area on cedar creek near station c- . most of the females were gravid and the males were in breeding condition. on june these pools were revisited. flow had ceased and the pools were drying up. young-of-the-year of the two species were abundant, but only a few mature stonerollers were taken. on august , prolonged drought had drastically altered the stream and all areas from which stonerollers and darters had been taken were dry. seining of other pools which were almost dry revealed no stonerollers. collections on may , june , and june in otter creek revealed large numbers of stonerollers. they were found in riffle areas, in aquatic vegetation, and especially in detritus alongside banks. most of the specimens were young-of-the-year. #anguilla bostoniensis# (le sueur): an american eel was caught by me in grouse creek in . #gambusia affinis# (baird and girard): stations a- , a- , a- , w- , w- , w- , w- , w- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , e- . mosquitofish occurred widely but in varied abundance. huge populations were in the shallow sandy backwaters and cut-off pools of the arkansas river. in the shallow pools of several intermittent streams such as station g- on silver creek this fish also flourished. _g. affinis_ was taken at every station in the arkansas, walnut and grouse systems except those stations on two upland tributaries of grouse creek (crab creek and grand summit creek). the mosquitofish was not observed in the clear upland tributaries of big caney, nor on upper big caney river itself in may, june, and july. on september , however, _gambusia_ were taken at station c- on otter creek and others were seen at station c- on the same date. hubbs and ortenburger ( b: ) and cross and moore ( : ) observed that _g. affinis_ usually was absent from small upland tributaries, even though it was abundant in lower parts of the same river systems. #fundulus kansae# (garman): stations a- , a- , evermann and fordice as _fundulus zebrinus_. at station a- , seven plains killifish were taken together with a great many _notropis deliciosus_ and _gambusia affinis_ in a shallow, algae-covered channel with slight flow and sand bottom. at station a- many young killifish were taken in small shallow pools on december . _fundulus kansae_ has been found in the lower part of the walnut river basin, especially where petroleum pollution was evident. eastward from the walnut river plains killifish have not been taken. #fundulus notatus# (rafinesque): stations b- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , c- , m- , e- , evermann and fordice as _zygonectes notatus_. the black-banded topminnow was not taken in the arkansas river but was common in the walnut and grouse systems. it was common also in middle caney, but in big caney and elk river it was taken only at the lowermost stations. this species did not seem to ascend far into smaller tributaries of grouse creek. in crab creek it was taken at the lower two of six stations and in grand summit creek at the lower of two stations. the highest relative numbers were taken at stations g- ( . per cent), g- ( per cent), g- ( . per cent) and g- ( . per cent), on crab creek and grouse creek. both upstream and downstream from these stations, which were within five miles of each other, the relative abundance dropped off sharply. the bottoms at these stations were mostly rubble and mud, and water was turbid at three of the stations. at g- (june ) and g- (july ) young-of-the-year were abundant. #ictalurus melas# (girard): stations w- , w- , w- , w- , b- , b- , b- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , e- , e- , e- , e- , e- , n- , evermann and fordice as _ameiurus melas_ (c- ). the black bullhead was taken at slightly more than half of the stations, and probably was present at others. larger numbers were taken in grouse creek than in any other stream system. in many small, shallow pools in the grouse creek system young black bullheads shared dominance with _gambusia affinis_ in the late summer. _i. melas_ was also abundant in isolated pools at the extreme upper ends of crab creek, beaver creek and grand summit creek. _i. melas_ was most common in areas with silty bottoms. the species seemed scarce in the main stream of big caney river but was common in some of its tributaries. #pylodictis olivaris# (rafinesque): stations a- , g- , c- . flathead catfish were taken by angling at stations a- and c- . at station g- (september ) a flathead catfish five inches long was taken in the four-foot nylon net. #ictalurus punctatus# (rafinesque): stations a- , w- , w- , g- , c- , e- . channel catfish from stations w- , a- , and c- were taken on hook and line. at station g- (august ) twenty young-of-the-year were seined from the shallow narrow end of a large pool. all collections of both _i. punctatus_ and _p. olivaris_ were in the larger streams surveyed. #ictalurus natalis# (lesueur): stations g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , c- , c- , c- . the yellow bullhead was taken at only stations, compared with stations for the black bullhead. _i. natalis_ was represented in of stations in the grouse creek system but in only of stations in the big caney system. of the seven records from grouse creek four were from the main stream. at every station where yellow bullheads were taken, black bullheads were found also and were abundant, usually several times more abundant than _i. natalis_. at g- on crab creek (july ), _i. natalis_ made up . per cent of the fish taken. all were young-of-the-year, existing in a tiny, gravelly pool containing not more than five gallons of water, and were the only fish present. young yellow bullheads were also found in small pools with gravel bottoms at station g- on september . #labidesthes sicculus# (cope): stations g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , b- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , e- , e- , e- , e- , m- (e&f, c- ). the brook silversides was taken, sometimes abundantly, in all stream systems except the walnut and arkansas. at station g- on july , . per cent of the fish taken were of this species. _l. sicculus_ was most abundant in large pools where the bottom was predominantly bedrock and gravel. the highest concentrations were in the mainstreams of big caney, grouse, and elk rivers. brook silversides were taken rarely in the smaller tributaries of these streams. #percina phoxocephala# (nelson): stations c- , c- , c- , g- (c- ). slenderhead darters were scarce, and were found only over gravel bottoms. specimens were taken from flowing and quiet water, and from both shallow and deep water. larger numbers of _p. phoxocephala_ were taken by the writer in other collections made during on the neosho and verdigris rivers over bottoms of rubble or gravel. restriction of this darter to the larger streams follows a pattern observed by cross ( a: ) who noted it was absent from smaller riffles in minor tributaries. elliott ( ), however, took one specimen of _p. phoxocephala_ in spring creek, a tributary of fall river. #percina caprodes carbonaria# (baird and girard): stations g- , g- , g- , g- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- (j&j, c- , c- ). the logperch was generally distributed in the caney, elk, and grouse systems. this species usually comprised less than per cent of the fish taken; however, at station g- it formed . per cent of the total. in many instances the logperch was taken over submerged gravel bars, often along the edges of the larger pools. at of stations where the logperch was taken, the golden redhorse was also found. at every station where logperch were found, _notropis umbratilis_ was taken and _pimephales notatus_ also occurred at all but three of these stations. #percina copelandi# (jordan): stations c- , c- , c- , c- , g- (c- , c- , j&j). channel darters were collected over bottoms of rubble or gravel, both in flowing streams and in isolated pools. although _p. copelandi_ was found only in big caney river and at the lowermost station on grouse creek (g- ) in this survey, this species has been taken previously from elk river (k. u. and k. u. ) and from silver creek. _notropis camurus_ occurred everywhere that _h. copelandi_ was found. in several instances the two species were taken in the same seine-haul. #etheostoma spectabile pulchellum# (girard): stations w- , g- , g- , g- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , e- , e- . evermann and fordice as _etheostoma coeruleum_ (c- , c- ). the habitat preferences of the orangethroat darter seemed similar to those of _campostoma anomalum_. there were sixteen stations at which both species were taken, seven where only _e. spectabile pulchellum_ was taken and six where only _c. anomalum_ was taken. the largest relative numbers of both species were found in the same small, clear upland tributaries of big caney river. on may , collections from riffles at station c- (upper otter creek) consisted almost entirely of these two species. on september at this station the stream was intermittent, but even the tiniest pools abounded with young darters and stonerollers. gravid females and males in breeding condition were taken in riffles in cedar creek on april . during june numerous young and adult orangethroat darters were taken in cedar creek, in partly decayed leaves which lined the banks. on june in otter creek young darters were abundant in streamside detritus and in clear, shallow, rubble riffles. at station c- a few darters were taken on rubble riffles; however, large numbers were found inhabiting thick mats of _potamogeton foliosus_ raf., which grew in shallow water. many darters (_etheostoma spectabile pulchellum_ and _percina phoxocephala_) were taken in september along gravelly banks at stations c- and c- by disturbing small rocks and leaf-litter along the shores. young orangethroat darters seemed to seek out sheltered areas and in some cases were found in sluggish, even foul, water (stations w- , b- and g- ). moore and buck ( : ) note that the orangethroat darter is able to thrive in oklahoma in rather sluggish and even intermittent waters which reach quite high summer temperatures. unlike other darters taken in this survey, the orangethroat darter was common to abundant at several stations and was found at a great many more stations than any other darter. the comparatively great tolerance of this species to varying habitats, suggested by this survey, is also reflected by its widespread distribution in kansas. #micropterus salmoides salmoides# (lacepede): stations b- , g- , g- , g- , g- , c- , c- , e- , e- , e- . most of the largemouth bass taken were young-of-the-year. in big caney river this species seemed rare, being found at only two downstream stations compared with eight stations at which _m. punctulatus_ was taken. many ponds in the flint hills have been stocked with largemouth bass. at present largemouth bass are frequently caught by hook and line in crab creek (station g- ); however, mr. a. c. metcalf, who has fished this stream for approximately years, states that he took no bass in the creek prior to the building and stocking of large ponds on nearby ranches. #micropterus punctulatus# (rafinesque): stations c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , e- , e- (c- ). the spotted bass was taken only in tributaries of the verdigris river, where it seemed more numerous than the preceding species. it has been reported from other verdigris tributaries such as fall river (elliott, ) and is common eastward from the verdigris basin. a spotted bass (k. u. ) was taken by cross on the little walnut river in butler county on april , . this seems to be the only record of this species from the walnut river basin at the present time. #pomoxis annularis# (rafinesque): stations w- , w- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , m- , e- , e- , e- , e- (c- ). white crappie were found in almost all habitats and were taken in all rivers except the arkansas. the relative abundance of this species was greater at downstream than at upstream stations on grouse creek, big caney, and elk river. schools of young crappie were frequently found and the factor of chance in taking or failing to take a school of crappie prevented confident appraisal of abundance. white crappie usually sought quiet waters. often they were found in backwaters and many times schools were taken over bottoms where mud and detritus had been deposited. it was not uncommon to take _pomoxis annularis_ and _ictalurus melas_ in the same seine-haul in such areas. #pomoxis nigromaculatus# (lesueur): station c- . black crappie were taken in otter creek on may and september . several ponds in eastern cowley county are stocked with black crappie, but none was taken from streams into which these ponds drain. #lepomis cyanellus# (rafinesque): stations w- , w- , w- , b- , b- , b- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , e- , e- , e- , e- , e- , m- (c- , c- , c- , c- , e&f). the green sunfish was taken at of stations, which is the greatest number recorded for one species. the only stream from which it was not obtained was the arkansas river. green sunfish constituted a minor but consistent part of the fauna in big caney river except for some intermittent pools on small tributaries, where it was high in relative abundance. it usually comprised approximately per cent of the fish taken at stations on grouse creek. in some intermittent tributaries of grouse creek and elk river percentages also were high. funk and campbell ( : ) observed that _l. cyanellus_ held a definite but minor place in all collections made on the black river in missouri. this pattern was also observed by the writer in collections made on the neosho and spring rivers in southeastern kansas. this seems to indicate that the big caney river populations (exclusive of the upstream stations in intermittent streams) follow a pattern commonly found in southeastern kansas and probably in the ozark region. #lepomis humilis# (girard): stations a- , w- , w- , w- , w- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , c- , b- , b- , e- , e- , e- , e- , e- , e- , m- . (c- , c- , c- , c- , j&j, e&f.) the orangespotted sunfish was found in every stream surveyed, although only one specimen was taken from the arkansas river. the largest relative number of this species ( . ) was taken at station g- . percentages at other stations on grouse creek and its tributaries progressively declined in an upstream direction. in big caney river representation of _l. humilis_ in collections varied from . per cent at station c- to . per cent at station c- . this sunfish was usually the dominant species in collections made from the elk river, where the relative abundance ranged from to per cent. the orangespotted sunfish is widespread in kansas and seems to be a diagnostic constituent of the plains fauna. moore and buck ( : ) found it "very common" in the chikaskia river in kansas and oklahoma. cross ( : ) noted that in stillwater creek it seemed to be the most tolerant and consequently the most abundant of the stream's cent rarchids. moore and paden ( : ) note that _l. humilis_ is most common in muddy waters and found in overflow pools, backwaters, and oxbow lakes. this species is frequently found in farm ponds in the area surveyed, which further suggests a wide range of habitat tolerance. #lepomis megalotis breviceps# (baird and girard): stations w- , w- , w- , b- , b- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- , g- (all big caney river stations except c- ), e- , e- , e- , e- , e- , e- , m- , m- (c- , c- , c- , j&j, e&f). in big caney river the longear sunfish shared dominance with the redfin shiner (_notropis umbratilis_) at almost every station. the average of its relative abundance at all stations in the big caney system was . per cent. it was also abundant at several stations on grouse creek and made up . per cent of all fish taken at station g- . cross ( : ) observed that _l. megalotis breviceps_ increased in stillwater creek probably as a result of clearer water and stabilized water level. in collections made west of the area treated here (moore and buck, : ; elliott, ) the longear sunfish is less abundant than in big caney river and grouse creek. #lepomis macrochirus# (rafinesque): stations w- , g- , g- , g- , c- , c- , e- , e- (c- , c- , c- ). the bluegill was, in all cases, a minor constituent in the fish fauna. no clear pattern of habitat preference can be deduced. in the verdigris river at independence (collection am- , august , ) bluegills were common in quiet pools and coves below a low-water dam. moore and paden ( : ) note that _l. macrochirus_ prefers quiet waters and hubbs and lagler ( : ) state that it is "generally restricted to the quieter pools." the bluegill is widely-stocked in impoundments of the area treated here. #aplodinotus grunniens# (rafinesque): stations c- , e- . the dearth of stations from which the freshwater drum is reported may indicate difficulty in taking this species with seines, rather than scarcity. both collections were at downstream stations. at station c- three half-grown drum were taken. fishermen take "drum" at least as far upstream as station c- on big caney river. in the elk river one specimen was taken in a -foot seine below a dam at elk falls. fishes of doubtful or possible occurrence in addition to the species listed above, the following species have been reported nearby and may occur within the area surveyed. _lepisosteus productus_ (cope)--this gar has not been reported from kansas. it has been taken at several points in the northern half of oklahoma and as far west as canton reservoir by buck and cross ( ). a specimen of the spotted gar was taken by elkin ( : ) in salt creek in osage county, oklahoma. _polyodon spathula_ (walbaum)--the paddlefish has never been reported from the arkansas river system in kansas. several reports by fishermen were traced by the writer, but authentication was not achieved. one mounted specimen was examined in a sporting goods store in arkansas city. this fish was said to have been taken on the arkansas river south of arkansas city but information on the date and method of capture were vague. mr. darrell wheat of arkansas city reported taking four paddlefish below a dam at oxford, kansas, in and . _hiodon alosoides_ (rafinesque)--one specimen (k. u. ) of the goldeye was taken in on the arkansas river near oxford in sumner county. fishermen also report taking this fish occasionally in the walnut river in cowley county. _noturus flavus_ (rafinesque)--the stonecat was taken in the verdigris system by r. d. lindsay in (k. u. ) and more recently by cross in montgomery county (c- ) and schelske ( : ) in wilson and montgomery counties. the close proximity of these collection areas to lower portions of the elk river indicate probable occurrence in elk river and other verdigris tributaries. _noturus nocturnus_ (jordan and gilbert)--the freckled madtom has been taken on all sides of the area studied making its occurrence therein highly probable. this madtom has been taken in beaver creek in osage county, oklahoma (oam ); from a tributary of the walnut river in sedgwick county by cross ( ); from the chikaskia river (moore and buck, : ); and from several localities on the verdigris river (schelske, : ). _etheostoma cragini_ (gilbert)--one cragin's darter (k. u. ) was taken by cross in the arkansas river near the sumner-cowley county line (sec. , t s, r e). records of this darter are few and widely scattered geographically. several collections from north-eastern oklahoma are noted by moore and cross ( : ). _etheostoma whipplii_ (girard)--schelske ( : ) reports the redfin darter from the verdigris river three miles southeast of benedict, kansas. dr. george moore of oklahoma a. & m. college states that it has been taken in the verdigris drainage in oklahoma at several locations. _etheostoma zonale arcansanum_ (jordan and gilbert)--two banded darters (k. u. ) have been reported by schelske ( : ) from fall river near neodesha, kansas. because a tributary of fall river enters elk county its presence in this and other verdigris tributaries in the area seems possible. this darter has been reported from only one other stream in kansas, shoal creek in cherokee county, where it has been collected often. _roccus chrysops_ (rafinesque)--the white bass has been stocked in hulah reservoir on big caney river in oklahoma. to date it has not been reported from the big caney in kansas. white bass are common in many reservoirs of kansas and oklahoma and have been taken in rivers in both states. mr. clement gillespie of arkansas city, kansas forestry, fish and game commission wildlife protector for the area, states that two hundred young of _r. chrysops_ were released in grouse creek several years ago under auspices of the commission. the fish has not been reported by fishermen since that time to the knowledge of mr. gillespie or of the writer. _lepomis microlophus_ (gunther)--one redear sunfish was taken on salt creek in osage county, oklahoma, by elkin ( : ). because this species has been stocked widely in oklahoma its eventual occurrence in kansas seems probable. _chaenobryttus gulosus_ (cuvier)--the warmouth has been taken south of the collection area in osage county on salt creek by elkin ( : ). faunal comparisons of different streams the faunas of elk river, big caney river, and grouse creek were generally similar. these streams and most of their tributaries originate in the same hilly area of eastern cowley county and western elk and chautauqua counties; their similarities and differences have been pointed out. the following species were taken in all of these streams: _lepisosteus osseus_ _dorosoma cepedianum_ _ictiobus bubalus_ _moxostoma erythrurum_ _minytrema melanops_ _cyprinus carpio_ _campostoma anomalum_ _notropis boops_ _notropis lutrensis_ _notropis umbratilis_ _notropis volucellus_ _pimephales notatus_ _pimephales tenellus_ _fundulus notatus_ _gambusia affinis_ _ictalurus melas_ _ictalurus punctatus_ _etheostoma spectabile_ _percina caprodes_ _micropterus salmoides_ _pomoxis annularis_ _lepomis cyanellus_ _lepomis humilis_ _lepomis megalotis_ _lepomis macrochirus_ _labidesthes sicculus_ no species was found in elk river to the exclusion of big caney and grouse creek. fish taken exclusively in grouse creek were _ictiobus cyprinella_ at station g- and _notropis percobromus_ at station g- . the following species were taken only in big caney river: _ictiobus niger_, _notropis rubellus_, _phenacobius mirabilis_, _pimephales vigilax_, and _pomoxis nigromaculatus_. _notropis buchanani_ and _pimephales promelas_ were taken in grouse creek and elk river, but not in big caney river, although the watershed of big caney lies largely between these two streams. three species, _notropis camurus_, _micropterus punctulatus_, and _aplodinotus grunniens_, were found in elk river and big caney but not in grouse creek. _ictalurus natalis_, _pylodictis olivaris_, and _percina phoxocephala_ were taken in big caney river and grouse creek but not in elk river. _percina copelandi_ was taken by cross on elk river in and (k. u. and k. u. ). forty species were taken in big caney river, in grouse creek and in elk river. collections were made from only six stations on elk river as compared with from big caney and from grouse creek. twenty-four species were taken in the walnut river system, only one of which (_notemigonus crysoleucas_) was taken exclusively there. in the arkansas river species were found, four of which did not occur elsewhere. these were _hybopsis aestivalis_, _notropis blennius_, _n. girardi_, and _fundulus kansae_. table lists the number of stations in each of the streams surveyed from which each species was taken. table .--species of fishes collected and number of stations in each stream system at which each species was found. key: a: arkansas river stations b: walnut river stations c: grouse creek stations d: big caney river stations e: elk river stations f: middle caney stations g: beaver creek stations ============================================================ total number | | | | | | | of stations | a | b | c | d | e | f | g --------------------+-------+---+----+----+--------+---+---- _l. osseus_ | | | | | seen | | _d. cepedianum_ | seen | | | | | | _carpiodes carpio_ | | | | | | | _i. bubalus_ | | | | | | | _i. cyprinella_ | | | | | | | _i. niger_ | | | | | | | _m. erythrurum_ | | | | | | | _m. melanops_ | | | | | | | _cyprinus carpio_ | | | | | | | _c. anomalum_ | | | | | | | _h. aestivalis_ | | | | | | | _n. blennius_ | | | | | | | _n. boops_ | | | | | | | _n. buchanani_ | | | | | | | _n. camurus_ | | | | | | | _n. deliciosus_ | | | | | | | _n. girardi_ | | | | | | | _n. lutrensis_ | | | | | | | _n. rubellus_ | | | | | | | _n. percobromus_ | | | | | | | _n. umbratilis_ | | | | | | | _n. volucellus_ | | | | | | | _n. crysoleucas_ | | | | | | | _h. placita_ | | | | | | | _p. mirabilis_ | | | | | | | _p. notatus_ | | | | | | | _p. promelas_ | | | | | | | _p. vigilax_ | | | | | | | _p. tenellus_ | | | | | | | _f. notatus_ | | | | | | | _f. kansae_ | | | | | | | _g. affinis_ | | | | | | | _i. melas_ | | | | | | | _i. natalis_ | | | | | | | _i. punctatus_ | | | | | | | _p. olivaris_ | | | | | | | _e. spectabile_ | | | | | | | _p. copelandi_ | | | | | | | _p. phoxocephala_ | | | | | | | _p. caprodes_ | | | | | | | _m. salmoides_ | | | | | | | _m. punctulatus_ | | | | | | | _p. annularis_ | | | | | | | _p. nigromaculatus_ | | | | | | | _l. cyanellus_ | | | | | | | _l. humilis_ | | | | | | | _l. megalotis_ | | | | | | | _l. macrochirus_ | | | | | | | _a. grunniens_ | | | | | | | _l. sicculus_ | | | | | | | ------------------------------------------------------------ distributional variations within the same stream an analysis of faunal variations in different parts of the same stream system was made for big caney river and grouse creek. collecting was more extensive in these streams, and sampling was done over a wider range of habitat, than in the arkansas and walnut rivers. the fish taken in the first five seine hauls at each station were counted and the number of each species was recorded as a percentage of the total number of fish taken. these percentages were calculated for the main stream and for each tributary in an attempt to discern possible intra-stream faunal patterns. in table lower, middle, and upper segments of each stream have been segregated and the average of all stations within each segment is shown. the results are subject to several sources of error, some of which are discussed below: ( ) seining techniques could not be entirely standardized. one station might present a series of long narrow riffles and narrow, shallow pools in which only a small seine could be used effectively; another station might consist of a large, deep, isolated pool in which a larger seine was needed for effective sampling. in practice, the five seine hauls were made with any of several seines ranging from ten to twenty feet in length. ( ) seines are species-selective, due partly to the preference of certain fishes for special habitat niches. fishes that are often found under stones or in weedy pools require special collecting techniques and frequently were not represented in the initial five hauls. if work subsequent to the first five hauls indicated that such fish were a prominent part of the fauna at a particular station, these results were considered before percentages were calculated. ( ) temporal variations occur in populations at the same station. there were both seasonal and diurnal differences in relative numbers of species taken in these collections. this was noted especially at station c- where collecting was done both at night and by day. spawning by certain species during the course of the study complicated estimates of their relative abundance. ( ) in tabulating percentages of fishes obtained an arbitrary element is often unavoidable in deciding whether a station, especially a station on a tributary, should be considered as part of the lower, middle, or upper segment of a river system. despite these disadvantages it is felt that table has factual basis permitting some reliable interpretation. table .--relative abundance in per cent of fishes in collections from three stream segments. ==================================================================== | big caney river grouse creek |------------------------+----------------------- | lower | middle | upper | lower | middle | upper -------------------+-------+--------+-------+-------+--------+------ _l. osseus_ | . | . | | . | . | _d. cepedianum_ | . | | | | . | _carpiodes carpio_ | . | | | . | | _i. bubalus_ | . | . | | . | | _i. cyprinella_ | | | | . | | _i. niger_ | . | | | | | _m. erythrurum_ | . | . | . | . | . | . _m. melanops_ | . | . | | | . | _cyprinus carpio_ | . | | | . | . | _c. anomalum_ | . | . | . | | . | _n. boops_ | . | . | . | | . | _n. buchanani_ | | | | . | | _n. camurus_ | . | . | . | | | _n. lutrensis_ | . | . | . | . | . | . _n. percobromus_ | | | | . | | _n. rubellus_ | . | . | . | | | _n. umbratilis_ | . | . | . | . | . | . _n. volucellus_ | . | . | | | . | _p. mirabilis_ | . | | | | | _p. notatus_ | . | . | . | | . | . _p. vigilax_ | . | | | | | _p. promelas_ | | | | | | . _p. tenellus_ | . | . | | . | | _g. affinis_ | . | . | . | . | . | . _f. notatus_ | . | | | . | . | . _i. melas_ | . | . | . | . | . | . _i. natalis_ | | | . | . | . | _p. olivaris_ | . | | | . | | _i. punctatus_ | . | | | . | | _e. spectabile_ | . | . | . | . | . | . _p. copelandi_ | . | . | | . | | _p. phoxocephala_ | . | | | . | | _p. caprodes_ | . | . | . | . | . | . _m. salmoides_ | . | | | | . | . _m. punctulatus_ | . | . | . | | | _p. annularis_ | . | . | | . | . | . _l. cyanellus_ | . | . | . | . | . | . _l. humilis_ | . | . | . | . | . | . _l. megalotis_ | . | . | . | . | . | . _l. macrochirus_ | . | | | . | . | _a. grunniens_ | . | | | | | _l. sicculus_ | . | . | . | . | . | -------------------------------------------------------------------- _big caney river_ the "lower segment" of big caney river is immediately upstream from hulah reservoir, and is not the lowermost portion of the entire river basin, but merely the lower part of the river in the area studied. a conspicuous characteristic of the lower segment was the general restriction of the deep-bodied suckers and the carp to this part of the stream. other fishes that were most common in the lower section were _pimephales vigilax_, _percina phoxocephala_, _gambusia affinis_, and _aplodinotus grunniens_. _labidesthes sicculus_ and _lepisosteus osseus_ ranged into the middle section of the stream, but were present in larger numbers downstream. _ictalurus punctatus_, _pomoxis annularis_, and _lepomis macrochirus_ were taken chiefly in downstream habitats; however, stocking has confused the distributional pattern of these species. _notropis lutrensis_, although found throughout the system, progressively declined in numbers taken in the middle and upper sections. approximately species were usually taken in downstream collections. no species were found exclusively in the middle section of the big caney system. _micropterus punctulatus_, _notropis umbratilis_, and _lepomis megalotis_ tended to be most common in the middle section of the main stream. these three species were taken together at stations c- , c- , c- , and c- . the upper section yielded no species that did not occur also in another section. fishes most abundant in the upper section included: _campostoma anomalum_, _etheostoma spectabile_, _notropis boops_, _notropis rubellus_, _pimephales notatus_, and _lepomis cyanellus_. _ictalurus natalis_ also seemed more common upstream than in lower parts of the basin. _campostoma anomalum_ was one of the most common fishes taken at many of the stations on small upland tributaries. in downstream collections its relative abundance was less, although it was often concentrated on riffles. in the big caney system as a whole _notropis umbratilis_ was the most abundant species. several species were present throughout the system in proportions varying, sometimes greatly, from station to station. _lepomis megalotis_ and _lepomis humilis_ were erratic in occurrence, and the numbers of _notropis camurus_ and _ictalurus melas_ varied without pattern. _grouse creek_ the fauna of the main stream of grouse creek fluctuated more in number and kinds of fish from station to station than did the fauna of big caney river. again, the deep-bodied suckers showed downstream proclivities. in addition, _notropis buchanani_, _pimephales tenellus_, _percina copelandi_, _percina phoxocephala_, _notropis percobromus_ and _pylodictis olivaris_ were taken only at the lowermost station (g- ). at stations g- and g- the creek is sluggish and often turbid, meandering between high mud banks in a flood plain. at these stations _fundulus notatus_, _gambusia affinis, la_-_bidesthes sicculus_, _ictalurus melas,_ and _lepomis humilis_ were the most common fishes. shiners (_notropis_ spp.) and _lepomis megalotis_ were rarely taken. hall ( : ) states that _gambusia affinis_, _fundulus notatus_, and _labidesthes sicculus_ are usually associated with overflow pools, oxbows, and vegetated backwaters. those fishes mentioned in the preceding paragraph remained common in the middle section of the stream. in addition _notropis lutrensis_, _notropis umbratilis_, and _lepomis megalotis_ were important members of the fauna. in the uppermost section shiners (_notropis_ spp.) were common. in the few upstream stations that were still in good condition with clear flowing water, the fauna resembled that of the upstream stations on big caney river. most upstream stations on grouse creek were located on highly intermittent streams that are treated below. faunas of intermittent streams because of severe, protracted drought, most of the streams studied had ceased to flow by the close of the survey period. however, the duration of intermittency varied greatly in different streams, as did its effect in terms of the number and sizes of residual pools, water temperatures, pollution, and turbidity. crab creek, beaver creek, and a small unnamed tributary of grouse creek were severely affected by intermittency. their faunas are discussed below. in crab creek six collections were made from points near the mouth to the uppermost pool in which water was found. pools near the mouth were as large as thirty feet in width and ninety feet in length, while those that were uppermost were shallow puddles averaging ten feet in length and five feet in width. the uppermost station was situated in bluestem pasture without benefit of shade from trees. the species taken and their relative abundances based on five seine hauls at each station are shown in table . at the uppermost pool (g- ) only small green sunfish were found. at g- , next downstream, this species was joined by large numbers of black bullheads and a few redfin shiners and red shiners. g- was similar to g- , but two additional species occurred there. g- was a clear, deep pool much larger than any at the stations upstream. here, seven species were added to the fauna, and the percentages of _ictalurus melas_ and _lepomis cyanellus_ were much less. at g- _fundulus notatus_, _labidesthes sicculus_, and _minytrema melanops_ appeared. nevertheless, fewer species ( ) were captured here than at station g- upstream. table .--percentages of fishes taken on crab creek. ==================================================================== stations | g- | g- | g- | g- | g- | g- --------------------------+------+------+------+------+------+------ _minytrema melanops_ | . | | | | | _labidesthes sicculus_ | . | . | | | | _fundulus notatus_ | . | . | | | | _ictalurus natalis_ | | . | . | | | _pomoxis annularis_ | . | . | . | | | _lepomis humilis_ | . | . | . | | | _micropterus salmoides_ | | | . | | | _etheostoma spectabile_ | . | | . | | | _percina caprodes_ | | | . | | | _moxostoma erythrurum_ | . | | . | | | _lepomis megalotis_ | . | . | . | . | | _pimephales notatus_ | | . | . | | | _ictalurus melas_ | . | . | . | . | | _notropis umbratilis_ | | . | . | . | | _notropis lutrensis_ | . | . | . | . | . | _lepomis cyanellus_ | . | | . | . | . | . --------------------------+------+------+------+------+------+------ table .--fish taken in nine pools on upper beaver creek (progressing from downstream to upstream). ===================================================================== | _notropis | _notropis | _lepomis | _lepomis | _ictalurus | umbratilis_ | lutrensis_| humilis_ | cyanellus_ | melas_ ------+-------------+-----------+----------+------------+------------ pools:| | | | | | adults | adults | adults | young | juvenile | | young | abundant | abundant | | | | | | | adults | adults | adults | young | | | | | abundant | | | | | | | | adult | adults | juveniles| juveniles | | | | | | | | adults | young | young | | | | abundant | abundant | | | | | | | | adults | | | | | | | | | | | young | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | adult | | | | | | | | | | adult -------+-------------+-----------+----------+------------+------------ a series of collections similar to that on crab creek was carried out along - / miles of beaver creek on july , . nine pools were sampled (table ) of which number nine was the uppermost point where water was found (except for farm ponds). mainly young of _lepomis cyanellus_ and _ictalurus melas_ were found in the uppermost stations, as on crab creek. only adults of _notropis lutrensis_ and _notropis umbratilis_ were taken. in another small intermittent tributary of grouse creek two collections (g- and g- ) were made. one was from several isolated pools near the source of the creek and the other was - / miles upstream from the mouth. the two stations were approximately four miles apart. table indicates approximate percentages of fish taken in five seine hauls at these stations. table .--fishes taken in a tributary of grouse creek. ================================================= species | upstream | downstream | station | station --------------------------+----------+----------- _ictalurus melas_ | % | _lepomis humilis_ | % | % _notropis lutrensis_ | % | % _lepomis cyanellus_ | % | % _fundulus notatus_ | | % --------------------------+----------+----------- at two other stations, only _lepomis cyanellus_ was found. one of these stations consisted of several small spring-fed pools in a dry arroyo tributary to little beaver creek. around these small "oases" rushes and smartweeds grew and blackbirds were nesting in the rushes. although green sunfish up to eight inches in length were common in the shallow pools, no other species was found. the second station (c- ) on the east fork big caney river is of special interest. the pool was isolated, had dimensions of about Ã� feet, and had an average depth of inches. the water was foul; cows had been fed fodder in a sheltered area above the pool during the preceding winter and the entire bottom was covered to a depth of inches to foot with a detritus of decomposing fodder, cattle feces, and leaves. the water became almost inky in consistency when the bottom was stirred and its odor was offensive. a thick gray-green bloom lay on the surface. this bloom was full of bubbles indicating gases rising from the bottom muds. one hundred fifty-three green sunfish, all less than inches in length, were taken in one seine-haul at this station. east-west distribution in the arkansas river system in kansas there are marked differences between fish faunas of the western and eastern parts of the state. this can be illustrated by comparison of spring river in cherokee county with the cimarron river in southwestern kansas. single collections from spring river or its tributaries usually contain or more species of fish. collections from the cimarron rarely contain more than five or six species. many of those fishes found in spring river are characteristic of an ozarkian fauna, and some are endemic to the ozark uplands. fish found in the cimarron or arkansas in western kansas are members of a plains fauna of wide distribution. there is mingling of these two faunal groups across the state, with the number of ozarkian species diminishing westward, and certain plains species diminishing eastward. a number of species such as _moxostoma duquesnii_ and _notropis spilopterus_ are limited, on the basis of present records, to spring river and its tributaries in kansas. others have not been taken west of the neosho drainage. the verdigris river provides the next major avenue of westward dispersal followed by caney river, grouse creek, and the walnut river. west of the walnut river system ozarkian species have been almost always absent from collections. the chikaskia river is somewhat exceptional. moore and buck ( ) reported from this river several species that seem more typical of eastern faunal associations. table indicates the stream system in which the present westernmost records are located for a number of fishes found in the arkansas river system in kansas. table .--present westernmost records of some fishes in the arkansas river basin in kansas. spring river _cottus carolinae_ _dionda nubila_ _etheostoma blennioides_ _etheostoma gracile_ _etheostoma nigrum nigrum_ _etheostoma punctulatum_ _etheostoma saxatile_ _hypentelium nigricans_ _moxostoma duquesnii_ _notropis spilopterus_ _noturus exilis_ neosho river _cycleptus elongatus_ _etheostoma chlorosomum_ _etheostoma flabellare lineolatum_ _hybopsis amblops_ _hybopsis biguttata_ _hybopsis x-punctata_ _notropis zonatus pilsbryi_ verdigris river _etheostoma whipplii_ _etheostoma zonale arcansanum_ _percina copelandi_ _moxostoma carinatum_ _notropis boops_ _notropis volucellus_ _noturus miurus_ chikaskia river _ictalurus natalis_ _percina phoxocephala_ _labidesthes sicculus_ _lepomis megalotis breviceps_ _micropterus punctulatus_ _moxostoma aureolum pisolabrum_ _moxostoma erythrurum_ _notropis camurus_ _pimephales notatus_ _pimephales tenellus_ _noturus nocturnus_ the westernmost records for seven species are in the area studied. . _lepisosteus platostomus._ . _carpiodes velifer._ . _moxostoma carinatum._ . _minytrema melanops._ one specimen taken at station g- near the mouth of crab creek constitutes the present westernmost record. a specimen has been taken by cross (c- - ) in the headwaters of the walnut river. . _notropis boops._ the westernmost record is station g- on grouse creek. this fish has been reported slightly west of this in oklahoma on big beaver creek in kay county (number , oklahoma a & m college museum of zoology). . _notropis volucellus._ two specimens were taken at station g- on silver creek. . _percina copelandi._ the westernmost record is from station g- , two miles above the mouth of grouse creek. the easternmost occurrences of four species are in the area studied. these species are _hybopsis aestivalis tetranemus_ (station a- ), _notropis blennius_ (station a- ), _notropis girardi_ (station a- ), and _fundulus kansae_ (station a- and walnut river). these fish are associated with the arkansas river proper and its sandy western tributaries. in oklahoma, these fish are found in the arkansas river as it proceeds eastward and in the downstream portions of some of its tributaries. these fish show little tendency to ascend the streams of the flint hills. summary the fish fauna of the area studied is transitional between the ozarkian and great plains faunas. fluctuation in water level seemed especially important in determining distribution of fishes in the area studied. variable climate characteristic of the region studied causes recurrent floods and intermittency in streams. both of these conditions have probably been accentuated by man's modifications of the habitat. the effects of intermittency were most strikingly demonstrated in small creeks of the uplands. the number of species of fish in the highly intermittent streams was small--especially in the uppermost pools sampled--but the actual number of fish was often high even though the number of species was low. in several instances the only fishes found in these isolated pools were _lepomis cyanellus_ and _ictalurus melas_. this phenomenon of concentrated numbers of individuals of a few species would indicate the presence of limiting factors that allow only those species most tolerant of the particular factor to flourish. soon after rains restored flow in these intermittent creeks _l. cyanellus_ and _i. melas_ appeared in parts of the channels that had previously been several miles from the nearest water. rapid upstream movements of other species after rains was also noted. it was impossible to ascertain the precise effects of gradient and bottom-type on distribution, but certain species such as _notropis blennius_, _notropis girardi_, and _fundulus kansae_ were taken only in streams with sandy bottoms. _notropis deliciosus_ and _hybognathus placita_ were most abundant over sandy bottoms. the high gradient of upland tributaries in the flint hills area produced turbulence and bottoms predominantly of rubble. a fauna of which _etheostoma spectabile_ and _campostoma anomalum_ were characteristic existed in these waters while they were flowing. as flow decreased and intermittency commenced, qualitative and quantitative changes in the fish faunas were observed. gradient did not change during drought, but turbulence did. because turbulence varies with water level as well as gradient, the effect of gradient on fish distribution ultimately is linked to climate. probably the small number of fish taken on the walnut river in comparison with other eastern kansas rivers (verdigris, neosho) results, in part, from the long-term pollution of the stream noted by clapp ( : ) and doze ( ). no percid fishes, black bass, or madtom catfish were taken on the walnut in cowley county and the species of _notropis_ numbered only three. four faunal associations seem to be recognizable in the area. _arkansas river fauna_ this fauna contained _notropis girardi_, _notropis blennius_, _hybopsis aestivalis tetranemus_, and _fundulus kansae_ which, in this area, did not seem to wander far from the sandy main stream of the arkansas. minnows abounded; _notropis lutrensis_ and _n. deliciosus missuriensis_ predominated; and _notropis girardi_, _n. percobromus_, and _hybognathus placita_ were common. in quiet backwaters, coves, and shallow pools _gambusia affinis_ occurred in great numbers. _lepisosteus osseus_ seemed to be the most important predator. _lower walnut river fauna_ the walnut river in cowley county supported large populations of deep-bodied suckers, carp, and gar. _notropis lutrensis_ and _n. percobromus_ were characteristic minnows. _lepomis_ _humilis_ abounded at some stations. the fauna of the main stream of the walnut river was somewhat intermediate between that of the arkansas river and that of the three streams considered below. fifteen of the species common to the big caney, elk, and grouse systems were also taken in the walnut river main stream. thirteen species were common to the walnut and arkansas rivers. seven species were common to all these streams. _caney-elk-grouse main stream fauna_ this fauna includes fishes living not only in the main streams but also in the lower parts of the larger tributaries of these streams. the fauna was comparatively rich: in the main stream of big caney river species were taken, in grouse creek species, in the walnut river main stream species, and in the arkansas river species. it has been pointed out that large rivers such as the walnut and arkansas have been subjected to greater direct and indirect modification by man, possibly resulting in a less diverse fauna than would otherwise occur in these streams. at present, there is a paucity of ecological niches in the upland tributaries and large rivers, as compared with streams of intermediate size. fishes typical of the caney-elk-grouse association were _notropis umbratilis_, _lepomis megalotis_, _lepomis humilis_, _labidesthes sicculus_, _fundulus notatus_, and the two species of _micropterus (micropterus punctulatus_ was not taken in grouse creek). _upland tributary fauna_ tributary faunas were divisible into two categories: ( ) those of the walnut river and grouse creek (intermittency was severe, species were few, with _ictalurus melas_ and _lepomis cyanellus_ predominating); ( ) those of big caney river (stream-flow was more stable, and eastern fishes, some of which have ozarkian affinities, occurred in greater abundance than in any other part of the area surveyed). in the latter streams _campostoma anomalum_ and _etheostoma spectabile_ usually were dominant. _pimephales notatus_, _notropis volucellus_, _n. camurus_, _n. boops_, and _n. rubellus_ characteristically occurred. _notropis lutrensis_ was sparsely represented in flowing tributaries. _notropis umbratilis_, which seems to prefer habitats intermediate between those of _notropis lutrensis_ and ozarkian shiners, was usually represented. deep-bodied suckers and carp were not taken in upland tributaries but _moxostoma erythrurum_ was common and _minytrema melanops_ was taken. the kinds and numbers of shiners (_notropis_) taken at different points along grouse creek seem significant. _n. lutrensis_ and _n. umbratilis_ occurred throughout the stream but were rare in sluggish areas where populations of _gambusia affinis_, _fundulus notatus_, and _labidesthes sicculus_ flourished. at the lowermost station _notropis percobromus_ and _n. buchanani_ were taken; these were not present in other collections. in the uppermost stations where water remained plentiful, _n. boops_ and _n. volucellus_ were taken, and _n. rubellus_ has been recorded. in the broader distributional sense those fishes that seemed most tolerant of intermittency (_lepomis cyanellus_, _lepomis humilis_, _ictalurus melas_, _notropis lutrensis_) are widely distributed in the arkansas river basin, and are common in the western part of the arkansas river basin. species less tolerant of intermittency are _notropis boops_, _notropis camurus_, _notropis rubellus_, _notropis volucellus_, and _pimephales tenellus_; they have not been taken far west of the area studied, and become more common east of it. literature cited bass, n. w. . the geology of cowley county, kansas. kansas geol. survey bull., : - , figs., pls. bieber, r. p. . frontier life in the army, - . southwest historical series, : - . breukelman, j. . a collection of fishes in the state university museum. trans. kansas acad. sci., : - . buck, h., and cross, f. b. . early limnological and fish population conditions of canton reservoir, oklahoma, and fishery management recommendations. a report to the oklahoma game and fish council reprinted by the research foundation, oklahoma a&m college. pp., figs. caldwell, m. b. . the southern kansas boundary survey. kansas hist. quart., : - . clapp, a. . stream pollution. kansas fish and game department bull., : . cross, f. b. . effects of sewage and of a headwaters impoundment on the fishes of stillwater creek in payne county, oklahoma. amer. midl. nat., ( ): - , fig. a. fishes of cedar creek and the south fork of the cottonwood river, chase county, kansas. trans. kansas acad. sci. : - . b. records of fishes little-known from kansas. trans. kansas acad. sci. : - . cross, f. b., and moore, g. a. . the fishes of the poteau river, oklahoma and arkansas. american midl. nat., ( ): - . doze, j. b. . stream pollution. bien. report. kansas fish and game dept. : - . elkin, r. e. . the fish population of two cut-off pools in salt creek, osage county, oklahoma. proc. oklahoma acad. sci., : - . elliott, a. . a preliminary survey and ecological study of the fishes of the south ninnescah and spring creek. unpublished thesis, kansas state college. evermann, b. w., and fordice, m. w. . list of fishes collected in harvey and cowley counties, kansas. bull. washburn lab. nat. hist., : - . flora, s. d. . climate of kansas. rept. kansas state board agric. :xii- , illus. foley, f. c., smrha, r. v., and metzler, d. f. . water in kansas. a report to the kansas state legislature as directed by the kansas state finance council. university of kansas, pp. - --a -j . frye, j. c., and leonard, a. b. . pleistocene geology of kansas. bull. kansas geol. surv., : - . figs., pls. funk, j. l., and campbell, r. s. . the population of larger fishes in black river, missouri. univ. missouri studies, : - . gates, f. c. . grasses in kansas. rept. kansas state board agric., ( -a): - , frontispiece, figs., maps. graham, i. d. . preliminary list of kansas fishes. trans. kansas acad. sci., : - . hale, m. e., jr. . a survey of upland forests in the chautauqua hills, kansas. trans. kansas acad. sci., : - . hall, g. e. . observations on the fishes of the fort gibson and tenkiller reservoir areas, . proc. oklahoma acad. sci., : - . . preliminary observations on the presence of stream-inhabiting fishes in tenkiller reservoir, a new oklahoma impoundment. proc. oklahoma acad. sci., : - . hoyle, w. l. . notes on faunal collecting in kansas. trans. kansas acad. sci., : - . hubbs, c. l., and ortenburger, a. i. a. further notes on the fishes of oklahoma with descriptions of new species of cyprinidae. publ. univ. oklahoma biol. surv., ( ): - . b. fishes collected in oklahoma and arkansas in . publ. univ. oklahoma biol. surv., ( ): - , pls. hubbs, c. l., and lagler, k. f. . fishes of the great lakes region. cranbrook inst. sci. bull., (revised edition):i-xi- - , illus. jewett, j. m., and abernathy, g. e. . oil and gas in eastern kansas. bull. kansas geol. survey, : - , figs., pls. metzler, d. f. . water pollution report, walnut river basin. department of sanitation, kansas state board of health (unpublished), pp. miller, n. h. . surveying the southern boundary line of kansas. kansas hist. quarterly, : - . moore, g. a. . notes on the early life history of _notropis girardi_. copeia, ( ): - , figs. moore, g. a., and cross, f. b. . additional oklahoma fishes with validation of _poecilichthys parvipinnis_ (gilbert and swain). copeia, ( ): - . moore, g. a., and paden, j. m. . the fishes of the illinois river in oklahoma and arkansas. amer. midl. nat, : - , fig. moore, g. a., and buck, d. h. . the fishes of the chikaskia river in oklahoma and kansas. proc. oklahoma acad. sci., : - . moore, r. c. . divisions of the pennsylvanian system in kansas. bull. kansas geol. survey, : - , figs. moore, r. c., frye, j. c., jewett, j. m., lee, w., and o'conner, h. g. . the kansas rock column. bull. kansas geol. survey, : - , figs. mooso, j. . the life and travels of josiah mooso. telegram post, winfield, kansas, pp. - . ortenburger, a. i., and hubbs, c. l. . a report on the fishes of oklahoma, with descriptions of new genera and species. proc. oklahoma acad. sci., : - . schelske, c. l. . an ecological study of the fishes of the fall and verdigris rivers in wilson and montgomery counties, kansas, march , to february . emporia state research studies, ( ): - . schoonover, r., and thompson, w. h. . a post-impoundment study of the fisheries resources of fall river reservoir, kansas. trans. kansas acad. sci., : - . trautman, m. b. . _moxostoma aureolum pisolabrum_, a new subspecies of sucker from the ozarkian streams of the mississippi river system. occ. papers mus. zool. univ. michigan, : - , pl. _transmitted december , ._ - university of kansas publications museum of natural history institutional libraries interested in publications exchange may obtain this series by addressing the exchange librarian, university of kansas library, lawrence, kansas. copies for individuals, persons working in a particular field of study, may be obtained by addressing instead the museum of natural history, university of kansas, lawrence, kansas. there is no provision for sale of this series by the university library which meets institutional requests, or by the museum of natural history which meets the requests of individuals. however, when individuals request copies from the museum, cents should be included, for each separate number that is pages or more in length, for the purpose of defraying the costs of wrapping and mailing. * an asterisk designates those numbers of which the museum's supply (not the library's supply) is exhausted. numbers published to date, in this series, are as follows: vol. . nos. - and index. pp. - , - . *vol. . (complete) mammals of washington. by walter w. dalquest. pp. - , figures in text. april , . vol. . * . the avifauna of micronesia, its origin, evolution, and distribution. by rollin h. baker. pp. - , figures in text. june , . * . a quantitative study of the nocturnal migration of birds. by george h. lowery, jr. pp. - , figures in text. june , . . phylogeny of the waxwings and allied birds. by m. dale arvey. pp. - , figures in text, tables. october , . . birds from the state of veracruz, mexico. by george h. lowery, jr., and walter w. dalquest. pp. - , figures in text, tables. october , . index. pp. - . *vol. . (complete) american weasels. by e. raymond hall. pp. - , plates, figures in text. december , . vol. . nos. - and index. pp. - , - . *vol. . (complete) mammals of utah, _taxonomy and distribution_. by stephen d. durrant. pp. - , figures in text, tables. august , . vol. . * . mammals of kansas. by e. lendell cockrum. pp. - , figures in text, tables. august , . . ecology of the opossum on a natural area in northeastern kansas. by henry s. fitch and lewis l. sandidge. pp. - , figures in text. august , . . the silky pocket mice (perognathus flavus) of mexico. by rollin h. baker. pp. - , figure in text. february , . . north american jumping mice (genus zapus). by philip h. krutzsch. pp. - , figures in text, tables. april , . . mammals from southeastern alaska. by rollin h. baker and james s. findley. pp. - . april , . . distribution of some nebraskan mammals. by j. knox jones, jr. pp. - . april , . . subspeciation in the montane meadow mouse. microtus montanus, in wyoming and colorado. by sydney anderson. pp. - , figures in text. july , . . a new subspecies of bat (myotis velifer) from southeastern california and arizona. by terry a. vaughan. pp. - . july , . . mammals of the san gabriel mountains of california. by terry a. vaughan. pp. - , figure in text, tables. november , . . a new bat (genus pipistrellus) from northeastern mexico. by rollin h. baker. pp. - . november , . . a new subspecies of pocket mouse from kansas. by e. raymond hall. pp. - . november , . . geographic variation in the pocket gopher, cratogeomys castanops, in coahuila, mexico. by robert j. russell and rollin h. baker. pp. - . march , . . a new cottontail (sylvilagus floridanus) from northeastern mexico. by rollin h. baker. pp. - . april , . . taxonomy and distribution of some american shrews. by james s. findley. pp. - . june , . . the pigmy woodrat, neotoma goldmani, its distribution and systematic position. by dennis g. rainey and rollin h. baker. pp. - , figures in text. june , . index. pp. - . vol. . . life history and ecology of the five-lined skink, eumeces fasciatus. by henry s. fitch. pp. - , figs, in text. september , . . myology and serology of the avian family fringillidae, a taxonomic study. by william b. stallcup. pp. - , figures in text, tables. november , . . an ecological study of the collared lizard (crotaphytus collaris). by henry s. fitch. pp. - , figures in text. february , . . a field study of the kansas ant-eating frog, gastrophryne olivacea. by henry s. fitch. pp. - , figures in text. february , . . check-list of the birds of kansas. by harrison b. tordoff. pp. - , figure in text. march , . . a population study of the prairie vole (microtus ochrogaster) in northeastern kansas. by edwin p. martin. pp. - , figures in text. april , . . temperature responses in free-living amphibians and reptiles of northeastern kansas. by henry s. fitch. pp. - , figures in text, tables. june , . . food of the crow, corvus brachyrhynchos brehm, in south-central kansas. by dwight platt. pp. - , tables. june , . . ecological observations on the woodrat, neotoma floridana. by henry s. fitch and dennis g. rainey. pp. - , figures in text. june , . . eastern woodrat, neotoma floridana: life history and ecology. by dennis g. rainey. pp. - , plates, figures in text. august , . index. pp. - . vol. . . speciation of the wandering shrew. by james s. findley. pp. - , figures in text. december , . . additional records and extensions of ranges of mammals from utah. by stephen d, durrant, m. raymond lee, and richard m. hansen. pp. - . december , . . a new long-eared myotis (myotis evotis) from northeastern mexico. by rollin h. baker and howard j. stains. pp. - . december , . . subspeciation in the meadow mouse, microtus pennsylvanicus, in wyoming. by sydney anderson. pp. - , figures in text. may , . . the condylarth genus ellipsodon. by robert w. wilson. pp. - , figures in text. may , . . additional remains of the multituberculate genus eucosmodon. by robert w. wilson. pp. - , figures in text. may , . . mammals of coahuila, mexico. by rollin h. baker. pp. - , figures in text. june , . . comments on the taxonomic status of apodemus peninsulae, with description of a new subspecies from north china. by j. knox jones, jr. pp. - , figure in text, table. august , . . extensions of known ranges of mexican bats. by sydney anderson. pp. - . august , . . a new bat (genus leptonycteris) from coahuila. by howard j. stains. pp. - . january , . . a new species of pocket gopher (genus pappogeomys) from jalisco, mexico. by robert j. russell. pp. - . january , . . geographic variation in the pocket gopher, thomomys bottae, in colorado. by phillip m. youngman. pp. - , figures in text. february , . . new bog lemming (genus synaptomys) from nebraska. by j. knox jones, jr. pp. - . may , . . pleistocene bats from san josecito cave, nuevo leon, mexico. by j. knox jones, jr. pp. - . december , . . new subspecies of the rodent baiomys from central america. by robert l. packard. pp. - . december , . more numbers will appear in volume . vol. . . studies of birds killed in nocturnal migration. by harrison b. tordoff and robert m. mengel. pp. - , figures in text, tables. september , . . comparative breeding behavior of ammospiza caudacuta and a. maritima. by glen e. woolfenden. pp. - , plates, figure. december , . . the forest habitat of the university of kansas natural history reservation. by henry s. fitch and ronald r. mcgregor. pp. - , plates, figures in text, tables. december , . . aspects of reproduction and development in the prairie vole (microtus ochrogaster). by henry s. fitch. pp. - , figures in text, tables. december , . . birds found on the arctic slope of northern alaska. by james w. bee. pp. - , pls. - , figure in text. march , . . the wood rats of colorado: distribution and ecology. by robert b. finley, jr. pp. - , plates, figures in text, tables. november , . more number will appear in volume . vol. . . the systematic status of the colubrid snake, leptodeira discolor günther. by william e. duellman. pp. - , figs. july , . . natural history of the six-lined racerunner, cnemidophorus sexlineatus. by henry s. fitch. pp. - , figs., tables. september , . . home ranges, territories, and seasonal movements of vertebrates of the natural history reservation. by henry s. fitch. pp. - , plates, figures in text, tables. december , . . a new snake of the genus geophis from chihuahua, mexico. by john m. legler. pp. - , figures in text. january , . . a new tortoise, genus gopherus, from north-central mexico. by john m. legler. pp. - , plates. april , . . fishes of chautauqua, cowley and elk counties, kansas. by artie l. metcalf. pp. - , plates, figures in text, tables. may , . more numbers will appear in volume . * * * * * transcriber's notes . passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_. . passages in bold-italics are surrounded by #bold#. . images and tables have been moved from the middle of a paragraph to the closest paragraph break. university of kansas publications museum of natural history volume , no. , pp. - , plates, figs. in text, tabl. may , fishes of the big blue river basin, kansas by w. l. minckley university of kansas lawrence university of kansas publications, museum of natural history editors: e. raymond hall, chairman, henry s. fitch, robert w. wilson volume , no. , pp. - , plates, figs. in text, tables published may , university of kansas lawrence, kansas a contribution from the state biological survey of kansas printed in the state printing plant topeka, kansas [union label] - fishes of the big blue river basin, kansas by w. l. minckley contents page introduction acknowledgments tuttle creek dam and reservoir big blue river basin geology of the basin climate, population, and land-use physical features of streams previous records of fishes methods and materials collecting stations annotated list of species hybrid combinations relative abundance and discussion of species creel census recommendations summary literature cited introduction the big blue river in northeastern kansas will soon be impounded by the tuttle creek dam, located about five miles north of manhattan, kansas. since the inception of this project by the u. s. army corps of engineers much argument has arisen as to the values of the dam and reservoir as opposed to the values of farmland and cultural establishments to be inundated (schoewe, ; monfort, ; and van orman, ). also, there has been some concern about the possible effects of impoundment on the fish-resources of the area, which supports "a catfish fishery that is notable throughout most of the state of kansas and in some neighboring states (u. s. fish and wildlife service, : )." the objectives of my study, conducted from march , , to august , , were to record the species of fish present and their relative abundance in the stream system, and to obtain a measure of angler success prior to closure of the dam. these data may be used as a basis for future studies on the fish and fishing in the big blue river basin, kansas. acknowledgments i thank messrs. j. e. deacon, d. a. distler, wallace ferrel, d. l. hoyt, f. e. maendele, c. o. minckley, b. c. nelson, and j. c. tash for assistance in the field and for valuable suggestions. dr. j. b. elder, kansas state college, arranged for loan of specimens, and mr. b. c. nelson supplied data on _notropis deliciosus_ (girard) in kansas, and on specimens in the university of michigan museum of zoology. i thank the many landowners who allowed me access to streams in the big blue river basin. the u. s. army corps of engineers, kansas city district, also allowed access in the reservoir area, and furnished information and some photographs. mr. j. c. tash did chemical determinations on my water samples. dr. frank b. cross guided me in this study and in preparation of this report. drs. e. raymond hall and k. b. armitage offered valuable suggestions on the manuscript. equipment and funds for my study were furnished by the state biological survey of kansas, and the kansas forestry, fish and game commission granted necessary permits. tuttle creek dam and reservoir the data on tuttle creek dam and reservoir that follow were furnished by mr. donald d. poole, u. s. army corps of engineers, kansas city district. the dam, an earth-fill structure, will be , feet in length, with a maximum height of feet above the valley floor. release of water will be from beneath the west end of the dam, through two tunnels feet in diameter that have a capacity of , cubic feet per second; however, releases exceeding , c. f. s. are not planned. the gated spillway is located at the east end of the dam. freeboard will be feet at the top of flood-control pool. the reservoir will have a maximum pool of , , acre-feet capacity, a , -acre surface area, and miles of shoreline. the present operational plan provides for a conservation pool having a surface area of , acres, a shoreline of miles, and a length of miles. big blue river basin big blue river and its tributaries, a sub-basin of the kansas river system, drain approximately , square miles, of which , miles are in kansas (colby, _et al._, : ). the headwaters of the big blue river are in central hamilton county, nebraska, near the platte river (fig. ). the stream flows generally south and east for miles to its confluence with the kansas river near manhattan, kansas. little blue river, the largest tributary to the big blue, rises in eastern kearney and western adams counties, nebraska, and flows southeast for miles to join the big blue near blue rapids, kansas (nebraska state planning board, : ). the big blue river basin varies in width from miles in the northwest, to approximately ten miles near the mouth (colby, _et al._, : ). geology of the basin in kansas, outcrops of pennsylvanian and cretaceous age occur along the extreme eastern and western sides of the big blue river basin, respectively, whereas permian beds (overlain by pleistocene deposits) occur throughout most of the remainder of the watershed (see moore and landes, ). the big blue and little blue rivers and their tributaries have deeply incised the permian beds of the flint hills in kansas, exposing limestones and shales of the admire, council grove, chase, and sumner groups (wolfcampian and leonardian series) (walters, : - ). pleistocene deposits in the big blue basin in kansas consist of alluvium, glacial till, and glacial outwash from the kansan glacial stage, overlain by loess deposits of wisconsin and recent stages (frye and leonard, : pl. ). [illustration: fig. . big blue river basin, kansas and nebraska.] the big blue river was formed "in part on the till plain surface and in part by integration of spillway channels," in the latter portion of the kansan glaciation (frye and leonard, : ). this stream, and the republican river to the west, carried waters from the areas that are now the platte, niobrara, and upper missouri river basins (lugn, : ). drainage was southward, through oklahoma, until establishment of the east-flowing kansas river (frye and leonard, : - ). as kansan ice receded the blue and republican rivers retained what is now the platte river basin. the lower platte river developed and the surface drainage became distinct in the iowan (tazwellian) portion of the wisconsin glacial stage (lugn, : - ). however, according to lugn ( : ) the platte river basin contributes about , acre-feet of water per year to the big blue and republican rivers by percolation through sands and gravels underlying the uplands that now separate the basins. climate, population, and land-use climate of the big blue river basin is of the subhumid continental type, with an average annual precipitation of inches in the northwest and inches in the southeast. the mean annual evaporation from water surfaces exceeds annual precipitation by approximately inches (colby, _et al._, : - ). the average annual temperature for the basin is ° f. (flora, : ). according to kincer ( : - ) the average temperature in july, the warmest month, is ° f., and the coolest month, january, averages ° f. periods of extreme cold and heat are sometimes of long duration. length of the growing season varies from less than days in the northwest to days in the southeast (kincer, _loc. cit._). the human population of the big blue basin varies from about persons per square mile in one nebraska county in the northwest and one kansas county in the southeast, to as few as six persons per square mile in some northeastern counties. the population is most dense along the eastern border of the basin, decreasing toward the west. this decrease in population is correlated with the decrease in average annual precipitation from east to west (colby, _et al._, : ). the principal land-use in the big blue watershed is tilled crops, with wheat, sorghums, and corn being most important. beef cattle are important in some portions of the basin. colby, _et al._ ( : ) reported that in as much as per cent of the land in some counties near the mouth of the big blue river was in pasture. only one nebraska county had less than per cent in pastureland. physical features of streams streams of the big blue river basin are of three kinds: turbid, sandy-bottomed streams, usually to feet in width; relatively clear, mud-bottomed streams, ten to feet in width; and clear, deeply incised, gravel-bottomed streams, usually five to feet in width. sand-bottomed streams.--the big blue and little blue rivers represent this kind of stream. the bottoms of these rivers consist almost entirely of fine sand; nevertheless, their channels are primarily deep and fairly uniform in width, rather than broad, shallow, and braided as in the larger kansas and arkansas rivers in kansas (plate , fig. ). in the big blue river, gravel occurs rarely on riffles, and gravel-rubble bottoms are found below dams (plate , fig. ). the big blue flows over a larger proportion of gravelly bottom than does the little blue. big blue river rises at about , feet above mean sea level and joins the kansas river at an elevation of , feet above m. s. l. the average gradient is . feet per mile. little blue river, originating at , feet, has an average gradient of . feet per mile, entering the big blue at , feet above mean sea level (nebraska state planning board, : , ). the little blue is the shallower stream, possibly because of the greater amount of sandy glacial deposits in its watershed and the swift flow that may cause lateral cutting, increased movement, and "drifting" of the sandy bottom. for approximately a -year period, stream-flow in the big blue river at its point of entry into kansas (barnston, nebraska) averaged cubic feet per second, with maximum and minimum instantaneous flows of , c. f. s. and one c. f. s. the little blue river at waterville, kansas, averaged a daily discharge of c. f. s. (maximum , , minimum ). below the confluence of the big blue and little blue rivers, at randolph, kansas, the average daily discharge was , c.f.s. (maximum , , minimum ) (kansas water resources fact-finding and research committee, : ). the turbidity of the big blue river, as determined by use of a jackson turbidimeter, varied from parts per million in winter (january , ) to as high as , p.p.m. (july , ). the little blue river has similar turbidities, with high readings being frequent. in the summer of , ph ranged from . to . in the big blue river basin--values that correspond closely with those of canfield and wiebe ( : ) who made determinations ranging from . to . in the streams of the nebraskan portion of this basin in july, . surface temperatures at various stations varied from ° f. on january , , to ° f. in backwater-areas on july , . the average surface temperature at mid-day in july and august, , was approximately . ° f. chemical determinations were made on water-samples from my station -s on the big blue river, and station -s on the little blue (table ). these samples were taken from the surface in strong current. determinations were made by methods described in _standard methods for the examination of water and sewage_, th edition, . table .--chemical determinations in milligrams per liter at five stations in the big blue river basin, kansas, . table legend: column a: phenolphthalein alkalinity column b: methyl-orange alkalinity column c: chlorides column d: sulphates column e: nitrates column f: nitrites column g: ammonia column h: phosphate ==========+=====+=====+=====+=====+=====+=====+=====+===== station | | | | | | | | and | a | b | c | d | e | f | g | h date | | | | | | | | ----------+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+----- -s | | | | | | | | august | . | | | | . |. |. |. | | | | | | | | -s | | | | | | | | august | . | | | | . |. |. |. | | | | | | | | -m | | | | | | | | august | . | | | | . |. |. |. | | | | | | | | -g | | | | | | | | july | . | | | | . |. |. |. | | | | | | | | -g | | | | | | | | july | . | | | | . |. |. |. ----------+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+----- the banks of both the big blue and little blue rivers support narrow riparian forests comprised primarily of elm, _ulmus americanus_, cottonwood, _populus deltoides_, sycamore, _platanus occidentalis_, and willow, _salix_ spp. maple, _acer_ sp., oak, _quercus_ spp., and ash, _fraxinus_ sp. occur where the rivers flow near steep, rocky hillsides. many of the hills are virgin bluestem prairies (_andropogon_ spp.), but the floodplains are heavily cultivated. mud-bottomed streams.--streams of this kind are present in the watershed of the black vermillion river that enters big blue river from the east. the area east of the big blue river and north of the black vermillion river is till plains, where relief seldom exceeds feet (walters, : ). streams in this portion of the basin, and streams entering the little blue river from the west (mill creek and horseshoe creek systems), tend to have v-shaped channels, fewer riffles than the little blue and big blue rivers and in the gravelly streams (to be described later), and have bottoms of mud or clay, with few rocks (plate , fig. ). however, in the extreme headwaters of most western tributaries of the little blue river (in washington and republic counties) sandy bottoms predominate. the black vermillion river flows on a broad floodplain and is a mud-bottomed, sluggish stream, with an average gradient of approximately one foot per mile. fringe-forests of elm, cottonwood, sycamore, and willow persist along most of these stream-courses. notwithstanding the mud bottoms, the water in this kind of stream in the big blue basin remains clearer than that of the big blue and little blue rivers. heavy algal blooms were noted in the black vermillion river and mill creek, washington county, in and . temperatures at stations -m and -m on mill creek, washington county, averaged . ° f. on july , . chemical characteristics of a water-sample from station -m, black vermillion river, are in table . gravel-bottomed streams.--most streams of this kind are tributary to the big blue river; however, streams entering black vermillion river from the south are also of this type (plate , fig. ). the streams are "characteristically a series of large pools (to feet in length and more than two feet in depth) connected by short riffles and smaller pools" (minckley and cross, in press). the average gradients are high: carnahan creek, feet per mile; mill creek, riley county, feet; clear creek, feet per mile. stream-flow is usually less than five cubic feet per second. in summer, these streams may become intermittent, but springs and subsurface percolation maintain pool-levels (minckley and cross, _loc. cit._). the average temperatures of these small streams ( . ° to . ° f. in july and august, ) were lower than temperatures in stream-types previously described. turbidities were usually less than p.p.m. the chemical properties of water-samples from two of these streams (stations -g and -g) are listed in table . previous records of fishes the earliest records of fishes from the big blue river basin are those of cragin ( ) and graham ( ) in independently published lists of the fishes of kansas. meek ( ) recorded fishes collected in "from both branches of the blue river, a few miles west of crete, nebraska." evermann and cox ( ) reported five collections from the nebraskan part of the basin. their collections were made in october, , and august, , and the stations were: in , big blue river at crete; in , big blue river at seward, lincoln creek at seward and york, and beaver creek at york. canfield and wiebe ( ) obtained fish from localities in nebraska in july, ; however, their major concern was determination of water quality. their stations were: big blue river at stromsburg, polk co.; surprise and ulysses, butler co.; staplehurst, seward, and milford, seward co.; crete and wilber, saline co.; beatrice, blue springs, and barnston, gage co.; little blue river at fairbury, jefferson co.; hebron, thayer co.; sandy creek at alexandria, thayer co.; west fork of big blue river at stockham, hamilton co.; mccool junction, york co.; beaver crossing, seward co.; and beaver creek at york, york co. breukelman ( ) and jennings ( ) listed fishes from the university of kansas museum of natural history and the kansas state college museum, respectively, including some specimens collected from the big blue river system in kansas. because records in these two papers pertain to collections that were widely spaced in the basin and in time, the specific localities are not given herein. one of jennings' (_loc. cit.)_ records, _scaphirhynchus platorynchus_ (rafinesque), was cited by bailey and cross ( : ). more recently, minckley and cross (in press) recorded several localities, and cited some papers mentioned above, in a publication dealing with _notropis topeka_ (gilbert) in kansas. information on the fishes of the nebraskan portion of the big blue river basin was compiled, and additional localities were reported, in a doctoral thesis by dr. raymond e. johnson, entitled the distribution of nebraska fishes, , at the university of michigan. methods and materials _collection of fishes_ the gear and techniques used are listed below: entrapment devices.--hoop and fyke nets and wire traps were used for trap/net hours in . the nets were not baited, and were set parallel to the current, with the mouths downstream. hoop nets were ½ to three feet in diameter at the first hoop, with a pot-mesh of one inch; fyke nets were three feet at the first hoop, pot-mesh of one inch; wire traps, with an opening at each end, were ½ feet in diameter and covered with one-inch-mesh, galvanized chicken wire. gill nets.--experimental gill nets were set on three occasions in areas with little current. these nets were feet in length, with / to two inch bar-mesh in -foot sections. seines.--seining was used more than other methods. an attempt was made to seine all habitats at each station. in swift water, seine-hauls were usually made downstream, but in quiet areas seining was done randomly. haul-seines six to feet in length, three to eight feet in depth, and with meshes of / to / inch were used. for collection of riffle-fishes, the seine was planted below a selected area and the bottom was kicked violently by one member of the party, while one or two persons held the seine, raising it when the area had been thoroughly disturbed. seining on riffles was done with a four-foot by four-foot bobbinet seine. rotenone.--rotenone was used in pools of smaller streams, mouths of creeks, borrow-pits, and cut-off areas. both powdered and emulsifiable rotenone were used. the rotenone was mixed with water and applied by hand, or into the backwash of an outboard motor. electric shocker.--the electrical unit used in this study generated volts and to watts, alternating current. the shocking unit consisted of two booms, each with two electrodes, mounted on and operated from a slowly moving boat. fish were recovered in scape nets, or in many cases were identified as they lay stunned and were not collected. _estimation of relative abundance_ data on relative abundance of fishes were obtained by counts of seine hauls at of the stations, counts of rotenoned fish at seven stations, and results with the electric shocker at nine stations. counts were usually made in the field; however, in some collections all fish were preserved and counted in the laboratory. some fish (or "swirls" presumed to be fish) observed while shocking were not identified and are not included in the calculations. however, all fish positively identified while shocking are included. _age and growth of fishes_ fish from selected size-groups were aged in this study. scales for age-determinations were removed from positions recommended by lagler ( : ). scales were placed in water between glass slides and were read on a standard scale-projection device. pectoral spines of catfish were removed from one or both sides, sectioned, and read by methods described by marzolf ( : - ). calculation of length at the last annulus for both scale-fish and catfish was made by direct proportion. all measurements are of total length to the nearest tenth of an inch unless specified otherwise. _creel census_ from april to may , , a creel census was taken below turtle creek dam. from june to july , , i periodically visited the main points of access to the big blue river, beginning approximately eight miles downstream from tuttle creek dam and ending six miles upstream from the maximal extension of the reservoir at capacity level. access-points consisted of bridges, two power dams, and three areas where county roads approached the river. eleven eight-hour days were spent in the census and checks in days were made in . an equal number of morning ( : a.m. to : noon) and afternoon ( : noon to : p.m.) checks were made. fishermen contacted were asked the following questions: home address (or residence at the time of the fishing trip); time they started fishing; kind of fish sought; number and kinds of fish in possession; and baits used. also, the number of poles and type of fishing (from the bank, from boat, _etc._) were recorded. fishes caught were examined to confirm identifications. about per cent of all fishermen seen were contacted. fish per man-hour, as used in this report, refers to the average number of fish of all species caught by one fisherman in one hour. fisherman-day is the average time spent fishing in one day by one person. because some fishermen used more than one pole, the data are also expressed as catch per pole-hour. collecting stations in the list that follows, stations are numbered consecutively from the mouth of the big blue river, listing stations on each tributary as it is ascended. the letters following station-numbers indicate the general type of stream: s = sandy; m = muddy; and g = gravelly. the big blue river is the boundary between riley and pottawatomie counties, kansas, along part of its length. stations in this area have been designated riley county. the legal description of each station is followed by the date(s) of collection, and each station is plotted in figure . [illustration: fig. . collection stations in the big blue river basin, kansas, and .] [illustration: plate fig. . big blue river at station -s. u.s. army corps of engineers photograph no. . fig. . big blue river at oketo, marshall county, kansas. u.s. army corps of engineers, photograph no. .] [illustration: plate fig. . black vermillion river, approximately one mile upstream from its mouth. photograph by robert g. webb. fig. . carnahan creek at station -g. photograph by robert g. webb.] -s: pottawatomie co., mouth of big blue river, sec. , t. s, r. e, june , . -s: riley co., big blue river, sec. , t. s, r. e, june , , and , . -s: riley co., big blue river, e ½, sec. , t. s, r. e, mar. , apr. , july , , , aug. , and dec. , ; apr. , june , and aug. , . -s: riley co., big blue river at rocky ford dam, w ½, sec. , t. s, r. e, aug. , ; and aug. , . -g: pottawatomie co., mcintire creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, july , . -s: riley co., big blue river and adjacent borrow-pit, sec. , t. s, r. e, july and , ; and july , . -g: riley co., tuttle creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, aug. , . -s: riley co., big blue river, sec. , t. s, r. e, aug. , . -g: riley co., mill creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, july and , . -g: riley co., mill creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, aug. , . -g: pottawatomie co., carnahan creek, sec. , , and , t. s, r. e, aug. , ; and july , . -g: pottawatomie co., unnamed tributary to carnahan creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, mar. , (collection made before my formal study was begun). -g: pottawatomie co., carnahan creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, aug. , . -s: riley co., big blue river, sec. , t. s, r. e, mar. , . -s: riley co., big blue river, sec. , t. s, r. e, apr. , and june , . -g: riley co., unnamed creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, july , and aug. , . -g: riley co., unnamed creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, june , . -g: riley co., fancy creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, july , . -g: riley co., walnut creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, june , . -g: riley co., fancy creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, mar. , ; and june , . -g: riley co., schoolhouse branch, sec. , t. s, r. e, july , . -g: riley co., fancy creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, june , . -g: riley co., west branch fancy creek, sec. and , t. s, r. e, june and , . -g: clay co., west branch fancy creek, sec. and , t. s, r. e, july , . -s: riley co., big blue river, sec. , t. s, r. e, aug. , . -g: riley co., swede creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, mar. , . -g: pottawatomie co., unnamed creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, sept. , . -g: pottawatomie co., bluff creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, oct. , . -g: pottawatomie co., bluff creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, june , . -m: marshall co., black vermillion river, sec. , t. s, r. e, mar. , . -g: pottawatomie co., clear creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, july , . -g: pottawatomie co., unnamed creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, july , . -m: marshall co., robidoux creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, july , . -m: marshall co., little timber creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, oct. , . -m: marshall co., black vermillion river, sec. , t. s, r. e, aug. , . -m: marshall co., unnamed creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, oct. , . -m: marshall co., black vermillion river, sec. , t. s, r. e, oct. , . -s: marshall co., big blue river, sec. , t. s, r. e, aug. , . -s: marshall co., big blue river, sec. , t. s, r. e, may , . -m: washington co., coon creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, july , . -s: marshall co., little blue river, sec. , , and , t. s, r. e, june , . -s: washington co., little blue river, sec. , t. s, r. e, aug. , . -s: washington co., little blue river, sec. and , t. s, r. e, july , . -s: washington co., little blue river, sec. , t. s, r. e, july , . -m: washington co., mill creek, sec. and , t. s, r. e, july , . -m: washington co., mill creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, july , . -m: washington co., spring creek, sec. and , t. s, r. e, june , . -m: washington co., mill creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, june , . -m: republic co., mill creek, sec. and , t. s, r. w, july , . -s: washington co., little blue river, sec. , t. s, r. e, aug. , . -m: republic co., rose creek, sec. , t. s, r. w, july , . -s: marshall co., big blue river, sec. , t. s, r. e, aug. , . -s: marshall co., big blue river, sec. , t. s, r. e, july and , ; may , and aug. , . -g: marshall co., hop creek, sec. and , t. s, r. e, may , . -m: marshall co., spring creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, july , . -s: marshall co., big blue river at marysville dam, sec. , t. s, r. e, june , . -m: marshall co., horseshoe creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, july , . -g: marshall co., unnamed creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, july , . -g: marshall co., mission creek, sec. , t. s, r. e, nov. , . annotated list of species forty-eight species were obtained in this survey and five others have been recorded in literature or are deposited in museums: ksc = kansas state college museum; and ummz = university of michigan museum of zoology. specimens, unless designated otherwise, are in the university of kansas museum of natural history (ku). in this list, the scientific name of each species is followed by the common name, citations of previous records, and the stations where the species was obtained. i follow bailey ( : - ) in treating _lepisosteus osseus_ (linnaeus), _catostomus commersonnii_ (lacépède), _semotilus atromaculatus_ (mitchill), _notropis lutrensis_ (baird and girard), _pimephales promelas_ rafinesque, _ictalurus melas_ (rafinesque), _ictalurus punctatus_ (rafinesque), and _lepomis macrochirus_ rafinesque, in binomial form only. =scaphirhynchus platorynchus= (rafinesque), shovelnose sturgeon: jennings ( : ) as _scaphirhynchus platorhynchus_ (rafinesque); bailey and cross ( : ). stations -s and -s. shovelnose sturgeon were found only in the lower portion of the big blue river. on april , , many were seen in fishermen's creels at stations -s and -s. one male and two females that i examined on that date were ripe or nearly so; eggs seemed well developed and milt flowed freely from the male. after april, , none was collected or observed until april , , when one specimen was obtained while shocking. forbes and richardson ( : ) reported that shovelnose sturgeon spawn in illinois between april and june, and eddy and surber ( : ) reported spawning in may and early june in wisconsin and minnesota. =lepisosteus platostomus= rafinesque, shortnose gar: jennings ( : ). stations -s and -s. i saw shortnose gar at various times in and at rocky ford dam on the big blue river (station -s). one was seen while shocking at station -s on december , . =lepisosteus osseus= (linnaeus), longnose gar: jennings ( : ) as _lepisosteus osseus oxyurus_ rafinesque. stations -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, -g, -s, -g, -s, -s, -s, -s, and -s. longnose gar were abundant in the mainstream of the big blue river but usually evaded capture. this species, and the shortnose gar, resided in the larger rivers, with _l. osseus_ being taken in only two creeks near their mouths. in periods of high water, gar moved into the flooded creeks, but returned to the river as stream-levels subsided. young-of-the-year _l. osseus_, averaging . mm. in total length (range to mm.), were taken on june , , and larger young (estimated to mm. total length) were taken on june , . =dorosoma cepedianum= (lesueur), gizzard shad: jennings ( : ). stations -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, -m, and -s. most gizzard shad were young-of-the-year, taken on july and , , at stations -s and -s. twenty specimens from station -s that were in their second summer of life were from . to . inches total length at the last annulus (average . ). this species was usually found in quiet water and was most abundant near the mouth of the big blue river. =hiodon alosoides= (rafinesque), goldeye. stations -s, -s, and -s. i caught five specimens of _h. alosoides_ from the big blue river, and another specimen, obtained by dr. r. b. moorman in , is at kansas state college (ksc ). one goldeye that i caught on april , , prior to the beginning of my study, was a ripe female measuring . inches total length. the fish was beginning its seventh summer of life. =cycleptus elongatus= lesueur, blue sucker. the blue sucker is included on the basis of a single specimen (ksc ) collected by i. d. graham and labeled "blue river." no other data are with the specimen; however, most fishes deposited at kansas state college by graham are dated " " or " " and were caught near "manhattan" (riley county). =ictiobus cyprinella= (valenciennes), bigmouth buffalo. stations -s, -s, and -m. bigmouth buffalo were rare, and were taken only in quiet parts of larger streams, and in the borrow-pit at station -s. =ictiobus niger= (rafinesque), black buffalo. stations -s, -s, and -s. only four individuals of _i. niger_ were taken. all were large adults (more than inches in total length), and all were shocked in the deeper, swifter areas, where the channel narrowed. =ictiobus bubalus= (rafinesque), smallmouth buffalo. stations -s, -s, -s, -g, -g, -s, -s, -s, -m, and -s. this species was found in relatively quiet waters in the main channel, in cut-off areas, and in creek-mouths. the ages and total lengths of individuals obtained at station -s were (average followed by number of fish in parentheses): i, . ( ); ii, . ( ); and iii, . ( ). canfield and wiebe ( : - , ) recorded "buffalo-fish" and "buffalo" from the big blue basin in nebraska; however, no specific designation was given. =carpiodes forbesi= hubbs, plains carpsucker. station -s. this represents the first record known to me of the plains carpsucker from kansas. the specimen (ku ), mm. in standard length, has the following characters: lower lip without a median, nipple-like projection; dorsal fin-rays, ; lateral-line scales, ; diameter of orbit into distance from anterior nostril to tip of snout, . ; body-depth into standard length, . ; and head-length into standard length, . . the specimen was taken while shocking a wide, shallow channel, over sand bottom. =carpiodes carpio carpio= (rafinesque), river carpsucker: jennings ( : ). stations -s, -s, -s, -s, -g, -s, -g, -s, -g, -g, -s, -s, -g, -g, -g, -s, -g, -g, -m, -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, -m, -s, -s, and -s. the river carpsucker occurred at most stations on the larger streams, and in many of the smaller tributaries. in smaller streams _c. c. carpio_ frequented the largest pools, in or near the floodplains of larger streams. a marked preference for still water, soft, silty bottoms, and areas with drift or other cover was apparent; however, the species also occurred in open waters with moderate to swift currents. the sizes attained by the river carpsucker at different ages were (averages followed by number of fish in parentheses): i, . ( ); ii, . ( ); iii, . ( ); iv, . ( ); v, . ( ); vi, . ( ); vii, . ( ); viii, . ( ); ix, . ( ); x, . ( ); and xi, . ( ). these averages are significantly less than those reported by buchholz ( : ) for the river carpsucker in the des moines river, iowa. examination of the gonads of river carpsucker in summer, , indicated that spawning occurred in late july. young-of-the-year, averaging mm. in total length, first appeared in my collections on july , . =carpiodes velifer= (rafinesque), highfin carpsucker: meek ( : ); evermann and cox ( : ). the highfin carpsucker was not taken in my survey. meek ( : ) reported "this small sucker [_c. velifer_] ... common in blue river at crete," characterizing the specimens as having "dorsal rays, to ; scales in the lateral-line, to ; head ½ to ; and depth ½ to ." the ranges in the number of dorsal rays and the number of scales in the lateral-line are higher than usual in _c. velifer_, or in _c. c. carpio_, which is now common in the big blue river basin. both species normally have to lateral-line scales and or fewer dorsal rays (bailey, : - ; moore, : ; and trautman, : - ). the other characters listed by meek would fit the young and some adults of either species, or possibly a composite including _c. forbesi_. graham ( : ) and cragin ( : ) reported _ictiobus velifer_ (= _carpiodes velifer_) from "eureka lake," riley county, kansas. this lake, which no longer exists, was in the kansas river valley, about ten miles upstream from the mouth of the big blue river. other, more recent records from the kansas river basin, in the vicinity of the big blue river, are: maple leaf lake, riley co., oct. , ; deep creek, riley co., no date; wildcat creek, riley co., sept. , ; and wildcat creek, riley co., sept. , (ummz - ). most of the collections were made by minna e. jewell (nelson, personal communication). =moxostoma aureolum= (lesueur), northern redhorse: cragin ( : ) as _moxostoma macrolepidotum_ lesueur; meek ( : ) as _moxostoma macrolepidotum duquesnei_ (lesueur); evermann and cox ( : - ); and jennings ( : ) as _moxostoma erythrurum_ (rafinesque). stations -s, -s, -s, and -s. i collected three northern redhorse from the big blue river basin, and another specimen was seined in the mouth of mill creek, riley county (my present station -g) by the kansas state college class in fisheries management in (ksc ). i reidentify as _m. aureolum_ the two specimens recorded by jennings (_loc. cit._) as _m. erythrurum_. the subspecific status of _m. aureolum_ in the kansas river basin is to be the subject of another paper. =catostomus commersonnii= (lacépède), white sucker: canfield and wiebe ( : ) as "common suckers"; and breukelman ( : ). stations -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -s, -m, and -g. the white sucker occurred primarily in upland streams of the flint hills, with one occurrence in muddy habitat, and one in the main stream of the big blue river. young _c. commersonnii_ were often taken in riffles, but adults were in the larger, deeper pools. the ages and total lengths at the last annulus for white suckers were: i, . ( ); ii, . ( ); iii, . ( ); and iv, . ( ). =cyprinus carpio= linnaeus, carp: canfield and wiebe ( : - , ) as "carp." stations -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, -g, -s, -s, -g, -g, -g, -g, -s, -g, -m, -m, -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, -m, -s, -s, and -s. carp occurred throughout the basin. the habitat of this species closely approximated that of the river carpsucker; however, carp were more often taken in moderate to swift water than were _c. c. carpio_. the ages and average lengths at the last annulus for carp from the big blue river basin were: i, . ( ); ii, . ( ); iii, . ( ); iv, . ( ); v, . ( ); vi, . ( ); vii, . ( ); viii, no fish; ix, . ( ); x, . ( ); xi, . ( ); xii, . ( ); and xiii, . ( ). =carassius auratus= (linnaeus), goldfish. station -s. i saw goldfish seined from station -s by anglers obtaining bait on april , . goldfish were commonly used for bait at stations -s and -s. =semotilus atromaculatus= (mitchill), creek chub: evermann and cox ( : ); and jennings ( : ) as _semotilus atromaculatus atromaculatus_ (mitchill). stations -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -m, -m, -m, -m, -m, -m, -m, -m, -m, -s, -s, -g, -m, -s, -m, -g, and -g. creek chubs were found in all habitats in the big blue river basin, but were abundant only in the headwaters of muddy streams and in clear upland creeks. =chrosomus erythrogaster= (rafinesque), southern redbelly dace: jennings ( : ). stations -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, and -s. this colorful species occupied the headwaters of the clear, spring-fed creeks where it was abundant. only one specimen was taken in muddy or sandy habitat (at the mouth of a small creek at station -s), where it may have been washed by floods just prior to my collecting. =hybopsis storeriana= (kirtland), silver chub. station -s. one specimen of _h. storeriana_ (ku ) was seined in swift water near a sandbar on april , , and another was taken at the same locality on april , . =hybopsis aestivalis= (girard), speckled chub: meek ( : ); and evermann and cox ( : ), both as _hybopsis hyostomus_ gilbert. stations -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, and -s. this species was restricted to wide, swift parts of the big blue and little blue rivers, and was found over clean, sometimes shifting, sand bottoms. on may , , three males in breeding condition were collected and on june , , a large series of both male and female _h. aestivalis_, all with well-developed gonads, was collected. the water temperature was . °f. hubbs and ortenburger ( : - ) reported that _extrarius tetranemus_ (gilbert) (= _hybopsis aestivalis tetranemus_) spawns in summer especially in early july. cross ( : ) reported a single pair of _h. a. tetranemus_ that he considered in breeding condition on june , . breukelman ( : ) recorded speckled chubs in the kansas river basin as _extrarius_ (= _hybopsis_) _aestivalis_: _sesquialis_ × _tetranemus_; however, the name _sesquialis_ is a _nomen nudum_, and the status of this species in the kansas river basin is yet to be elucidated. =phenacobius mirabilis= (girard), plains suckermouth minnow: meek ( : ); and evermann and cox ( : ). stations -s, -s, -s, -g, -s, -g, -s, -g, -g, -g, -g, -s, -g, -g, -m, -s, -s, -m, -s, -m, -s, -s, -s, -g, and -s. _phenacobius mirabilis_ was widespread in the basin, occurring most frequently on riffles over bottoms of clean sand or gravel. young-of-the-year were usually taken in backwaters. =notropis percobromus= (cope), plains shiner. stations -s and -s. the plains shiner occurred only in the lower part of the main stream of the big blue river. =notropis rubellus= (agassiz), rosyface shiner. station -g. one rosyface shiner (ku ) was taken. this species was previously reported from only two localities in the kansas river basin: in the mill creek watershed, wabaunsee county, and blacksmith creek, shawnee county as _notropis rubrifrons_ (cope) (gilbert, : ). mill creek and blacksmith creek are northward-flowing tributaries of the kansas river that arise in the flint hills. graham ( : ) also recorded _n. rubellus_ (as _n. rubrifrons_) from the "kansas and missouri rivers"; however, i suspect that his specimens were _notropis percobromus_, a species not generally recognized in graham's time (see hubbs, : - ). _notropis rubellus_ is now abundant in the mill creek watershed (wabaunsee county), but, except for my specimen no. , has not been taken recently in other streams in the kansas river basin. =notropis umbratilis umbratilis= (girard), redfin shiner. station -s. one specimen of _n. u. umbratilis_ was captured near a sandbar on march , . the absence of this species in flint hills streams of the big blue river basin is unexplained; redfin shiners occur commonly in southern tributaries of the kansas river both upstream and downstream from the mouth of the big blue river. in kansas this species is usually associated with the larger pools of clear, upland streams. canfield and wiebe ( : - ) may have referred to this species in recording "black-fin minnows" from the nebraskan portion of the big blue river basin. =notropis cornutus frontalis= (agassiz), common shiner. stations -s, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, and -g. common shiners were most abundant in middle sections of the clear, gravelly creeks. =notropis lutrensis= (baird and girard), red shiner: meek ( : ); and evermann and cox ( : - ). all stations excepting -s, -g, -m, and -m. red shiners were the most widespread species taken in my survey, occurring in all habitats, and in all kinds of streams. on two occasions i observed what apparently was spawning behavior of this species. both times the specimens collected were in the height of breeding condition, stripping in the hand easily, and often without pressure. at the first locality (station -g) no attempt was made to obtain eggs, but by disturbing the bottom at the second ( -m) i found eggs that were thought to be those of red shiners. the eggs were slightly adhesive, clinging to the hand and to the bobbinet seine. on june , , at station -g, red shiners appeared to be spawning in an open-water area measuring about by feet, over nests of _lepomis cyanellus_ rafinesque and _l. humilis_ (girard). no interspecific activity was noted between the sunfish and the red shiners. water temperature at this station was . °f., and the bottom was gravel, sand, and mud. observations were made from a high cut-bank, by naked eye and by use of -x binoculars. the red shiners moved rapidly at the surface of the water, with one male (rarely two or more) following one female. the male followed closely, passing the female and causing her to change direction. at the moment of the female's hesitation, prior to her turn, the male would erect his fins in display, at the side and a little in front of the female. after brief display, usually less than two seconds, the male resumed the chase, swimming behind and around the female in a spiral fashion. after a chase of two to three feet, the female would sometimes allow the male to approach closely on her left side. the male nudged the female on the caudal peduncle and in the anal region, moving alongside with his head near the lower edge of the left operculum of the female, thus placing his genital pore about a head-length behind and below that of the female. at this time spawning must have occurred; however, possibly because of the speed of the chase, i observed no vibration of the fish as described for other species of _notropis_ at the culmination of spawning (pfeiffer, : ; raney, : ; and others). while the spawning act presumably occurred the pair was in forward motion in a straight course, for three to five feet, at the end of which the male moved rapidly away, gyrating to the side and down. the female then swam away at a slower rate. in instances when the female failed to allow the male to move alongside, the male sometimes increased his speed, striking the female, and often causing her to jump from the water. some conflict between males was observed, usually when two or more followed one female. the males would leave the female, swerve to one side, and stop, facing each other or side by side. at this moment the fins were greatly elevated in display. there was usually a rush on the part of one male, resulting in the flight of the other, and the aggressive male would pursue for about two feet. many times the pursued male jumped from the water. at station -m, on july , , activity similar to that described above was observed in a small pool near a mass of debris. at this station i watched from the bank, three feet from the spawning shiners. water temperature was not recorded. the minnows performed the same types of chase and display, all in open water, as described for station -g, however, at station -m, much activity of males occurred near the small deposit of debris. it seemed that conflict was taking place, with males behaving as described above, and milling violently about. examination of the area revealed nests of _l. cyanellus_ near the debris, and some of the activity by the shiners may have been raids on nests of the sunfish. however, females nearing the group of males were immediately chased by one to four individual males, with one usually continuing pursuit after a short chase by the group. the male again moved into position at the lower left edge of the operculum of the female as at station -g. another kind of behavior was observed also, in which the female sometimes stopped. the male approached, erecting his fins and arching his body to the left. the female also assumed this arch to the left, and the pair moved in a tight, counter-clockwise circle, with the male on the inside. after a short period in this position, the male moved aside in display, and gyrated to the side and down. females at both stations moved about slowly, usually remaining in the immediate vicinity of activity by males, and returning to the area even when pursued and deserted some distance away. =notropis deliciosus= (girard), sand shiner: meek ( : ); evermann and cox ( : ), both as _notropis blennius_ (girard); and jennings ( : ) as _notropis deliciosus missuriensis_ (cope). all stations excepting -s, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -m, -g, -g, -m, -m, -m, -m, -m, -g, and -g. nelson (personal communication) has studied the sand shiner in kansas, and has found that the big blue river is an area of intergradation between the southwestern subspecies (_deliciosus_) and the plains subspecies (_missuriensis_). _notropis d. deliciosus_ prefers cool, rocky habitat, and occurs in small streams of the flint hills, whereas _n. d. missuriensis_ occupies the sandy, turbid big blue and little blue rivers. intergrades occur most frequently in the big blue river, but are found in all habitats. =notropis topeka= (gilbert), topeka shiner: meek ( : ); evermann and cox ( : ); and minckley and cross (in press). stations -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, and -g. this species was common locally in the upland streams. female topeka shiners stripped easily at station -g on july , , and adult _n. topeka_ in high breeding condition were collected at station -g on july , . the water temperature at both stations was . °f. evermann and cox ( : - ) recorded female topeka shiners "nearly ripe" on june , . =notropis buchanani= meek, ghost shiner. stations -s and -s. only two specimens of _n. buchanani_ were taken, both on august , . these specimens (ku ), a female with well-developed ova, and a tuberculate male, were near a sandbar in the main channel. to my knowledge, this is the first published record of the ghost shiner from the kansas river basin. mr. james booth, state biological survey, collected _n. buchanani_ from two stations on mill creek, wabaunsee county, kansas, . =hybognathus nuchalis= agassiz, silvery minnow. stations -s, -s, -s, -g, -s, and -g. this species was taken sporadically, but sometimes abundantly, in the big blue river. at stations -g and -g a few young-of-the-year were found. table . comparisons of three series of _hybognathus_, specimens each, from different stream systems. table legend: column a: [=x] = mean;, column b: [sigma] = one standard deviation; column c: [sigma]_{m} = two standard errors. ranges are in parentheses. standard lengths of specimens are: walnut river, kansas, . to . mm., [=x] = . ; big blue river, . to . mm., [=x] = . ; and chippewa river, wisconsin, . to . mm., [=x] = . . ================+=================+=================+================== | walnut river, | | chippewa river, | kansas | | wisconsin count or | _h. n. placita_,| big blue river, | _h. n. nuchalis_, proportional | ku | kansas ku | ku measurement +-------+----+----+-------+----+----+-------+-----+---- | a | b | c | a | b | c | a | b | c ----------------+-------+----+----+-------+----+----+-------+-----+---- lateral-line | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . scales |( - )| | |( - )| | |( - )| | | | | | | | | | | predorsal | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . scale-rows |( - )| | |( - )| | |( - )| | | | | | | | | | | scale-rows below| . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . lateral-line |( - )| | |( - )| | |( - )| | | | | | | | | | | scale-rows | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . around caudal |( - )| | |( - )| | |( - )| | peduncle | | | | | | | | | ----------------+-------+----+----+-------+----+----+-------+-----+---- table .--concluded. ============+===================+==================+=================== | walnut river, | | chippewa river, | kansas | | wisconsin count or | _h. n. placita_, | big blue river, | _h. n. nuchalis_, proportional| ku | kansas ku | ku measurement +-------+-----+-----+------+-----+-----+-------+-----+----- | a | b | c | a | b | c | a | b | c ------------+-------+-----+-----+------+-----+-----+-------+-----+----- orbit ÷ | . |. |. | . |. |. | . |. |. standard |( - | | |( - | | |( - | | length | )| | | )| | | )| | | | | | | | | | | gape-width ÷|. |. |. | . |. |. | . |. |. standard |( - | | |( - | | |( - | | length | )| | | )| | | )| | | | | | | | | | | orbit ÷ | . |. |. | . |. |. | . |. |. gape-width |( - | | |( - | | |( - | | | )| | | . )| | | . )| | ------------+-------+-----+-----+------+-----+-----+-------+-----+----- bailey ( : ) does not consider the southwestern _hybognathus placita_ (girard) specifically distinct from the northeastern _h. nuchalis_, but little evidence of intergradation has been published. in table , i have compared measurements and counts of specimens of _hybognathus_ from the big blue river, _h. n. placita_ from the walnut river, kansas (arkansas river basin), and _h. n. nuchalis_ from wisconsin. measurements and counts were made by methods described by hubbs and lagler ( : - ) and measurements are expressed as thousandths of standard length. _hybognathus_ from the big blue river tend to have fewer, larger scales than _h. n. placita_ from the walnut river, kansas, but more and smaller scales than _h. n. nuchalis_ from wisconsin. in specimens from the blue river, the size of the orbit divided by standard length, and the width of gape divided by standard length and width of orbit, are also intermediate between the walnut river and wisconsin specimens, but tend toward the former. specimens from the big blue river resemble _h. n. placita_ from the walnut river in body shape, robustness, and in the embedding of scales on the nape. =pimephales notatus= (rafinesque), bluntnose minnow: meek ( : ); and evermann and cox ( : ). stations -s, -s, -g, -s, -s, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -s, -g, and -g. the bluntnose minnow preferred the clearer creeks, with gravel or gravel-silt bottoms, but occurred rarely in the mainstream of the big blue river. males and females in high breeding condition were taken on july , . the temperature of the water was . ° f. =pimephales promelas= rafinesque, fathead minnow: meek ( : ); and evermann and cox ( : - ). all stations excepting -s, -s, -g, -m, -s, -s, and -s. small muddy streams were preferred by _p. promelas_; however, the fathead minnow was taken in all habitats, and in association with most other species. canfield and wiebe ( : - ) may have recorded _p. promelas_ from the big blue river basin, nebraska, as "blackhead minnows." =campostoma anomalum plumbeum= (girard), stoneroller. all stations excepting -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, -g, -g, -g, -m, -m, -m, -m, -m, -m, -s, -s, -s, -m, -m, -s, and -m. stonerollers were usually taken in riffles with gravel-rubble bottoms. those individuals collected in areas with mud or sand bottoms were almost invariably in the current, or in the edge of currents. specimens from the big blue river basin have an average of . scale-rows around the body (range - ). =ictalurus melas= (rafinesque), black bullhead: evermann and cox ( : ) as _ameiurus melas_ (rafinesque); and canfield and wiebe ( : - , ) as "bullheads." stations -s, -s, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -m, -m, -m, -s, -m, -s, -m, and -g. black bullhead occurred in all habitats, but were less commonly taken in the big blue and little blue rivers than in other streams. =ictalurus natalis= (lesueur), yellow bullhead. stations -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -m, -m, -m, -m, -m, -m, -m, -s, and -m. the yellow bullhead inhabited the muddy-bottomed streams and the upland, gravelly creeks, usually occurring in the headwaters. i obtained only one _i. natalis_ in the sandy big blue river. =ictalurus punctatus= (rafinesque), channel catfish: cragin ( : ); meek ( : ); evermann and cox ( : ); and canfield and wiebe ( : - , ) as "channel catfish." stations -s, -s, -s, -s, -g, -s, -g, -s, -g, -g, -s, -s, -g, -g, -s, -g, -m, -m, -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, -m, -s, -m, -s, -s, and -s. channel catfish were most common in the larger, sandy streams, but occurred in other kinds of streams. the ages and calculated total lengths at the last annulus for channel catfish were: i, no fish; ii, . ( ); iii, . ( ); iv, . ( ); v, . ( ); vi, . ( ); vii, . ( ); and viii, . ( ). these lengths are slightly lower than averages reported by finnell and jenkins ( : ) in oklahoma impoundments. the length-frequency distribution of channel catfish, collected by rotenone on august and , , indicated that two age-groups were represented. without examination of spines, i assigned fish to age-group o ( . to . inches, average . ) and fish to age-group i ( . to . inches, average . ). the average total length of age group i ( . inches) is only slightly higher than the total length at the first annulus reported as average for oklahoma ( . inches, finnell and jenkins, _loc. cit._). it seems unlikely that my yearling fish taken in august, , would have reached the length at the second annulus recorded in my study of spines ( . inches) by the end of the growing season. from to , severe drought was prevalent in kansas, probably causing streams to flow less than at any previously recorded time (minckley and cross, in press). this drought must have resulted in reduced populations of fishes in the streams. the channel catfish hatched in were therefore subjected to low competition for food and space when normal flow was resumed in , and grew rapidly, reaching an average total length of . inches at the second annulus, while channel catfish that were members of the large and hatches suffered more competition and grew more slowly. =noturus flavus= rafinesque, stonecat: jennings ( : ). stations -s, -s, -s, -g, -s, -g, -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, and -s. _noturus flavus_ frequented riffles and swift currents along sandbars in the big blue and little blue rivers. cross ( : ) reported that "the shale-strewn riffles of the south fork [of the cottonwood river, kansas] provide ideal habitat for the stonecat." in my study-area, this species was found not only on rubble-bottomed riffles, but occurred along both stationary and shifting sandbars where no cover was apparent. =pylodictis olivaris= (rafinesque), flathead catfish: canfield and wiebe ( : ) as "yellow catfish." stations -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, and -s. flathead catfish were found only in the larger rivers. the species was taken rarely by seine, but was readily obtained by electric shocker. data on the age and growth and food-habits of this species are to be the subject of another paper. =anguilla bostoniensis= (lesueur), american eel: jennings ( : ). american eels are now rare in kansas, and none was taken in my survey. the specimen reported by jennings (_loc. cit._) is at kansas state college (ksc ), and was taken by i. d. graham from the big blue river, riley county, . =fundulus kansae= garman, plains killifish. station -s. the plains killifish was collected by me only at station -s. specimens were collected from my station -s by the kansas state college class in fisheries management in (ksc ). my specimens were to mm. in total length. =roccus chrysops= (rafinesque), white bass. station -s. that the white bass is indigenous to kansas is evidenced by records of graham ( : ) and cragin ( : ); however, since that time, and prior to the introduction of this species into reservoirs in the state, _r. chrysops_ has rarely been recorded in kansas. i collected young white bass at station -s in both and , and i collected them also in an oxbow of the kansas river four miles west of manhattan, riley county, kansas, in the mouth of mcdowell's creek, riley county, and in deep creek, wabaunsee county, and i saw other specimens from an oxbow of the kansas river on the fort riley military reservation, riley county, kansas. the apparent increase in abundance of white bass in the kansas river basin must be attributable to introductions in reservoirs, with subsequent escape and establishment in the streams. =micropterus salmoides salmoides= (lacépède), largemouth bass. stations -s, -g, -s, and -m. four largemouth bass were taken. this species has been widely stocked in farm-ponds and other impoundments in kansas. =lepomis cyanellus= rafinesque, green sunfish: breukelman ( : ); and canfield and wiebe ( : , - , ) as "green sunfish." all stations excepting -s, -s, -s, -s, -g, -s, -g, -s, -m, -g, -m, -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, -m, -m, -m, -s, and -s. green sunfish occurred primarily in the muddy streams. the ages and total lengths at the last annulus for specimens are as follows: i, . ( ); ii, . ( ); iii, . ( ); iv, . ( ); and v, . ( ). male green sunfish were seen on nests on june , july , and july , . =lepomis humilis= (girard), orangespotted sunfish: meek ( : ); evermann and cox ( : ); canfield and wiebe ( : ) as "orange spots"; and breukelman ( : ). all stations excepting -s, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -m, -m, -m, -m, -s, -m, -s, and -s. _lepomis humilis_ was most common over sand-silt bottoms. only two age-groups were found; their calculated total lengths were i, . ( ); and ii, . ( ). orangespotted sunfish were seen nesting on the same dates as _lepomis cyanellus_. =lepomis macrochirus= rafinesque, bluegill. stations -g, -g, -g, -g, and -g. this species has been widely stocked in kansas. only young-of-the-year and sub-adults were taken, and these were rare. =pomoxis annularis= rafinesque, white crappie: canfield and wiebe ( : - , ) as "white crappie." stations -s, -s, -s, -g, -s, and -s. white crappie were rare, except in a borrow-pit at station -s. ages and calculated total lengths at the last annulus for specimens from -s are as follows: i, . ( ); ii, . ( ); iii, . ( ); iv, . ( ); and v, . ( ). =pomoxis nigromaculatus= (lesueur), black crappie. station -s. one black crappie (ku ) was taken. canfield and wiebe ( : ) noted: "the black crappie has been planted here [big blue river basin in nebraska] by the state, but, apparently, is not propagating itself." =stizostedion canadense= (smith), sauger. station -s. mr. larry stallbaumer, of marysville, kansas, obtained a sauger (ku ) while angling on may , . =stizostedion vitreum= (mitchill), walleye. though i failed to obtain the walleye in my survey, dr. raymond e. johnson (personal communication) reported that the species occurred in the nebraskan portion of the big blue river in recent years. canfield and wiebe ( : , ) reported that "yellow pike are taken at crete [nebraska]," but may have referred to either the walleye or the sauger. =perca flavescens= (mitchill), yellow perch: canfield and wiebe ( : - , ) as "ring perch" and "yellow perch." this fish was not taken in my survey. canfield and wiebe (_loc. cit_.) reported that the yellow perch "had been planted by the state [nebraska]." =etheostoma nigrum nigrum= rafinesque, johnny darter: jennings ( : ) as _boleosoma nigrum nigrum_ (rafinesque). stations -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -m, -s, and -g. the larger pools of gravelly streams were preferred by johnny darters, but one specimen was taken from the main stream of the big blue river, and the species was abundant in one stream over hard, sand-silt bottom. =etheostoma spectabile pulchellum= (girard), orangethroat darter: jennings ( : ) as _poecilichthys spectabilis pulchellus_ (girard). stations -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -g, -m, -m, -m, -s, -g, and -g. the orangethroat darter was less restricted in habitat than the johnny darter, occurring in all stream-types, but most often in the riffles of gravelly streams. most specimens from muddy or sandy streams were small. =aplodinotus grunniens= rafinesque, freshwater drum. stations -s, -s, -s, -g, -s, -s, -s, -s, -s, and -s. the ages and calculated total lengths at the last annulus for freshwater drum from the big blue river were: i, . ( ); ii, . ( ); iii, . ( ); iv, . ( ); v, . ( ); vi, . ( ); and vii, . ( ). hybrid combinations i obtained two hybrid fishes in my study-area. one specimen of _notropis cornutus frontalis_ × _chrosomus erythrogaster_ was taken at station -g. this combination was recorded by trautman ( : ) in ohio. the other hybrid was _lepomis cyanellus_ × _lepomis humilis_, captured at station -g. this combination was first recorded by hubbs and ortenburger ( : ). hubbs and bailey ( : ) recorded another hybrid combination from my area of study: _campostoma anomalum plumbeum_ × _chrosomus erythrogaster_, ummz , from a "spring-fed creek on 'doc' wagner's farm, riley county, kansas; september , ; l. o. nolf [collector]." relative abundance and discussion of species the relative abundance of different species was estimated by combining counts of individual fishes taken in seine-hauls, hours and minutes of shocking, and seven samples obtained with rotenone. at some stations all seine-hauls were counted. at other stations the seine-hauls in which complete counts were recorded had been selected randomly in advance; that is to say, prior to collecting at each station. i selected those hauls to be counted from a table of random numbers (snedecor, : - ). i did not use the frequency-of-occurrence method as proposed by starrett ( : ), in which the species taken and not the total number of individuals are recorded for all seine-hauls. however, the frequency of occurrence of each species is indicated by the number of stations at which it was found, and those stations are listed in the previous accounts. table shows the percentage of the total number of fish that each species comprised in three kinds of streams: sandy (big blue and little blue rivers), muddy, and gravelly streams. the habitat preferences of some species affect their abundance in different stream-types. _notropis lutrensis_ and _p. mirabilis_ seemed almost ubiquitous. _notropis deliciosus_ also occurred in all kinds of streams (rarely in muddy streams); however, this species was represented by the sand-loving _n. d. missuriensis_ in the big blue and little blue rivers, and _n. d. deliciosus_ in the clear, gravelly, upland creeks (nelson, personal communication). because of its widespread occurrence, and for purposes of later discussion, i refer to this minnow also as an ubiquitous species in the big blue river basin. _carpiodes carpio_, _cyprinus carpio_, _i. punctatus_, _i. melas_, and _l. humilis_ were widespread, but each was absent or rare in one of the kinds of streams (table ). _carpiodes carpio_, _cyprinus carpio_, and _i. punctatus_ occurred most frequently in the sandy streams, whereas _l. humilis_ was most common in muddy streams. the high per cent of _i. melas_ in collections from the big blue river is a direct result of one large population that was taken with rotenone in a borrow-pit at station -s. in my opinion, this species actually was most abundant in the muddy streams. table . relative abundance of fishes in per cent of the total number taken, big blue river basin, kansas. trace (tr.) is used for values less than . per cent, and dashes signify that the species did not occur in the counted collections although it may have occurred in uncounted collections from the same stream-type. three species, _c. auratus_, _n. buchanani_, and _s. canadense_, were not taken in counted collections. ====================+=================+=========+========== | sandy streams | | +--------+--------+ muddy | gravelly species | big | little | streams | streams | blue | blue | | | river | river | | --------------------+--------+--------+---------+---------- _n. lutrensis_ | . | . | . | . _i. punctatus_ | . | . | . | . _carpiodes carpio_ | . | . | . | . _n. deliciosus_ | . | . | . | . _i. melas_ | . | -- | . | . _cyprinus carpio_ | . | . | . | . _p. olivaris_ | . | . | -- | -- _l. humilis_ | . | -- | . | . _i. bubalus_ | . | . | -- | tr. _p. mirabilis_ | . | . | . | . _h. nuchalis_ | . | -- | -- | tr. _p. promelas_ | . | . | . | . _h. aestivalis_ | . | . | -- | -- _a. grunniens_ | . | -- | -- | . _l. osseus_ | . | . | -- | -- _c. anomalum_ | . | . | . | . _c. commersonnii_ | . | -- | -- | . _d. cepedianum_ | . | tr. | . | -- _n. percobromus_ | . | -- | -- | -- _p. annularis_ | . | tr. | -- | -- _n. flavus_ | . | . | -- | tr. _s. atromaculatus_ | . | . | . | . _m. aureolum_ | . | . | -- | -- _i. cyprinella_ | . | -- | . | -- _p. notatus_ | . | -- | -- | . _i. niger_ | . | . | -- | -- _h. alosoides_ | . | -- | -- | -- _e. spectabile_ | . | -- | . | . _r. chrysops_ | . | -- | -- | -- _l. cyanellus_ | . | -- | . | tr. _h. storeriana_ | tr. | -- | -- | -- _l. platostomus_ | tr. | -- | -- | -- _m. salmoides_ | tr. | -- | -- | -- _p. nigromaculatus_ | tr. | -- | -- | -- _i. natalis_ | tr. | -- | . | tr. _n. umbratilis_ | tr. | -- | -- | -- _c. forbesi_ | tr. | -- | -- | -- _s. platorynchus_ | tr. | -- | -- | -- _f. kansae_ | -- | tr. | -- | -- _e. nigrum_ | tr. | -- | . | . _n. rubellus_ | -- | -- | -- | tr. _n. topeka_ | -- | -- | -- | . _n. cornutus_ | -- | -- | -- | . _c. erythrogaster_ | -- | -- | -- | . _l. macrochirus_ | -- | -- | -- | . --------------------+--------+--------+---------+---------- some fish were almost restricted to the sandy streams, apparently because of preference for larger waters, or sandy stream-bottoms: _p. olivaris_, _i. bubalus_, _h. nuchalis_, _h. aestivalis_, _a. grunniens_, _l. osseus_, _d. cepedianum_, _n. percobromus_, _p. annularis_, _n. flavus_, _m. aureolum_, _i. niger_, _h. alosiodes_, and _r. chrysops_. other species that were taken only in the larger rivers, and that are sometimes associated with streams even larger (or more sandy) than the big blue river are _h. storeriana_, _l. platostomus_, _m. salmoides_, _p. nigromaculatus_, _c. forbesi_, _s. platorynchus_, _f. kansae_, _n. buchanani_, _s. canadense_, and _c. auratus_. _ictiobus cyprinella_ also occurred more frequently in the larger streams. the muddy-bottomed streams supported populations composed primarily of _p. promelas_, _n. lutrensis_, and _s. atromaculatus_. no species was restricted to this habitat, but the following were characteristic there: _p. promelas_, _s. atromaculatus_, _l. humilis_, _l. cyanellus_, and _i. natalis_. _carpiodes carpio_, _cyprinus carpio_, _c. anomalum_, _e. spectabile_, and _e. nigrum_ were locally common in muddy streams, but the first two were most frequent in larger, sandy streams, and the last three in gravelly streams. in gravel-bottomed, upland streams, _n. cornutus_, _n. rubellus_, _n. topeka_, and _c. erythrogaster_ characteristically occurred; with the exception of _n. rubellus_ (only one specimen taken), all were common at some stations. other species in gravelly creeks were _n. lutrensis_, _c. anomalum_, _c. commersonnii_, _p. notatus_, _l. macrochirus_, _e. spectabile_, and _e. nigrum_. although the one specimen of _n. umbratilis_ taken in this survey was from the big blue river, this species is more characteristic of the clearer creeks in kansas. in order to illustrate the composition of the fauna in some specific streams in the big blue river basin, i segregated the fishes into ecological groups, as in the above discussion: ubiquitous types; species of larger, sandy streams; fishes of muddy streams; and fishes of clear, gravelly creeks. the total number of species taken in each of the streams was divided into the number of species from that stream that were in each of these units, to give a percentage. the resultant data are presented graphically in figure . [illustration: fig. . composition of the fauna of the entire big blue river basin, and of seven streams or stream systems in that basin. "mill creek, wash. co." refers to all streams in the mill creek system, washington and republic counties. "bl. vermillion r. system" includes all streams in that watershed excepting clear creek and one of its tributaries (stations -g and -g).] [illustration: fig. . composition of the fauna of the big blue river, and of five collecting-sites on carnahan creek, pottawatomie county. lowermost sites are at the left of the figure.] figure gives a generalized picture of the faunal composition in different kinds of streams. however, the fauna of a small tributary becomes more distinct from the fauna of the larger stream into which the small stream flows as one moves toward the headwaters (metcalf, : , - ). figure illustrates this in carnahan creek. station -g included four sampling-sites, which were approximately one, two, three, and four miles upstream from the mouth of carnahan creek. station -g (one collection) was about four miles upstream from the closest sampling-site of station -g. applying the same methods as for figure , my findings show a gradual decline in the per cent of the fauna represented by the "large-river-fishes," and an increase in the segment classified as "upland-fishes," from downstream to upstream. creel census fifty-three fishermen were interviewed in the creel census period, and in . only those fishermen using pole and line were interviewed. in the area censused, much additional fishing is done with set-lines, that are checked periodically by the owners. in the census, checks along approximately miles of river were made, and seven of these trips were made without seeing one fisherman. the average fishing pressure for the entire area was estimated at one fisherman per . miles of stream, or one fisherman per . miles of shoreline. seven species of fish were identified from fishermen's creels in and . these, in order of abundance were: channel catfish; carp; freshwater drum; flathead catfish; shovelnose sturgeon; smallmouth buffalo; and river carpsucker. shovelnose sturgeon occurred in fishermen's creels only in april, , and freshwater drum occurred more frequently in the spring-census of than in the summer of . sixty-two of the fishermen interviewed in were fishing for "anything they could catch," were fishing specifically for catfish, and sought species other than catfish. the order of preference was as follows: channel catfish, . per cent; flathead catfish, . per cent; unspecified catfish, . per cent; carp, . per cent; freshwater drum, . per cent; and unspecified, . per cent. the kinds of fish desired by those fishermen checked in were not ascertained. of all fishermen checked in and , were men, were women, and were children. ninety-three per cent were fishing from the bank, five per cent were fishing from bridges, and two per cent were wading. all but two per cent of those checked were fishing "tightline"; the remainder fished with a cork. the ten baits most commonly used, in order of frequency, were worms, doughballs, minnows, liver, beef-spleen, chicken-entrails, coagulated blood, crayfish, shrimp, and corn. for purposes of later comparison the data on angler success (table ) have been divided according to areas: area i, below tuttle creek dam; area ii, in the tuttle creek reservoir area; and area iii, above the reservoir. areas i and iii received the most fishing pressure, especially station -s (in area i), and station -s (in area iii). in area i, the success ranged from . fish per fisherman-day in to . fish per fisherman-day in . the census was made in april and may, when fishing in warm-water streams is considered better than in july (harrison, : ). the census was from late june through july, and stream-flow in this period was continuously above normal. therefore, fewer people fished the river, and catches were irregular. catches in ranged from . fish per fisherman-day in area i to . fish per fisherman-day in area iii. in , in the republican river of kansas and nebraska, the average fisherman-day yielded . fish, . fish per man-hour, and . fish per pole-hour (u. s. fish and wildlife service, : - ). the average fisherman-day in the republican river study was . hours, whereas the average on the big blue river was . hours for all areas in (table ). table . angling success in the big blue river, kansas, and . ================================================================= area, year, |average |number |number |number and number |length of |fish per |fish per|fish per of fishermen |fisherman-day|fisherman-day|man-hour|pole-hour[a] ---------------+-------------+-------------+--------+------------ area i, | . hours | . | . | . fishermen | | | | area i, | . hours | . | . | . fishermen | | | | area ii, | . hours | . | . | . fishermen | | | | area iii, | . hours | . | . | . fishermen | | | | all areas, | . hours | . | . | . fishermen| | | | [a] fishermen used an average of . poles. in the big blue river . per cent of all fishermen were successful in area i in , while only . per cent were successful in the same area in (table ). in the republican river, per cent of the fishing parties were successful ( . persons per party) (u. s. fish and wildlife service, _loc. cit._). the average distance that each fisherman had traveled to fish in the big blue river was . miles. seventy-nine per cent of the persons contacted lived within miles of the spots where they fished. in the study on the republican river, per cent of the parties interviewed came less than miles to fish. table . per cent of total fishermen successful, and distances travelled to fish, big blue river basin, kansas, and . all distances were measured in airline miles. ============================+=======+=======+=======+=======+====== | | | | | | area | area | area | area | all | i | i | ii | iii | areas ----------------------------+-------+-------+-------+-------+------ per cent of | . | . | . | . | . fishermen successful | | | | | | | | | | distances traveled to fish | - | - | - | - | - (averages in parentheses) |( . ) |( . ) |( . ) |( . ) |( . ) ----------------------------+-------+-------+-------+-------+------- recommendations my primary recommendation is for continued study of the tuttle creek reservoir, and the big blue river above and below the reservoir, to trace changes in the fish population that result from impoundment. probably the fishes that inhabit the backwaters, creek-mouths, and borrow-pits in the big blue river basin (gars, shad, carpsucker, buffalo, carp, sunfishes, and white bass) will increase in abundance as soon as tuttle creek reservoir is formed. also, as in eastern oklahoma reservoirs (see finnell, _et al_., : - ), populations of channel and flathead catfish should increase. because of the presence of brood-stock of the major sport-fishes of kansas (channel and flathead catfish, bullhead, bluegill, crappie, largemouth bass, and white bass), stocking of these species would be an economic waste: exception might be made for the white bass. it may be above tuttle creek dam, but was not found there. i do recommend immediate introduction of walleye, and possibly northern pike (_esox lucius_ linnaeus), the latter species having been successfully stocked in harlan county reservoir, nebraska, in recent years (mr. donald d. poole, personal communication). these two species probably are native to kansas, but may have been extirpated as agricultural development progressed. reservoirs may again provide habitats suitable for these species in the state. if tuttle creek reservoir follows the pattern found in most oklahoma reservoirs, large populations of "coarse fish"--fishes that are, however, commercially desirable--will develop (finnell, _et al._, _loc. cit._). to utilize this resource, and possibly to help control "coarse fish" populations for the betterment of sport-fishing, some provision for commercial harvest should be made in the reservoir. summary . the big blue river basin in northeastern kansas was studied between march , , and august , . the objectives were to record the species of fish present and their relative abundance in the stream, and to obtain a measure of angling success prior to closure of tuttle creek dam. . fifty-nine stations were sampled one or more times, using seines, hoop and fyke nets, wire traps, experimental gill nets, rotenone, and an electric fish shocker. . forty-eight species of fish were obtained, and five others have been recorded in literature or found in museums. one species, _carpiodes forbesi_, is recorded from kansas for the first time. . _notropis lutrensis_ was the most abundant fish in the big blue river basin, followed by _notropis deliciosus_ and _ictalurus punctatus_. the most abundant sport-fishes were _i. punctatus_, _i. melas_, and _pylodictis olivaris_, respectively. . the spawning behavior of _notropis lutrensis_ is described. . a creel census at major points of access to the big blue river, was taken in (below tuttle creek dam) and in (above, in, and below the dam-site). fishing pressure averaged one fisherman per . miles of shoreline. the average length of the fisherman-day averaged . hours, with an average of . fish per fisherman-day being caught in . the average number of fish per man-hour in was . and . per cent of the fishermen were successful. distances traveled in order to fish ranged from to miles (airline) and averaged . miles. . the primary recommendation is that studies be continued, to document changes that result from impoundment. because brood-stock of the major sport-fishes is already present, stocking is unnecessary, except for walleye and northern pike. also, i recommend commercial harvest of non-game food-fishes. literature cited bailey, r. m. . a revised list of fishes of iowa, with keys for identification. _in_ iowa fish and fishing, by j. r. harlan and e. b. speaker. iowa state cons. comm., des moines, pp. - . ----, and cross, f. b. . river sturgeons of the american genus _scaphirhynchus_: characters, distribution, and synonymy. pap. michigan acad. sci., arts, and letters, ( ): - . breukelman, j. . a collection of kansas fish in the state university museum. trans. kansas acad. sci., : - . buchholz, m. . age and growth of river carpsucker in des moines river, iowa. proc. iowa acad. sci., : - . canfield, h. l., and wiebe, a. h. . a cursory survey of the blue river system of nebraska. u. s. dept. comm., bur. of fisheries, econ. circ. : - . colby, c., dillingham, h., erickson, e., jenks, g., jones, j., and sinclair, r. . the kansas basin, pilot study of a watershed. univ. of kansas press, lawrence, ix + pp. cragin, f. w. . preliminary list of kansas fishes. bull. washburn lab. of nat. hist., ( ): - . cross, f. b. . effects of sewage and of a headwaters impoundment on the fishes of stillwater creek in payne county, oklahoma. amer. midl. nat., ( ): - . . fishes of cedar creek and the south fork of the cottonwood river, chase county, kansas. trans. kansas acad. sci., ( ): - . eddy, s., and surber, t. . northern fishes, with special reference to the upper mississippi valley. univ. of minnesota press, minneapolis, xii + pp. evermann, b. w., and cox, u. o. . report upon the fishes of the missouri river basin. appendix . rept. u. s. commissioner of fish and fisheries for . pp. - . finnell, j. c., and jenkins, r. m. . growth of channel catfish in oklahoma waters: revision. oklahoma fish res. lab. rept. : ii + - . ----, jenkins, r. m. and hall, g. e. . the fishery resources of the little river system, mccurtain county, oklahoma. oklahoma fish. res. lab. rept. : ii + - . flora, s. d. . climate of kansas. rept. kansas state board of agri., ( ): xii + - . forbes, s. a., and richardson, r. e. . the fishes of illinois. nat. hist. survey of illinois. illinois printing co., danville, cxxxi + pp. frye, j. c., and leonard, a. b. . pleistocene geology of kansas. kansas geol. survey, bull. : - . gilbert, c. h. . third series of notes on the fishes of kansas. bull. washburn lab. of nat. hist., ( ): - . graham, i. d. . preliminary list of kansas fishes. trans. kansas acad. sci., : - . harrison, h. m. . angling for channel catfish. _in_ iowa fish and fishing, by j. r. harlan and e. b. speaker. iowa state cons. comm., des moines. pp. - . hubbs, c. l. . corrected distributional records for minnesota fishes. copeia, ( ): - . ----, and ortenburger, a. i. . further notes on the fishes of oklahoma with descriptions of new species of cyprinidae. pub. univ. oklahoma biol. survey, ( ): - . ----, and lagler, k. f. . fishes of the great lakes region. cranbrook inst. of sci., bull. : xi + - . ----, and bailey, r. m. . identification of _oxygeneum pulverulentum_ forbes, from illinois, as a hybrid cyprinid fish. pap. michigan acad. sci., arts, and letters, ( ): - . jennings, d. . kansas fish in the kansas state college museum at manhattan. trans. kansas acad. sci., : - . kansas water resources fact-finding and research committee. . water in kansas. a report to the kansas state legislature ... univ. of kansas. - pp. kincer, j. b. . climate and weather data for the united states. _in_ climate and man, yearbook of agri. for . house doc. . pp. - . lagler, k. f. . freshwater fishery biology. wm. c. brown co., dubuque, iowa. x + pp. lugn, a. l. . the pleistocene geology of nebraska. nebraska geol. survey, bull. , nd series: - . marzolf, r. c. . use of pectoral spines and vertebrae for determining age and rate of growth of the channel catfish. jour. wildl. mgmt., ( ): - . meek, s. e. . notes on the fishes of western iowa and eastern nebraska. bull. u. s. fish comm., ( ): - . metcalf, a. l. . fishes of chautauqua, cowley and elk counties, kansas. univ. kansas publ., mus. nat. hist., : - . minckley, w. l., and cross, f. b. in press. habitat, distribution, and abundance of _notropis topeka_ (gilbert) in kansas. amer. midl. nat. monfort, e. . a layman looks at water. trans. kansas acad. sci., ( ): - . moore, g. a. . fishes. _in_ vertebrates of the united states, by w. blair, a. blair, p. brodkorb, f. cagle, and g. moore. mcgraw-hill book co., new york, n. y. pp. - . moore, r. c., and landes, k. k. . geologic map of kansas. scale : , . kansas geol. survey. nebraska state planning board. . water resources of nebraska. mimeo. by nebraska state planning board. lincoln, xxviii + pp. pfeiffer, r. a. . studies on the life history of the rosyface shiner, _notropis rubellus_. copeia, ( ): - . raney, e. c. . subspecies and breeding behavior of the cyprinid fish _notropis procne_ (cope). copeia, ( ): - . schoewe, w. h. . the geography of kansas, part iii--concluded, hydrogeography. trans. kansas acad. sci., ( ): - . snedecor, g. w. . statistical methods. iowa state college press, ames. xiii + pp. starrett, w. c. . distribution of the fishes of boone county, iowa, with special reference to the minnows and darters. amer. midl. nat., ( ): - . trautman, m. b. . the fishes of ohio. waverly press, inc., baltimore, md. xvii + pp. u. s. fish and wildlife service. . a one-year creel census and evaluation of the republican river, nebraska and kansas, . mimeo. by the staff, missouri river basin studies, billings, mont. pp., appendix. . a preliminary report on fish and wildlife resources in relation to the water development plan for the tuttle creek dam and reservoir, big blue river, missouri river basin, kansas. mimeo. by the staff, missouri river basin studies, billings, mont. pp. van orman, c. r. . surface water--its control and retention for use. trans. kansas acad. sci., ( ): - . walters, k. l. . geology and ground-water resources of marshall county, kansas. kansas geol. survey, bull. : - . _transmitted december , ._ [] - university of kansas publications museum of natural history institutional libraries interested in publications exchange may obtain this series by addressing the exchange librarian, university of kansas library, lawrence, kansas. copies for individuals, persons working in a particular field of study, may be obtained by addressing instead the museum of natural history, university of kansas, lawrence, kansas. there is no provision for sale of this series by the university library which meets institutional requests, or by the museum of natural history which meets the requests of individuals. however, when individuals request copies from the museum, cents should be included, for each separate number that is pages or more in length, for the purpose of defraying the costs of wrapping and mailing. * an asterisk designates those numbers of which the museum's supply (not the library's supply) is exhausted. numbers published to date, in this series, are as follows: vol. . nos. - and index. pp. - , - . *vol. . (complete) mammals of washington. by walter w. dalquest. pp. - , figures in text. april , . vol. . * . the avifauna of micronesia, its origin, evolution, and distribution. by rollin h. baker. pp. - , figures in text. june , . * . a quantitative study of the nocturnal migration of birds. by george h. lowery, jr. pp. - , figures in text. june , . . phylogeny of the waxwings and allied birds. by m. dale arvey. pp. - , figures in text, tables. october , . . birds from the state of veracruz, mexico. by george h. lowery, jr., and walter w. dalquest. pp. - , figures in text, tables. october , . index. pp. - . *vol. . (complete) american weasels. by e. raymond hall. pp. - , plates, figures in text. december , . vol. . nos. - and index. pp. - , - . *vol. . (complete) mammals of utah, _taxonomy and distribution_. by stephen d. durrant. pp. - , figures in text, tables. august , . vol. . * . mammals of kansas. by e. lendell cockrum. pp. - , figures in text, tables. august , . . ecology of the opossum on a natural area in northeastern kansas. by henry s. fitch and lewis l. sandidge. pp. - , figures in text. august , . . the silky pocket mice (perognathus flavus) of mexico. by rollin h. baker. pp. - , figure in text. february , . . north american jumping mice (genus zapus). by philip h. krutzsch. pp. - , figures in text, tables. april , . . mammals from southeastern alaska. by rollin h. baker and james s. findley. pp. - . april , . . distribution of some nebraskan mammals. by j. knox jones, jr. pp. - . april , . . subspeciation in the montane meadow mouse. microtus montanus, in wyoming and colorado. by sydney anderson. pp. - , figures in text. july , . . a new subspecies of bat (myotis velifer) from southeastern california and arizona. by terry a. vaughan. pp. - . july , . . mammals of the san gabriel mountains of california. by terry a. vaughan. pp. - , figure in text, tables. november , . . a new bat (genus pipistrellus) from northeastern mexico. by rollin h. baker. pp. - . november , . . a new subspecies of pocket mouse from kansas. by e. raymond hall. pp. - . november , . . geographic variation in the pocket gopher, cratogeomys castanops, in coahuila, mexico. by robert j. russell and rollin h. baker. pp. - . march , . . a new cottontail (sylvilagus floridanus) from northeastern mexico. by rollin h. baker. pp. - . april , . . taxonomy and distribution of some american shrews. by james s. findley, pp. - . june , . . the pigmy woodrat, neotoma goldmani, its distribution and systematic position. by dennis g. rainey and rollin h. baker. pp. - , figures in text. june , . index. pp. - . vol. . . life history and ecology of the five-lined skink, eumeces fasciatus. by henry s. fitch. pp. - , figs. in text. september , . . myology and serology of the avian family fringillidae, a taxonomic study. by william b. stallcup. pp. - , figures in text, tables. november , . . an ecological study of the collared lizard (crotaphytus collaris). by henry s. fitch. pp. - , figures in text. february , . . a field study of the kansas ant-eating frog, gastrophryne olivacea. by henry s. fitch. pp. - , figures in text. february , . . check-list of the birds of kansas. by harrison b. tordoff. pp. - , figure in text. march , . . a population study of the prairie vole (microtus ochrogaster) in northeastern kansas. by edwin p. martin. pp. - , figures in text. april , . . temperature responses in free-living amphibians and reptiles of northeastern kansas. by henry s. fitch. pp. - , figures in text, tables. june , . . food of the crow, corvus brachyrhynchos brehm, in south-central kansas. by dwight platt. pp. - , tables. june , . . ecological observations on the woodrat neotoma floridana. by henry s. fitch and dennis g. rainey. pp. - , figures in text. june , . . eastern woodrat, neotoma floridana; life history and ecology. by dennis g. rainey. pp. - , plates, figures in text. august , . index. pp. - . vol. . . speciation of the wandering shrew. by james s. findley. pp. - , figures in text. december , . . additional records and extensions of ranges of mammals from utah. by stephen d. durrant, m. raymond lee, and richard m. hansen. pp. - . december , . . a new long-eared myotis (myotis evotis) from northeastern mexico. by rollin h. baker and howard j. stains. pp. - . december , . . subspeciation in the meadow mouse, microtus pennsylvanicus, in wyoming. by sydney anderson. pp. - , figures in text. may , . . the condylarth genus ellipsodon. by robert w. wilson. pp. - , figures in text. may , . . additional remains of the multituberculate genus eucosmodon. by robert w. wilson. pp. - , figures in text. may , . . mammals of coahuila, mexico. by rollin h. baker. pp. - , figures in text. june , . . comments on the taxonomic status of apodemus peninsulae, with description of a new subspecies from north china. by j. knox jones, jr. pp. - , figure in text, table. august , . . extensions of known ranges of mexican bats. by sydney anderson. pp. - . august , . . a new bat (genus leptonycteris) from coahuila. by howard j. stains. pp. - . january , . . a new species of pocket gopher (genus pappogeomys) from jalisco, mexico. by robert j. russell. pp. - . january , . . geographic variation in the pocket gopher, thomomys bottae, in colorado. by phillip m. youngman. pp. - , figures in text. february , . . new bog lemming (genus synaptomys) from nebraska. by j. knox jones, jr. pp. - . may , . . pleistocene bats from san josecito cave, nuevo leon, mexico. by j. knox jones, jr. pp. - . december , . . new subspecies of the rodent baiomys from central america. by robert l. packard. pp. - . december , . more numbers will appear in volume . vol. . . studies of birds killed in nocturnal migration. by harrison b. tordoff and robert m. mengel. pp. - , figures in text, tables. september , . . comparative breeding behavior of ammospiza caudacuta and a. maritima. by glen e. woolfenden. pp. - , plates, figure. december , . . the forest habitat of the university of kansas natural history reservation. by henry s. fitch and ronald r. mcgregor. pp. - , plates, figures in text, tables. december , . . aspects of reproduction and development in the prairie vole (microtus ochrogaster). by henry s. fitch. pp. - , figures in text, tables. december , . . birds found on the arctic slope of northern alaska. by james w. bee. pp. - , pls. - , figure in text, march , . . the wood rats of colorado: distribution and ecology. by robert b. finley, jr. pp. - , plates, figures in text, tables. november , . more numbers will appear in volume . vol. . . the systematic status of the colubrid snake, leptodeira discolor günther. by william e. duellman. pp. - , figs. july , . . natural history of the six-lined racerunner, cnemidophorus sexlineatus. by henry s. fitch. pp. - , figs., tables. september , . . home ranges, territories, and seasonal movements of vertebrates of the natural history reservation. by henry s. fitch. pp. - , plates, figures in text, tables. december , . . a new snake of the genus geophis from chihuahua, mexico. by john m. legler. pp. - , january , . . a new tortoise, genus gopherus, from north-central mexico. by john m. legler. pp. - , april , . . fishes of chautauqua, cowley and elk counties, kansas. by artie l. metcalf. pp. - , plates, figures in text, tables. may , . . fishes of the big blue river basin, kansas. by w. l. minckley. pp. - , plates, figures in text, tables. may , . more numbers will appear in volume . transcriber's notes except as noted below, the text presented herein is that contained in the original printed version. minor corrections (such as missing punctuation) may have been corrected. the original version had a list of publications printed inside the cover and inside and on the back cover. the cover page was not retained as it is a copy of the first page and the list inside the cover was moved past the end of the article. notations the greek letter sigma is represented as [sigma]. and [=x] indicates letter x with a line above it which is a standard notation for mean. typographical corrections page correction ==== ================================= phenophthalein => phenolphthalein text emphasis _text_ : italics =text= : bold and italics legends of the kaw indian folk lore de voe [illustration: scene in the kansas valley.] legends of the kaw the folk-lore of the indians of the kansas river valley. by carrie de voe. franklin hudson publishing co., kansas city, mo. . copyright, , by franklin hudson publishing co., kansas city, mo. contents. i. indian mythology. the heroes of kansas in the early days.--the first inhabitants.--pathos of indian traditions and their tragic interest.--interpretation of myths.--tradition of the mississippi valley.--theory of a dual soul.--ancient religion of the north american indians.--ideas of divinity.--spirits.--communication with the unseen world.--description of heaven, found in the diary of rev. s. m. irvin.--algonquin prayer to father allouez.--the _totem_.--the folk-lore of the indian his literature.--myth of a prehistoric world.--the transformation.--the burning earth.--formation of the stars.--the water-maiden.--the earth-maiden.--michabou.--worship of the heavenly bodies.--sacrifices.--relation of dogs to the moon.--the horned serpent.--the prince of rattlesnakes.--hiawatha, the indian messiah.--the red swan.--the pipe of peace.--thunder and lightning.--the storm giant.--rainmakers.--the wild parsnip.--the spirit of fire.--fire legend of the navajos.--the shawnee and delaware type of life.--the imagery of the red man.--knowledge of the fundamental truths of nature.--earliest record of the middle west.--dominant tribes.--the paducas.--the emigrant nations. ii. the pawnees. wanderings in kansas and nebraska.--origin.--the word "pani."--imitation of wolves.--bands.--tuhk-pah-huks-taht.-- skidi-rah-ru.--tuh-wa-hok-a-sha.--tu-hi-'ts-pi-yet.--hunting in ancient times.--weapons.--utensils.--government.--dress.-- lodges.--music.--courtship and marriage.--religious ceremonies.-- the buffalo dance.--departure for semi-annual buffalo hunt.--the surround.--ti-rá-wa, the pawnee deity.--the na-hú-rac.--sacrifices. --the wonderful horse.--homes of the nu-hú-rac.--the nu-hú-rac doctors.--medicine men and priests.--belief in a prehistoric race. --destruction of the giants.--human sacrifices.--a legend of kansas.--pit-a-le-shar'-u.--hostilities against other nations.--villages of the iowas and sacs.--war with the iowas, .--battle amid the sunflowers.--sale of pawnee lands.--removal to the indian territory.--success in agriculture. iii. the sioux. early home.--wanderings in the mississippi basin.--present location.--origin of name.--meaning of word "dakota."--pantomime.--divisions of nation.--relation of chief to people.--disposition of bodies of the dead.--eagle eye and scarlet dove.--slavery of women.--vanity of men.--language of the feather.--decoration of the person.--plural marriage.--story of anepetusa.--belief in four souls.--a typical prayer.--omens.--worship.--animals in dakota theology.--o-an-tay-hee.--the creation.--hay-o-kah.--taku-shkan-shkan.--wa-keen-yan.--unk-tay-he. --chah-o-ter-dah.--whitte-kah-gah.--wa-hun-de-dan.--fairies.-- giants.--giant's party.--feasts.--the wa-keen.--initiation of the medicine men.--war parties.--war dance.--sun dance.--moral code.-- degree of manhood.--incidents in the life of ta-ton-ka-i-o-ton-ka. --spotted tail and red cloud.--betrothal and death of daughter of spotted tail.--water carrier, the wife of lone elk.--present condition of the sioux. iv. the kaws and osages. origin.--manners and customs.--savage proclivities.--village of american chief.--village of fool chief.--removal to council grove.--the victory that made wa-hon-ga-shee a famous chief.--the war dance.--paying off old scores.--osages and kaws on police duty.--superstitions.--funeral ceremonies.--creation story of the osages.--territory.--cessions.--feasts.--present condition. v. the delawares. lineage.--language.--the term "lenape."--subjugation by the iroquois.--peace treaty with william penn.--migrations.--legends preserved by missionaries.--the virgin who fell from heaven.--kikeron.--the tortoise in algonquin pictography.--symbol of the earth.--the pristine age.--the earth submerged.--the ancient turtle.--rescue of the survivors.--land supported by a turtle.--first home of the lenape.--travels and conquests.--land of giants.--fortifications of the enemy.--mounds.--divisions of the nation.--legend of the hairless bear.--pictograph system.--rafinesque.--walam olum.--wanderings of the delawares.--tamenend.--the lover's leap.--onoko.--lenape in kansas.--the battle of the plains.--removal to the indian territory. vi. the wyandots. origin.--location at the time of the discovery of america.--alliance with the senecas.--termination of peace.--hatred of the iroquois.--settlement at detroit.--settlement in ohio and michigan.--clans.--government.--religion.--gods.--prayer of the huron.--legend of sayadio.--the white panther.--hurons leaders in the councils of nations.--keepers of the council fire.--wampum belts.--corn dance.--clan names.--visions of the wyandot maiden.--wyandots in the war of .--roundhead.--warrow.--walk-in-the-water.--big tree.--war with cherokees--chief splitlog.--last religious feast and dance of the wyandots.--william walker.--silas armstrong.--matthew walker.--governor walker.--matthias splitlog.--emigration to kansas.--intelligence and education.--accomplishments.--belle of the nation.--sense of humor.--elder dennison and john grayeyes.--the triumph of chudaquana over the power of witchcraft.--romance of a wyandot girl.--present location of the people.--tribal relations.--absorption by the white race. vii. the pottawatomies. descent.--alliances.--branches.--location.--part in war of .--suna-we-wone.--treaty of peace.--cessions.--emigration to kansas.--present location.--belief in kitchenonedo and matchemondo.--first inhabitants of the earth.--submersion.--new world.--legend of the five young men.--menweshma.--encounter with the pawnees.--wa-baun-see.--story of the flat-boat.--defeat by the osages.--revenge upon the osage chief.--wa-baun-see's journey to washington.--death. viii. the shawnees. first emigrant tribe in kansas.--ancient home of the nation.--defeat by the iroquois.--flight southward.--return.--settlement near cape girardeau.--removal to kansas.--removal to the indian territory.--shawnees of algonquin stock.--gypsies of the wilderness.--creation theory.--doctrine of pre-natal existence.--an incident of war with the pawnees.--belief in descent from one of the lost tribes of israel.--holy of holies.--language.--adventures of a trader.--mauné, the chippewa girl.--a fragment of history from the war of the races.--chinwa, the white warrior.--the tragic death of the son of chief lay-law-she-kaw. list of illustrations. scene in the kansas valley frontispiece a pawnee buffalo hunt pit-a-le-shar'-u ta-ton-ka-i-yo-ton-ka (sitting bull) sioux infant wa-hon-ga-shee (no fool) ni-co-man tecumseh the shawnee prophet che-la-tha "ye whose hearts are fresh and simple, who have faith in god and nature, who believe, that in all ages, every human heart is human, that in even savage bosoms, there are longings, yearnings, strivings, for the good they comprehend not, that the feeble hands and helpless, groping blindly in the darkness, touch god's right hand in that darkness, and are lifted up and strengthened;-- listen to this simple story." --_longfellow._ introduction. a legend, according to webster, is any story, be it truth or fiction, which dates back to early days. in this connection, it may be of interest to the reader to know that the stories of adventure in this volume are founded upon real events; but, wherever it has seemed best, names have been changed. in committing to paper the histories of maune´, the chippewa girl, and henry rogers, there has been practically no deviation from the facts as related by their descendants. the incidents described in the last story were narrated by the daughter of an indian agent, who lived many years with the shawnees. the writer has spent a portion of her life in the west, and having been located for a number of years in an old mission town, has witnessed the bean dance, the corn dance and the war dance. her small strength has been exerted, more than once, to assist in beating back the edges of a great fire, which threatened to creep over the narrow strip of plowed ground outside the fences enclosing a prairie home. reliable information has been obtained through conversation with old settlers and their families. an army officer, whose long life in the indian country renders his statements of great value, detailed many facts concerning the sioux. interviews with the natives and their descendants have brought out strange traditions and superstitions. the works of henry r. schoolcraft--regarding the habits, customs and languages of the aborigines,--the writings of george bird grinnell and daniel g. brinton have proved exceedingly helpful. although statistics show, within the last few years, an apparent increase of the indian population of the united states, comparatively few included therein, are of purely indian extraction. the red race, as a separate people, is fading from the earth; and there will come a time when the mythology of america will be almost as eagerly studied as that of greece and rome. the general public has an erroneous idea of the indian of the present time. he has passed through the first period--that of wildness and barbaric splendor,--and, emerging from the second epoch--the state of drunken semi-civilization,--has entered upon a career of greater mental activity. with the exception of a few strong inherited tendencies, he now differs but little from his paler-faced brother. the prevailing notion concerning the natives has been formed from the worst class--the idle, uncleanly beggars. it is unjust to judge a whole people by the most degraded specimens. through intermarriage, the remnants of the aborigines are rapidly becoming a part of the white race and engrafting upon it, not only their peculiarities of temperament but also their strength and determination. it is a source of regret to those who are awake to the knowledge that there is a valuable field of literature in indian folklore, that so little has been recorded. even the best libraries contain few works upon the subject. inspired with a desire to contribute an atom to this slowly accumulating literature; to preserve the stories which herein appear in print for the first time; and to awaken a deeper interest in the old, oft-recounted traditions--the author, trusting to the indulgence of the public, ventures to submit the following. legends of the kaw. i. indian mythology. the history of kansas has been of peculiar interest to the world at large, by reason of the struggles of ante-bellum days. the adventures of john brown of osawatomie and the achievements of general lane, governor robinson, and other heroes of that period have formed the nucleus of many a story and song. all honor to the men who labored so successfully in the cause of freedom! there is another, equally brave, though less fortunate, race that wandered over the rolling prairies of the sunflower state and camped along its rivers; a race stern, taciturn, and ever ready to do battle for home and liberty. like the buffalo, former monarch of the plains, it has gradually diminished in numbers. extinction or amalgamation is now a question of only a few brief years. this nation furnishes a romantic background, full of rich though somber color, to the later record of the great west. who can say that the traditions of the red man lack pathos, or that his character is devoid of the elements of nobleness, self-sacrifice and even martyrdom? rude, wild and imperfect though it be, his folklore tells the story of a people, barbarous, it is true, but strong in their attachments and devoted to their faith. many indian myths, adventures and scraps of history are full of deep--often tragic--interest to one who delves in legendary lore. like the tales of ancient greece, as explained by ruskin in _queen of the air_, each weird story admits of more than one interpretation. sometimes a great spiritual truth lies hidden in its quaint phrases--sometimes a scientific fact. there was an idea, current among the indians who roamed over the central portion of the united states, that at one time in the long past, the rivers of the mississippi basin filled the entire valley, and only great elevations were visible. geology substantiates this teaching. the theory of a dual soul approached very close to the teachings of modern psychologists. while one soul was supposed to remain in the body, its companion was free to depart on excursions during sleep. after the death of the material man, it went to the indian elysium and might, if desirous, return, in time, to earth, to be born again. like that of all uncivilized races, the ancient religion of the north american indian was incoherent. association with europeans produced changes. doctrines before unknown to the red man were engrafted upon his faith. some writers maintain that it is doubtful if the idea of a single divinity had been developed previous to intercourse with missionaries. brinton asserts that the word used by the natives to indicate god, is analogous to none in any european tongue, conveying no sense of personal unity. it has been rendered spirit, demon, god, devil, mystery and magic. the dakota word is _wakan_ (above), the iroquois, _oki_; the algonquin, _manito_. god and heaven were probably linked together before there was sufficient advancement to question whether heaven were material and god spiritual; whether the deity were one or many. good spirit and great spirit are evidently of more recent origin and were, perhaps, first suggested by missionaries, the terms being applied to the white man's god, and adopted by the indian and applied to his own. the number of spirits was practically unlimited, communication being usually in the hands of the medicine men, although the unseen world was often heard from directly in dreams. a description of heaven--by wampasha, an iowa indian--was found in the diary of reverend s. m. irvin, a devoted missionary among the iowas and sacs. it reads: "the big village (heaven) is situated near the great water, toward the sunrise, and not far from the heads of the mississippi river. none go there until after they die. a smart person can make the journey in three or four days; if, however, his heart be not right at death, the journey will be prolonged and attended with difficulties and stormy weather till he reaches the land of rest. infants, dying, are carried by messengers sent for them; the old or infirm are borne upon horses; they have horses, plenty, and fine grass, and infirmities will all be healed in that village. the blind will receive new eyes; they have plenty of good eyes and ears there. good people will never die again, but the bad may die three or four times and then turn into some bird." father allouez, one of the first missionaries among the algonquins, entered a village never before visited by a white man. he was invited to a council, and the old men, gathering around him, said: "it is well, blackrobe, that thou dost visit us; thou are a manito; we give thee to smoke. the iroquois are devouring us. have mercy upon us. hear us, o manito! we give thee to smoke. let the earth yield us corn; the rivers give us fish; sickness not slay us; nor hunger so torment us. hear us, o manito! we give thee to smoke." birds and beasts were selected as guardians. everyone considered his _totem_ a protector, and refrained from killing it. whole clans were believed to be descended from a common _totem_ and information was conveyed by means of omens. the character of a nation is engraven upon its literature, which, like a mirror, reflects the thoughts, emotions and progress of a people. the folklore of the north american indians was their literature. the myth, grounded upon the unchanging laws of the universe, was conscious, however vaguely, of great principles that are forever true. physical existence formed the basis of each important fable. the earth, air, water and other elements were personified. every image had its moral significance. mythology has been said to be simply the idea of god, expressed in symbol, figure and narrative. that of primitive america was founded upon the conviction that there was, in pre-historic times, another world inhabited by a people strong and peaceable. so long as harmony reigned, comfort and happiness were theirs, but when discord entered this eden, conflict succeeded conflict, until, to punish his disobedient children, the master of life transformed them, one by one, into trees, plants, rocks and all the living creatures. it was said that each person became the outward embodiment of what he had previously been within himself. for instance, from the head of one sprang an owl, from another a buzzard, a third became an eagle, and in this manner was the present world with its three kingdoms, vegetable, animal and mineral, evolved. another tradition says that in the days of turmoil, a powerful man, or demi-god, ran to the place where the earth and sky meet, and with a lighted torch, set fire to the tall grass, igniting the earth itself. those worthy of preservation were caught up to a place of safety. sparks, rising from the flames, and finding lodgment high above, became the twinkling "sky-eyes," which, in the language of the white man, are called stars. after the conflagration had subsided, one whose duty in the upper sphere had been to provide water, carried it in a basket; and as she walked, drop after drop fell through upon the parched region below, causing it to revive. awakened nature blossomed into new beauty, and all who had escaped the terrible fire fiend, returned to take possession of the country. the water-maiden still carries the basket; and its contents, which never grow less, still fall in gentle showers, to refresh the land. among the beautiful creation myths, is that of the earth-maiden, who, through being looked upon by the sun, became a mother, giving birth to a wonderful being, a great benefactor. by reason of his benign influence, mankind lives and prospers. this benefactor is really the warm, wavering light, to be seen between the virgin earth, his mother, and the sun. there are numerous narratives in which heat, cold, light and darkness appear as leading actors. a powerful god of the algonquins was the maker of the earth, michabou (light), toward whom the spirit of waters was ever unfriendly. in mexico, the worship of the sun and other heavenly bodies was practiced, sacrifices of men and women with white faces and hair being particularly acceptable. almost all aboriginal people believed that dogs occupied a peculiar position with regard to the moon, possibly because of the canine habit of baying at that planet. the bird and the serpent were especially honored. the former, no doubt, because of its power of floating through the air and the latter for its subtlety. the hurons told the early jesuits of a serpent with a horn capable of penetrating rocks, trees and hills--everything it encountered. the person fortunate enough to obtain a portion for his medicine bag was sure of good luck. the hurons informed the missionaries that none of their own people had ever seen the monster; but the algonquins occasionally sold them small portions of its horn for a very high consideration. the shawnees, who had unquestionably practiced on the credulity of their neighbors, led roving lives and had become familiar with the myths of many nations. it is not unlikely that the serpent fable originated with the creeks and cherokees, who thought the immense snake dwelt in the waters. tradition says that old people stood on the shores and sang sacred songs. the creature came to the surface, showing its horns. the magicians cut one off and continued to chant. the serpent again appeared, and the other horn was secured and borne away in triumph. these tribes asserted that in the fastnesses of their mountains was the carefully guarded palace of the prince of rattlesnakes. on the royal head shone a marvelous jewel. warriors and priests endeavored in vain to get possession of the glittering trophy. finally, one more thoughtful than the rest encased himself in leather, passed through the writhing, hissing court, unharmed by poisoned fangs; tore the coveted charm from the head of the prince, and carried it home. the gem was ever preserved with great care and brought forth only on state occasions. the story of hiawatha (hi-a-wat-ha), which schoolcraft gives as an iroquois legend, is found among the traditions of many tribes, the leading character being called by different names. in the east he was known as glooskap, about the lakes as manabozho, in other localities as chiabo; but, as in certain aryan myths--of which this may be one--the principal features of the story are the same in all nations. their hero came to them as did buddha to the east indian, and christ to those prepared to receive the gospel, bearing messages of peace, good will to men; teaching justice, patience, conformity to truth, and to the laws of the red man; instructing them in various manual arts, and destroying hideous monsters that lurked in the woods and hills, or lay concealed amid the tall prairie grass. he lived as a warrior, hunted, fished and battled for right, changing when necessary, to any animal or plant. while seated in his white stone canoe on one of the great lakes, he was swallowed by the king of fishes. undaunted, he beat its heart with a stone club until it was dead, and when birds of prey had eaten the flesh, and light shone through, climbed out with the magic boat. the struggle with fire-serpents, in order to reach the wicked pearl feather, whom he fought the livelong day, has been recounted again and again. how a woodpecker flew overhead, screaming "shoot at his scalp-lock!" how, obeying this admonition, hiawatha saw the enemy fall in the throes of death, and dipping his finger in the blood, touched the bird, and to this day a red mark is found on the head of the woodpecker. he slew the prince of serpents, traveled from village to village performing good works, and having wedded a beautiful dakota woman, presented a perfect example of faithfulness and devotion. a league of thirteen nations was formed through the influence of this remarkable man; and as he stood among the assembled chiefs, addressing them with supernatural eloquence, encouraging them in a voice of sweetness and power to lives of rectitude, the summons came. promising to return at some future time, hiawatha stepped into his white stone canoe and was lifted heavenward, the air trembling with soft music as he floated from sight. to this final pledge are attributable many ghost dances and outbreaks against the whites, notably that at pine ridge agency, when the coming of the messiah was expected with full confidence. the well-known legend of the red swan was a satisfactory explanation of the crimson glow that spread over the water at sunset. three brothers set out in different directions, upon a hunting expedition, to see who would procure the first game. they decided to kill no animal except the kind that each was in the habit of shooting. odjibwa, the youngest, caught sight of a bear, which was exempt according to agreement. nevertheless, in his eagerness, the hunter pursued and shot it with an arrow, taking the skin. in a moment, the air became tinged with red and a wild piercing cry was audible, like and yet unlike a human voice. odjibwa followed the sound and came to the shore of a beautiful lake, upon which rested a graceful red swan. its plumage glittered in the last bright rays of the sinking sun. possessed with a desire to try his skill again, the young man used every available arrow in the vain endeavor to hit the wonderful object; then remembering that in the medicine sack of his deceased father were three magic arrows, he ran home, opened the sacred pouch and secured them. the third one struck the mark; and the injured bird, rising slowly from the lake, floated away toward the western horizon. from that time forth, just at sunset, the blood of the wounded swan cast a blush, like the rich color of a maiden's cheek, over the surface of the waters. the song of "the peace pipe," by longfellow, was founded upon the belief of the northern indians that when the earth was still in her childhood, the master of life assembled the nations upon the crags of the famous red pipestone quarry, and breaking a fragment from the rock, moulded a huge calumet--the emblem of peace. he smoked over the people to the east, the west, the north and the south; and the great white cloud ascended until it touched heaven. then, having told the warriors that the stone was red, like their flesh, and should be used for their pipes of peace, the spirit became enveloped in smoke and was seen no more. the rock was glazed with heat and two large ovens or caverns opened underneath. in a blaze of fire, two women entered, as guardians of the place, where, to this day, they answer the prayers of the medicine men who make pilgrimages to that locality. the phenomena of thunder and lightning were variously explained by different tribes. some believed every storm to be a struggle between the god of waters and the thunderbird. others affirmed that thunder was the voice of the great spirit reminding them of the approach of corn-planting season; that lightning kindled sacred fires, and, striking, penetrated the earth, forming such stones as flint, from which fire can be drawn. mrs. eastman tells of the belief of the sioux in a storm giant, to whom heat was cold and cold heat; who laughed when sad and groaned when merry; who wore horns to represent lightning and hurled meteors with his hands; he used one of the four winds as a drumstick to produce thunder. in seasons of drought, the rainmaker of the lenape sought a retired spot, and drawing upon the ground the figure of a cross, pointing to the cardinal points, made offerings of tobacco and other articles, to the spirit of rains. the blackfeet massed stones upon the prairies, in the form of a cross, in honor of the "old man who sends the wind." the creeks also called upon the four winds, whose duty it was to distribute showers. the wild parsnip was a bad man, going around doing harmful deeds, until, by transformation, compelled to stay in one place, he could no longer cause damage except by killing people when they ate him. the spirit of fire was supposed to ride, bow in hand and face blackened with rage, in a cloud of smoke. when he drew the bow, quickly the flames spread over the prairie. the navajos thought that fire was first brought to earth through the efforts of the coyote, the bat, and the squirrel. the coyote attached some splinters to his tail, ran quickly through the fire and fled with his prize. being pursued, he was compelled to run rapidly and became exhausted, whereupon, the bat relieved him. the squirrel assisted him at the last, to carry it to the hearths of the navajos. in some tribes fire was considered a type of life. the shawnee prophet said to his followers: "know that the life in your body and the fire on your hearth proceed from one source." the greatest feast of the delawares was to their "grandfather, fire." referring to the immortality of their gods, the algonquins said: "their fire burns forever." the imagery of the red man compares favorably with that of other races. the indian lived near to the very heart of nature and understood her fundamental truths. to him, all things were divided into the animate and inanimate. everything endowed with life or capable of action was thought to possess intelligence and reason. there were lessons in the movements of the winds and waves; in flying clouds and in the azure skies; the countless stars had a language of their own; and even the comet, sweeping across the heavens, told a story with a strong moral. the earliest record of the indians of the middle west, that of father marquette, has been preserved at st. mary's college, montreal, canada. the document refers to the kaws, osages and pawnees, as the dominant tribes. the padoucas, of whom little is known, then dwelt near the head waters of the kansas river. they were strong and numerous, and ranged the country southwest, in colorado and new mexico. the nation and language were unknown in other parts of the continent; and no relationship could be traced to the four principal indian families. the habits of the people were different from those of any other tribe. they lived in houses in villages with streets regularly laid out; but raised no grain, depending for subsistence chiefly upon the products of the chase. certain students of ethnology have asserted that the kiowas are their somewhat degenerate descendants. as years went by, all was changed. the padoucas became extinct and the pawnees reduced in numbers; the osages ceded nearly all of their territory in missouri to the united states and were allowed a reservation in kansas. a few years later, a large percentage of their lands and that of the kaws was purchased by the government, to be used as a home for the eastern indians. the delawares, wyandots, pottawatomies and shawnees were the emigrant nations of the kansas river valley. ii. the pawnees. when the territory of louisiana was still the property of france; when the united states was endeavoring to subdue the savages within its own domain; a wild and unsophisticated people, to whom the vices of civilization were as yet unknown, traversed the broad prairies of kansas and nebraska. the pawnees, or pani, were, according to tradition, of southern origin. the white man found them established in villages along the platte river, whence they sallied forth, roving over the entire region extending from the missouri river to the rocky mountains and carrying terror to all who ventured opposition. none were more relentless in war or more ready to seek revenge. the word pani, meaning "horn," was supposed to have reference to a peculiar custom of wearing the scalp-lock dressed to stand upright like a horn. the pawnees were often called "wolves," on account of a singular aptitude in imitating those animals. when desirous of noting the movements of the enemy without being detected in so doing, they frequently put on the skins of wolves and dropped upon hands and knees as soon as near enough to be observed. becoming common objects of the landscape, they remained unnoticed. the nation was composed of three bands, federated under one chief. in order of importance, they were the chau´-i (in-the-middle), kit-ke-hahk´-i (on-the-hill), and pit-hau´-erat (down-the-stream). these names were given with reference to the relative position of the villages. the ski-di, or loups, whose history is somewhat obscure, united with the tribe at some period after it had become settled along the platte river. western men called the different bands the grand, republican, tapage and wolf pawnees. the ski-di were more intelligent and fierce than their neighbors. after they united with the tribe, there were four important villages. the tuhk-pah-huks´-taht (pumpkin-vine village) derived its name from the fact that once, during the absence of the people upon a long summer hunt, the pumpkin vines grew until they climbed over the lodges, almost hiding them from view. this was considered a miraculous occurrence. one cold winter, when food was scarce, a band went into camp near the loup river. just below the village large numbers of buffaloes came to cross upon the ice. the indians succeeded in killing so many of the animals that, having dried all the meat required, they preserved the skins only, leaving the bodies to be devoured by wolves. about this time a member of a starving band arrived and expressed great wonderment as to the way in which they had obtained so much meat. taking him down to the river, his friends pointed out the spot on the ice where wolves, standing in a pool of water caused by a slight thaw, were feasting upon the buffaloes. going back to his own band, the ski-di told of plenty in the other camp, and when questioned as to its location, replied: "ski-di-rah´-ru" (where the wolves stand in the water). from this incident the second village took its name. the third and fourth were tuh-wa-hok´-a-sha (village-on-a-ridge) and tu-hi-'ts-pi-yet (village-on-a-point). in ancient times the pawnees had no horses and went hunting on foot. arrow heads were made of flint or deer horns. until a recent date, the old stone arrow heads were believed to have supernatural power. white traders introduced those made of iron. the warriors were skillful marksmen and the bow and arrow remained the favorite weapon as long as there were buffaloes to kill. the endurance of the pawnees, when hunting, was remarkable. in the first place, scouts were sent out to look up a herd. having discovered one, they returned with information regarding its location. the hunters, disguised as wolves, advanced in a body until within sight, then scattered, forming a large circle, which gradually became less, as they closed in upon the animals. when near enough to begin the attack, a man shouted to attract attention, and the startled buffaloes ran, some one way and some another. wherever they turned, an indian, casting off his wolf skin, sprang up and drove them back. at length, the pawnees, yelling and waving blankets and shooting in the midst of the herd, wore them out. the great beasts, when too tired to run, were easily despatched. [illustration: a pawnee buffalo hunt.] before the advent of the trader, all portions of the buffalo were utilized. hoes were made from the shoulder blades, needles from bone, spoons and ladles from the horns, ropes from the hair, lariats from raw-hide, clothing from the dressed skins, and blankets and tents from the robes. pottery was formed from clay mixed with pounded stone, moulded in hollows in stumps of trees, and baked. wooden mortars and bowls were hollowed out by fire. the pawnee nation was ruled by a head chief of the chau´-i band. the office was hereditary but became difficult to retain if the chief were unpopular. each band was governed by four chiefs. important affairs were discussed in council, by chiefs, head men and warriors. personal character determined position, and the opinions of the majority prevailed. there was a servant class, composed of young men and boys, who lived in the families of men of prominence and performed menial offices. breech-clouts, leggings, moccasins and blankets or buffalo robes comprised the clothing of the men. their heads were shaved, with the exception of a narrow strip extending from each forehead to the back of the head. the ridge of hair, less than an inch in length, was stiffened to stand upright. from this fell the scalp-lock. the women were accustomed to wear sleeveless shirts and skirts reaching below the knees; also robes or blankets when necessary. there was no head covering, except on great occasions, when some of the men donned chaplets of eagle feathers. red and yellow paint were used on breasts and faces for ornament, while black paint was reserved for war. boys were permitted to go nude until ten or twelve years of age; but girls dressed in little shirts almost as soon as they could walk. infants were placed upon boards. a visitor at the home of a pawnee chief, in the village on the kansas river, about the year , described the toilet of the host's son as extremely fanciful. on days when there was no hunt, the dandy began at eight o'clock in the morning, by greasing his entire person with fat, and painting his face red. earrings and wampum necklaces were worn, and yellow stripes adorned breast and shoulders. armlets were placed above his elbows and rings upon his fingers. handsomely decorated moccasins, scarlet leggings fastened to a belt, and bead garters four inches wide, formed important parts of the costume. one of the women led his horse before the tent. its forehead and shoulders were painted red and a feather fastened in its tail. chains of steel were attached to the bridle and bells to the reins. a scarlet mantle was thrown over the young man's shoulders, and thus arrayed, with a large turkey feather fan in one hand, and a whip upon his wrist, he ambled through the encampment, eliciting admiration on all sides. at a social gathering, the guest sang for the entertainment of the indians, and requested them to give him an example of their songs. the white man portrayed the result in the following language: "all rose at once. each singer began by strange and uncouth sounds, to work his mind and lungs up to the proper pitch of excitement; and when, at length, the shrill and terrible cry rose to its full height, its effect was astounding and sufficient to deafen a delicate ear." the song, to which the savages kept time with heads and bodies, was allowed to fall into monotonous cadence, then burst forth into full chorus, with mingled howls and yells. in the early part of the nineteenth century, pawnee courtships were peculiar. the lover first went to the father's tent, uninvited, and sat in a corner of the mat for some time, then rose and departed without speaking. a few days later, he returned, wearing his buffalo robe hair side out, and sat silent. this was a regular proposal. if the father desired to reject him at once, no skin was placed for him to sit upon and no meat was offered him. if the suit met with approval, the rites of hospitality were extended and feasts were given to obtain the consent to the marriage, of the relatives of both families. the young man next presented himself to his bride at the door of her tent, turned and walked slowly toward his own. she arose and followed him. the ceremony of marriage was then complete. presents of horses, blankets and other valuables were sent to the father of the young woman. plural marriage was practiced, the husband being entitled to wed the younger sisters of his first wife. in the permanent villages on the platte river, circular lodges were built of sod. every house had a wall seven or eight feet in height, around which, upon the floor, the inmates slept, each bed being partitioned or curtained off. hanging upon the wall or in the space back of the bed, were the belongings of its occupant. the center of the house was reserved for cooking, smoke escaping through an aperture in the roof. skin lodges were used when traveling or upon the semi-annual hunt. each family had many dogs. after spring planting, the people abandoned their villages for the summer hunt, returning in time for harvest. religious ceremonies, with fervent prayers to ti-ra´-wa, the invisible yet ever-present creator, preceded departure. the buffalo dance, executed by the younger warriors, came next. this continued for three days, when the line of march was taken up. tents, cooking utensils and the entire property of the tribe having been packed on ponies and removed to the vicinity of a large herd of buffaloes, camp was established and preparations made for curing the meat when it should be brought in. approaching to make the attack, a limited number of chosen men, led by standard-bearers with sacred poles wrapped in bright colored cloth and ornamented with bead-work and feathers, advanced first. the remainder of the hunters followed. after the slaughter, the squaws, with their sharp knives, amid much merriment, cut and bore away to the camp the most desirable portions of meat. ti-ra´-wa, the pawnee deity, was not personified, being intangible and in and of everything. the nation did not adore any material substance, but, like all aboriginal people, attributed to animals an intelligence sometimes exceeding that of man. as the messengers of god, the na-hu´-rac received miraculous power through him, hence were often implored to intercede with ti-ra´-wa. in cases of great emergency, direct intercession became necessary. a party prayed for success and made sacrifices before starting on the war-path. victory was acknowledged by thanksgiving offerings. war parties were made up by anyone with a grievance, if he had sufficient influence to secure followers. frequently scalps taken from the heads of enemies were burned with much ceremony. one of the best-known legends, related by george bird grinnell, illustrates the power of animals in changing the fortunes of those who listened to their behests. an old woman lived on the outskirts of a village located on the bank of the platte river. at one time she had been the wife of a brave hunter and warrior. during his life there was always a comfortable lodge, as well as plenty of buffalo meat and robes. no one of the nation was more successful in stealing horses from the enemy, which was considered a highly honorable feat. he was killed in a great battle with the sioux, and the poor woman had never ceased to mourn. now, in old age, there remained but one relative, a grandson of sixteen years. being reduced to poverty, they were in the habit, when the tribe moved, of following in the rear, in order to pick up anything that might have been left behind as worthless. once, to the delight of the boy, an old dun horse was abandoned by its owner. the animal was blind in one eye and had a sore back and a swollen leg; but was nevertheless valuable to the poor woman, inasmuch as it could carry the cooking utensils and the worn-out skin used for a lodge when traveling. the village was moved to court house rock. soon after arrival the young men sent out to look for buffaloes returned with information that there was a large herd in the vicinity, and among the animals was a spotted calf. the head chief had a young and beautiful daughter. he announced that whosoever should kill the spotted calf should marry the girl. since the buffaloes were only four miles away, it was decided that the charge should be made from the village. the one who had the fastest steed would be most likely to obtain the calf. the poor boy made preparations to ride the old dun horse. he was ridiculed to such an extent that he withdrew to the bank of a creek, nearby. the animal turned its head and said: "plaster me all over with mud. cover my head, neck, body and legs." the boy obeyed and the horse then ordered that he remain where they were and make the charge from the creek. the men were drawn up in line and at the word _loo ah_ (go), leaned forward, yelled and galloped away. at one side, some distance away, the dun horse flew over the ground; he seemed young and strong of limb and sure of foot. as they neared the buffaloes, he dashed in among the herd and stopped beside the spotted calf. his rider killed it, and taking another arrow, shot a fat cow, then dismounting, secured the spotted skin. cutting out certain portions of the meat, the boy packed them upon the horse. putting the skin on top of the load, he led the animal back to camp. it pranced and curveted and showed much spirit. the warriors were filled with astonishment. a rich chief rode up to the boy and tried to buy the spotted robe, but without success. some of the hunters reached the village in advance and informed the old woman of her grandson's triumph. she could hardly believe the story, and wondered if they were still ridiculing her boy. his appearance with the coveted robe and more meat than they had had for many a long day, ended her doubts; and there were great rejoicings in the tent. at night the horse spoke to the boy, saying: "to-morrow the sioux are coming. there will be a battle. when they are drawn up in line, jump on me and ride as hard as you can up to the head chief and kill him and ride back. ride up to them four times and kill four of the bravest sioux; but do not go the fifth time or you will get killed or lose me." the next morning, just at day-break, the sioux rode over the top of the hill and drew up in line of battle. they were attired in all the trappings of war, and looked ferocious in their paint. the pawnees had no time for decoration, but hastily seized their weapons, cut the lariats that bound their ponies, sprang upon them and rushed out of the camp, when at the proper distance, forming in battle array opposite the enemy. it was the custom of these tribes, when ready for a fight, to confront one another in two long lines. after a few moments of silence, some man, desiring to distinguish himself, rode out from the attacking party and exhorted his people, telling them of brave deeds in the past and of what he now intended to do; then, turning quickly, he dashed toward the enemy, hanging over the side of his pony and riding along in front of the foe, discharging one arrow after another, in rapid succession. if the brave were killed, his own people made no sign, until a man rode out from the other side to challenge; but if he were fiercely set upon, they united in a general attack. the boy mounted the dun horse and joined the warriors. they looked askance but were too excited to make comment. the wonderful horse galloped out from the line and made for the head chief of the sioux. the boy quickly despatched the leader and rode back to the pawnees. four times he went forward, and each time killed one of the bravest of the enemy. then, forgetting the warning, the boy charged again. an arrow struck his horse and the rider had a narrow escape from death. the sioux cut and chopped the horse in pieces. after a spirited conflict, the pawnees were victorious. the following day the boy went out to where the horse lay. gathering up the pieces of flesh, he put them in a pile, and wrapping himself in his blanket, sat on the top of a hill not far away. he drew the robe over his head and mourned. a storm arose suddenly. the wind blew and rain fell. removing the blanket from his face, the boy saw the pieces coming together and taking form. another storm succeeded. when it cleared away, he beheld a slight movement of the horse's tail. then the animal lifted its head from the ground. after a fourth storm had spent its fury, the horse arose and its owner hastened down the hill and led it home. it cautioned him to render perfect obedience in the future, and said: "lead me away from the camp, behind that hill. leave me there to-night and come for me in the morning." the boy did as directed and found, standing beside his old friend, a beautiful white horse. leaving the dun horse a second night, the owner discovered a fine black gelding in the morning. after ten nights, there were ten horses, each of a different color. the boy was now rich and married the daughter of the chief. many years later he became the head of the nation. the old grandmother was well cared for, and the dun horse, being considered sacred, was never mounted except at a doctor's dance; but was led around with the chief wherever he went. the pawnees believed that the na-hu´-rac held council in five places. at pa-huk´ (white island) on the south side of the platte river, opposite fremont, nebraska; under an island in the platte river, near central city (dark island), on the loup fork, opposite the mouth of cedar river (white bank); and on the solomon river, kitz-a-witz´-uk, (water-on-a-bank). this was a mound with a hole in the middle, through which water might be seen. articles were thrown in, as offerings to ti-ra´-wa. the fifth place, a hole in the side of a hill, was in kansas. it was indicated by a rock called pa-hur´ (hill-that-points-the-way). an old story, current among the people, says that in the early days, in one of the pawnee tribes, was a boy, smaller than others of his age. he refused to play with the children, preferring to spend much time alone. his manner was strange and the child was frequently in tears. the father and mother observed that he often pasted mud upon his head. this was the sign of a doctor and designated faith in the earth. as the boy grew to be a young man he appeared to have something constantly on his mind and would fast for days, smoking and praying to ti-ra´-wa during that time. he doctored those who were ill, and, although rapidly becoming great, was not proud. nevertheless, the doctors of the tribe were jealous, and one of them, a member of another clan, came to visit him. they ate, talked and smoked together. the older man said: "now we will smoke my tobacco." they did so, and he departed. as the summer weather came on, the young healer began to feel sick. it was evident that the doctor had poisoned him. he swelled up with a new disease and prayed almost unceasingly to ti-ra´-wa for relief. the people went on a hunt. he ascended a hill to think and pray; and after making burnt offerings, mounted a horse which the father had left behind, and journeyed east, instead of following the tribe. a few days later, the horse was sacrificed to ti-ra´-wa and cut down the back, so that animals could feed upon it. the unhappy young man called upon the na-hu´-rac to intercede for him. he traveled east to pa-huk´ and fell asleep. a strange voice asked what he was doing there. no one was in sight. the same thing occurred next night. the sick man answered the voice this time, and begged for pity, but received no reply. the fourth night something touched him and said: "what are you doing here?" there stood a big elk, with black eyes. it informed him that they were directly over the home of the na-hu´-rac. one night not long afterward a bird came, saying: "come, let us go to the edge of the cut bank." he obeyed, and the bird said: "when i dive down, follow me." passing through the water, they soon stood at the entrance of a lodge and could see a fire within. as they entered, the na-hu´-rac made their different noises. a bear was stationed at one side of the entrance and a snake at the other. the head doctor was a white beaver. as they sat down, the bird said: "i have brought this man here and want you to take pity on him." taking the man's pipe, the bird held it out to the beaver. the white beaver hesitated, but finally took the pipe. all the animals made a sound, as if to say, "_loo-ah_" (good). the beaver passed the pipe to the other na-hu´-rac and each one made a speech, saying that he had not power to heal. none had the power. the elk then took the man to another lodge but he was not cured. from there they went to the loup river, to the island in the platte river and at last to the lodge under center island; but without avail. the principal doctor said that the lodge at pa-huk´ was the head. the bird took the man back. the white beaver stood up and announced that he had sent the man to others in order to see if they were equal to the lodge at pa-huk´; then going to the ground-dog, he extended the pipe. the ground-dog reached out its paws, took the pipe, smoked and commanded the pawnee to go and sit opposite the fire. he was ordered to stand up while the na-hu´-rac sang and the ground-dog danced. next they told him to lie down with his feet toward the door. the head ground-dog jumped over him and was observed to have a large piece of flesh in his mouth. another dog followed, and another, each eating a piece of flesh, until all had passed over. this was kept up until they had eaten the swelling. the man seemed to be dead. the head doctor spoke to the bears; they arose and sang, then jumped on the body, shaking and pulling it around. after a while the blood began to flow and the man breathed. he was entirely restored to health and remained some time with the na-hu´-rac, learning their medical secrets. they told of the sky-house of ti-ra´-wa and said: "he made us; he made everything. blow a smoke to each of the four doctors; but blow four smokes to ti-ra´-wa." the man went home and got beads, pipes, tobacco and buffalo meat and taking them back, threw them into the river to be carried down to the na-hu´-rac lodge at pa-huk´; then he went to visit the doctor who had made him ill. he said: "when you visited me, we smoked your tobacco. to-day we will smoke mine." after smoking, the young medicine man went down to the river and blew upon the ice, and in a moment, the river was full of blood. it was the blood of the wicked doctor, whose dead body was found in the lodge, perfectly hollow. the blood had gone into the river. the favorite of the animals eventually became one of the most famous healers ever known in the nation. priests and doctors were not identical. priests were the mediums of communication with ti-ra´-wa and knew what was inside the sacred bundles. the medicine man was called upon in case of sickness or injury. the sacred bundles, many of which were of great age, hung opposite the door of every house. on certain occasions, the contents formed a part of religious ceremonies. the pawnees believed that the earth was first inhabited by a race of giants, so large that they could carry buffaloes upon their backs. these people did not acknowledge ti-ra´-wa and grew more and more wicked. he was angry and caused the water to rise and the ground to become soft and the giants sank into the mud. the large bones found at different times were thought to be their skeletons. a new race was created, from which all nations sprang. the ski-di band offered human sacrifices to the morning star. a young captive, taken in war, was selected and fattened, being treated kindly during the days of preparation. he was permitted to know nothing of the fate in store, until the four days' feast and dance. old men at the ends of the village called upon each male person to prepare bow and arrow and be ready for the sacrifice. when the fatal day arrived, every woman had a lance or stick, and every man held a pipe in one hand and bow and arrow in the other. at the west side of the village, two posts with cross poles were set up, to which the captive was bound, hand and foot. behind him came a man carrying a buffalo heart and tongue, followed by a warrior with a blazing stick, one with a bow and sacred arrow of flint, and another with a stuffed owl. wood was piled around upon the ground beneath the cross poles. the man with a blazing stick lighted the fire. when it had burned to the center of the pile, below the captive, the warrior with bow and arrow stepped forward and shot him through, under the arms, so that the blood would drip down upon the fire. the buffalo heart and tongue were then placed upon the blaze. the man with the owl seized a torch and burned the body four times, after which each male person present shot an arrow into it, and each woman struck it with a stick. the flesh was consumed by fire, while the people prayed. john greenleaf whittier left, among his papers, a poem that has immortalized a legend of kansas. night had fallen upon the broad prairie--a moonless night. the chill air vibrated with noise of barbarous laughs and yells. the measured tramp of heavy feet and the hoo-ah, hi-yah of excited dancers seemed fiendish. dark, weird-looking figures might be seen, dimly, by the light of a camp-fire; and in the center of the frenzied throng was a maiden, silent and defiant. around her feet was piled fuel for the sacrifice, for had not the wise men of the pawnees, who hold communion with the other world, decreed that she should die by slow torture, to atone for cruelties practiced by her father, a fierce chief of the kansas indians? the innocent girl might not hope for pity at the hands of her nation's bitterest foes; but she could show them how fearlessly her father's daughter could face a horrid death; could shame their sons and warriors by a brave, unmoved demeanor; and even now, as a small blaze started up from the outer edge of the pile of sticks and began to creep slowly toward the captive, the clear tones could be heard above the din, chanting her own funeral hymn--the death song of her people. once in a while some old, decrepit squaw, with shrill and penetrating voice, would heap fresh taunts upon the victim; and as the fire brightened, upon the dusky faces might be seen the gleam of savage hatred and of satisfied revenge. wilder grew the howls; and still the mournful tones resounded above the shouts of triumph. the flames closed in around her, and they leaped up higher, toward the cross poles to which she was bound, flashes of light revealed more fully the pale set face of the doomed one. now, she could feel the hot breath of fire. where was the kansas chief? had he taken refuge in the mountains of the west and left his helpless daughter at the mercy of the enemy? was all hope lost? no, her quick ear caught the sound of horse's hoofs, muffled by the soft prairie grass. the captors, with senses dulled by liquor, kept up their shrieks of exultation. though her heart was beating loudly, she dared not cease the song. a moment and a brave young rider, on his father's swiftest steed, dashed in among the dancers, hurled the firebrands from around her and cut the thongs that bound the maiden. a moment more, and they were safe without the startled crowd, flying over the flower-strewn prairie, toward the country of the kaws. in the words of the great poet: "where the kansas wanders free by the willowy siskadee there their pictured tent is spread, with the soft fur carpeted; and that sweet young mother there smiling through her lavish hair, oft shall sing her hunter's glory, oft shall tell his daring story, till the listening kansas maid, lying listless in the shade, dreams, perchance (for wild or tame woman's romance is the same), of some hero's circling arm shielding her from deadly harm; and the indian boy anear, leaning on his fishing spear, sees that same coy maiden bound on the pawnee's hunting ground-- he, upon his father's steed, hurrying at her cry of need-- feels her arms around him thrown, feels her heart beat with his own, and her soft breath, quick and low, o'er his dark cheek come and go-- hears behind the pawnee yell fainter on the breezes swell-- sees with joy the morning's beam flashing from his native stream, as he drops his courser's rein by the kansas tent again." john b. dunbar, who, in relating the story, asserts that the captive was a comanche girl, has preserved the indian song in honor of pit-a-le-shar´-u, the hero. the oft recurring portion lu! ti-wak´-o-le we-tut-i-wit-a pit-a-le-shar´-u, when translated, reads: well, he exclaimed, you see i am come, i, pit-a-le-shar´-u. although among the fiercest of the prairie indians, the pawnees never carried on an organized war against the government. they were, however, always on hostile terms with the sioux, kaws, osages, iowas, sacs and foxes. [illustration: pit-a-le-shar´-u.] in a beautiful wooded region, near the missouri river, were the villages of the iowas and sacs. a vast extent of prairie reached west and southward. the indians lived in huts of bark stretched over poles. implements for out-door work consisted of the "squaw-axe" and hoe, purchased from traders. iron camp kettles, wooden bowls and ladles were the only utensils for domestic use. the tribes still clung to barbarous customs when the highland mission was founded; and their teacher narrated that, at one time, a great feast was given in his honor. the principal article of food was a savory soup. he mentally congratulated himself on having been presented with a dish so pleasing to the taste that he might show due appreciation of the honor conferred upon him. suddenly one of the hosts, in broken english, said: "dig deep, dig deep!" the guest did so, and dipped up a ladleful of white worms. missionaries found it difficult to check the wild propensities of their pupils; and the war of extermination continued until stopped by the united states government. the diary of father irvin, who established the school, makes special mention of a war in , and a skirmish in which nine pawnees were slain near arago, nebraska. this was, doubtless, considered of great importance, inasmuch as the prowess of the pawnees made it a difficult matter for less formidable warriors to win a victory, if the sides were equally divided as to numbers. highland university is now located upon the war trail over which the party passed. like others of the sioux family, the iowas indulged in dances before setting forth on the war-path; and upon the return, the women executed the scalp dance, in which they carried, attached to poles, not only the scalps of enemies, but also fingers, toes and other mutilated portions of bodies. during the period of general, if not united, efforts against the pawnees, there was a conflict in which a small band was besieged on all sides, supposedly by the sioux. the weaker party took refuge in a ravine, where the sunflowers grew tall, and, protected by the thick stalks, which turned the balls aside, made a brave fight for life. after repeated attacks, the assailants withdrew, bearing the body of their leader, who had been killed in the struggle. the pawnees regained their town without the loss of a man. as immigration increased, settlers took possession of parts of their reservation. it was the old, pitiful tale. the tribe, reduced by war and famine, relinquished its land and reluctantly departed for the indian territory. being an agricultural as well as a courageous people, the last of the pawnees have developed into excellent farmers. maize, which was called a-ti´-ra (mother), proved, after all, to be their best friend. iii. the sioux. although minnesota has been called the "land of the dakotas," the sioux, as well as the pawnees, roamed over the entire mississippi basin, previous to its settlement; and were found, at different times, in kansas, missouri, nebraska and iowa. they are now located principally in south dakota. the word "sioux" is of french origin. the tribes to whom it was applied called themselves "dakotas" meaning "allied," or "joined together." the indians in general, alluded to them as "cut-throats," drawing the hand across the throat in pantomime reference. there were three great divisions of the nation; the i-san-ya´-ti, i-hank-ton´-wan, or yankton, and the ti-ton´-wan. each division had its dialect. among these arabs of america, the chiefs were not possessed of undue power. they might suggest, but seldom enforced; and usually depended for influence upon popularity with the people. the indian is by far the most ardent advocate of liberty. if a dakota died, his nearest friend killed an enemy. the dead were laid upon scaffolds and allowed to remain a certain length of time, after which burial took place. the grief and devotion of a savage wife are brought out in the old legend of eagle eye and scarlet dove. eagle eye was the son of a famous war prophet who lived many years ago. the young brave was a bitter foe, a warm friend and a wise counsellor. scarlet dove, whom he chose as a wife, was distinguished for goodness as well as for beauty; and in the eyes of her father, was worth the finest of horses and blankets. eagle eye did not hesitate to pay the required price; and, according to custom, prepared a lodge for his bride. only a few moons after the marriage they joined a hunting party passing down the mississippi river. one day as the husband, watching for deer, crouched behind some bushes, a comrade accidentally shot an arrow into his heart. the lamentations of scarlet dove could be heard from afar. she cut and lacerated her flesh in a terrible manner; and wrapping the body of her loved one in skins, put it upon a temporary scaffold and sat beneath. the hunting party moved. she carried the dead upon her back, and at every camp erected a scaffold. at length they reached home, the sorrowing bride still bearing her precious burden. she procured forks and poles and built a strong scaffold. hanging from this, was discovered a few days later, the body of scarlet dove. mirrors, when first introduced among the dakotas, were regarded as sacred; and women were denied the privilege of gazing therein. as a consequence, the young men of the nation became the more remarkable for vanity, decking themselves out to an unusual degree with savage finery. an eagle feather, with a red spot, denoted the killing of an enemy. a notch cut in the edges of a feather painted red indicated that the throat of an enemy had been cut. one who had seen a fight, even though he might not have participated, was allowed to mount a feather. horses' tails, beads, wampum and a variety of paints were also used by way of decoration. the women were hard-working and submissive. plural marriages being fertile sources of discontent, suicides were not infrequent. anepetusa was an unfortunate wife, whose sad story has become a part of the traditional history of minnesota. when young and beautiful she became the bride of a dakota hunter. for a time all was peace and contentment in the lodge. anepetusa was a happy wife, and her joy was increased by the birth of a child. the boy grew strong and handsome, as the years passed by; but, at length, a deep shadow fell across the threshold of the forest home. a second wife was purchased, and came to share the humble habitation. all the world seemed dark to the now-neglected woman. the child was her sole remaining comfort. an expression of deep sorrow settled upon the once beautiful features, yet no murmur escaped her lips. grieving in silence, she followed her lord and master upon a hunting expedition. he appeared utterly indifferent to this devotion. they approached the falls of st. anthony. taking the child by the hand, anepetusa walked out into rapid water and entered a canoe. as they pushed into the swift current she chanted an unearthly dirge. a moment afterward the astonished husband saw her go over the falls. his heart was stricken with terror by the wild ringing of a death song that could be plainly distinguished above the roaring of the waterfall. from that time forth, so the dakotas said, the spirit of an indian wife, with a child clinging around her neck, might be seen darting into the spray; and her death song was heard in the moaning of the winds and the raging of the waters. each dakota was supposed to have four souls. at the extinction of physical life, one remained in or near the body, another was lodged in a bundle containing hair and clothes of the deceased, kept by relatives and thrown into the enemy's country, the third passed into the spirit land, and the fourth entered the body of a child, plant or animal. the following petition, translated by a united states interpreter, was a typical prayer of these primitive people: "spirits, or ghosts, have mercy on me; and show me where i can find a bear." all unusual occurrences were regarded as good or evil omens. in crossing a lake or other body of water, the dakotas filled their pipes and invoked the winds to be calm. according to schoolcraft, they did not believe in the transmigration of souls. worship was in a natural state. there were no images of wood. a stone was picked up, placed a few rods from the lodge, an offering of tobacco or feathers was made, and an entreaty for protection from some threatened evil. o-an-tay´-hee, the supreme god, was regarded with the utmost reverence. his name, like that of jehovah of the israelites, was seldom spoken. he created the earth. assembling the aquatic tribes, he commanded them to bring up dirt from beneath the water, at the same time proclaiming death to the disobedient. this would indicate that the indian, as well as the modern scientist, realized the fact that the earth was in a liquid state at one period. the beaver and other animals forfeited their lives. at last the muskrat went down and, after a long delay, returned with some dirt, from which the earth was formed. taking one of his own offspring, o-an-tay´-hee ground him to powder and sprinkled it upon the earth; many worms came forth; they were collected and scattered again and matured into infants; these, having been collected and scattered, became full-grown dakotas. the bones of the mastodon were assumed to be those of o-an-tay´-hee; and in some medicine bags, small portions were preserved among the sacred articles. hay-o-kah was a powerful deity, who could kill anything he looked upon, with his piercing eyes. there were four persons in this godhead. the first was tall and slender, with two faces. in his hands were a bow streaked with red lightning and a rattle of deer claws. the second, a little old man with a cocked hat and large ears, held a yellow bow. the third had a flute suspended from his neck; and the fourth, invisible and mysterious, was the gentle breeze which "swayed the grass and rippled the water." taku-shkan-shkan, unseen but ever present, was a revengeful, dissimulating, wicked searcher of hearts. his favorite resorts were the four winds. wah-keen-yan, a god in the form of a huge bird whose flapping wings made thunder, lived in a tepee on a mound rising from a mountain-top in the far west. his tepee, guarded by sentinels clothed in red down, had four openings. a butterfly was stationed at the east, a bear at the west, a fawn at the south and a reindeer at the north. he fashioned the first spear and tomahawk and attempted to kill the offspring of o-an-tay´-hee, his bitter enemy. when lightning struck, it was supposed that the latter was near the surface of the earth and wah-keen-yan had fired a hot thunderbolt at him. captain eastman writes of unk-ta-he, the god of water, and chah-o-ter´-dah, the forest god, who lived in a tree on a high eminence. his house was situated at its base. by a strange power of attraction, he drew birds, who performed the duties of guards. chah-o-ter´-dah was the relentless foe of the thunder god. indian fancy has pictured many a spirited battle between the two. it was said that the god of thunder often came racing along, hurling lightning at a tree, to kill the forest god, who, having been warned, had taken refuge in the water. then chah-o-ter´-dah ascended a tree and hurled his lightning at his adversary to bring him down to submission. the forest god possessed a crooked gun, with which it was possible to shoot in any direction around the earth. the god of the grass, whitte-kah-gah, was formed from a weed, _pa-jee-ko-tah_, which had the power of causing men to have fits, as well as to give success in hunting. wa-hun-de-dan (aurora borealis, or old woman) was the goddess of war. the dakotas believed in numerous fairies of the land and water, in the shape of animals, with ability to perform various services for mankind; and in frightful giants, in whose honor were established many feasts and dances. there was a clan called the "giant's party." men only participated in the ceremonies of this organization. on stated occasions, they went hopping and singing around the fire, over which kettles of meat were boiling. every few moments, one would put in a hand and pull out a piece of meat, which he ate, scalding hot. after it was all eaten, the dancers splashed hot water on one another's backs, crying out "oh, how cold it is!" the impression among the people was that the god would not permit his clan to be injured by these rites. in some feasts of the dakotas, everything was sacred. not a morsel of meat was permitted to fall to the ground, otherwise the spirits would be displeased and some calamity might befall. bones were gathered up and burned, or thrown into the water, out of reach of the dogs and so they could not be trampled on by the women. sometimes a present was bestowed upon the one who ate his dishful first. this caused much haste, as soon as eating began, accompanied by a great blowing, stirring and grunting. the medicine dance, instituted by o-an-tay´-hee, was conducted as the proceedings of a secret society. war prophets and medicine men, _waw keen_, were revered as demi-gods. they were believed to have led spiritual existences, enclosed in seeds, something like those of the thistle, which were wafted to the abode of the gods, with whom the _waw keen_ sustained confidential relations. they received instruction in the magic of the spirit-land and went out to study all nations; then, selecting a location, were born into the world. when, at the proper time, a person signified his desire to join the priesthood, he was initiated by the medicine dance. first, the candidate must take a hot bath, four days in succession; then he was taught the uses of medicine and its mysteries by the old men of the society; after which, he was provided with a dish and spoon. on one side of the dish was carved the head of some animal, in which lived the spirit of eeyah, the glutton god. the owner always thereafter carried the dish to the medicine dance. he was taught the use of paints and must always appear in the dance, decorated in the same manner. the paint was supposed to have supernatural virtue and caused an object to become invisible or invulnerable. in battle, it was regarded as a life preserver. before beginning the dance of initiation, ten or twenty prominent members spent the night dancing and feasting. in the morning, the tent was opened. the candidate, painted and nude, with the exception of breech-cloth and moccasins, was seated on a pile of blankets, an elder being stationed in the rear. the master of ceremonies, bag in hand, approached, ejaculating, "_heen, heen, heen!_" and raising the bag to a painted spot upon the breast of the novice. suddenly the latter was pushed forward and covered with blankets. the dancers collected around him. the leader, throwing off the covering, chewed a piece of the bone of o-an-tay´-hee and sprinkled it over him. dancing around the candidate, the members patted his breast until he heaved up a shell, which had been placed in his throat. life was now fully restored; and the shell was passed from hand to hand for examination. ceremonies closed with more dancing, continued until four sets of singers, with gourds, drums and rattles, had been exhausted. war parties were made up by anyone injured. the head of the party was a great medicine man or prophet, or one distinguished in some way. the war chief made a dance every three or four nights, before the party marched. all who chose might join, and anyone was at liberty to return, should he so desire, after the party started. war paint was red and black in color, and the dance was executed by men. women performed the scalp dance, in which scalps, mounted upon poles, were carried. the sun dance was another popular festivity, and has been said to be the cause of the weak eyes, noticeable among the devotees. when the sioux were in a complete state of barbarism, strange as it may seem, they maintained a high standard of morality. violation of the code was invariably followed by complete loss of rights in the tribe. at certain celebrations, maidens proclaimed their purity by joining in the dance. coming in contact with the white race, the indians first adopted their vices, then, as civilization advanced and the younger members of the tribes returned from schools and colleges, they began to emulate the virtues of their conquerors. taking the degree of manhood was a savage custom adhered to by the dakotas until a recent date. when youths had attained proper age, they proved a right to the degree by torturing themselves in different ways. sometimes a skewer was driven through the arm and heavy articles hung upon the projecting ends. the flesh was cut and bruised. if an aspirant bore the pain without flinching, he was deemed worthy of all privileges accorded to men. these practices have been discontinued by order of the united states government. [illustration: ta-ton-ka-i-yo-ton-ka. (sitting bull.)] travelers in the sioux country are frequently entertained with recitals of incidents in the life of ta-ton-ka-i-yo-ton-ka. sitting bull, the famous commander at the custer massacre, was, during his prosperous years, the chief of chiefs, or supreme head of the nation. he first inherited the office, and was able to retain it because of mental superiority and by reason of the fact that, until the last hope was gone, he assumed an uncompromising position in regard to the encroachment of the whites. then, too, ta-ton-ka-i-yo-ton-ka was a medicine man, capable of arousing religious fervor. that he was cruel toward the enemies of his people cannot be denied; but, according to the red man's philosophy, that was simple bravery and loyalty. the authority of a leader was seldom questioned, although a petty chief was privileged to disregard orders, should he so desire. sitting bull left an autobiography in pictograph. it contained a description of conflicts in which the hero had counted _coup_ on numerous enemies, both white and indian, and secured their scalps. there were also records of horse-stealing. the signature consisted of the picture of a buffalo in a sitting posture. little is known of the early history of the chief; his own accounts vary; he seemed to be well educated, and could converse fluently in french and english, as well as in the different indian languages. the custer massacre took place in . after the sioux war had ended and the savages had surrendered, placing themselves under the protection of the government, they were retained as prisoners at fort randall, south dakota. the commandant caused a stockade to be erected, but sitting bull refused to enter it, selecting, in preference, a strip of bottom land close to the river, for winter quarters, in order that there might be plenty of fire-wood near at hand. in summer, a pleasant location about three hundred yards from the garrison, was chosen, where a guard, composed of one non-commissioned officer and nine men, was stationed. at that time a majority of the prisoners had not learned cleanliness, and for the purpose of improving sanitary conditions, the quarters were inspected daily by the post surgeon and the officer of the day. every one was compelled to wash each morning. a soldier asserts that some of the indians appeared heart-broken and became sick and died. might it not be more just to explain that daily baths in the river, in a cold climate, were the causes of mortality? a death was followed by the customary rites. on every hill in the vicinity of the camp a woman might be seen and heard, mourning and howling, in the hope that the departed would return to make an assignment of his effects, which were few, inasmuch as the most valuable articles had been lowered into the grave. among them were usually placed a knife, tin cup, moccasins, blanket and piece of buckskin. the ancient rule of laying the dead upon a scaffold was not permitted to be put into practice. burials took place in the day, and at night grand dances were held. indians on the opposite side of the river were invited to participate. tin cans, which had been collected and taken to the tepees, served as musical instruments. the noise and confusion were sometimes deafening, dances being kept up almost continuously. both men and women spent much time in making arrow tips from old iron hoops. while at fort randall, sitting bull received an order from the quartermaster for three sacks of hay. accompanied by a slave wife and a favorite, he presented the order. the large army bed sacks were calmly handed to the man in charge, who refused to fill them, telling the indian to attend to that himself. the sioux then turned to the slave wife, commanding her to perform the menial office. she did so with most abject humility, tying the bundle with a piece of rawhide; then the poor creature crawled beneath the huge mass, pushing her head under it first and gradually forcing the burden upon her back. this accomplished, she rose slowly upon hands and knees and at last regained her feet. being asked, indignantly, why he did not assist the woman, the great chief answered with an expressive grunt. an army officer, major mclaughlin, secured several autographs of the celebrated leader, but found it impossible to induce him to sit for a photograph, until he had obtained twenty-five dollars and a white shirt. the shirt proved too small, but the chief fastened it at the back of the neck with a buckskin string. despite these weaknesses, he was dignified in behavior and apparently unmoved by curiosity, although the room of the officer contained many objects new and strange to him. during a severe storm, lightning struck a tree near the indian camp, forty or fifty yards from the tent of ta-ton-ka-i-yo-ton-ka. he immediately broke camp and removed to summer quarters, saying the evil spirit was after his people. nothing could convince him that the great spirit was not angry with him for leaving canada, when he crossed to the american side and surrendered, after the custer massacre, at the little big horn. he said that all the water in the missouri river could not wash out the white man's stains of crime. spotted tail and red cloud were also dangerous to the peace of the northwestern country. spotted tail had two attractive daughters, one of whom died on the way to fort laramie, while the indians were going in to surrender. thomas dorion, the man who went out as a messenger of peace, desired to marry the girl and she expressed a willingness to become his wife. it was largely due to her influence with her father, that he and red cloud consented to accompany the emissary to fort laramie to hold council and make a treaty. her sad life and premature death, which was, no doubt, the result of exposure and the vicissitudes of war, aroused great sympathy. the other daughter, water carrier, was much admired by the army officers and received many valuable presents. one of her relatives asserts that the officers seemed infatuated, but that she never manifested any reciprocity. water carrier was deeply attached to her father's people and became the wife of lone elk. they live at the rosebud agency, south dakota. the sioux, like all tribes, are rapidly discarding their ancient beliefs. government schools have done effective work; and while the number of "squaw men," or those who marry into the nation, is less than in the tribes of the indian territory, there is yet a liberal infusion of white blood. the dances, in a revised form, are, of recent years, indulged in by way of recreation or for the amusement of spectators. [illustration] iv. the kaws and osages. the dakotas were strongly represented in the kaw valley and vicinity by the kansas or kaw indians and the osages. in some respects there was a similarity of manners and customs between these branches and the original stock, in others a radical difference was noted. the practice of shaving all of the head except a small place around the crown--the scalp lock, which was reserved for the enemy, should he be able to secure it--was adhered to by the kaws and the osages, while the old sioux law seems to have sanctioned scalping the entire head. however, when compelled to hurry, they took a small section from any part of the head. for the purpose of decorating themselves, many of the kansas cut the upper and outer edge of each ear, drawing it down so as to form a large ring, reaching to the shoulder. to this circle ornaments were attached. the tribe retained savage proclivities long after their neighbors had become partially or altogether reconciled to the habits of the pale-face; and were tall of stature and physically well developed, but decidedly inferior in mind and morals, being a constant source of annoyance to both the white citizens and more civilized indians. one day a golden-haired girl stood by the side of her father, at the door of their home in kansas city, kansas, (then wyandotte) when a number of kaws filed through the gate and up to the house. their chief, through an interpreter, formally tendered a horse and several fine blankets in exchange for the "squaw with the hair like the rising sun." receiving an indignant refusal, he emitted a disappointed "ugh! ugh!" and turning slowly, rode down the street with his warriors. a lady who resided at westport when it was a hamlet of not more than eight or ten houses, was surprised, on entering her kitchen one morning, to see, standing before the stove warming himself, a huge kaw, entirely nude save for the blanket extended across his outspread arms. almost in terror, the woman gasped out, "_puck-a-chee! puck-a-chee!_" (go away). deliberately, and with evident amusement at her fright, the savage took his departure. the main village of the kaws, that of american chief, was situated two miles east of manhattan, kansas. it was composed of one hundred and twenty dirt lodges, of good size. a large portion of the tribe was located, with fool chief, on the north bank of the kansas river, in and near topeka. later, by a treaty with the united states, this land, with the exception of a few hundred acres reserved and divided among those in whom white blood predominated, was ceded to the government. the majority of the people removed, first, to council grove, and then to the indian territory. [illustration: wa-hon-ga-shee. (no fool.)] they delighted, for many years, to talk of the victory which made wa-hon-ga-shee a famous chief. there had been frequent, hard-fought battles with the pawnees, who, being superior in numbers, had usually obtained the victory. however, the great spirit punished them when, at last, a small band was discovered, just at nightfall, by a strong party of kaws. revenge, always sweet to the barbarian, was now assured. surrounding the foe under cover of darkness, the kaws, commanded by wa-hon-ga-shee (no fool), waited patiently for daylight. twenty-four hours before going on the war-path a council had been held in the celebrated grove from which the present city takes its name, and every warrior who had joined the preliminary dance, had fasted from that time until the moment of departure. their leader, together with the medicine men, had long abstained from food, in anticipation of the event. other matters having been arranged, the line of men rode out of the village, carrying many an anxious good-speed from wives and mothers. children, half-clothed, huddled together in awe-stricken groups, or sought maternal protection. old men and maidens gazed with hopeful pride on sons and sweethearts. over the plains passed the braves, almost from view, when, by some mischance, their chief slipped and fell. quickly recognizing an unfavorable omen, he gave the signal for return, and the entire community joined in incantations to dispel future disaster. again the war party went forth, coming upon the pawnees, who, all unconscious of approaching danger, lay encamped for the night. guards had been stationed at proper intervals, and the ponies corralled, in order that they might not wander away. all seemed quiet until near morning. faintly the sounds of awakening nature broke the silence of the prairie. the kaws began to close in upon the enemy, crawling stealthily through the grass. gray dawn appeared; then a red streak became visible in the east. the assailants rose with a terrible war-whoop and rushed upon their sleeping victims. even the guards were surprised. reports of rifles and fierce shouts from infuriated men mingled with the shrieks of the wounded and dying. knives struck pitilessly into the breasts of the pawnees, who, stupefied by the sudden attack, were easily overcome. blood flowed freely. deftly a small circle was described upon the head of each one, the scalp torn off, and the reeking trophy attached to the belt of the slayer. then, when destruction was complete, and death had swept the camp, leaving not a member of the little band alive, the victors gathered up the spoils and journeyed home in triumph. ninety dead bodies, mutilated examples of the effects of savage warfare, were scattered over the field of battle. now, preparations for the dance were in progress. musicians brought forth flutes and tom-toms--rude drums made from powder kegs with raw-hides stretched over the ends--while the women busied themselves in making ready and cooking meat and cereals for the feast. the warriors, in a circle, commenced the celebration with low ejaculations and slow movements not unlike a march, gradually increasing speed, and changing step until it became a wild rush of many feet, accompanied by howls of exultation. then all was still for a moment, and two beautiful girls, dressed in almost oriental costume, and carrying red fringed umbrellas, broke into the center of the ring and danced with the utmost grace and abandon. next followed the process of paying debts. it was the custom for creditors to allow debtors the privilege of paying off old scores, at a dance of triumph, by standing in the center of the circle and submitting to sound beatings, at one dollar a blow. an old squaw had tried in vain to collect the sum of twelve dollars from a young man. desiring to end her importunities for money, he advanced and stood, the object of all eyes, in stoical forbearance, while she administered, to the full extent of her power, the requisite amount of punishment. as usual, the kaws had buried their most valuable goods previous to undertaking the foregoing expedition. first, a large cavity had been made in the ground and the articles placed inside. these were covered with sticks and branches, earth being piled on top and stamped down. in a violent effort to bestow the last blow effectively, the old woman caused this structure to give way and sank into the chasm, to the great diversion of spectators--for the indians, among themselves, on such a day, were prone to cast dignity to the winds. frequently, osages and kaws were employed to perform special police duty. it gave them a sense of responsibility that had a tendency to prevent mischief. even in this capacity, they were governed by superstition. at night, when ready to give place to another watchman, each brave, before going home, went to the fire, gathered a handful of ashes and rubbed it on his head to keep away the witches. death was mourned, not only by relatives, but by professionals, hired for a period of two weeks. pasting the hair on top of the head with mud, they united in a series of groans and wails, dismal beyond description. these strange songs had words, probably recounting the virtues and wonderful deeds of the dead. wrapped in his blanket and provided with food and drink, trinkets and valuables, with all that he considered most desirable, the warrior was lowered to his last resting-place, a favorite horse having been killed that the spirit might ride to the happy hunting grounds. the osages were once the most powerful people west of the mississippi river. they owned a vast territory and had remained in possession over three hundred years; but were forced eventually to cede the greater portion to the government. nevertheless they are the wealthiest of the indians. the tribe was divided originally into three bands, the little osages, the grand and the black dog band. they were tall and fine-looking, the young, able-bodied men being hunters and warriors, while the old men were doctors and cooks. upon entering a village, a stranger was expected to present himself first at the lodge of the chief, and there partake of food. a general feast followed. the cook stood outside and called, in a loud voice: "come and eat. white hair (or whomsoever it might be) gives a feast." when traveling, the osages made lodges in the shape of wagon-tops, of bent trees covered with skins or blankets. a native orator, speaking of the good qualities of his people, said: "are we brave and valiant? behold dakota scalps drying in the smoke of our cabins. are we strong? here is the bow of an osage boy--bend it. are our women beautiful? look at them and be convinced." despite the fact that civilization has penetrated even remote portions of the united states, and its effects are felt in a greater or less degree by every savage nation, the osages in the indian territory have returned to many of the old barbarous customs. they had a unique creation story. old people used to talk of a man, the first of the race, who came out of a shell. they said: "the father of our nation was a snail, who passed a quiet, happy existence on the banks of our own river. his wants were few and well supplied. he seldom hunted, going out only when driven by hunger to seek food, and taking whatever could be most easily obtained. thus lived our great forefather, the snail." according to the tradition, there was a storm and the river burst over its banks and swept everything before it. the snail, seated on a log, was carried along down the stream and deposited at last upon a bed of slime. he was contented and had enjoyed the travel, since it had required no exertion. now, he found himself in a strange country. it was very warm and the sun came out and baked the earth in which he was embedded. it was impossible to move. then, feeling a change, he began to grow and developed into a man, tall, strong and perfect. at first, the new being was stupefied; but with returning memory, he realized that he had once been a snail, and immediately set out for his former home. arrived on the banks of the osage river, he became faint from hunger. game was plenty, but he knew not how to catch it. there were birds and fish, but no means of reaching them. he lay down to die. a soft voice broke the silence. the man looked up and saw, mounted on a noble, snow-white animal, a being like nothing seen on earth. it was tall and mighty, having eyes like stars. the osage trembled. the gentle voice said: "why does he who is the kernel of the snail look terrified? why is he faint and weary?" "i tremble because i fear thy power and quail before the lightning of thine eye. i am faint because i lack food." then said the great spirit: "be composed. the master of breath punishes not till sin is committed. thou hast not sinned; be calm. but art thou hungry?" "i have eaten nothing since i ceased to be a snail." the great spirit drew from under his robe a bow and arrows, and taught the man to shoot. he killed a deer and was told to cover himself with its skin. the great spirit made fire and told him to use it for cooking the meat. one day, when hunting, the man went to a river to drink, and saw, in the water, a beaver hut, on which the chief of the family was sitting. the animal asked who he was and what he was looking for; and was informed that the osage had no home and came to the river to quench his thirst. the beaver said: "you seem to be a reasonable man. you may come and live with me. my family is large and there are many daughters. should any of them be pleasing in your sight, you may marry." the indian accepted the offer and married one of the beaver's daughters. they had many children, from whom the osage people are descended. to this day, the members of the tribe refrain from killing the beaver, which is regarded as sacred. [illustration] v. the delawares. the delaware indians, or lenape, as they called themselves, are of algonquin lineage. their language, which is soft and musical, bears a strong resemblance to that of the shawnees and pottawatomies, who are descended from the same people. the word lenape has been translated "men" or "fathers of men." this bears some significance, since the early traditions of the delawares declare them to be the parent stock. they were the natives with whom william penn held council, on the ground occupied at the present time by the city of philadelphia. the nation had been subjugated by the iroquois, and bearing the name of "women" was at peace with the world. although the domination of the other tribes was only temporary, the famous treaty with the quakers was never broken, during the subsequent years of warfare. the delawares were a migratory people. most of their legends have been preserved by missionaries. the algonquin myth of the virgin who fell from heaven and became the mother of twins, one light and the other dark, was found among the lenape, and may be explained as referring to the dawn, which gives birth to day and night. the divinity kikeron, the synonym for life, light and action, or energy, was believed to be the first factor of the universe. he originated all things, through the instrumentality of the tortoise, which, in algonquin pictography, was the symbol of the earth. there was an unexpected depth to this native philosophy. the earth is all-producing, and from it proceeds, directly or indirectly, all animate existence. the tortoise had power to produce everything. from its back a tree had sprung, upon the branches of which grew men. in the pristine age, the world lived at peace; but an evil spirit came and caused a great flood. the earth was submerged. a few persons had taken refuge on the back of a turtle, so old that his shell had collected moss. a loon flew over their heads and was entreated to dive beneath the water and bring up land. it found only a bottomless sea. then the bird flew far away, came back with a small portion of earth in its bill, and guided the tortoise to a place where there was a spot of dry land. the delawares thought the land was an island, supported by a great turtle, the one that had been their preserver. there was a tradition that many hundreds of years ago their forefathers dwelt in a distant country, far to the west. they traveled east, and at the mississippi river encountered a race of giants. the wanderers desired to settle between the river and the mountains; but the request was refused. however, they obtained permission to pass through the country. while in the midst of the strange land they were fiercely attacked by the huge people, who were very powerful. many battles ensued. the enemy erected fortifications; but large numbers of their warriors were killed. the dead were placed in heaps and covered with earth. the giants were finally defeated, and fled, passing down the mississippi river. the victors took possession of the country. the nation was then divided into three tribes. one settled on the shore of the atlantic, one remained in the conquered land, and the third lived west of the mississippi river. the atlantic coast delawares were composed of three clans, the turtle (unâmi), the turkey (unalâchtgo) and the wolf (minsi). other tribes, the mohicans and nanticokes among them, sprang from the lenape. the legend of the hairless bear is one of the oldest delaware stories. it was narrated that in the past, at some remote period, the country was infested with a ferocious bear of immense size. its skin was bare, with the exception of a single tuft of perfectly white hair on its back. the animal possessed a keen sense of smell, but its sight was defective. the heart of the bear was so small that only an expert hunter could hope to strike it. the people held council and finally decided that the best plan would be to break its back. experienced hunters formed a party to rid the earth of the monster. they discovered its retreat, made a great noise to attract attention, and scaled a high rock. the bear could not climb the rock but tore at it in a fury. the men discharged arrows and threw stones at the creature until it was dead. indian mothers were wont to frighten their children into obedience, by saying: "the naked bear will eat you." the pictograph system, which was perfectly intelligible to all tribes, was based upon gesture speech. rafinesque, a learned but somewhat erratic frenchman, claimed to have seen a set of wooden tablets, on which was engraved the history of the lenape, both in picture and in song. the eccentric archeologist prepared a translation of the strange document, which is called the walam olum, or painted record. brinton seems inclined to believe it a genuine native production, given orally and written down by some one not thoroughly conversant with the delaware language. there is a possibility that the priests or medicine men, realizing that their own downfall would come with the adoption of christianity, were jealous of the missionaries. having learned to read and write, from the white men, and hoping to gain new power, they may have transmitted the story to wood, in such form as to be readily understood, both by educated and uneducated indians. the song is rhythmical, and describes the formation of the universe by the great manito. at first there was a fog and a watery waste; then the land and sky were formed and the heavens cleared. each statement is accompanied by a rude drawing or picture. the first part reads: . at first, in that place, at all times, above the earth, . on the earth, an extended fog, and there the great manito was. . at first, forever, lost in space, everywhere, the great manito was. . he made the extended land and the sky. . he made the sun, the moon, the stars. . he made them all to move evenly. . the wind blew violently and it cleared, and the water flowed off far and strong. men and animals were created, and lived peaceably until the coming of an evil spirit, in the form of a serpent, which introduced war, sickness and premature death. strife and wanderings commenced. the evil manito brought a flood. a few people, escaping to the back of a turtle, were preserved by nanabush, or manabozho. their protector caused the water to recede and the serpent to depart. after the deluge the race found itself in a strange northern climate. the people journeyed south, arriving at "snakeland." they conquered the region; and a long list of chiefs, migrations and wars are recorded. abundance followed. then there was a division, some of the nation going south and some east to the salt sea. the three subtribes of the lenape eventually became established along the delaware river. the song closes with the advent of the white man. in there were six thousand delawares. within a century their numbers greatly diminished. in the white settlements had increased to such an extent that the former owners of the land began to seek homes in western pennsylvania. it was at new britain, pennsylvania, that tamenend--the delaware chief for whom the tammany society, of new york, was named--committed suicide. he had become old and feeble and had been deserted by the tribe. having failed in an attempt to stab himself, the unhappy old man threw burning leaves over his body, and in that manner, died. a princess of the lenape caused a cliff on mount tammany to be called lover's leap. her affection for a european was unrequited and, in despair, the girl made the leap of death. not far from mauch chunk, pennsylvania, was a clear and sparkling lake. on its bank stood a village of the delawares. among the wigwams was one larger than the rest and more commodious. there dwelt the successful young chief, onoko, a man of wonderful size, strength and daring. unaided, he had destroyed the bear on mauch chunk (bear mountain). happy was wenonah when he sought her in marriage. her heart swelled with pride as she entered the richly decorated lodge. the victories of onoko in love, in war and in the chase aroused the anger and jealousy of mitche manito. one day, as the young people were floating idly upon the lake in their canoe, the terrible manito arose among the mountains, with a dark look of hatred upon his face and the thunder rolling and crashing about his head, and while lightning darted from his eyes, smote the hills with a mighty hand covered by the magic mitten. the earth shook and a great chasm opened, through which poured a volume of foaming water. at first alarm, the lovers, glancing upward, beheld the wrathful features, and seeing no hope, awaited death, clasped in a close embrace. the light canoe was swept rapidly away by the deluge; and the manito, in gloomy satisfaction, retired to the hills. ever since that time the lehigh has flowed through the chasm that he made. the name of onoko was bestowed upon a cascade and glen in the vicinity of mauch chunk. the lenape gradually drifted to the streams in central and eastern ohio. the epoch of peace had passed and they were no longer "women"; but took a prominent part in the war of the races. removing to the valley of the white water river, in indiana, they founded six towns. the treaty of vincennes guaranteed the title to the land forever, nevertheless it was "ceded" to the united states only ten years afterward. the fugitives then sought a home west of the mississippi; and eventually received a tract at the mouth of the kansas river. they never fought against the government after that time. other nations arrived. the lenape lived at peace with all except the wild prairie tribes. the old warlike spirit, strong in every indian, whether civilized or semi-civilized, was appeased by fierce battles far beyond their reservation. even after the territory had become the property of the white man, the delawares took pride in detailing such victories as the battle of the plains. nestled among the hills, where the kansas river empties into the missouri, lay a village of the once prosperous lenape, who gloried in the knowledge that, with the exception of a brief period, their people had, from time immemorial, been successful in war. belonging to the east, they had drifted toward the setting sun, until the early part of the nineteenth century found them, still adhering to antique customs, in eastern kansas. though but the shadow of its former greatness, the nation still retained sufficient numerical strength to keep up hostilities with its ancient enemies, the sioux. at times, after seasons of rest and recuperation, well-equipped parties had sallied forth, going as far as nebraska, colorado or dakota, in quest of adventure. a furious renewal of the old contest succeeded emigration to the middle west, and all was made ready for an expedition. religious rites were performed, and the medicine men promised an easy victory. [illustration: ni-co-man.] among the delawares was a chief, who bade fair to equal in fame, the most distinguished of his predecessors. not many moons before, ni-co-man had awakened from a dream of conquest and beheld, in the pale light, a shadowy figure wrapped in a blanket of snowy white. its bony finger motioned the chief to arise and follow. mechanically, like one asleep, he obeyed the phantom warrior, the strange chill that crept over him increasing with each step. on they went, beyond the confines of the village, toward one of the highest points along the river that shone like silver with reflected brightness. pausing upon a spot from where the undulating prairie could be seen, reaching for miles to westward, the spirit chief stretched out a ghostly arm and addressed the awe-struck leader. "go thou, ni-co-man, noblest of thy people, and lead them on to glory. take all thy bravest warriors. journey west; there shalt thou find, upon the distant plains, our enemies, the sioux. rest not until thou hast avenged my death, for by their hands was i, thy father's father, slain." slowly he vanished, and ni-co-man, pondering over these words, returned to his abode. thenceforward he agitated the question of an advance, with full assurance of meeting and overcoming the murderous sioux. around the council-fire were plans perfected. the pipe of peace was passed from hand to hand. old men led the discussion while their juniors listened in silent respect. when all the wiser heads had given advice, the youthful braves, in turn, expressed opinions. the latter being unanimously in favor of adopting extreme measures, the council of ni-co-man prevailed; and having completed arrangements, the flower of the nation, mounted upon mettlesome ponies, went forth, as did the challengers of old, to seek renown. over the rolling prairies, the tall grass waving in the sunlight, rode the dusky knights, heavy war-paint giving greater fierceness to faces already glowing with excitement. the second day, a long distance from the starting place, they stopped at night beside a flowing stream. the tired ponies, relieved of their burdens, were turned out to graze, a guard being stationed nearby. after a meal of savory buffalo meat, and a quiet smoke around the camp-fire, the delawares, drawing their blankets over their heads, threw themselves upon the ground and were soon wrapped in profound slumber. at early dawn, ere they had proceeded many leagues, a fresh breeze started from the southwest, and close to the horizon a faint rose color tinged the sky. this suddenly changed to a lurid hue, as a sheet of flame, accompanied by volumes of smoke, swept rapidly toward them. "fly! _tun-dahe wel-seet-num-et_ (the god of fire)!" shouted the indians, as, turning on the trail, they lashed the horses to the highest possible speed, while the fire made steady headway. on rushed the fugitives, bending every energy to reach the water; but the breath of the fire god was at their shoulders. then the hardy little ponies made a final heroic dash and landed in the creek--safe, all but one. as the terrible cloud passed swiftly over the half suffocated band, they saw the angry spirit in the great, dark, curling chariot, bend low and smite their comrade; and when the seething whirlwind had gone by, he lay, face down, a lifeless heap, upon the blackened cinders. a hasty burial, with few of the usual ceremonies, and the party was traversing the now desolate region, in the direction of the far-away mountains. they entered what the white man calls the great american desert. a level country, the short-grass district, extended as far as the eye could see, on every side. its monotony was broken by an occasional "draw," where wandering tribes often found refuge in defeat, or lay in ambush, ready to spring out at the approach of foes. these draws were caused by erosion, and may have been the beds of rivers, long since dried up. the plains were dotted with wild flowers, for in kansas each weed, at some season of the year, bursts forth in all the glory of rich or delicate blossoms. the fall had brought its wealth of gold and purple, and the buffalo grass, more nutritious when "cured" by the sun and hot winds of summer, had turned to a rich brown, the ruling note of color. birds, and even the prairie dogs, barking and chattering at the entrances to their underground towns, conformed to the prevailing tint. the "loco" weed had gone to seed, and the indians, well knowing its dangerous properties, kept their horses, while grazing, away from the plant, which is said to cause animals to become "locoed," or insane. a similar effect is produced on human beings, by the use of certain herbs compounded by the medicine men. winding through the sandy territory, was the arkansas river, in the autumn a seemingly harmless layer of reddish brown soil with apparently stagnant water here and there upon its surface. underneath the quicksand flowed a deep stream, promising certain death to him who essayed to cross with any but the lightest of vehicles. the travelers had reached the heart of the buffalo country, and an abundance of game was found on every hand. a buffalo hunt, according to an indian's views, was second only to victorious battle, therefore ni-co-man called a halt and the entire company joined in a grand slaughter. the hunters, familiar with the habits of the animals, first arranged themselves in groups in one of the draws, at the foot of a steep embankment or precipice, taking care to be well sheltered. then a warrior, grotesquely arrayed, and astride a strangely caparisoned steed, galloped toward the herd, frantically waving a bright-hued blanket. the leader, an immense creature, scented danger and took his stand in front of the rest. however, curiosity, which is one of the characteristics of the buffalo, prompted him to draw cautiously nearer the queer figure. the herd followed. gradually the decoy backed toward the precipice, still gesticulating violently. at last, the animals, thoroughly frightened, stampeded, accelerating speed as they approached the embankment, over which they rolled and tumbled in the mad effort to escape. those not injured in the fall, recovered their feet and dashed away to the opposite slope, being easily shot in attempting the toilsome ascent. thus, the majority were at the mercy of the red men. the wanton destruction of these beasts at the hands of both indians and white men is to be deplored. where, two score years ago, thousands roamed the plains, now nothing remains to prove their having existed save slight depressions in the earth called "wallows," and large numbers of horns, scattered over the ranches. once in a while the buffalo ring may be seen, still barren of grass. here the ever watchful sentinel had tramped around and around in a circle. a feast succeeded the favorable termination of the hunt. only the finest portions of the meat, which resembles beef in flavor, were reserved as food. tongues were considered a great delicacy. up to this time, a few straggling comanches and arapahoes were observed, but as yet no traces of the sioux appeared. ni-co-man, remembering his vision, still had faith that here, upon the plains, would the enemy be vanquished. early one morning a scout came in with the news that, far to the north, a stray band of sioux had encamped the previous night. in a moment all was excitement. as soon as possible the entire cavalcade, well armed and ready for the fray, was galloping in the direction indicated. at sunset the delawares halted for rest and food, waiting for darkness to make an attack. but the enemy, too, were watchful; and knowing the presence of danger almost by intuition, had prepared for encounters. they were in a deep cut, not easily accessible. where the natural defenses are limited, the natives learn to take advantage of every means of protection. piling up large masses of hard earth, that had fallen from one portion of the crumbling bank, they had built a rude fortification, which extended entirely across the entrance. in the rear was a narrow pass, with a steep acclivity on either side. guards were stationed here and on the highest ridges. these gave the alarm as the delawares, in three divisions, came silently forward at midnight. ni-co-man sent a detachment of good marksmen to the top of the embankment overlooking the sioux, the second was despatched to the rear to force a way through the narrow passage, while he boldly led the remainder to attempt the low earthworks at the entrance. the war-cry of the lenape now filled the air. the sioux, crouching behind the fort and before the opening at the back of the camp, fought savagely. occasionally marksmen on the elevation picked off one of their men, though it was a somewhat difficult task in the semi-darkness. ni-co-man, being taller than his companions, and always at the front, was a welcome target for his wild opponents. again and again a shadowy figure intervened as the bullets sped toward him. he bore, in truth, a charmed life. as the moon passed under a cloud, for the elements were preparing for a conflict, the delawares rushed forward, climbing recklessly over the heaps of hardened earth, scattering great lumps right and left. some of the braves fell, mortally wounded--some pressed upon the retreating sioux, who found themselves in a trap. the shadowy figure, invisible to all but the chief, was ever present, hewing down the enemy with his great tomahawk. the sun rose upon a frightful scene. the carnage was over, but ghastly upturned faces, smeared with war-paint and distorted with terror, even in death, told the tale of the night's work. ere long it sought retirement, and the day grew dark. ni-co-man gazed at the heavens in wonder. did the great spirit manifest displeasure? a storm followed. lightning flashed and the ground seemed to shake with thunder. rain fell in torrents, a most unusual occurrence in that locality. when the atmosphere had cleared, and the drenched warriors again beheld the battle-field, lo! all blood was washed away. the great spirit had stamped with approval the triumph of his chosen people, the lenape. lawrence, a town of more than ordinary historic interest, now the site of the kansas state university, was built upon land that formerly belonged to the kaws. at a more recent date the delawares were established in that vicinity. haskell institute, a flourishing indian school, is now located there. a majority of the nation, at the time of immigration, adhered to tribal costume, and while harmless as far as their white neighbors were concerned, presented a most ferocious appearance. many of the early settlers of lawrence were from eastern cities, where the red man was known by reputation only. the indians had a fear-inspiring way of peering into the windows of houses, and in order to obtain a better view, would spread out their blankets so as to exclude the light. not infrequently a white family, while dining, would observe that the room had become unusually dark; and glancing toward the window from which the sunlight had vanished, would behold a hideously painted face, with piercing eyes looking through the glass, in keen interest. this was not at all contrary to indian etiquette. the wife of a resident who had the good fortune to secure the firm friendship of white turkey, a delaware chief, sat sewing one day, in her rocking chair. it was a tranquil morning in early summer and the air was still. suddenly a shadow crossed the light, and to her intense fright, three huge delawares, in all the horror of their picturesque native dress, loomed up before the window. the lady, who had recently arrived from new york city, fainted; and the disappointed visitors sought her husband, informing him that they had merely called to announce the birth of a son--the future chief--named "solomon white turkey" in honor of the pale-face family. years later, the gentleman, while traveling through the indian territory, was approached by an aged delaware, surrounded by his friends, and introduced to a tall, prepossessing young man, who proved to be chief solomon white turkey. kansas had been supposed to be permanently secured to the indians; but the emigrant ever followed in their footsteps, and again the land of the delawares was sold to the united states, and the people, few in number, took up their abode in the indian territory. vi. the wyandots. the wyandots, or hurons, are of northern origin, and descended from a branch of the iroquois. at the time of the discovery of america, their villages were located near the senecas, on the banks of the st. lawrence river. when cartier appeared, a small band of delawares first observed the ships of the frenchmen on the gulf, and sent messengers to announce the presence of "great white-winged animals, spitting out fire and speaking with voices of thunder." the wyandots and senecas were closely allied and lived in amity many years. it is said that the long peace terminated and hostilities began through the influence of a woman. one version of the story is that a seneca maiden loved a young man, whose father, a powerful chief, opposed his son's taking her as a wife. other suitors were rejected. then it was declared that the hand of the maiden would be bestowed upon him, only, who should slay the chief. a wyandot fulfilled this condition and became her husband. the enraged senecas flew to arms. an interminable war followed. their neighbors moved to the vicinity of niagara falls. a series of migrations succeeded. at one epoch a portion of the tribe settled near lake huron, which was named for them. a part of the bear clan always remained in canada. for some unknown reason, the other tribes of the five nations joined the enemies of the wyandots. cooper's novels contain numerous allusions to the undying hatred of the iroquois toward the hurons, as they were called by the french, although wyandot is the proper term. always pursued by the senecas, a majority of the nation became wanderers. in , seeking a new home, they embarked in canoes and passed out of lake huron, and into and beyond lake st. clair. in the distance a group of white tents was visible. this comprised the city of detroit. landing, by order of the head chief, the indians were received kindly by the governor of the colony. accepting the protection offered, they found a home in that locality. after the french territory had passed into the hands of the english, some of the wyandots settled in parts of ohio and michigan. they were divided into clans, named for animals, conspicuous among which were the deer, bear, turtle, porcupine, snake and wolf. the nation originally had twelve of these divisions. two or more formed a band. it was against the law to marry in one's own clan. children belonged to the mother's clan; and women were accorded the privilege of voting for chiefs and council. the head chief, or king, was the highest officer. the succession belonged to the big turtle and deer clans; and every heir to the throne must be of pure wyandot blood. the last head chief, suts-taw-ra-tse, lived in the latter part of the eighteenth century. the primitive religion of the wyandots was somewhat similar to that of other aboriginal nations. the great spirit ruled supreme. there was a god of the forest, called sken-ri-a-taun. once a year a night feast was held, in memory of the departed. dancing was dispensed with, but all joined in condolence with some lately bereaved family. it was thought that after death, the soul must cross a deep, swift river, on a bridge made of a slight tree, and be compelled to defend itself, repeatedly, from the attacks of a dog. the dakotas also believed this, but affirmed that the bridge was formed from the body of an immense snake. the prayer of the huron to a local god--as recited verbatum by father brebeuf--throws some light upon the subject of their conception of deity. "oki, thou who livest in this spot, i offer thee tobacco. help us, save us from shipwreck, defend us from our enemies, give us a good trade and bring us back safe and sound to our villages." the teachings of the jesuits were early engrafted upon the original faith. few of the oldest wyandot legends have been preserved. the literary world is indebted to schoolcraft for the narration of the experience of sayadio, which gives a glimpse into the spirit world as pictured by indian fancy. the heart of sayadio was heavy with sorrow. his young and beautiful sister had died and he refused to be comforted. desirous of bringing her back, the young man embarked upon a long and difficult journey to the land of souls. when ready to give up in despair, after many adventures, he met an old man who gave him a magic calabash with which to dip up the spirit, when it should be found. this man, who proved to be the keeper of that part of the land where the maiden dwelt, also gave him her brains, which had been carefully kept. on reaching the place of departed souls, sayadio was surprised that they fled at his approach. tarenyawgo assisted him. the spirits had assembled for a dance and he attempted to embrace his sister, but she straightway vanished with the others. tarenyawgo then provided him with a mystical rattle to call them back. the _taiwaiegun_, or drum, sounded, and the notes of the flute could be heard. immediately the air was full of floating figures, and sayadio, dipping up the damsel with the magic calabash, despite the efforts of the imprisoned soul to liberate itself, returned to earth. friends were invited to the lodge, and the dead body brought from its place of burial to be restored to life. just before the moment of reanimation, a curious old woman looked into the calabash, and the spirit took flight. sayadio gazed heavenward but could see nothing. then, with downcast eyes, he sat in the lodge, deploring that idle curiosity had rendered of no avail his travels to the land of the departed. peter clarke, a native writer, was undoubtedly one of the most reliable sources of information regarding the ancient history of the wyandots, whose descendants, absorbed by the white race, have permitted the customs and many of the traditions of their forefathers to die out. until a comparatively recent period many firmly believed the legend of the white panther. on the shore of lake huron, long years ago, was a deep pool, or spring, in the midst of marshy ground. an outlet into a river allowed the discharge of surplus water. reeds and tall grasses almost obscured the pond from view, and the scream of the loon and the cry of the reed-bird alone disclosed its presence, until the traveler found himself upon its very verge. the wyandots knew of this place, and had little doubt that it was inhabited by a mysterious spirit. sometimes the water rose and fell, as if stirred by the breathing of an immense animal beneath its surface, then grew suddenly calm. a benighted hunter, passing that way, told of a wondrous light, sparkling like the glow of a thousand fireflies; and of a rumbling sound that shook the earth, announcing that an evil spirit was at work. a party of the prairie turtle clan camped one day at the spring, established an altar and offered burnt offerings to the strange god. articles of value, silver ornaments and wampum belts, were cast into the pool and ce-zhaw-yen-hau was chosen to call up the spirit. standing in the marsh, with a bow in one hand and a bunch of arrows in the other, he chanted a song; while his companions, in homage to the _hoo-kee_, or wizard of the spring, burned tobacco. he invoked the spirit to come forth. a loon arose, screaming and flapping its wings. "not you," said ce-zhaw-yen-hau, and the loon vanished. next came an otter. "not you," said the indian, "begone! come forth, you wizard!" the water rose, as if agitated by some huge body, and a white panther emerged, looking eastward. piercing its side with an arrow, the conjurer quickly extended a small vessel to catch the blood which trickled from the creature's side. the moment the pan filled, the wounded animal disappeared, and the air vibrated with a rumbling, muttering sound, like distant thunder. volumes of turbid water came to the surface, indicating the course the monster had taken in passing down the river. never again was it seen at the pool. the prairie turtle clan, which had always been considered refractory in disposition, and inclined to be rebellious toward the good spirit, now formed a society and deified the white panther. anyone who divulged the secrets of the association was instantly put to death. the blood in the small vessel coagulated and became dry. this was broken into pieces and distributed among the members to be placed in their medicine bags. the medicine bag was usually made from the whole skin of an otter, a mink, or other diminutive animal. those who had been led by fanaticism to seek new gods were repeatedly warned by the catholic priest to renounce the evil spirit, or it would cause their destruction. "throw away the baneful substance which came to you from the devil in the form of a panther," he said, "for just as certain as you continue to keep it among you, the time is not far distant when you will be ruined by it, body and soul." the unmanageable society, however, persisted in worshipping the white panther; and the substance obtained from the demon of the spring, which was used in witchcraft, eventually consumed the members themselves. not many years after the episode at the pool, ce-zhaw-yen-hau turned traitor to the nation, and joined the senecas. when leading a war-party against his own people, during the absence of the men, he saw two young women working in a field adjacent to the village. in a frenzy of enthusiasm for new friends and of hatred of the old, he slew the two girls, and fled precipitately. the warriors, returning, pursued with fury, and overtook the murderers, crossing a miry creek. the entire band was destroyed, with the exception of two senecas. putting out the eyes of one and cutting off the thumbs of the other, the wyandots sent them back to their nation to tell the story. the white panther worshippers were now made objects of revenge, being hunted down and killed, if suspected of carrying the ruinous substance. the prairie turtle clan finally became extinct. its fate was considered an evidence of the evil effects of being led by superstition to adopt unknown gods. the hurons, keen and skeptical, became acknowledged leaders in the councils of nations. when the ottawas, chippewas, pottawatomies and wyandots formed an alliance for mutual protection, the latter were appointed keepers of the council fire, and the inter-national archives were committed to their care. wampum belts designated agreements. wampum was manufactured from a species of sea-shell and was composed of tubes one-eighth of an inch in diameter and one-half an inch in length. these were fastened together with strong cords or ligaments. each belt represented a compact, the conditions of which were retained in memory by the chiefs and warriors of the tribe. the beaver belt of the mohawk, captain brant, emblematic of secret enmity, was deemed a pledge, on the part of those who accepted it, to assist in exterminating the wyandots. a dark colored bead belt, with a red tomahawk upon it, indicated, when exhibited in council, that warfare was in contemplation. these tokens, as well as parchments and other records, were taken to kansas in , but became scattered and are now the property of private parties. the green corn dance was celebrated each year, in the month of august. festivities opened with a great banquet in which corn was the principal element. after all had partaken generously of corn soup, corn bread and meat boiled with corn, the men formed in a circle and the dance began. a wild chant, or hoo-ah, accompanied the music of the tom-tom and cedar flute; and dried deer hoofs, tied around the legs of the warriors, rattled as they kept time. the cedar flute, a much valued instrument, was composed of two cylindrical pieces of wood, tied together with buckskin thongs. at intervals a sudden change of step and outward turning of faces occurred, every movement possessing deep religious significance. at the annual corn feast, children and those adopted into the nation, received names, bestowed by the clans instead of by the parents. each clan had a list of names that it was required to keep in use. a wyandot historian tells a singular story, which illustrates the belief of the tribe in the necessity of observing this law. while living, with the rest of her people, at lower sandusky, a young girl, gathering strawberries a short distance from the village, was taken prisoner by a party of white scouts. on the second night of her journey in their company, a queer-looking indian appeared in a vision, and said: "i come to tell you that to-morrow about noon these white men will meet a party of indians on the war-path, and have a fight. then will be your chance to escape and return home. i am not one of your race; i am a frog, although appearing in human shape. your race has often rescued one of our kind from the jaws of the snake, therefore, it is with grateful feeling that i come to tell you of an opportunity to escape from the hands of these snoring white men, lying around here." next morning the march was continued. about noon, as predicted, the indians came in view and immediately made an attack. in a moment of excitement, the prisoner was forgotten. without waiting to learn the outcome of the struggle, she ran into the woods and was soon beyond reach of enemies. at dark, the tired and hungry maiden crept into a hollow sycamore tree, through an aperture at its base, and fell asleep. an indian woman became visible in a dream, and said: "the day after to-morrow you will meet a party of warriors from your village. follow their war path northward. i am not one of your race; i am a bear. say to the people that there are three names belonging to your clan, the bear clan, that are not now among you. keep these names in use hereafter." the famishing girl spent another night in the woods, and at dawn resumed her travels, striking the war path at mid-day. when the shadows began to lengthen, she met the wyandots upon this trail. providing food and replacing the torn clothing and worn-out moccasins with the best that could be obtained in such an emergency, they started her toward home, where a glad welcome awaited the wanderer, and perfect willingness to heed the admonition of her dreams. in the war of , a portion of the tribe adhered to great britain, while the remainder espoused the american cause. roundhead (staw-ye-tauh), who lived at the largest wyandot village in michigan, and warrow, the leading chief on the canadian side of the detroit river, took an active part on behalf of the british, and were conspicuous in the battle of the river raisin. walk-in-the-water (mey-ye-ra), maintained strict neutrality, although in sympathy with the americans. big tree, a wyandot whose eventful life has made his name a familiar one, warred against the americans, beginning, when a boy, at braddock's defeat. he belonged to the bear clan and was noted for strength and activity. during a war with the southern indians, he was taken prisoner by the cherokees, in a battle on the kentucky river. the contest was a bloody one, the combatants laying aside guns, bows and arrows and fighting with tomahawks. night ended the struggle and both sides retired from the field. big tree was taken from one place to another; at last to the mouth of a river, unknown to him. the cherokees held council and concluded to burn the prisoner. before the sentence could be executed, a woman whose sons had been killed in the battle, stepped forward and claimed him. she said: "you took all my sons with you. now they are dead and i am left alone without any help. i claim this young man as my son. will you pity my age and helplessness and release him to me?" he was given to the widow, but could not forget his own people and was always looking for a chance to escape. the opportunity came while he was out hunting. for three days and nights the cherokees pursued. the fugitive became faint from want of food. reaching the ohio river, he paused a moment and prayed: "o great spirit, help a poor prisoner to swim this river, that he may get home to his own country." then, tying his gun on his head, plunged into the water and succeeded in getting to the opposite shore. he killed a deer, cooked a part of the meat and rested. after three moon's traveling, the wanderer arrived home. in his old age, big tree became a devout christian, and often related how he had tried to follow the advice of the old people in the worship of the great spirit; how he had feared the "man in the clouds"; and had followed, first, the seneca prophet, next the shawnee prophet, then had gone back to the religion of his fathers; and finally, through the teachings of stewart, the colored preacher, had gone down on his knees, with the petition: "_o homendezue, tamentare, tamentare_ (o great spirit, take pity on me, take pity on me)." chief splitlog (to-oo-troon-too-ra), a brother of roundhead, and also a royalist, was one of the last to give up the habits of his progenitors. although a roman catholic, he retained, to a great extent, the ancient beliefs of his people. one who was thoroughly familiar with the history of splitlog, describes the last effort on the part of the chief to observe the old customs, in the following language: "one day, a few years before he died, after the last council wigwam was demolished (wigwam, or we-go-wam, is a chippewa word for any kind of a house), and the ground on which it stood had been ploughed up, he called together at his residence, the few who still adhered to the ancient customs of the tribe. it was his last feast, and the last dance song of this feast sounded mournful to the ears of the distant passer, who knew what it was. "two indians, with whole snapping turtle shells, having some hard substance inside to make a rattling sound, sat on the ground, with two folded deer skins, pelt side out, between them, on which they beat with the turtle shells, while singing for the dance. the necks of the turtles were stretched out to their utmost length and stiffened, for handles. after the dance, the musicians were allowed to walk off with the deer skins as their compensation." much has been said concerning the bravery and adventures of chief splitlog, not only in the battles against general wayne, but also in the war of . william walker, the father of governor walker, was one of general harrison's scouts at that time. having been captured, several years before, by the delawares, and traded to the wyandots, he had become, both by marriage and adoption, a member of the latter nation. during the heat of battle he was taken prisoner by the british and carried along with the army, his wife, also a prisoner, being placed on board an english warship. in silas armstrong and matthew walker, whose indian name, translated, was "twisting the forest," were sent beyond the mississippi to locate a new home, and went as far west as salina, kansas, with the intention of buying a large tract of land. a thorough investigation, however, resulted in their securing from the delawares a comparatively small tract, seven or eight miles in extent, and the wyandots established themselves at the mouth of the kaw river. william walker, afterward provisional governor of nebraska territory, had previously traveled west, having this removal in mind, and examined the lands. he was a man of education and great strength of character--an acknowledged leader in the nation, as well as a writer of merit. matthias splitlog was identified with the early commercial interests of kansas city. leaving canada about the year , he resided for some time at neosho, missouri, and was the projector of a small railroad, now a portion of the pittsburg & gulf line. he removed to wyandotte, kansas, became interested in numerous financial ventures and was known as the wealthiest of the indians. shrewd business men and corporations rendered his later life a series of law suits; and much property was sacrificed. this silent and reserved man lived, for many years, simply, in a log house. his wife was unable to converse in english. finally, accompanying the remnant of the tribe to the indian territory, he built a mansion, with modern conveniences, in the reservation of the senecas. at the time of emigration to kansas, a majority of the people were of superior intelligence, had long adopted the arts of civilization and, through the influence of missionaries, had become converted to methodism. they were distinguished for regularity of feature and grace of movement, keeping perfect measure in the dance. the women were adepts in the art of needle-work. at the home of a lady of wyandot lineage, is exhibited an elaborate piece of beading, of great age, in fleur-de-lis pattern. the center of each leaf is of pale pink, encircled with dark green, skillfully shaded to delicate tints. a variety of colors were introduced, yet the whole produced a most harmonious effect. the belle of the nation in the ' s is said to have been so beautiful and cultured that, on the occasion of a visit to new orleans, she was supposed to be a french lady, and the most exclusive society of the city extended courtesies. the handsome young woman reigned supreme for a short period. on the return trip, three or four squaws boarded the steamer, and after standing quietly back for a brief space, silent witnesses of her numerous conquests, one of them came forward and said: "her squaw, like me--heap big squaw." contrary to general opinion, the indians possessed a keen sense of humor and thoroughly enjoyed a laugh at the expense of one of their number. in the olden days, elder dennison conducted services in the methodist church, through an interpreter. one sunday, owing to the illness of the latter, a well-educated wyandot named browneyes, was engaged as substitute. browneyes, not being religiously inclined, had partaken too freely of firewater. however, he appeared on the scene well dressed in honor of the event. a huge cravat, faultlessly tied, and a dark green coat, resplendent with brass buttons, were prominent features of his attire. unfortunately, a large flask protruded from his hip pocket, and it was quietly decided that mr. armstrong should officiate. browneyes sat down in a front seat, apparently humiliated on account of being supplanted. the sermon proceeded smoothly for a time, then he remarked, distinctly: "sile, you are not telling a word of truth, and you know it." no attention was paid to the interruption, but when the discourse became more eloquent, he averred, loudly and decidedly: "sile, that's a lie, and you know it." elder dennison, discontinuing the address, said: "let us pray." descending from the rostrum, he placed one hand in the back of browneyes' cravat, twisted it until the man's tongue hung out, and prayed long and loudly. it is needless to say this was the last time the services were interfered with while the elder presided. a strange story is related concerning the triumph of chudaquana over the power of witchcraft. for some reason, chudaquana had gained the enmity of a certain old woman of the community; perhaps he had unwittingly slighted her; perhaps a family feud existed; at any rate, the evil black eyes seemed to follow him from place to place. it was reported that this woman had the faculty of changing herself into a dog. chudaquana noticed that a stealthy-looking canine was constantly at his heels. day after day, and week after week, the animal was to be seen skulking near. the eyes were certainly those of the witch. fearing some great misfortune might ensue if this continued, he decided to be rid of the nuisance once and forever. in order to kill a witch it was necessary to use silver bullets. having procured these, chudaquana went about his ordinary pursuits, keeping a sharp lookout, meantime, for the enemy. it could be seen in the rear, at some distance, tracing his footsteps. the man sought shelter behind a tree. on came the wild-looking animal, sniffing at the ground. as it paused directly opposite, there was a sharp report, an unearthly howl, and the witch was no more. the silver bullet had fulfilled its mission. the old woman, so rumor said, carried to the day of her death, festering and sore, the mark of a bullet in her side. romantic courtships and marriages between wyandot maidens and white settlers were not infrequent. before the entire tribe had discarded its picturesque costume, a young man of caucasian descent located among the wyandots for the purpose of trade. one clear october morning, looking from the door of the small frame building in which he conducted business, he saw a graceful figure approaching, and a moment later, an indian girl of thirteen or fourteen years, arrayed in all the finery of her people, stepped lightly across the threshold and stood, glancing confusedly and with decided coquetry, at the young merchant. her slight form was clothed with a loose crimson waist, or shirt, and a short skirt ornamented with embroidery and notched ribbons. beaded moccasins covered the little feet, and broadcloth leggings extended to the knees. her black hair was confined by a silk handkerchief. the color came and went in the dark cheeks, and bright eyes flashed admiration from under long lashes. he hastened to respond to orders given timidly in the universal language of signs. again and again markrete visited the store, purchasing brilliant hued calicoes, beads and blankets, and receiving little presents from the trader, who endeavored in this manner to win her regard. at last he was compelled to employ an interpreter, who attempted to persuade her to accept an offer of marriage. for some time the girl turned a deaf ear to all overtures. she was too young to give up freedom; and marriage, to an indian woman, meant slavery. she climbed fences and rode horses; on one occasion, when there was no ferry, swimming her horse across the river in order to visit a relative. however, after protracted efforts under many difficulties, the young man was victorious; and acquired rights in the nation, an indian name, and last, but not least, pretty markrete. the wyandots have been gradually absorbed by the white race, and those who maintain tribal relations are located in the indian territory. many prominent residents of kansas city are descended from the wyandots. vii. the pottawatomies. the pottawatomies were of algonquin descent and were termed "firemakers," in reference to their secession from the odjibwas and becoming the makers of their own fires. the odjibwa tradition says that there were two brothers at st. mary's falls. the fishing-rod of the younger was taken into the rapids by the other and accidentally broken. a quarrel ensued. the elder brother went south. this was the origin of a new tribe. the pottawatomies of the woods, located in wisconsin and michigan; and the prairie bands, of illinois and indiana, formed the two principal divisions of the nation, whose homes were scattered from the shores of lake superior to the illinois river. in language and customs, the pottawatomies were similar to the ottawas and chippewas, with whom they were closely allied. they crowded the miamis from the vicinity of chicago. in the war of , the prairie bands, under the leadership of suna-we-wone, fought against the americans, and were at the massacre at fort dearborn. the united states effected a treaty of peace with them in , and afterward purchased a portion of their land. eighteen years later, the cession known as the platte purchase was made, in consideration of which the government granted , acres adjoining the shawnees and delawares, in kansas. subsequently, the tribe became widely scattered. portions located in wisconsin, iowa, kansas and the indian territory. the pottawatomies believed in two great spirits, kitchenonedo, good spirit, and matchemondo, evil spirit. kitchenonedo made the world and its first inhabitants; they looked like people, but were wicked ungrateful dogs that never lifted their eyes from the ground, to return thanks. in punishment, the creator dropped the earth, with everything upon it, into a great lake, from which it emerged only after the destruction of the race. then a handsome young man appeared, who seemed sad because of loneliness. kitchenonedo pitied him and sent a sister to brighten his life. many years later the young man had a dream. telling it to his sister, he said: "five young men will come to your lodge door this night. the great spirit forbids you to answer or even look up and smile at the first four, but when the fifth comes, you may speak and laugh and show that you are pleased." she obeyed his directions. the first who arrived was named u-sa-ma, or tobacco, and being repelled, he fell down and died; the next, wa-pa-ko, or pumpkin, meeting a like reception, followed his example; the third, esh-kos-si-min, or melon, and the fourth, ko-kees, or bean, had the same misfortune; but she smiled upon the fifth, who was named tamin, or montamin (maize), and opened the lodge door that he might enter. they were married; and from them are descended the north american indians. tamin buried his ill-fated rivals; and from their graves sprang tobacco, melons, beans and pumpkins; and the pottawatomies said that was the way in which the good spirit furnished his people something to put into their _a-keeks_, or kettles, with the meat, and something to offer as a gift at feasts and ceremonies. long after a majority of the nation had become christianized, they clung, in a great measure, to the ancient superstitions. not many miles distant from the place where topeka now stands, lived a chief called menweshma. menweshma was a believer in the indian doctrine of transformation, and gravely asserted that he could turn his four hundred and eighty pounds of flesh into a bird or beast. tradition says that it was a favorite pastime of his, to assume the form of an owl. being an inveterate gambler, he at one time became the victim of a scheme by which he was defrauded. this so enraged the pottawatomie that he killed the seven indians who participated in the trick, and according to the laws of the tribe, was called upon to pay a heavy ransom or submit to death. after surrendering all his possessions, menweshma was yet indebted to the amount of five hundred dollars. this sum was borrowed from the trader, and year after year passed and the chief continued to disregard the solicitations of the white man to pay. one night, after menweshma had appeared particularly annoyed by these requests, the settler and his family were disturbed by the hooting of an owl. seizing a rifle, the man shot in the darkness at what appeared to be the outline of the bird, and saw an object fall to the ground. on reaching the spot, he stooped to pick it up--and the nocturnal visitor could not be found. at nine o'clock next morning came a messenger with the request that he go at once to menweshma, who was dying. entering the hut, he was left alone with the medicine man and the dying chief. the pottawatomie, disclosing a great wound in his side, said: "didn't you shoot an owl at your house, last night? i was that owl, and had gone there to poison your children." queer explanations were accepted without question, by the indians, and often white folks were puzzled to account for strange events. even the most warlike tribes did not hesitate to resort to deception, if, perchance, a victory were to be gained without striking a blow. below the junction of the republican and smoky hill rivers was a reservation of the pottawatomies. just without its limits, the pawnees, always at war and straying from rightful boundaries, were wont to lie in wait for their less courageous neighbors. on a sunny afternoon in the spring of , seven or eight hunters and trappers, going westward from fort riley, were confronted by a panic-stricken band of several hundred pottawatomies. the fugitives, galloping toward the reservation, shouted, "pawnee! pawnee!" later in the day, the plainsmen came upon the pawnees, a party of fifty men, celebrating with great satisfaction, their success in putting the foe to flight. the latter, in the morning, had camped not far from a large hill, or bluff, behind which the enemy were holding consultation as to the best mode of attack. in order to give the impression of numerical strength, the fifty braves filed around and around the bluff, seemingly an interminable line, then, with blood-curdling war-whoops, dashed toward the camp. the pottawatomies fled precipitately, leaving the entire supplies to fall into the hands of the strategists, who took advantage of every opportunity to intimidate the more pacific nations of eastern or southern origin, removed west by the government. with the exception of the shawnee prophet, the cruel and vindictive war-chief, wa-baun-see, was, doubtless, the most famous indian among the emigrant nations. his brave deeds have formed the subject of many interesting anecdotes. notable among them is the story of the flat-boat. near the close of the eighteenth century, the americans again commenced to encroach upon indian territory, and some of them proceeded southwestward down the ohio river in large boats about thirty-five or forty feet in length and ten or twelve feet in breadth, with barricaded decks. the rightful owners of the soil, determined to prevent further settlement, disputed every mile of progress by all possible means. one day the scouts, led by wa-baun-see, watched a floating fort from the north bank of the river. an attack was feasible, since the pilot kept well to the middle of the stream, beyond reach. the indians consulted as to the best method of overcoming this difficulty. word was sent to the main body of warriors to conceal themselves at a certain point that jutted out into the water, at some distance below their present location. they were also instructed to be prepared for battle when the boat should go ashore. meantime, despite all efforts to the contrary on the part of the pilot, the raft showed a decided tendency to approach the river bank. the man at the helm was admonished again and again, but insisted that he had been doing all in his power to keep off from shore. the pilot then made a careful examination of the boat on the side next to land. a black object bobbed up occasionally, then disappeared. closer scrutiny revealed a nude indian, swimming under water and tugging away at a rope held in his teeth. the other end was fastened to the boat. once in a while the swimmer was compelled to come to the surface for breath. quietly obtaining his bayonet, the pilot watched the water with interest. again the dark head and shoulders emerged. they were those of the war-chief. quick as a flash, the bayonet plunged downward into his back. wa-baun-see sank out of sight, keeping under water until he reached the shore. the braves conveyed him to a place of safety and carefully dressed the dangerous wound. the daring chief recovered. when the osages were strong and powerful, and claimed thousands of broad acres south of the missouri river, they were frequently at war with the pottawatomies. during a battle, wa-baun-see was routed, in addition to losing a friend in the sally. the proud spirit of the war-chief was injured; and the humiliation caused by defeat and the death of the brave rankled in his mind after other warriors had seemingly forgotten the circumstances. he determined to seek revenge, should it ever become possible. years passed without the gratification of his wishes. then came the news that, at an appointed time, a delegation of osages would visit a certain western fort. wa-baun-see, with some of his best men, repaired to the post, and, after a formal interview, withdrew. they galloped a few miles away and waited for darkness. the osages feared treachery and communicated their suspicions to the commandant. permission to sleep inside the fortifications was asked and granted. in the night, when all was silent, wa-baun-see rode quietly toward the place. he stationed his men at a safe distance and went forward to inspect the defenses. it was necessary to employ the utmost caution, in order to avoid the guards. approaching, he threw himself upon the ground and crept around the walls, finding, at last, an embrasure, almost too small to permit the passage of a man's body. the chief was seeking revenge and was not to be daunted, therefore, after a long and painful effort, succeeded in writhing through the aperture, and warily sought out the adversaries of his people. they were sleeping soundly, feeling secure in the protection afforded by the presence of soldiers. wrapped in a blanket, and lying upon the ground a short distance from the group, was the head chief. crawling through the grass, the pottawatomie reached his side. there was no disturbance, only a dull thud, as the tomahawk buried itself in the head of the slumberer. securing the scalp, wa-baun-see retired as noiselessly as he had come. in the morning the osages were greatly surprised and enraged to learn that the enemy had been in their midst. the impression that the relentless chief was the most ferocious indian of his time, was confirmed by the frightful punishment of one of his wives, accused by another wife, probably a favorite, of cruelty to his children. without giving the poor woman an opportunity to plead her cause, he commanded the accuser to split open her skull. wa-baun-see accompanied his tribe to kansas in , and during the latter part of that year, went to washington, with other influential men, to conclude a treaty with the government. the stage-coach, in which they passed through missouri on the way home, overturned near boonville, and wa-baun-see sustained severe injuries, which ultimately resulted in death. viii. the shawnees. the capital of kansas now occupies a portion of the former hunting-grounds of the kaw and shawnee indians. the shawnees were the first emigrant tribe to arrive in the territory. the ancient home of the nation was near the cumberland river. early in the seventeenth century, the iroquois invaded that region and vanquished its owners, who fled south and became scattered, settling in carolina and florida. at a later period, the divisions of the tribe reunited and returned to the vicinity of their old home, taking possession of a more extended country and founding towns in the ohio valley. when they were driven west, the baron de carondelet granted them land near cape girardeau. as the white people entered louisiana, the shawnees sought new homes, again and again. finally, they relinquished all claims in missouri, in consideration of a large purchase in kansas. in a treaty was signed, disposing of all their land except two hundred thousand acres, which were divided among individuals; and in the remnant of the tribe removed to the cherokee country, in the indian territory. a migration tradition says that once, when the shawnees lived in the far east, on the shores of the great salt lake, they were surprised to see, riding along on the back of a large fish, a creature that looked like a man, although it had long green hair like weeds, a face like a porpoise and a beard the color of ooze. around its neck were strings of sea-shells, and in its hand was a staff made from the rib of a whale; and, most astonishing of all, the strange being had the bodies of two fishes for legs. he stopped near shore and sang of the beautiful things in the depths of the sea. the people heard, in amazement, for he spoke their language. day after day and week after week, the man-fish might be seen, seated on the water, with his legs curled up under him; and all the time he sang of new countries; and the people, charmed, left their work and listened. men forgot to go hunting and the women no longer busied themselves around the wigwams, but stood on the beach and watched. repeatedly, the creature sang: "come, follow me"; but they refused to go. at last the supply of food in the village was exhausted. hunters entered a boat and tried to catch fish, but without success. the man-fish flirted water over them with his legs, and laughed at their trouble, chanting a melody about the wonderful spirit island, in the midst of the great salt sea. the shawnees said: "can you show us anything better than we have--good wives, good children, good dogs and plenty of deer?" but the stranger reminded them of storms in the moon of falling leaves, of snow and ice, of hunger and constant danger from wild animals and painted warriors, saying: "come with me and i will show you a land where the air is always warm and soft, and the flowers are always in bloom; where you will find as many deer as are among your icy hills, and great herds of animals called bison; where the men grow tall and the women beautiful as the stars of night." the shawnees were afraid, and attempted to go toward shore, but were held back by an unknown hand. they consulted among themselves. the man-fish bobbed up his head and sang: "follow me." they decided to obey. out on the water, a mighty storm arose. the great spirit could be heard hissing in the depths of the ocean. the boat rocked and swayed on the billows; but the protector was near and told them not to fear. he brought food and a shell of fresh water from the bottom of the sea. two moons passed before land appeared. it was the glittering spirit island, with big trees and high mountains. from some of them lightning seemed to shoot. along the shores were seals and ducks. the inhabitants fled into the woods, when they saw the man-fish, who went to find the spirit of the island. he entered a cave and soon returned, accompanied by a being as strange as himself. it had a head like a goat, with horns and beard, and moss-colored hair. its legs and feet were covered with handsomely decorated leggings and moccasins. speaking with the voice of a man, it said: "i will take you, men of the land of snows, to a beautiful place, where you will find all that could be desired." the man-fish departed, and under the guidance of their new friend, the strangers reached the interior of the spirit island. they married the maidens of the country and grew into a bold, strong and valiant nation, overcoming all tribes east of the river of rivers. the shawnees were of algonquin stock and were the roving clans, the gypsies of the wilderness, described by william penn, belligerent under ill-treatment but peaceable when dealt with justly. referring to the creation, they said: "the master of life made the shawnees first, from his brain, and gave them all his knowledge. other red people descended from them. he made the french and english from his breast, the dutch from his feet and the long-knives (americans) out of his hands." one of the most interesting legends is that which has reference to the origin of the piqua shawnees. the word "piqua" signifies "man made from ashes." it seems that long ago, in the dim past, the nation made a talk against the walkullas, who lived not far away, on the shore of the great salt lake. the older men opposed a war; but mad buffalo and the young warriors refused to listen to their counsel. "we are strong," said they, "and the walkullas are weak." a party, eager for a fight, went out from the village. two moons passed and there were no tidings of the young men. the walkullas were distant only six suns journey. the third moon went by; and chenos, the oldest and wisest man of the tribe, called the people together in council; he told them that the young warriors had been slain. there was a shriek of horror and the women began to lament for their husbands and sons. "yet," said chenos, "there is one left, who has had vengeance on the enemy and has drunk their blood; he will soon be here." even as he spoke, the mad buffalo entered the council wigwam. one arm was tied up with a piece of deer skin; and there was dried blood upon his body. attached to a pole, over his shoulder, were seven scalps. six of them had long black hair, but the seventh was the color of sunshine, and curling. he told them how the braves had crept up to the enemy and watched them prepare a feast to the great spirit; then, when all was in readiness, the war-cry had been sounded. the shawnees had killed many, but the foe had been visited by people with skins as white as the clouds, who had taught them to use thunder and lightning in battle. mad buffalo's men had done well, but were slain, at last. chenos told the leader that he should not have gone at a time when the walkullas were making sacrifices. the relatives of the dead warriors called out for vengeance. the wise men counseled as to what would most surely appease the master of breath. chenos said: "the mad buffalo must give up that which is most dear." the leader, casting a fierce glance toward him, said he would offer none of his own blood, but would kill a deer. then chenos said: "the mad buffalo has not told all. there is another, a prisoner, with trembling heart." the warrior replied: "mad buffalo never lies; he has a prisoner"; and with that, he went out of the council wigwam and brought in a woman. he motioned her to lift the veil that covered her face. the wild men of the forest gazed entranced. she had a skin white as snow, and cheeks, red, but not with paint, like the indian's. more beautiful than the flowers, than the sun, moon or clouds, was the maiden. the mad buffalo claimed her as his own, telling how he had saved her and carried her in his arms. the relatives of the dead men cried out for blood. chenos forbade the sacrifice, saying that perhaps she had come from the great spirit. then the wicked ones left the place and sought the aid of a bad man named sketupah. sketupah said the beautiful woman must be sacrificed; he directed that certain religious rites be performed, with a wolf, a tortoise and a rattlesnake. a large ball rolled up the hill and unwound itself. a queer little old man with green eyes, stepped out. the ball was made from his own hair, which was the color of moss, and so long that when blown around by the wind, it seemed like the tail of a star. the little old man, who was the evil spirit, commanded them to bring forth the beautiful woman and tie her to a stake. they did so, and piled sticks around her feet. as the flames arose, the mad buffalo, giving his war-cry, ran forward against the evil spirit. a breath from the powerful one, and he lay stricken with death. chenos called on the master of life for help. the ruler of all came, his eyes visible from afar, shining like two great stars. the evil one grew small, and his power failed when the great spirit advanced. the beautiful woman was spared and the master of life said: "men of the shawnee nation, the pale-faced people from over the great salt lake are your brothers." he told them that he had made all races; that the indian was red because fear never entered his breast; that the heart of the white man was so chilled that the blood was scared from his cheeks; that the shawnee had been brought from the land of the pale-face, long ago, but had lost his paleness. then he said: "rake the ashes of the sacrificial fire; and when the star of the evening rises, put in the body of mad buffalo and cover it over with wood; keep the fire burning for two whole moons; bring out the beautiful woman and place her near the ashes. this is the will of the great spirit." the people obeyed these commands, and when the time had been fulfilled, there was a disturbance in the ashes, and a man, tall, strong and perfect, came forth. he walked up to the maiden and looked into her eyes. chenos gave her to him as a wife; and from them were the piquas descended. a shawnee religious belief, the doctrine of a pre-natal existence, bears some resemblance to that of the buddhists, and reminds one of the fact that all nations have a common ancestor in the aryan race. the following incident, related by an indian agent, proves the implicit faith reposed in this particular belief. when the united states government removed the tribe to kansas, the pawnees waged incessant war against the new arrivals. many times, ere the country became their home, had war parties of the shawnees traversed the rolling prairie, passed out upon the plains, battled with the wild indians of the west, and returned, sometimes laden with booty, to their reservation east of the mississippi. the red man never forgets what he considers an indignity. the spirit of revenge is always an incentive to action; hence, the recent comers were under the necessity of keeping themselves in readiness for an encounter at any moment. rumors of an attack by the enemy floated into the settlements, and the head chief marshaled out his men to check the advancing warriors. after a ride of one hundred miles to the northwest, the scouts, far to the front, espied in the distance, what appeared to be a great number of small black objects, outlined against the sky. a nearer view disclosed the fact that the pawnees were approaching. information was carried to the main body. both parties called a halt. then, the war-chief of the shawnees, accompanied by an aide, rode forward, signifying that he desired a conference. he was met in the open space between the lines, by an opponent, a fierce-looking indian, and by his side a brave of unusual size and strength. contrary to custom, it was agreed, after a parley, that two of the most skillful warriors should meet upon the prairie, in the presence of both sides, and decide the battle by a hand-to-hand conflict. returning to their men, the chiefs called for volunteers. a quick response, and the chosen ones rode to the central ground, dismounted, and consigned their ponies to the waiting assistants, to be led back to the lines. there was a moment of hesitation--of suspense to the spectators. the warriors regarded one another with looks of astonishment and recognition. then la-ma-to-the, the shawnee, spoke: "know you not, pawnee, that we have met, far back in the past, the past that appears to us now as the distant mountains when wrapped in smoke from heaven's pipe of peace?" "yes," replied the other, "i remember the blue sky and the broad prairie, covered with sweet grasses, where the rest of our kind fed quietly, or, scenting danger, galloped wildly from place to place." "pawnee, we were bison, then (puk-wah-chee-m'-tho-tho), belonging to the same herd and following the same leader. let us go back to our people and tell them we were brothers in the other world." they separated, and the war chiefs, understanding well, looked upward, in reverence to the great being who had transformed them all in the time long ago, then returned in silence to their villages. many shawnees and pottawatomies claim that they are of the lost tribes of israel. certain customs that have descended to them from time immemorial, seem to bear out this theory. their holy of holies corresponds to the ark of the covenant, of the israelites. its contents were known only to its possessor, and, under penalty of death, all others, except the medicine men, were forbidden to touch the sacred relic, which was wrapped and re-wrapped with bark until it became a good-sized bundle. the shawnee language is a dialect of the algonquin, which possesses all the vowel sounds. the letters f, r, and v are wanting. x is also wanting in all algonquin languages except the delaware and mohican. there is a strong affinity between the shawnee and the mohican dialects. verbs are full and varied in their inflections. the meanings of whole words are concentrated upon a few syllables or upon a single letter. the prefix tah, indicates futurity. everything is considered as divided into two classes--animate and inanimate. terminations change accordingly. divested of their appendages, words become monosyllables. the syllable e-bun is added to the name of one deceased. this is equivalent to the words "has been" and is a delicate way of indicating a person's demise. for instance, tecumseh, after death, becomes tecumseh-e-bun or "has been tecumseh." a wealthy trader who married the descendant of a french officer stationed in canada during colonial days and the daughter of a chief of the chippewas, passed through many strange experiences while sojourning among the shawnees. one moonlight night, riding from westport, now a part of kansas city, to uniontown, on the present site of valencia, he left the beaten road and took a short cut for home over a seldom used indian trail. a ghostly stillness prevailed, which was broken, ere he had proceeded far, by a series of blood-curdling groans, sometimes clear and distinct, sometimes like the rushing of the wind, but always seeming to follow in his wake. drawing a revolver and wheeling to confront the enemy, he found only empty air--while the pale moon still shone serenely down upon the unbroken prairie. again the terrible sounds became audible; and the horse was urged to its highest rate of speed without avail. a sensation of horror creeping over him, the pioneer turned into a path leading to an indian hut--the noise sweeping by like the breath of a cyclone--and inquired the cause. his host, well versed in explanations of the medicine men, replied: "had you remained upon that trail, the route of a rambling night spirit, you would have surely died before the break of day." doubtless these interpretations often served to cover murderous designs. on another occasion he was urged by a friendly indian, a member of a secret society, not to undertake his usual journey, as, at a gulley south of martin's hill, danger lay in wait. true enough, at that place a large gray wolf sprang out and made a fierce lunge, inflicting deep wounds upon the horse. the traveler fired but missed the animal. again and again the ferocious creature jumped at him, each time failing to reach the man and burying its teeth in the horse. after a furious conflict, in which the rider succeeded in beating back the wolf with the butt of his pistol, he urged forward the wounded steed and was enabled to outrun his wild adversary. a shawnee, descended from the principal characters described, is authority for the following story, of maune´, the chippewa girl. near the city of quebec, so long ago as the time of the french and indian war, lived a dark-eyed girl of the chippewa tribe, in whose sweet face bloomed a dusky beauty that distinguished her from other maidens of the nation and caused her to become an object of admiration to the gallant young officers who were struggling to maintain the supremacy of france. had it not been for the brilliant victory of general wolfe, and the noble sacrifices of the british and colonial troops, there were no sad story to record, for with the advent of england came an exodus of the french soldiery from the dominion, and crushing sorrow to maune´, whose heart had been captured by the handsomest officer in the vicinity of their village. she was the daughter of a great chief, renowned among his people for deeds of bravery in war, therefore, it had occasioned small surprise when the noble colonel beauchamie selected _la petite_ maune´ as his indian bride. in time, two fine boys brought new sunshine into the rude quarters which, in those primitive days, served as home, though to the young mother, the rich furs and blankets and pretty trinkets with which she was endowed, seemed the very acme of luxury. life was full of sweet contentment, until, one clear, cold morning, the french looked out in astonishment upon the army of general wolfe, drawn up in battle array. how it had ascended the steep cliffs was a mystery to those within the walls. general montcalm, resting his faith in superior numbers, risked a battle outside the fortifications. the heroism and patriotism of the opposing generals, their glorious death, the celebrated victory of the english with its important results, and the final expulsion of the french from that portion of the new world, are all matters of history. colonel beauchamie was ordered back to france with his regiment. the question now obtruded itself, "what should be done with maune´?" he could not present an indian wife to friends at home, neither was he willing to leave his sons in canada. after prolonged consultation with a few brother officers, it was quietly arranged that the children should be spirited away and placed on board a ship destined to transport the soldiers back to their native land; and the devoted woman was to be deserted. maune´, suspecting these designs, crept quietly behind the partition that screened the officers from view, and listened to the development of the plan. her affectionate heart sank as she became aware of her husband's perfidy. love, grief and determination followed in rapid succession. sadly she stole away and prepared for flight. a canoe was stored with provisions and the sleeping children placed inside; then, with mingled feelings of affection and the hatred and resolution peculiar to her race, she bade farewell to home, happiness, country, all that made life dear, except the slumbering babes. for their sakes she would struggle through the wilderness to a more favored land. where, she knew not. the great spirit would guide and protect her; and the blood of fierce warriors, which flowed in the veins of this child of nature, gave strength and courage in the hour of need. up the river she proceeded, keeping close to shore; when at a safe distance from pursuit, landing for rest and for the purpose of adding to their scant amount of provisions. from the river into the lakes, slowly, cautiously, maune´ made her way, passing through untold hardships, always caring tenderly for the dependent little ones. cold, hunger, wild beasts and the fierce storms of the northern lakes were alike disregarded; and at last, long after english rule had been firmly established in canada, and quebec and montreal converted into british headquarters; after the cruel conquerors had banished the simple acadians from their land--maune´, weak, emaciated and fainting with starvation, was found by a wandering party of shawnees, upon the illinois shore. by almost superhuman efforts, the heroic woman had preserved her children; and the hardships of the journey had produced no serious effects upon their sturdy constitutions. adopted into the tribe, she found a habitation with the friendly shawnees. though the image of her pale-faced husband was never erased entirely from the heart of the faithful chippewa, and a lingering sadness and silence kept her in partial isolation, she lived many years in quiet and saw her sons, as they grew to manhood, regarded as the boldest and most successful of the tribe, in times of peace and war. advancing age brought with it the suspicion of witchcraft. maune´ was of a strange nation; and her adherence to unknown customs aroused fear in the breasts of the ignorant shawnees. finally, the leading medicine man decreed that she must die. her sons were powerless to resist the tide of superstition. a bundle of sticks was produced, and the unfortunate creature tied to a stake. then the horrible torture commenced. frantic indians, chanting their weird melodies, danced round the fire, as it slowly consumed the ill-fated chippewa. not a sound of terror or of anguish escaped the woman in this moment of exquisite suffering. at last, a merciful breath of flame severed the thread of life, and all that remained of the bright little maiden, who had been the idol of her brave canadian people, was a disfigured mass of charred flesh and bones. surely the great spirit whom she worshipped, and the tender mother of christ, whom the jesuits had taught her to implore, looked down in pitying love, and recompensed, in the spirit land, this child of misfortune--maune´ _la misérable_. tragedies were every-day occurrences among the natives, in those days, and there were times when fanaticism swept all before it; but that the great men of the indians were not unworthy of the admiration and respect of their enemies, is shown in a fragment of history from the war of the races. on a picturesque cliff overlooking the mad river, in what is now the state of ohio, was located, more than a century ago, the indian village of the piqua shawnees. the settlement was prosperous and fully two hundred acres of land were in cultivation. a log fort, surrounded with pickets, had been built, and the shawnees were prepared for defense in the event of an attempt to capture the town. this beautiful spot was the birth-place of the famous tecumseh--shooting star--the most illustrious indian that ever battled for the rights of his people. eloquent, powerful in mind and body, and possessing the soul of a hero, the patriotic chief was, at the opening of the nineteenth century, deep in plans for the advancement of his race. is it a matter of surprise that he should oppose, with ceaseless energy, the encroachment of the white man? that his talents should be unsparingly used in the hopeless endeavor to stay the westward progress of civilization? he had seen the red man repeatedly deprived of land, under almost compulsory treaties with the government. his independent spirit rebelled against the authority of the pale-face; and the circumstances of his father's death, during the troublous times when the celebrated cornstalk waged war, had made a lasting impression. [illustration: tecumseh.] the far-seeing leader realized that without a combined effort on the part of the natives, extinction was certain. fired with determination to break the growing power of the long-knives (as the americans were called), he formed a federation of nations for the purpose of putting a stop to emigration, claiming that their possessions were common property and could not be transferred without the consent of all. he incited the indians to hostilities, going from one part of the country to another, accompanied by two warriors of exceptional bravery. sa-wa-co-ta (yellow cloud) and wa-se-go-bo-ah (stand firm) were the sons of a chippewa mother. their father, a french officer, had gone back to his own land at the close of the french and indian war. prior to his departure, the unfortunate wife, learning of the proposed desertion, and discovering that her children were to be placed on board the ship which would soon sail across the seas, fled with the babes and found a refuge among the shawnees, where the boys grew to manhood. tall, straight and commanding, with all the intensity of the latin races, and the wildness and stoicism of the aborigines, they were well fitted for positions of trust under tecumseh. indian traits predominated in sa-wa-co-ta, the older of the brothers. his dark complexion, high cheek bones and flashing eyes bespoke, to a marked degree, a savage lineage; while the open countenance of wa-se-go-bo-ah showed a stronger tendency toward the father's kindred. from early childhood, there had been in his manner, a refinement and superiority that denoted a long line of cultured ancestors from the nobility of france. here, even in the wilds of america, was that distinction observed and respected by a barbarous people. young and old alike listened with quiet approval when the lips of wa-se-go-bo-ah opened to give advice, and the sister of tecumseh, tecumapease, heard with trembling joy the words his eyes had long since spoken, and betrothal followed. but there was one of dark and evil face and strange demeanor, the older brother of tecumapease, who gazed with hatred on her future lord, and would, if possible, prevent the nuptials. the prophet, elkswatawa (loud voice), fearing the influence of the warrior stand firm might exceed his own, opposed the union. tecumseh, having returned from a pilgrimage to a distant tribe, was seated in his cabin, awaiting the coming of the prophet. he regarded with contempt the luxuries of life, and when at home in the new piqua village, resided in a log hut chinked with mud. the ancient town had been destroyed by white soldiers, and its namesake founded near the great miami river. a nose ring with three silver crosses, and a few stripes of brilliant paint gave a look of ferocity to the bright intelligent face of the chief; and a medallion of george the third, on a wampum string, hung around his neck. buckskin leggings, moccasins decorated with porcupine quills, a deerskin jacket and a blue breech-cloth completed the odd uniform. elkswatawa entered, clad in garments made from the skins of wild animals. in addition to these, a kind of turban surmounted with bunches of feathers, a nose ring, large earrings, hideously painted cheeks, and a sightless eye, the other gleaming with malignant fire, were well calculated to inspire terror. the man was an object of superstitious awe to the northwestern indians. in vain he sought to change the mind of him who had decided to bestow tecumapease upon the most beloved of all the braves. the wily prophet appealed without effect to that innate love of power, strong in persons that are born to rule. the shooting star looked deep beneath the surface, and discerned, within the heart of loud voice, envy and unfounded dread of the growing popularity of wa-se-go-bo-ah. the prophet left in anger; and collecting a few followers, betook himself to a new locality, the present site of greenville, where he established a town. attracted by stories of wonderful deeds, savages from different directions flocked to the place. it was rumored that the seer could make pumpkins as large as wigwams come up out of the ground, and that one ear of his corn would feed six men; that he was invulnerable, and had all knowledge of the present, past and future. many of the shawnees considered elkswatawa an impostor and refused to enter into any plans against the government. tecumseh frowned upon them, and spent much time, when not upon his travels, at the prophet's town. general harrison, governor of the territory of indiana, became alarmed and sent a letter to the brothers, inviting them to vincennes, for the purpose of making known their grievances. to the intense fright of the inhabitants, they responded with an escort of four hundred fully armed warriors. at the appointed hour, on the morning of the twelfth of august, , tecumseh advanced, with thirty chosen men, to the place of meeting in front of the governor's residence. by his side were stand firm, now the husband of tecumapease, and yellow cloud. an aid-de-camp pointed to a seat by general harrison, and addressing the chief, said: "your father requests you to take a seat." drawing his blanket more closely around him, tecumseh replied: "the sun is my father and the earth is my mother; on her bosom will i repose"; and flung himself upon the ground. his speech at the council has gone down in history as one of the most remarkable on record, for native oratory. a spirited answer, with a refusal to return the lands in question, aroused the braves, who, at a signal, seized their war clubs. tomahawks were brandished in a threatening way. bloodshed was averted only by the coolness and tact of the governor. in the confusion which resulted, wa-se-go-bo-ah fell heavily forward, stricken down, supposedly, by a white foe. the unconscious man was borne to the indian camp. as no wound could be discovered on first examination, the americans were accused of employing supernatural power. then a small bruise was found at the base of the brain, similar to one produced by a missile. gradually the favorite of the people recovered; and as he lay upon the grass, enveloped in a thick blanket, he turned, and suddenly beheld a terrible figure, with horns and one fierce gleaming eye, burning like a coal of fire, creep stealthily toward him. its hand was raised to strike, and in the claw-like fingers was clutched a glittering knife. frozen with horror, he remained for a moment immovable, then, quick as thought, rolled under the arm of the crouching demon--evading the blade almost by miracle--and struck against its breast. a desperate struggle ensued, in which stand firm secured possession of the weapon. holding it aloft, he caught at the throat of the hairy-faced monster and the mask came off, disclosing the features of the prophet. "elkswatawa, n-tha-thah (my brother), why do you seek my life? go, for the sake of her whose eyes are as the stars of heaven, unharmed. their light shall guide me into paths of peace. her love shall teach me to forgive your murderous wrath." the creature slunk away; and the noble conqueror dreamed that night of the little piqua village, where tecumapease, with trustful heart, besought the great master of life to preserve him, who, even while she prayed, escaped the grasp of death. but the mighty being who controls the destiny of humanity, from the highest even to the lowest, punished the treacherous seer, when, on the sixth of november, , the indians, in direct violation of a truce, advanced upon the united states troops under general harrison, encamped within a mile of the prophet's town. the magic bowl, the sacred torch and the holy string of beans were touched, and the savages, believing themselves invulnerable, rushed upon the tents of the americans at four o'clock in the morning. tecumseh was absent upon a visit to the creeks, choctaws and chickasaws. the cowardly prophet stood, at a safe distance from the battle-ground, going through religious mummeries and singing a war song. complete victory established the fame of general harrison; and the battle of tippecanoe was one of the most important in results, of that period. the destruction of their village scattered the tribes over a large area. elkswatawa took refuge with a few wyandots on wild cat creek. eventually, he removed to kansas and died in shawnee township, wyandotte county. his grave has no headstone, and those interested in the early history of the state have sought in vain for some distinguishing mark. the really great tecumseh, returning to find all his schemes defeated, became an ally of the british. much of the trouble with the white settlers had been occasioned through their agency. the two friends of the rebellious chief faithfully followed his fortunes. if fate dealt hardly with him, they shared the danger and disappointment. if kindly, the triumph was theirs, also. sa-wa-co-ta was killed at frenchtown, by a ball intended for his superior. the americans, closely pursued, had sought shelter behind houses and fences on the south side of the river raisin. the indians, by a detour, had gained the woods in the rear and were protected. disdaining to skulk from tree to tree, the fiery warrior, with tecumseh and a small number of brave men, pressed boldly upon the fugitives. observing that their leader was singled out by the enemy, his companions closed in around the chief to shield him, at the moment that yellow cloud stepped in front, for the same purpose. the latter fell, heart and brain penetrated by bullets. thus nobly ended the life of sa-wa-co-ta, of whose achievements, even the noted chiefs, roundhead, panther and blue jacket, might well be proud. history has recorded the outcome of the struggle, and traced the wanderings of those who, deprived of their inheritance and driven to desperation, united with the foes of america. general proctor, discouraged by perry's victory on lake erie, that occurred some time later, fled from malden, where he was stationed at the time, with eight hundred soldiers and two thousand indians. general harrison overtook the combined forces near the river thames. during the battle, colonel johnson and the kentucky cavalry were ordered to charge. galloping forward, they broke through the lines and formed again, when the english surrendered. tecumseh began the conflict with fury, fighting more fiercely than ever before. his voice could be heard above the din, inspiring the men to make every exertion; but the day was lost. colonel johnson, engaged in a hand-to-hand contest with a fine, well-built indian, was wounded by another, as soon as he had despatched the first. the second assailant then sprang toward him with a tomahawk, when the officer drew a pistol and killed his antagonist. the rest of the savages, losing hope, gave way. night came on, but the heavens were dark. the shooting star would never more be seen. the ringing voice was silent; and tecumapease, his sister, waited in vain for the return of her lord. stand firm, "faithful unto death," had fallen beside the chief. next morning, the bodies of two warriors, with dignity of face and form, were found, not far apart, upon the bloody field. tecumseh was the greatest, most magnanimous, and bravest man the red race had ever known. now that his brilliant oratory no longer swayed the multitudes, organized resistance to settlement north of the ohio river ceased. tecumapease, to whom had been entrusted the care of her brother's child, died a few years later, and the boy, together with her son, drifted, with the shawnees, from reservation to reservation. for many years they lived in eastern kansas, where the descendants of tecumapease still reside, and relate, with pardonable pride, the exploits of their forefathers. [illustration: the shawnee prophet.] the tardiness of the red race in accepting civilization, has long been a subject of comment. yet the barbarian should not be censured, in view of the fact that paler-faced youth, with all the benefits accruing from past generations of culture, have, in many instances, taken readily to aboriginal customs. it was a part of the religion of all indian nations to increase their number by adoption. frequently white children were spirited away from home and carried from place to place, in order to evade pursuit. almost invariably, after a lapse of time, they not only became reconciled to savage modes of living, but preferred them. a notable case was that of chinwa, the white warrior. in the early part of the nineteenth century, before the shawnees had emigrated to the valley of the kaw, there was a famous old chief named black fish, who was untiring in activity against the white settlers. during one of the numerous periods of hostility, chinwa, the only son of this warrior, was killed; and the grief-stricken father said to his braves, "go, go and find me a boy to replace my son." putting on their black paint, the indians went over the alleghanies into virginia. in a prosperous settlement in western virginia lived a wealthy planter named rogers. his family consisted of himself, his wife and two young sons. one quiet evening in early fall, the boys were allowed to go for the cows unaccompanied by the servant who ordinarily acted as body guard. the beautiful autumn woods were aglow with color, and the children's exuberance of spirits burst forth in shouts and other noisy demonstrations. as little henry lingered to seize a brilliant spray of rich-tinted foliage, two hideous black-painted savages sprang from the bushes and caught him before he had time to call for assistance. the frightened child was borne hastily away, through the forest, over the mountains, to an indian village where black fish received him with open arms, saying: "don't be afraid; you are now my son--my chinwa. here, take his bow and arrows; here are his gun and knapsack. some day you will be a great chief." henry was adopted into the tribe, and forgetting his former home, learned to be content with the wild life of the shawnees. a fine horse and saddle were a constant source of pleasure, and persistent practice made the boy expert in the use of bow and arrows. as he grew older, chinwa became a successful hunter, and was looked upon with pride and admiration by his sisters. the youngest of these, pretty little chelatha, was sought in marriage by many braves; but old black fish, waiting for the day when chinwa should declare his love, repulsed their advances with disdain. at length the young chief could no longer conceal his regard from the object of his affection, and implored her to become his bride. she replied with indignation: "you are my brother. i could not be my brother's wife." after a long conference with watmeme, the mother, in which the entire circumstances were explained, chelatha said: "if father says so, i will marry chinwa." amid great rejoicing, the pale-face took her to his habitation, and the tribe celebrated the event with feasting and strange ceremonies. excitement prevailed in the rogers household when henry was captured, and a search had been prosecuted wherever a clue could be obtained. long years after the disappearance of her younger son, sorrow still reigned in the heart of the bereaved mother; and it was with fear and trembling at last, that the older brother, receiving tidings of the lost one, traced him over the mountain ranges, into the beautiful blue-grass country, to the land of daniel boone. the meeting was a happy one, though marked by some constraint--the result of years of separation and widely different surroundings. henry was persuaded to leave his western home and repair to the aged mother, now prostrated by severe illness. once more within the confines of civilization, he abandoned the insignia of savage life, and adopted the garb of his own people. unusual festivities followed; the mother, recovering strength, employed every art to retain him, but without success. in vain the pretty maidens of the village exerted all their power to please. memories of a happy life in the wilderness were always present, and he said: "mother, i have learned to love the indians; there i am free. i love my two children and my dark-haired wife." the next morning the colored servant was commanded to bring his horse, and chinwa, the warrior, in all the splendor of beads and buckskin, bade farewell to the home of his infancy. how fresh and sweet was the breath of the woods, as he dashed into her depths! the delicate blossoms of spring lifted their dainty heads and scattered perfume along the narrow trail. the cloudless sky and the distant mountains seemed to beckon him on to the loved ones who at that moment were waiting, longing for the wanderer's return. time sped by on rapid wings, and soon chelatha--sitting lonely in her doorway, said to her little ones: "listen, i hear the voice of your father." again the faint call was borne through the distance and reverberated in her anxious heart. then its beatings responded to the sound of horse's hoofs, and the next moment, chinwa, the brave, sprang to the ground and caught her in his arms, saying: "i have come home--home to my chelatha, never to leave her more." [illustration: che-la-tha.] all the pleasures, all the riches which the world can give are as nothing when weighed in the balance against the sincere love of one devoted heart. the shawnees, like other indian tribes, were firm believers in evil spirits; and when it was thought that one had become possessed of a demon, did not hesitate to employ heroic measures to drive it out. to such superstitions may be ascribed the tragic death of the son of chief lay-law-she-kaw. when the present site of the city of topeka was the hunting-ground of the shawnee indians there was a fierce war with the pawnees. chief lay-law-she-kaw (he who goes up the river) had been successful in many battles and pursued the enemy far into their own territory. at length, in desperation, the pawnees gathered strength, and making a final effort for the preservation of their homes, surprised the victorious shawnees while encamped among the hills along the river. in the thick of the fight, pa-che-ta, the son of lay-law-she-kaw, sprang to the side of the old chief, just as a powerful warrior raised his tomahawk to cleave his skull. in another moment the leader would have fallen, had not the young brave, with the utmost coolness, lifted his rifle, taken quick aim and fired. with a horrible yell, the pawnee sank to the ground. attracted by his cry, three others appeared. again the rifle did sudden duty, while lay-law-she-kaw engaged the nearest enemy. two more were despatched, and now pa-che-ta turned to face the remaining pawnee, who had approached too near for rifles, and endeavored to use the tomahawk. this was dashed from his hand. the two grappled fiercely, each striving to get the knife out of his belt. at last pa-che-ta succeeded in holding down his adversary, and plunged the knife deep into his heart. blinded by the blood, which spurted up into his face, the shawnee staggered to his feet and ran forward a short distance, only to find himself in the midst of the attacking indians. desperately he fought his way out, striking right and left, wounded and faint. then, seeing a gulley surrounded with bushes, he rolled into it, and creeping painfully to the edge of a pond, waded into the water. the pawnees lost the trail. they looked here and there while the main body pursued old lay-law-she-kaw and his braves to the country of the kaws. night fell; and still pa-che-ta lay concealed in the lake among the tall grass. at the end of the second day the search was abandoned. then the prisoner, half starved and half demented, dragged himself slowly homeward. a few berries and roots had been his sole food, and the burning rays of the sun had beaten down upon his head, until reason tottered. the people went wild with enthusiasm when their hero, emaciated but triumphant, appeared in the village. he was taken to lay-law-she-kaw's habitation and provided with nourishment, but sank into a stupor from which the medicine men, with all their skill, could not arouse him. after many days he awakened; great was the rejoicing. his father appointed a day of feasting; and the tribe gathered to do honor to him who had fought so bravely in the face of defeat. cattle were slaughtered, fires were kindled, and strange dances were in progress when pa-che-ta approached. demonstrations of joy greeted his appearance. among the children on the outer edge of the circle, stood little n-tha-thah, gazing proudly at the big brother who would one day be his chief. as the excitement increased, his heart swelled with pride, and the next moment found him, bow and arrows in hand, the center of the charmed circle. pa-che-ta gazed at the child with a strange look in his piercing black eyes. then, with a stealthy movement, he turned and slowly reached for the rifle which rested against the stump of a tree. lay-law-she-kaw, keen witted and alert, noticed the sudden change that came over the face of his eldest son. what was the cause of that cruel, crafty expression? had bad spirits entered the brain of pa-che-ta, whose noble deeds would ever after be celebrated by the nation? now the brave was creeping cautiously toward the little one, who stood motionless, in round-eyed wonder. deliberately he placed the weapon to his shoulder and took aim--but the crack of another rifle broke the awful hush which had fallen upon the people, and when the smoke cleared away, pa-che-ta lay in a pool of blood. the father had fired in time to preserve his young child. for many years the old women of the tribe told, in accents of awe, how evil spirits had gone into the brain of their noblest warrior and looked out of his eyes with terrible glances of murderous hatred, in the moment of his greatest triumph. how they had been driven out with a rifle ball, and lay-law-she-kaw, _o-kee-nah_ (the chief), sorrowing for his first born, had that day been called by the great spirit to enter the happy hunting grounds. * * * * * the north american indian was of a strange, somewhat contradictory character: in war, daring, cunning, boastful, ruthless; in peace, cheerful, dignified, superstitious, revengeful; clinging as far as possible, to the customs of his forefathers. civilization came almost as a destroyer. future generations will know him only as a dim, historic figure, around which clusters the mythology of ancient america. whence came these legends and traditions? the children of nature read them in the leafy woodlands, on the broad prairie, in the blue vault of heaven, the crimson sunset, the dark storm-threatening clouds, in every gentle breeze or sweeping hurricane. each story lived in the hearts of the people, and here and there a mighty forest tree bore a quaint inscription "full of hope and yet of heart-break, full of all the tender pathos of the here and the hereafter." "the stars, and hills and storms are with us now, as they were with others of old; and it only needs that we look at them with the earnestness of those childish eyes, to understand the first words spoken of them by the children of men, and then, in all the most beautiful and enduring myths, we shall find, not only a literal story of a real person, not only a parallel imagery of moral principle, but an underlying worship of natural phenomena, out of which both have sprung, and in which both forever remain rooted." _ruskin._ transcribers note: several words in this book were inconsistently hyphenated, i have left all the hyphens as written. in particular the contents tables often use different hyphenation and accents to the main text. some names were also spelt differently in the contents tables and in the main text. i have left these differences as they were written. transcriber's note: text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). small capital text has been replaced with all capitals. [=e] refers to the "long e" sound (example: k[=i]-o-te). [illustration: _bureau of illustration buffalo ny_] buffalo land: an authentic account of the _discoveries, adventures, and mishaps of a scientific and sporting party_ in the wild west; with graphic descriptions of the country; the red man, savage and civilized; hunting the buffalo, antelope, elk, and wild turkey; etc., etc. replete with information, wit, and humor. the appendix comprising a complete guide for sportsmen and emigrants. by w. e. webb, of topeka, kansas. profusely illustrated from actual photographs, and original drawings by henry worrall. cincinnati and chicago: e hannaford & company. san francisco: f. dewing & co. . entered according to act of congress, in the year , by e. hannaford & co., in the office of the librarian of congress, at washington, d. c. stereotyped at the franklin type foundry, cincinnati. to the primeval man, _the original westerner, and first buffalo hunter,_ this work is dedicated, with profound regard, _by the author._ buffalo land. by our tammany sachem. there's a wonderful land far out in the west, well worthy a visit, my friend; there, puritans thought, as the sun went to rest, creation itself had an end. 't is a wild, weird spot on the continent's face, a wound which is ghastly and red, where the savages write the deeds of their race in blood that they constantly shed. the graves of the dead the fair prairies deface, and stamp it the kingdom of dread. the emigrant trail is a skeleton path; you measure its miles by the bones; there savages struck, in their merciless wrath, and now, after sunset, the moans, when tempests are out, fill the shuddering air, and ghosts flit the wagons beside, and point to the skulls lying grinning and bare and beg of the teamsters a ride; sometimes 't is a father with snow on his hair, again, 't is a youth and his bride. what visions of horror each valley could tell, if providence gave it a tongue! how often its eden was changed to a hell, in which a whole train had been flung; how death cry and battle-shout frightened the birds, and prayers were as thick as the leaves, and no one to catch the poor dying one's words but death, as he gathered his sheaves: you see the bones bleaching among the wild herds, in shrouds that the field spider weaves. that era is passing--another one comes, the era of steam and the plow, with clangor of commerce and factory hums, where only the wigwam is now. like mist of the morning before the bright sun, the cloud from the land disappears; the spirit of murder his circle has run and fled from the march of the years; the click of machine drowns the click of the gun, and day hides the night time of tears. preface. the purpose of this work is to make the reader better acquainted with that wild land which he has known from childhood, as the home of the indian and the buffalo. the rocky mountain chain, distorted and rugged, has been aptly called the colossal vertebræ of our continent's broad back, and from thence, as a line, the plains, weird and wonderful, stretch eastward through colorado, and embrace the entire western half of kansas. fortune, not long since, threw in my way an invitation, which i gladly accepted, to join a semi-scientific party, since somewhat known to fame through various articles in the newspaper press, in a sojourn of several months on the great plains. at a meeting held with due solemnity on the eve of starting, the professor (to whom the reader will be introduced in the proper connection) was chosen leader of the expedition, while to my lot fell the office of editor of the future record, or rather grand scribe of what we were pleased to call our "log book." the latter now lies before me, in all its glory of shabby covers and dirty pages. its soiled face is as honorable as that of the laborer who comes from his task in a well harvested field. out of the sheaves gathered during our journey, i shall try and take such portions as may best supply the mental cravings of the countless thousands who hunger for the life and the lore of the far west. i have given the mistakes as well as triumphs of our expedition, and the members of the party will readily recognize their familiar camp names. the disguise will probably be pleasant, as few like to see their failures on public parade, preferring rather to leave these in barracks, and let their successes only appear at review. the plains have a face, a people, and a brute creation, peculiarly their own, and to these our party devoted earnest study. the expedition presented a rare opportunity of becoming acquainted with the game of the country; and, in writing the present volume, my aim has been to make it so far a text-book for amateur hunters that they may become at once conversant with the habits of the game, and the best manner of killing it. the time is not far distant, when the plains and the rocky mountains will be sought by thousands annually, as a favorite field for sport and recreation. another and still larger class, it is hoped, will find much of interest and value in the following pages. from every state in the union, people are constantly passing westward. we found emigrant wagons on spots from which the indians had just removed their wigwams. multitudes more are now on the way, with the earnest purpose of founding homes and, if possible, of finding fortunes. in order to aid this class, as well as the sportsman, i have gathered in an appendix such additional information as may be useful to both. the scientific details of our trip will probably be published in proper form and time, by the savans interested. in regard to these, my object has been simply to chronicle such matters as made an impression upon my own mind, being content with what cream might be gathered by an amateur's skimming, while the more bulky milk should be saved in capacious scientific buckets. professor cope, the well known naturalist, of the academy of sciences, philadelphia, received for examination and classification the most valuable fossils we obtained, and to him i am indebted for a large amount of most interesting and valuable scientific matter, which will be found embodied in chapters twenty-third and twenty-fourth. the illustrations of men and brutes in this work are studies from life. whenever it was possible, we had photographs taken. the plains, it must be said, are a tract with which romance has had much more to do than history. red men, brave and chivalrous, and unnatural buffalo, with the habits of lions, exist only in imagination. in these pages, my earnest endeavor, when dealing with actualities, has been to "hold the mirror up to nature," and to describe men, manners, and things as they are in real life upon the frontiers, and beyond, to-day. w. e. w. topeka, kansas, _may_, . contents. chapter i. pages. the object of our expedition--a glimpse of alaska through captain walrus' glass--we are tempted by our recent purchase--alaskan game of "old sledge"--the early struggles of kansas--the smoky hill trail--indian high art--the "border-ruffian," past and present--topeka--how it received its name--waukarusa and its legend, - chapter ii. a chapter of introductions--professor paleozoic--tammany sachem--doctor pythagoras--genuine muggs--colon and semi-colon--shamus dobeen--tenacious gripe--bugs and philosophy--how gripe became a republican, - chapter iii. the topeka auctioneer--muggs gets a bargain--cynocephalus--indian summer in kansas--hunting prairie chickens--our first day's sport, - chapter iv. chicken-shooting continued--a scientific party take the birds on the wing--evils of fast firing--an old-fashioned "slow shot"--the habits of the prairie chicken--its prospective extinction--mode of hunting it--the gopher scalp law, - chapter v. a trial by judge lynch--hung for contempt of court--quail shooting--habits of the birds, and mode of killing them--a ring of quails--the effects of a severe winter--the snow goose, - chapter vi. off for buffalo land--the navigation of the kaw--fort riley--the center-post of the united states--our purchase of horses--"lo" as a savage and as a citizen--gripe unfolds the indian question--a ballad by sachem, presenting another view, - chapter vii. gripe's views of indian character--the delawares, the ishmaelites of the plains--the territory of the "long horns"--texans and their characteristics--mushroom rock--a valuable discovery-- footprints in the rock--the primeval paul and virginia, - chapter viii. the "great american desert"--its fossil wealth--an illusion dispelled--fires according to novels and according to fact-- sensational heroes and heroines--prairie dogs and their habits-- hawk and dog, and hawk and cat, - chapter ix. we see buffalo--arrival at hays--general sheridan at the fort--indian murders--blood-christening of the pacific railroad--surprised by a buffalo herd--a buffalo bull in a quandary--gentle zephyrs--how a circus went off--bologna to lean on--a call upon sheridan, - chapter x. hays city by lamp-light--the santa fe trade--bull-whackers-- mexicans--sabbath on the plains--the dark ages--wild bill and buffalo bill--off for the saline--dobeen's ghost-story--an adventure with indians--mexican cannonade--a runaway, - chapter xi. white wolf, the cheyenne chief--hungry indians--return to hays--a cheyenne war party--the pipe of peace--the council chamber--white wolf's speech, as rendered by sachem--the white man's wigwam, - chapter xii. arms of a war party--a donkey present--eating powers of the nomads--satanta, his crimes and punishment--running off with a government herd--daub, our artist--antelope chase by a greyhound, - chapter xiii. character of the plains--buffalo bill and his horse brigham--the guide and scout of romance--cayote versus jackass-rabbit--a lawyer-like rescue--our camp on silver creek--uncle sam's buffalo herds--turkey-shooting--our first meal on the plains--a game supper, - chapter xiv. a camp-fire scene--vagabondizing--the black pacer of the plains--some advice from buffalo bill about indian fighting--lo's abhorrence of long range--his dread of cannon--an irish goblin, - chapter xv. a fire scene--a glimpse of the south--'coon hunting in mississippi-- voices in the solitude--friends or foes--a startling serenade--panic in camp--cayotes and their habits--worrying a buffalo bull--the second day--daub, our artist--he makes his mark, - chapter xvi. bison meat--a strange arrival--the sydney family--the home in the valley--the solomon massacre--the murder of the father and the child--the settlers' flight--incidents--our queen of the plains--the professor interested--irish mary--dobeen happy--the heroine of romance--sachem's bath by moonlight--the beaver colony, - chapter xvii. preparations for the chase--the valley of the saline--queer 'coons--a bison's game of bluff--in pursuit--alongside the game--firing from the saddle--a charge and a panic--false history again--going for ammunition--the professor's letter-- disrobing the victim, - chapter xviii. still hunting--dark objects against the horizon--the red man again--retreat to camp--preparations for defense--shaking hands with death--mr. colon's bugs--the embassadors--a new alarm--more indians--terrific battle between pawnees and cheyennes--their mode of fighting--good horsemanship--a scientific party as sextons--ditto as surgeons--camps of the combatants--stealing away--an apparition, - chapter xix. stalking the bison--buffalo as oxen--expensive power--a buffalo at a lunatic asylum--the gateway to the herds--infernal grape-shot--nature's bomb-shells--crawling bedouins--"thar they hump"--the slaughter begun--an ineffectual charge--"ketching the critter"--return to camp--calves' head on the stomach--an unpleasant episode--wolf baiting, and how it is done, - chapter xx. the cayotes' strychnine feast--capturing a timber wolf--a few cords of victims--what the law considers "indian tan"--"finishing" the new york market--a new york farmer's opinion of our gray wolf--westward again--episodes in our journey--the wild huntress of the plains--was our guide a murderer?--the reader joins us in a buffalo chase--the dying agonies, - chapter xxi. "creasing" wild horses--muggs disappointed--a feat for fiction-- horse and monkey--hoof wisdom for turfmen--prospective climatic changes on the plains--the question of spontaneous generation--wanton slaughter of buffalo--amount of robes and meat annually wasted--a strange habit of the bison--numerous bills--the "sneak thief" of the plains, - chapter xxii. a live town and its grave-yard--honest rombeaux in trouble--judge lynch holds court--marie and the vine-covered cottage--the terrible floods--death in camp and in the dugout--was it the water which did it?--discovery of a huge fossil--the mosasaurus of the cretaceous sea--a glimpse of the reptilian age--reminiscences of alligator-shooting--they suggest a theory, - chapter xxiii. from sheridan to the rocky mountains--the colorado portion of the plains--the giant pines--attempt to photograph a buffalo--things get mixed--the leviathan at home--a chat with professor cope--twenty-six-inch oysters--reptiles and fishes of the cretaceous sea, - chapter xxiv. continued by cope--the giants of the seas--taking out fossils in a gale--interesting discoveries--the geology of the plains, - chapter xxv. a savage outbreak--the battle of the forty scouts--the surprise-- pack-mules stampeded--death on the arickeree--the medicine man--a dismal night--messengers sent to wallace--morning attack--whose funeral?--relief at last--the old scout's devotion to the blue, - chapter xxvi. the stage drivers of the plains--"old bob"--jamaica and ginger--an old acquaintance--beads of the past--robbing the dead--a leap from the lost history of the mound builders--indian traditions--speculations--adobe houses in a rain--cheap living--watch towers, - chapter xxvii. our programme concluded--from sheridan to the solomon--fierce winds--a terrific storm--shamus' bloody apparition and indian witch--a reconnoissance--an indian burial grove--a contractor's daring and its penalty--more vagabondizing--jose at the long bow--the "wild huntress'" counterpart--shamus treats us to "chile"--the result, - chapter xxviii. the block-house on the solomon--how the old man died--waconda da--legend of wa-bog-aha and hewgaw--sabbath morning--sachem's poetical epitaph--an alarm--battle between an emigrant and the indians--was it the sydneys?--to the rescue--an elk hunt--rocky mountain sheep--novel mode of hunting turkeys--in camp on the solomon--a warm welcome, - chapter xxix. our last night together--the remarkable shed-tail dog--he rescues his mistress, and breaks up a meeting--a sketch of territorial times by gripe--montgomery's expedition for the rescue of john brown's companions--scalped, and carving his own epitaph--an irish jacob--"survival of the fittest"--sachem's poetical letter--popping the question on the run--the professor's letter, - contents of appendix. pages. preliminary to the appendix, , chapter first. come to the great west--should there not be compulsory emigration--"get a good ready"--homestead laws and regulations--the state of kansas--the cost of a farm--a few more practical suggestions, - chapter second. hunting the buffalo--antelope hunting--elk hunting--turkey hunting--general remarks--what to do if lost on the plains--the new field for sportsmen, - chapter third. "by the mouth of two or three witnesses"--the great west--fall of the rivers--the principal rivers and valleys of buffalo land--the valley of the platte--the solomon and smoky hill rivers--the arkansas river and its tributaries--stock raising in the great west--the cattle hive of north america--the climate of the plains--climatic changes on the plains--the trees and future forests of the plains--the supply of fuel--districts contiguous to the plains--the valleys of the white earth and niobrara--new mexico: its soil, climate, resources, etc.--the disappearing bison--the fish with legs--the mountain supply of lumber for the plains, - list of illustrations. _from original drawings by henry worrall, and actual photographs._ _the engraving by the bureau of illustration, buffalo, n. y._ page frontispiece, facing title page alaskan lovers--sealing the contract, alaskan game of old sledge, "waukarusa," "toasts his moccasined feet by the fire," the professor--a remarkable stone, tammany sachem--prospective and retrospective, colon and semi-colon, david pythagoras, m. d., one of the muggses, shamus dobeen--his card, hon. t. gripe (beatified), "sperit, gentlemen!" our first bird-shooting, judge lynch--his court, unnaturalized, naturalized, "you've riled that brook"--an old fable modernized, dog town--the happy family, indian rock--from a photograph, mushroom rock--from a photograph, fire on the plains, according to novels, fire on the plains, as it is, "and erin's son christens those far-off points of the pacific railroad with his blood," gentle zephyrs--going off without a drawback, "looked like the end of a tail," the rare old plainsman of the novels, wild bill--from a photograph, buffalo bill--from a photograph, our horses run away with us, the pipe of peace--the professor's dilemma, _white wolf at home_, the wild denizens of the plains, smashing a cheyenne black-kettle, midnight serenade on the plains, going after ammunition, battle between cheyennes and pawnees, one of our specimens--photographed by j. lee knight, topeka, wanton destruction of buffalo, embracing: daily, for fun, a day for pleasure, for excitement, , for tongues, , , for robes, to get whisky, dug out, taking and being taken, developing--one of the first families, the sea which once covered the plains, waconda da--great spirit salt spring, more of our specimens (photographed by j. lee knight), embracing: prairie chickens, head of an elk, wild turkey, beaver, buffalo land. chapter i. the object of our expedition--a glimpse of alaska through captain walrus' glass--we are tempted by our recent purchase--alaskan game of "old sledge"--the early struggles of kansas--the smoky hill trail--indian high art--the "border-ruffian," past and present--topeka--how it received its name--waukarusa and its legend. the great plains--the region of country in which our expedition sojourned for so many months--is wilder, and by far more interesting, than those solitudes over which the egyptian sphynx looks out. the latter are barren and desolate, while the former teem with their savage races and scarcely more savage beasts. the very soil which these tread is written all over with a history of the past, even its surface giving to science wonderful and countless fossils of those ages when the world was young and man not yet born. at first, it was rather unsettled which way the steps of our party would turn; between unexplored territory and that newly acquired, there were several fields open which promised much of interest. originally, our company numbered a dozen; but alaska tempted a portion of our savans, and to the fishy and frigid maiden they yielded, drawn by a strange predilection for train-oil and seal meat toward the land of furs. for the remainder of our party, however, life under the alaskan's tent-pole had no charms. our decision may have been influenced somewhat by the seafaring man with whom our friends were to sail. the real name of this son of neptune was samuels, but our party called him, as it savored more of salt water, captain walrus, of the bark harpoon. this worthy, according to his own statement, had been born on a whaler, weaned among the esquimeaux, and, moreover, had frozen off eight toes "trying to winter it at our recent purchase." he evidently disliked to have scientific men aboard, intent on studying eclipses and seals. "a heathenish and strange people are the alaskans," walrus was wont to say. "what is not indian is russian, and a compound of the latter and aboriginal is a mixture most villainous. one portion of the partnership anatomy takes to brandy, while the other absorbs train-oil, and so a half-breed alaskan heathen is always prepared for spontaneous combustion, and if rubbed the wrong way, flames up instantly. he is always hot for murder, and if you throw cold water on his designs, his oily nature sheds it." and many a yarn did the captain spin concerning their strange customs. sealing a marriage contract consisted in the warrior leaving a fat seal at the hole of the hut, where his intended crawled in to her home privileges of smoke and fish. their favorite game was "old sledge," played with prisoners to shorten their captivity. [illustration: alaskan lovers--sealing the contract.] [illustration: alaskan game of old sledge.] all this, and much more, probably equally true, we had picked up of alaskan history, and at one time our chests had been packed for a voyage on the harpoon; but at the final council the west carried it against the north, and our steps were directed toward the setting sun, instead of the polar star. the expedition afforded unexcelled facilities for seeing buffalo land. it was composed of good material, and pursued its chosen path successfully, though under difficulties which would have turned back a less determined party. none of our company, i trust, will consider it an unwarrantable license which recounts to others the personal peculiarities and mistakes about which we joked so freely while in camp. it was generally understood, before we parted, that the adventures should be common stock for our children and children's children. why should not the great public share in it also? * * * * * let the reader place before him a checker-board, and allow it to represent kansas, whose shape and outline it much resembles; the half nearest him will stand for the eastern or settled portion of the state, of which the other half is embraced in buffalo land proper. it is with the latter that we have first to do, as with it we first became acquainted. our party entered the state at kansas city, and took the cars for topeka, its capital. during our morning ride through the valley of the kaw, memory went backward to the years when "bleeding kansas" was the signal-cry of emancipation. when gray old time, a decade and a half ago, was writing the history of those bright children of freedom, the united sisterhood, a virgin arm reached over his shoulder, and a fair young hand, stained with its own life-blood, wrote on the page toward which all the world was gazing, "i am kansas, latest-born of america. i would be free, yet they would make me a slave. save me, my sisters!" the great heart of our nation was sorely distressed. conscience pointed to one path--policy, that rank hypocrite, to another. and so it was that the young queen, with her grand domain in the west, struggled forward to lay her fealty at the feet of our great mother, liberty. she made a body-guard of her own sons, and their number was quickly swelled by brave hearts from the north, east, and west. the new territory, begging admission as a state, became a battle-ground. slavery had reached forth its hand to grasp the new state and fresh soil, but the mutilated member was drawn back with wounds which soon reached, corrupted and destroyed the body. in this land of the far west a nation of young giants had been suddenly developed, and kansas was forever won for freedom. but there was yet another enemy and another danger. westward, toward colorado, the savage's tomahawk and knife glittered, and struck among the affrighted settlements. _ad astra per aspera_, "to the stars through difficulties," the state exclaims on the seal, and to the stars, through blood, its course has been. those old pages of history are too bloody to be brought to light in the bright present, and we purpose turning them only enough to gather what will be now of practical use. kansas suffered cruelly, and brooded over her wrongs, but she has long since struck hands with her bitterer foe. most of the "border ruffians" ripened on gallows trees, or fell by the sword, years ago. a few, however, are yet spared, to cheer their old age by riding around in desolate woods at midnight, wrapped in damp nightgowns, and masked in grinning death-heads. although the mists of shadow-land are chilling their hearts, yet those organs, at the cry of blood, beat quick again, like regimental drums, for action. the kaw or the kansas river, the valley of which we were traversing, is the principal stream of the state--in length to the mouth of the republican one hundred and fifty miles, and above that, under the name of smoky hill, three hundred miles more. the "smoky hill trail" is a familiar name in many an american home. it was the great california path, and many a time the demons of the plain gloated over fair hair, yet fresh from a mother's touch and blessing. and many a faint and thirsty traveler has flung himself with a burst of gratitude on the sandy bed of the desolate river, and thanked the great giver of all good for the concealed life found under the sand, and with the strength thus sucked from the bosom of our much-abused mother, he has pushed onward until at length the grand mountains and great parks of colorado burst upon his delighted vision. about noon we arrived at topeka, the capital, well situated on the south bank of the river, having a comfortable, well-to-do air, which suggests the quiet satisfaction of an honest burgher after a morning of toil. the slavery billow of agitation rolled even thus far from beyond the border of the state. armed men rode over the beautiful prairies, some east, some west--one band to transplant slavery from the tainted soil of missouri, another to pluck it up. a small party of free state men settled upon this beautiful prairie. south flowed the waukarusa, south and east the shunganunga, and west and north the kaw or kansas. here thrived a bulbous root, much loved by the red man, and here lazy pottawatomies gathered in the fall to dig it. in size and somewhat in shape, it resembled a goose egg, and had a hard, reddish brown shell, and an interior like damaged dough. the indian gourmands ate it greedily and called it "topeka." from the two or three families of refugee free state men the town grew up, and from the indian root it took its name. its christening took place in the first cabin erected, and it is reported that a now prominent banker of the town stood sponsor, with his back against the door, refusing any egress until the name of his choice was accepted. it is even affirmed that one opposing city founder was pulled back by his coat-tail from an attempted escape up the wide chimney. [illustration: "waukarusa."] [illustration: "toasts his moccasined feet by the fire."] the old indian love of commemorating events by significant names is well illustrated in kansas. one example may be given here. waukarusa once opposed its swollen tide to an exploring band of red men. now, from time beyond ken, the noble savage has been illustrious for the ingenuity with which he lays all disagreeable duties upon the shoulders of the patient squaw. he may ride to their death, in free wild sport, the bison multitudes; but their skins must be converted into marketable robes, and the flesh into jerked meat, by the ugly and over-worked partner of his bosom. while she pins the raw hide to earth, and bends patiently over, fleshing it with horn hatchet for weary hours, the stronger vessel, his abdominal recesses wadded with buffalo meat, toasts his moccasined feet by the fire, fills his lungs with smoke from villainous killikinick, and muses soothingly of white scalps and happy hunting grounds. ox-like maiden, happy "big injun!" you both belong to an age and a history well nigh past, and let us rejoice that it is so. but to return to the band long since gathered into aboriginal dust whom we left pausing on the banks of the waukarusa. "deep water, bad bottom!" grunted the braves, and, nothing doubting it, one loving warrior pushed his wife and her pony over the bank to test the matter. from the middle of the tide the squaw called back, "waukarusa" (thigh deep), and soon had gained the opposite bank in safety. then and there the creek received its name, "waukarusa." we procured a remarkable sketch, in the well known indian style of high art, commemorative of this event. it has always struck us that the savage order of drawing resembles very much that of the ancient egyptian--except in the matter of drawing at sight, with bow or rifle, on the white man. chapter ii. a chapter of introductions--professor paleozoic--tammany sachem--doctor pythagoras--genuine muggs--colon and semi-colon--shamus dobeen--tenacious gripe--bugs and philosophy--how gripe became a republican. when permission was given me to draw upon the journal of our trip for such material as i might desire, it was stipulated that the camp-names should be adhered to. a company on the plains is no respecter of persons, and titles which might have caused offense before starting were received in good part, and worn gracefully thenceforward. our leader, professor paleozoic, ordinarily existed in a sort of transition state between the primary and tertiary formations. he could tell cheese from chalk under the microscope, and show that one was full of the fossil and the other of the living evidences of animal life. a worthy man, vastly more troubled with rocks on the brain than "rocks" in the pocket. learning had once come near making him mad, but from this sad fate he was happily saved by a somewhat pickwickian blunder. while in kansas, some years since, he penetrated a remote portion of the wilderness, where, as he was happy in believing, none but the native savage, or, possibly, the primeval man, could ever have tarried long enough to leave any sign behind. imagine his astonishment and delight, therefore, when from the tangled grass he drew an upright stone, with lines chiseled on three sides and on the fourth a rude figure resembling more than any thing else one of those odd fictions which geologists call restored specimens. on a ledge near were huge depressions like foot-prints. they were foot-prints of birds, no doubt, and quite as perfect as those found in more favored localities, and from which whole skeletons had been constructed by learned men. both specimens were forwarded to, and at the expense of, noted savans of the east. our professor called the pillar from the tangled grass an altar raised by early races to the winds. the short lines, he suggested, designated the different points of the compass, while the rude figure was intended for boreas. our scientists toward the rising sun met the boxes at the depot, paid charges, and careful draymen bore them to the expectant museum. one hour after, seven wise men might have been seen wending their way sorrowfully homeward, with hands crossed meditatively under their coat-tails, and pocket vacuums where lately were modern coins. government clearly had a case against our professor. science decided that he had removed a stone telling in surveyors' signs just what section and township it was on. the figure which he had imagined a heathen idea of boreas was the fancy of some surveyor's idle moment--a shocking sketch of an impossible buffalo. whether the bird-tracks had a common origin, or were hewn by the hatchets of the red man, is a point still under discussion. a worthy man, as before remarked, was the professor, full of knowledge, genial in camp, and, having rubbed his eye-tooth on a section stone, geological authority of the highest order. when the professor said a particular rock belonged to the cretaceous formation, one might safely conclude that no modern influences had been at work either on that rock or in that vicinity. that question was settled. next came tammany sachem, our heavy weight and our mystery. before joining our party, he had been a new york alderman, noted for prowess in annual aldermanic clam-bakes at coney island. he was wont to exhibit a medal, the prize of such a tournament, on which several immense clams were racing to the griddle, for the honor of being devoured by the city fathers. a green-ribbed hunting coat traversed his rotundity, which had the generous swell of a puncheon. his face was reddish, and his nose like a beacon-light against a sunset sky. when you thought him awake, he was half asleep; when you thought him asleep, he was wide awake. a look of extreme happiness always beamed on his face when misfortunes impended. per contra, successes made him suspicious and morose. new york aldermen have always been a puzzle to the nation at large. perhaps our friend's facial contradictions, put on originally as one of the tricks of the trade, had become chronic from long usage. we have since learned that the sachems of tammany laugh the loudest and joke the most freely when under affliction. [illustration: the professor--a remarkable stone.] [illustration: tammany sachem--prospective and retrospective.] when i was appointed editor, the sachem volunteered as local reporter. many of the items he gathered are entered in our log-book in rhyme, and to these pages some of them are transferred verbatim. in wooing the muses, our alderman certainly acted out of character. the ideal poet is thin instead of obese, and he is a reckless innovator who lays claim to any measure of the divine afflatus without possessing either a pale face, thin form, or a garret. as to what drove a new york alderman to the society of buffaloes, we had but one explanation, and that was sachem's own. we knew that he disliked women in every form, sorosis and anti-sorosis, bitter and sweet alike. according to his statement, made to us in good faith, and which i chronicle in the same, cupid had once essayed to drive a dart into sachem's heart, but, in doing so, the barb also struck and wounded his liver. as his love increased, his health failed. his liver became affected in the same ratio as his heart. this was touching our alderman in a tender spot. imagine a new york city father without digestion; what a subject of scorn he would become to his constituency! our alderman fled from cupid, clams, and his beloved gotham, and sought health and buffalo on the plains of kansas. as he remarked to us pathetically: "a good liver makes a good husband. indigestion frightens connubial bliss out of the window. pills, my boy, pills is the quietus of love. if you wish cupid to leave, give him a dose of 'em. the liver, instead of the heart, is at the bottom of half the suicides." doctor pythagoras in years was fifty, and in stature short. his favorite theory was "development," and this he carried to depths which would have astonished darwin himself. how humble he used to make us feel by digging at the roots of the family tree until its uttermost fiber lay between an oyster and a sponge! (rumor charged him with waiting so long for diseases to develop, that his patients developed into spirits.) while he indorsed darwin, however, he also admired pythagoras. the latter's doctrine of metempsychosis he darwinized. in their transmigration from one body to another, souls developed, taking a higher order of being with each change, until finally fitted to enter the land of spirits. the soul of a jack-of-all-trades was one which developed slowly, and picked up a new craft with each new body. like pythagoras, he remembered several previous bodies which his soul had animated, among others that of the original rarey, who existed in egypt some centuries before the modern usurper was born. if souls proved entirely unworthy during the probationary or human period, they were cast back into the brute creation to try it over again. to this class belonged prize-fighters, congressmen, and the like. with them the past was a blank--an unsuccessful problem washed from the slate. the doctor had a hobby that a vicious horse was only a vicious man entered into a lower order of being. to demonstrate this he had traveled, and still persisted in traveling, on eccentric horses, for the purpose of reasoning with them. but his egyptian lore had been lost in transmission, and his falls, kicks, and bites became as many as the moons which had passed over his head. [illustration: colon and semi-colon.] [illustration: david pythagoras, m. d.] genuine muggs was an englishman. the antipodes of tammany sachem, who would not believe any thing, muggs swallowed every thing. he had already absorbed so much in this way that he knew all about the united states before visiting it. given half a chance, he would undoubtedly have told the savage more about the latter's habits than the aborigine himself knew. it was positively impossible for him to learn any thing. his round british body was so full of indisputable facts that another one would have burst it. in the presidential alphabet, from alpha washington to omega grant, he knew all of our rulers' tricks and trades, and understood better the crooked ways of the white house than our own talented jenkins. british phlegm incased his soul, and british leather his feet. from heel to crown he was completely a briton. his mutton-chop whiskers came just so far, and the h's dropped in and out of his utterings in a perfectly natural way. in the briton's alphabet, sachem used to remark, the _i_ is so big that it is no wonder the _h_ is often crowded out. muggs was a fair representative of the average englishman who has traveled somewhat. the eye-teeth of these persons are generally cut with a slash, and they are forever after sore-mouthed. for a maiden effort they never suck knowledge gently in, but attempt a gulp which strangles. the consequence of this hasty acquiring is a bloated condition. the partly-traveled briton seems, at first acquaintance, full and swollen with knowledge; but should the student of learning apply the prick, the result obtained will generally prove to be--gas. over our great country, some of the family of muggs meet one at every turn. often they scurry along solitarily, but occasionally in groups. in the former case they are unsocial to every body--in the latter to every body except their own party. the bliss which comes from ignorance must be of a thoroughly enjoyable nature, for the muggses certainly do enjoy themselves. they will pass through a country, remaining completely uncommunicative and self-wrapped, and know less of it after six months' traveling than an american in two. the professor says he has met them in the lonely parks of the rocky mountains and in the fishing and hunting solitudes of the canadas. if they have been an unusually long time without seeing a human being, they may possibly catch at an eye-glass and fling themselves abruptly into a few remarks. but it is in a tone which says, plainer than words, "no use in your going any further, man; i have absorbed all the beauties and knowledge of this locality." [illustration: _bureau of illustration buffalo_ one of the muggses.] it is a rare treat to see a coach delivered of muggs at a country inn. "hi, porter, look hout for my luggage, you know. tell the publican some chops, rare, and lively now, and a mug of hale, and, if i can 'ave it, a room to myself." if the latter request is granted, and you are inquisitive enough to take a peep, you may see muggs sturdily surveying himself in the glass, and giving certain satisfied pats to his cravat and waistcoat, as if to satisfy them that they covered a briton. could the mirror which reflects his face also reflect his thoughts, they would read about as follows: "muggs, you are a briton, and this hotel must be made aware of the fact. whatever you do, be guilty of no un-english act while in this outlandish land. your skin is now full of knowledge, and let not other travelers, like so many mosquitoes, suck it from you. your forefathers blessed their eyes and dropped their h's, and so must you." and perhaps by this time, if the chops have arrived, he dines in seclusion and, by so doing, loses a fund of information which his fellow-travelers have obtained by common exchange. again on the way, muggs nestles in a corner of the coach and acts strictly on the defensive, indignantly withdrawing his square-toed, thick-soled english shoes, should neighboring feet attempt to hobnob with them. on a trip through buffalo land, however, it is difficult for one of her britannic majesty's subjects to maintain the national dignity. but this fact genuine muggs--our muggs--evidently did not know. had he known it, he would never have gone with us in the world. another of our party rejoiced in the appellation of "colon." he obtained this title because his eccentric specialities of character several times came very near putting if not a full stop, at least the next thing to it, upon the particular page of history which our party was making. longitudinally, mr. colon was all of five feet eleven; in circumference, perhaps a score or so of inches. he possessed a fair share of oddities, and what is better an equally fair one of dollars. the hemispheres of his philanthropic brain seemed equally pre-empted by philosophy and bugs. engaging in some immense work for the amelioration of mankind, he would pursue it with ardor, dwell upon it with unction, and then suddenly leave it, half finished, to capture a rare spider. philosophy and entomology had constant combat for colon, and victory tarried with neither long enough for the seat of war to be cultivated and blossom with any luxuriance. at the time he joined our party one of his grandest charitable projects had lately died in a very early period of infancy, entirely supplanted in his affections for the time being by the prospect of a chase after brazilian insects. during our journey it was no uncommon thing for us to see his thin form all covered with bugs and reptiles, which had crawled out of the collecting boxes carried in his pockets. if this meets our friend's eye, let him bear no malice, but reflect, in the language of his own invariable answer to our remonstrances, "it can't be helped." should the public parade of his faults be disagreeable, he can suffer no more from them now than we did in the past, and may perhaps call them into closer quarters for the future. mr. colon's son, of two years less than a score, we dubbed semi-colon, as being a smaller edition, or to be exact, precisely one-half of what the senior colon was. so perfect was the concord of the two that the junior had fallen into a chronic and to us amusing habit of answering "ditto" to the senior's expressions of opinion. divide the father's conversation by two, add an assent to every thing, and the result, socially considered, would be the son. it may readily be seen, therefore, why the professor for short should call him, as he nearly always did, "semi." shamus dobeen, our cook and body-servant, according to his own account, was the child of an impoverished but noble irish family. indeed, we doubt if any irishman was ever promoted from shovel laborer to body-servant without suddenly remembering that he was "descinded" from a line of kings. at the time shamus was added to the population of ireland, the patrimonial estate had dwindled down to a peat bog. as this soon "petered out," shamus went from the exhausted moor into the cold world. he had been by turns expelled patriot, dirt disturber on new railroads, gunner on a confederate cruiser, and high private in a union regiment. the position of gunner he lost by touching off a piece before the muzzle had been run out, in consequence of which part of the vessel's side went off suddenly with the gun. captured, he readily became a union soldier, and could, without doubt, have transformed himself into a cheyenne, or a patagonian, had occasion for either ever required. while in topeka, our party made the acquaintance of tenacious gripe, a well-known kansas politician, and who attached himself to us for the trip. every person in the state knew him, had known him in territorial times, and would know him until either the state or he ceased to be. flung headlong from somewhere into kansas during the "border ruffian" period, he would probably have passed as rapidly out of it had he been allowed to do so peaceably. but as the slavery party endeavored to push him, he concluded to stick. at that particular time, he was a moderate democrat or conservative republican, and consequently had no particular principles. but the slavery party supposed he had, and to them accordingly he became an object of suspicion. they assumed the aggressive, and he at once resolved into a staunch republican. had the latter first struck him, he would have been as staunch a democrat. and gripe has never known how near he came to being the latter. the republicans had just decided to order him out of the state as a border ruffian spy, when the democrats took action and did so for his not being one. those were troublous times. he went to the front at once in the antislavery ranks, and has stayed there ever since. sore-headed men are apt to become famous. there were those in our late war who were kicked by adversity into the very arms of fame. our friend had been in both the upper and lower houses of the state legislature, and had rolled congressional logs, moreover, until he was hardly happy without having his hands on one. [illustration: _bureau of illustration buffalo_ shamus dobeen--his card.] [illustration: hon. t. gripe (beatified).] chapter iii. the topeka auctioneer--muggs gets a bargain--cynocephalus--indian summer in kansas--hunting prairie chickens--our first day's sport. we had three or four days to spend in topeka, as it was there that we were to purchase our outfit for the buffalo region. with the latter purpose in view, we were wandering along kansas avenue the next morning, when a horseman came furiously down the street, shouting, at the top of his lungs, "sell um as he wars har!" semi hastily retreated behind mr. colon, thinking it might be a jayhawker, while the professor adjusted his glasses. muggs said the individual reminded him of the famous charge at balaklava. muggs had never seen balaklava, but other englishmen had, which answered the same purpose. the equestrian proved to be a well-known auctioneer of topeka, who may be discovered at almost any time tearing through the streets on some spavined or bow-legged old cob, auctioneering it off as he goes. his favorite expression is, "i'll sell um as he wars har." what particular selling charm lies concealed in this announcement even gripe could not tell. sachem thought that possibly he had been brought up at some exposed frontier post, where, on account of indian prejudices, wearing hair is a rare luxury. to say there that a man was still able to comb his own scalp-lock denoted an extraordinary state of physical perfection. expressions of praise for humans are often applied to horses, and so, perhaps, the one in question. "i have heard," quoth our alderman, in support of this assertion, "fitz say of a belle, at a charity ball, what a 'bootiful cweature;' and i have heard him, the day after, in his stable, say the same thing of his horse." that horse-auction was a sight worth seeing. the crowd collected most thickly on the corner of kansas avenue and sixth street, and before it the cob came to a stand. and it was a stand--as stiff and painful as that of a retired veteran put on dress parade. the limbs would have had full duty to perform in supporting the carcass alone, which had evidently been in light marching order for years past. the additional weight of the auctioneer must certainly have proved altogether too much, had not the horse heard, for the first time, of the wonderful qualities with which he was still endowed. seeing a whole corner, with gaping mouths, swallowing the statement that he was only six years old, reduced by hard work, and could, after three months grass, pull a ton of coal, he would have been a thankless horse indeed, which could not strain a point, or all his points, for such a rider. [illustration: _bureau of illustration_ "sperit, gentlemen!"] and so, when the spurs suddenly rattled against his ribs, the old skin full of bones gave a snort of pain, which the auctioneer called "sperit, gentle_men_!" and away up the broad avenue he rolled, at a speed which threatened to break the rider's neck, and his own legs as well. his tail having been cut short in youth, and retrimmed in old age, the outfit made but a sorry figure going up the street. the professor said it suggested the idea of some fossil vertabra, with a paint brush attached to its end, running away with a geological student. after the return and cries for more bids, muggs must have winked at the auctioneer--possibly, to slyly telegraph him the fact that in "hengland" they were up to such games. at least the auctioneer so declared, and advancing the price one dollar in accordance therewith, finally knocked the brute down to him. then the british wrath bubbled and boiled. the auctioneer was inexorable. muggs _had_ winked, and that was an advanced bid, according to commercial custom the land over. articles were often sold simply by the vibration of an eyelash, and not a word uttered. the professor remarked that in law winks would doubtless be accepted as evidence. it was a recognized principle of the statutes that he who winked at a matter acquiesced in it, and indeed such signals were often more expressive than words. sachem sustained this point, and added further that he had known many a man's head broken on account of an injudicious wink. the crowd, with almost unanimous voice, pronounced the auctioneer right and muggs wrong. "me take the brute!" exclaimed the indignant briton; "why he can 'ardly stand up long enough to be knocked down. except in france, he could be put to no earthly use whatever. 'is knees knock together in an ague quartette, and 'is tail--look at it! it's hincapable of knocking a fly off; looks more like flying off hitself!" muggs further declared the sale was an attempt on the owner's part to evade the health officer, who would have been around, in a couple of days, to have the carcass removed. the auctioneer waxed belligerent, the crowd noisy, and muggs, like a true englishman, secured peace at the price of british gold. the horse was on his hands, having barely escaped being on the town, and an enthusiastic crowd of urchins escorted the purchase to a livery stable. muggs christened the animal cynocephalus, and soon afterward sold him to mr. colon, who was of an economical turn, for the use of his son semi. "i have heard," said the thoughtful father, "that the buffalo grass of the plains is very nourishing. all that the poor steed needs is care and fat pastures. semi can give him the former, and over the latter our future journey lies. i have also learned that what is especially needed in a hunting horse is steadiness, and this quality the animal certainly possesses." from some months' acquaintance with the purchase, we can say that cynocephalus was steady to a remarkable degree. we are firmly persuaded that a heavy battery might have fired a salute over his back without moving him, unless, possibly, the concussion knocked him down. our first hunting morning, the second day preceding our hegira westward, came to us with a clear sky, the sun shedding a mellow warmth, and the air full of those exhilarating qualities which our lungs afterward drank in so freely on the plains. indian summer, delightful anywhere, is especially so in kansas. from the advance guard of the winter king not a single chilling zephyr steals forward among the tarrying ones of summer. soothing and gentle as when laden with spicy fragrance south, they here shower the whole land with sunbeams. earth no longer seems a heavy, inert mass, but floats in that smoky, fleecy atmosphere with which artists delight so much to wrap their angels. it is as if the warmer, lighter clouds of sunny weather were nestling close to earth, frightened from the skies, like a flock of white swans, at the october howls of winter. but i never could agree with those writers who call this season dreamy. if such it be, it is surely a dream of motion. all nature appears quickened. the inhabitants of the air have commenced their southern pilgrimage, and the oldest and leading ganders may be heard croaking, day-time and night-time, to their wedge-shaped flocks their narrative of summer experiences at the arctic circle, and their commands for the present journey. sachem, i find, has recorded as a discovery in natural history that geese form their flocks in wedge shape that they may easier "make a split" for the south when nature, with her north pole, stirs up their feeding and breeding-grounds in november gales, and changes their fields of operation into fields of ice. sachem was sadly addicted to slang phrases. all game, i may remark, is wilder at this season of the year than earlier. if the earth is dreaming, its wild inhabitants certainly are not. men, too, have thrown off the summer lethargy, and shave their neighbors as closely as ever. if any one thinks it a dreamy season of the year, let him test the matter practically by being a day or two behindhand with a payment. in reply to a question, the professor told us that the smoky condition of the atmosphere was probably caused by the exhalation of phosphorus from decaying vegetation. sachem remarked that out of twenty different objects which he had submitted for examination, and as many questions that he had asked, nine-tenths of the results contained phosphorus in some shape. it was becoming monotonous and dangerous. while the party thus mused and speculated, we had come out into the open country, south-west of town, and were now approaching webster's mound, a cone-shaped hill from which we afterward obtained some excellent views. for the trip we had been supplied with two dogs, one a setter, belonging to the private secretary of the governor, and the other a pointer, the property of a real estate dealer. the former was an ancient and venerable animal. the rheumatism was seized of his backbone and held high revel upon the juices which should have lubricated the joints. even his tail wagged with a jerk, inclining the body to whichever side it had last swung. he was so full of rheumatism that whenever he scented a chicken the pain evoked by the excitement caused him to howl with anguish. the pointer, per contra, was hale and swift, but had lost one eye; and a shot from the same charge which destroyed that organ, rattled also on his left ear-drum, and that membrane no longer responded to the shouts of the hunter. on one side he could see, and not hear--on the other, hear, but not see. nevertheless, with gestures for the left view, and shouts on the right, fair work might still be obtained. both dogs rejoiced in the uncommon name of rover, and both possessed that most excellent of all points in such animals, a steady point. if any of my readers are fond of field-sports, and have not yet shot prairie-chickens over a dog, let them take their guns and hie to the west, and taste for themselves of this rare sport. with the wide prairie around him, keeping the bird in full view during its passage through the air, one can choose his distance for firing and witness the full effect of his shot. i think the brief instant when the flight of the bird is checked and it drops head-foremost to earth, is the sweetest moment of all to the hunter. chapter iv. chicken-shooting continued--a scientific party take the birds on the wing--evils of fast firing--an old-fashioned "slow shot"--the habits of the prairie-chicken--its prospective extinction--mode of hunting it--the gopher scalp law. we had left the road and were now driving over the fine prairie skirting webster's mound, the grass being about a foot high and affording excellent cover. taking advantage of its being matted so closely from the early frosts, the old cocks hid under the thick tufts and called for close work on the part of our dogs. back and forth across our path these intelligent animals ranged, the one fifty yards or so to our right, the other as many to our left, crossing and re-crossing, with open mouths drinking in eagerly the tainted breeze. this latter was in our favor, and both dogs suddenly joined company and worked up into it, with outstretched noses pointing to game that was evidently close ahead. the pointer crawled cautiously, like a tiger, his spotted belly sweeping the earth, and his tail, which had been lashing rapidly an instant before, gradually stiffening. he would open his mouth suddenly, drink in a quick, deep draught of air, and, closing the jaws again, hold it until obliged to take another respiration. he seemed as loath to let the scent of the chicken pass from his nostrils as a hungry newsboy is to quit the savory precincts of delmonico's kitchen window. the setter's old bones appeared to renew their youth under the excitement, and he was as active as a retired war-horse suddenly plunged into battle. both dogs came simultaneously to a point--tails curved up and rigid, each body motionless as if cut in marble and one forepaw lifted. no wonder so many men are wild with a passion for hunting. kind providence smiles upon the legitimate sport from conception to close, and gives us a _posé_ to start with fascinating to any lover of the beautiful, whether hunter or not. but one must not pause to moralize while dogs are on the point, or he will have more philosophy than chickens. all the party had got safely to ground and were behind the dogs, with guns ready and eyes eagerly fastened on the thick grass which concealed its treasure as completely as if it had been a thousand miles below its roots, or on the opposite side of this mundane sphere in china. not a thing was visible within fifty yards of our noses save two dogs standing motionless, with stiffened tails and eyes fixed on, and nozzles pointed toward, a spot in the sea of brown, withered grass, not ten feet away. the professor took out his lens, mr. colon let down the hammers of his gun and cocked them again, to be sure all was right, while sachem wore a puzzled expression as if undecided whether the attitude of the dogs indicated any thing particular or not. the grass nodded and rustled in the light wind, but not a blade moved to indicate the presence of any living thing beneath it, while the dogs remained as if petrified. the professor said it was very remarkable, and wondered what had better be done next. mr. colon thought that the dogs were tired, and we might as well get into the wagon. another suggested at random that we should set the dogs on, and muggs, who had probably heard the expression somewhere, cried, "hi, boys, on bloods!" at the words the dogs made a few quick steps forward, and on the instant the grass seemed alive with feathered forms, popping into air like bobs in shuttlecock. such a fluttering and flying i have never seen since, when a boy, i ventured into a dove cote, and was knocked over by the rush of the alarmed inmates. from under our very feet, almost brushing our faces, the beautiful pinnated grouse of the prairies left their cover, and us also. every gun had gone off on the instant, and we doubt if one was raised an inch higher than it happened to be when the covey started. the professor afterward extracted some stray shot from the legs of his boots, and the setter, which was next to muggs, gave a cry of pain for which there was evidently other cause than rheumatism, as was demonstrated by his retirement to the rear, from which he refused to budge until we all got into the wagon, and to which he invariably retreated whenever we got out. [illustration: _bureau of illustration buffalo. n. y._ our first bird-shooting.] from the midst of the birds which were soaring away, one was seen to rise suddenly a few feet above his comrades, and then fall straight as a plummet, and head first, to earth. it had caught some stray shot from the bombardment--muggs claimed from his gun, but this statement the setter, could he have spoken, would certainly have disputed. semi-colon brought in the game, which proved to be a fine male, with whiskers and full plumage, which must have made sad havoc among the hearts of the hens, when the old fellow was on annual dress parade in the spring. at that season of the year the cocks seek some knoll of the prairie, where the grass has been burnt or cut off, and strut up and down with ruffled feathers, uttering meanwhile a booming sound, which can be heard in a clear morning for miles. the flabby pink skin that at other seasons hangs in loose folds on his neck is then distended like a bagpipe, and he is a very different bird from the same individual in his quaker gray and respectable summer and fall habits. ensconced again in the wagon, our party moved forward, the dogs, as before, examining the prairie. the professor was comparing the birds of the present and the past ages, when muggs suddenly blasted his eyes and declared the beasts were at it again. and so they were, the setter making a good stand at some game in the grass, and the other dog, a short distance off, pointing his companion. during the remainder of the day we found many large flocks of birds, and fired away until two or three swelled noses testified how dirty our guns were. "fast shooting," said the professor, as we were on our way home, "is as bad as that too slow. although i am no sportsman from practice, i love and have studied the principles of it. in my father's day the rule was, when a bird rose, for a hunter to take out his snuff-box, take snuff, replace the box, aim, and fire. you may find the advice yet in some works. the shot then has distance in which to spread. with close shooting they are all together, and you might as well fire a bullet. when you have given the bird time, act quickly. the first sight is the best. again, the first moment of flight, with most birds, is very irregular, as it is upward, instead of from you." dobeen begged leave to inform our "honors" that in ireland, after a bird rose, the rule was, instead of taking snuff, to take off the boots before firing. the professor thought that such a habit related to outrunning the gamekeeper, and was intended to procure distance for the poacher rather than the bird. sachem stated that he had known a slow hunter once. he was a revolutionary veteran, used a revolutionary musket, and believed in revolutionary powder. he refused to do any thing different from what his fathers did, and abhorred double-barreled shotguns and percussion-caps as inventions of the devil. it was constantly, "general washington did this," and "our army did that," and his old head shook sadly at the innovations young america was making. his ghost, with the revolutionary musket on its shoulder, had since been known to chase hunters, with breech-loaders, who were caught on his favorite ground after dark. "old " was great on wing-shooting, and could be seen at almost any time hobbling over the moor, firing away at snipe and water-fowl. he was one of those slow, deliberate cases, always taking snuff after the bird rose. there would be a glitter of fluttering wings as the game shot into air. down would come the long musket, out would come the snuff-box, and the old soldier would go through the present, make ready, take snuff, take aim, and fire, all as coolly as if on parade. the old musket often hung fire from five to ten seconds, and the premonitory flash could be seen as the shaky flint clattered down on the pan. the veteran always patiently covered the bird until the charge got out. the recoil was tremendous, and the old man often went down before the bird; but such positions, he asserted, were taken voluntarily, as ones of rest. some said that the gun had been known to kick him again after he was down. sachem's narration was here cut short by the dogs again pointing. this was followed by the usual bombardment, which over, the bag showed the magnificent aggregate of two chickens for the entire day's sport. the prairie-chicken is now extinct in many of the western states where it was once well known. usually, during the first few years of settlement, it increases rapidly, and is often a nuisance to pioneer farmers. perhaps, when the latter first settle in a country, a few covies may be seen; under the favorable influences of wheat and corn-fields, the dozens increase to thousands and cover the land. but with denser settlement come more guns, and, what is a far more destructive agent, trained dogs also. under the first order of things, the farmer, with his musket, might kill enough for the home table. with double-barreled gun and keen-scented pointer, the sportsman and pot-hunter think nothing of fifty or sixty birds for a day's work. it seems almost impossible, under such a combination, for a covey to escape total annihilation. we may suppose a couple of fair shots hunting over a dog in august, when the chickens lie close, and the year's broods are in their most delicate condition for the table. the pointer makes a stand before a fine covey hidden in the thick grass before him. the ready guns ask no delay, and, at the word, he flushes the chickens immediately under his nose. each hunter takes those which rise before him, or on his side, and if four or less left cover at the first alarm, that number of gray-speckled forms the next moment are down in the grass, not to leave it again. if more rose, they are "marked," which means that their place of alighting is carefully noted, and, as the chicken has but a short flight, this task is easy. meanwhile, the guns have been reloaded, the dog flushes others of the hiding birds, and so the sport goes on. the birds that get away are "marked down," and again found and flushed by the dog. without this useful animal the chickens would multiply, despite any number of hunters. i have often seen covies go down in the grass but a few hundred yards away, yet have tramped through the spot dozens of times without raising a single bird. in twenty years this delicious game will probably be as much a thing of the past as is the dodo of the isle de france. at the period of our visit they were already gathering into their fall flocks, which sometimes number a hundred or more. in these they remain until st. valentine recommends a separation. during the colder weather of winter they seek the protection of the timber, and may be seen of mornings on the trees and fences. they never roost there, however, but pass the night hidden in the adjacent grass. the prairie-chicken's admirers are numerous, other animals beside man being willing to dine on its plump breast. we had an illustration of this in our first day's shooting. sometimes when we fired, the report would attract to our vicinity wandering hawks, and we found that either instinct or previous experience teaches these fierce hunters of the air that in the vicinity of their fellow-hunter, man, wounded birds may be found. one wounded chicken, which fell near us, was seized by a hawk immediately. as we passed one or two fields, indications of gophers appeared, their small mounds of earth covering the ground. in some counties these animals formerly destroyed crops to such an extent that the celebrated "gopher act" was passed. this gave a bounty of two dollars for each scalp, and under it many farms yielded more to the acre than ever before or since. one of these animals which we secured resembled in size and shape the norway rat, and, in the softness and color of its coat, was not unlike a mole. the oddest thing was its earth-pouches--two open sacks, one on either side of its head, and capable of containing each a tablespoonful or more. these the gopher employs, in his subterranean researches, for the same purpose that his enemy, man, does a wheelbarrow. packing them with dirt, the little fellow trudges gayly to the surface, and there cleverly dumps his load. we reached town again, well pleased with our day's ride, and over our evening pipes discussed the results. muggs thought our shot were too small. sachem thought the birds were. colon was delighted with the new state, but believed that wing-shooting was not his _forte_. he would be more apt to hit a bird on the wing if he could only catch it roosting somewhere. gripe, at the other end of the room, was piling republican doctrines upon a bearded democratic heathen from the western border. chapter v. a trial by judge lynch--hung for contempt of court--quail shooting--habits of the birds, and mode of killing them--a ring of quails--the effects of a severe winter--the snow goose. a short time after supper, tenacious gripe appeared with the mayor of the city, who wished to make the acquaintance of the professor. the two august personages bowed to each other. it was the happiest moment in their respective lives, they declared. an invitation was extended us to delay our departure another day and try quail shooting. the citizens said the birds were unusually abundant, the previous winter having been mild and the summer long enough for two separate broods to be hatched, and the brush and river banks were swarming with them. as we were about to abandon the birds of the west and seek an acquaintance with its beasts, we decided, after a brief consultation, to accept the invitation and remain another day. among the persons present in the crowded office of the hotel, was a man from the southwestern part of the state who had lately been interested in a trial before the celebrated judge lynch. sachem interviewed him, and reports his statement of the occurrence in the log book, as follows: a stranger played me fur a fool, an' threw the high, low, jack, an' sold me the wuss piece of mule that ever humped a back. but that wer fair; i don't complain, that i got beat in trade; i don't sour on a fellow's gain, when sich is honest made. but wust wer this, he stole the mule, an' i were bilked complete; such thieves, we hossmen makes a rule to lift 'em from their feet. we started arter that 'ere pup, an' took the judge along, for fear, with all our dander up, we might do somethin' wrong. we caught him under twenty miles, an tried him under trees; the judge he passed around the "smiles," as sort o' jury fees. "pris'ner," says judge, "now say your say, an' make it short an' sweet, an', while yer at it, kneel and pray, for death yer can not cheat. no man shall hang, by this 'ere court, exceptin' on the square; there's time fur speech, if so it's short, but none to chew or swear." [illustration: _bureau of illustration. buffalo_ judge lynch--his court. judge and jury. sheriff. attorney. loafer. clerk. deputy sheriff.] an' then the thievin' rascal cursed, an' threw his life away, he said, "just pony out your worst, your best would be foul play." then judge he frowned an awful frown, an' snapped this sentence short, "jones, twitch the rope, an' write this down, hung for contempt of court!" sharp next morning saw us on the road leading east of town, the two dogs with us, and a young one additional, the property of a resident sportsman. our last acquisition joined us on the run, and kept on it all day, going over the ground with the speed of a greyhound, his fine nose, however, giving him better success than his reckless pace would have indicated. three miles from town, or half way between it and tecumseh, our party left the wagon, with direction for it to follow the road, while we scouted along on a parallel, following the river bank. the kaw stretched eastward, broad and shallow, with numerous sand bars, and along its edges grew the scarlet sumach and some stunted bushes, and between these and the corn a high, coarse bottom grass, with intervals at every hundred yards or so apart of a shorter variety, like that on a poor prairie. among the bushes, there was no grass whatever, and yet the birds seemed indifferently to frequent one spot equally with another. in less than ten minutes after leaving the wagon, all the dogs were pointing on a barren looking spot, thinly sprinkled with scrubby bushes not larger than jimson-weeds. they were several yards apart, so that each animal was clearly acting on his own responsibility. if it puzzled us the day before to discover any signs of game under their noses, it certainly did so now. there was apparently no place of concealment for any object larger than a field-mouse. the bushes were wide apart, and the soil between was a loose sand. around the roots of the scrubs, it is true, a few thin, wiry spears of grass struggled into existence, but these covered a space not larger than a man's hand, and it seemed preposterous to imagine that they could be capable of affording cover. that three dogs were pointing straight at three bushes was apparent, but we could see nothing in or about the latter calling for such attention. shamus, who had accompanied us, wished to know if the twigs were witch hazels, because, if so, three invisible old beldames might be taking a nap under them, after a midnight ride. "but, then," said dobeen, "the dog's hairs don't stand on end as they always do in ireland when they see ghosts and witches." we believe that our worthy cook was really disappointed in not discovering any stray broomsticks lying around. these, he afterward informed us, could not be made invisible, though their owners should take on airy shapes unrecognizable by mortal eyes. muggs had suggested urging the dogs in, but the party, wiser from yesterday's experience, desired a ground shot, if it could be secured. the professor adjusted his lens, and decided to make a personal inspection around the roots of the bush immediately in front of him. carefully the sage bent over the suspicious spot, and almost fell backward as, with a whiz and a dart, half a dozen quails flew out, brushing his very nose. instantly every bush sent forth its fugitives. a flash of feathered balls, and they were all gone. such whizzing and whirring! it was as if those scraggy bushes were _mitrailleuses_, in quick succession discharging their loads. only one gun had gone off, but that so loudly that our ears rung for several seconds. mr. colon had accidentally rammed at least two, perhaps half a dozen, loads into one barrel, and the gun discharged with an aim of its own, the butt very low down. two birds fell dead. but alas for our nimrod! colon stood with one hand on his stomach undecided whether that organ remained or not. on this point, however, he was fully re-assured at the supper-table that night, and in all our after experience, we never knew that gun to have the least opportunity for going off, except when at its owner's shoulder, and he perfectly ready for it. the two birds were now submitted to the party for inspection. they were fine specimens of the american quail, more properly called by those versed in quailology, the bob white. this bird is very plentiful throughout kansas, and just before the shooting season commences, in september, will even frequent the gardens and alight on the houses of topeka. they "lay close" before a dog, take flight into air with a quick, whirring dart, and their shooting deservedly ranks high. they are very rapid in their movements upon the ground, often running fifty or seventy-five yards before hiding. when this takes place, so closely do they huddle that it is seldom more than the upper bird that can be seen. "green hunters" sometimes pause, trying to discover the rest of the covey before firing, and experience a great and sudden disgust when the single bird which they have disdained suddenly develops into a dozen flying ones. we had an eventful days' sport, expending more ammunition than when among the chickens, and with more satisfactory results, as we brought in over two dozen birds. more than half of these were taken by sachem at one lucky discharge. he saw a covey in the grass, huddled together as they generally are when not running. at these times they form a circle about as large in diameter as the hoop of a nail keg, with tails to the center and heads toward the outside. fifteen quails would thus be a circle of fifteen heads, and a pail, could it be dropped over the covey, would cover them all. not only is this an economy of warmth, there being no outsiders half of whose bodies must get chilled, but there is no blind side on which they can be approached, every portion of the circle having its full quota of eyes. let skunk or fox, or other roamer through the grass, creep ever so stealthily, he will be seen and avoided by flight. sachem aiming at the midst of such a ring, broke it up as effectually as boutwell's discharge of bullion did that on wall street. we have since found the frozen bodies of whole covies, which had gone to roost in a circle and been buried under such a heavy fall of snow that the birds could not force their way upward. their habit is to remain in imprisonment, apparently waiting for the snow to melt before even making an effort for deliverance. oftentimes it is then too late, a crust having formed above. a severe winter will sometimes completely exterminate the birds in certain localities. during this first day of quail-shooting, we also saw for the first time flocks of the snow-goose. the professor counted fifty birds on one sand bar. this variety, in its flight across the continent, apparently passes through but a narrow belt of country, being found, to the best of my knowledge, in but few of the states outside of kansas. our return to the hotel was without accident, and our supper such as hungry hunters might well enjoy. after it was disposed of, we gathered around the ample stove in the hotel office, and lived over again the events of the day. chapter vi. off for buffalo land--the navigation of the kaw--fort riley--the center-post of the united states--our purchase of horses--"lo" as a savage and as a citizen--gripe unfolds the indian question--a ballad by sachem, presenting another view. next morning we said good-by to hospitable topeka, and took up our westward way over the pacific railroad. an ever-repeated succession of valley and prairie stretched away on either hand. to the left the kaw came down with far swifter current than it has in its course below, from its far-away source in colorado. it might properly be called one of the eaves or water-spouts of the great rocky mountain water-shed. with a pitch of over five feet to the mile, its pace is here necessarily a rapid one, and when at freshet height the stream is like a mill-race for foam and fury. at the junction of the big blue we found the old yet pretty town of manhattan. to this point, in early times, water transit was once attempted. a boat of exceedingly light draught, one of those built to run on a heavy dew, being procured, freight was advertised for, and the navigation of the kaw commenced. the one hundred miles or more to manhattan was accomplished principally by means of the capstan, the boat being "warped" over the numberless shallows. this proved easier, of course--a trifle easier--than if she had made the trip on macadamized roads. if her stern had a comfortable depth of water it was seldom indeed, except when her bow was in the air in the process of pulling the boat over a sand bar. the scared catfish were obliged to retreat up stream, or hug close under the banks, to avoid obstructing navigation, and it is even hinted that more than one patriarch of the finny tribe had to be pried out of the way to make room for his new rival to pass. once at manhattan, the steamboat line was suspended for the season, its captain and crew deciding they would rather walk back to the missouri river than drag the vessel there. soon afterward, the steamer was burned at her landing, and the kaw has remained closed to commerce ever since. about the same time, an enterprising yankee advocated in the papers the straightening of the river, and providing it with a series of locks, making it a canal. as he had no money of his own with which to develop his ideas into results, and could command nobody's else for that purpose, the project failed in its very inception. fort riley, four miles below junction city, is claimed as the geographical center of the united states, the exact spot being marked by a post. what a rallying point that stick of wood will be for future generations! when the corner-stone of the national capitol shall there be laid, the orator of the day can mount that post and exclaim, with eloquent significance, elsewhere impossible, "no north, no south, no east, no west!" and enthusiastic multitudes, there gathered from the four quarters of the continent, will hail the words as the key-note of the republic. that spot of ground and that post are valuable. i hope a national subscription will be started to buy it. it is the only place on our continent which can ever be entirely free from local jealousies. there would be no possible argument for ever removing the capital. the kaw could be converted into a magnificent canal, winding among picturesque hills past the base of the capitol; and then, in case of war, should any hostile fleet ever ascend the rapid missouri, it would be but necessary for our legislators to grasp the canal locks, and let the water out, to insure their perfect safety. imagine the humiliation of a foreign naval hero arriving with his iron-clads opposite a muddy ditch, and finding it the only means of access to our capital! a painful rumor has of late obtained circulation that a band of st. louis ku-klux, yclept capital movers, intend stealing the pole and obliterating the hole. let us hope, however, that it is without foundation. before leaving topeka, the party had purchased horses for the trip, and consigned the precious load to a car, sending a note to general anderson, superintendent, asking that they might be promptly and carefully forwarded to hays city, our present objective point upon the plains. the professor, bringing previous experience into requisition, selected a stout mustang--probably as tractable as those brutes ever become. he was warranted by the seller never to tire, and he never did, keeping the philosopher constantly on the alert to save neck and knees. it is the simple truth that, in all our acquaintance with him, that mustang never appeared in the least fatigued. after backing and shying all day, he would spend the night in kicking and stealing from the other horses. mr. colon, by rare good fortune, obtained a beautiful animal, formerly known in leavenworth as iron billy--a dark bay, with head and hair fine as a pointer's, limbs cut sharp, and joints of elastic. after carrying mr. c. bravely for months, never tripping or failing, he was sold on our return to the then secretary of state, who still owns him. more than once did billy make his rider's arm ache from pulling at the curb, when the other horses were all knocked up by the rough day's riding. it was interesting to see him in pursuit of buffalo. he would often smell them when they were hidden in ravines, and we wholly unaware of their vicinity. head and ears were erect in an instant, and, with nostrils expanded, forward he went, keeping eagerly in front at a peculiar prancing step which we called tiptoeing. once in sight of the game, and the rider became a person of quite secondary importance. billy said, as plainly as a horse could say any thing, "_i_ am going to manage this thing; _you_ stick on." and manage it he did. not many moments, at the most, before he was at the quarters of the fleeing monsters, and nipping them mischievously with his teeth. i could always imagine him giving a downright horse-laugh, his big bright eyes sparkled so when the frightened bison, at the touch, gave a switch of his tail and a swerve of alarm, and plunged more wildly forward. if the rider wished to shoot, he could do so; if not, content himself, as mr. colon usually did, with clinging to the saddle, and uttering numberless expostulatory but fruitless "whoa's." once on our trip billy was loaned for the day to a gentleman who wished to examine a prospective coal mine. when barely out of sight of camp, billy discovered a herd of buffalo, and, despite the vehement remonstrances of his rider, straightway charged it. the mine-seeker was no hunter, but a wise and thoroughly timid devotee of science in search of coal measures. a few moments, and the poor, frightened gentleman found himself in the midst of a surging mass of buffalo, his knees brushing their hairy sides, and their black horns glittering close around him, like an array of serried spears. he drew his knees into the saddle, and there, clinging like a monkey, lost his hat, his map of the mine, and his spectacles. he returned billy as soon as he could get him back to camp, with expressions of gratitude that he had been allowed to escape with life, and never manifested the least desire to mount him again. sachem's purchase was a horse which had run unaccountably to legs. he was sixteen hands high, a trifle knock-kneed, and with a way of flinging the limbs out when put to his speed which, though it seemed awkward enough, yet got over the ground remarkably well. with the shambling gait of a camel, he had also the good qualities of one, and did his owner honest service. muggs bought a mule, partly because advised to do so by a plainsman, and partly because the rest of us took horses. with true british obstinacy he paid no attention to our expostulations, and the creature he obtained was as obstinate as himself. poor muggs! a mule may be good property in the hands of a plainsman, but was never intended to carry a briton. semi-colon had the auction purchase, and dobeen selected a mexican donkey, one of the toughest little animals that ever pulled a bit. he could excel a trained mule in the feat of dislodging his rider, and had a remarkable penchant for running over persons who by chance might be looking the other way. it seemed to be his constant study to take unexpected positions, or, as sachem phrased it, to "strike an attitude." my mount was a stout-built old mare, recommended to me as a solid beast, on the strength of which, and wishing to avoid experiments, i made purchase at once. i found her solid indeed. when on the gallop her feet came down with a shock which made my head vibrate, as if i had accidentally taken two steps instead of one, in descending a staircase. could the good people of topeka have gotten us to ride out of their town upon our several animals, it would have given them a fair idea of a _mardi gras_ cavalcade in new orleans. and so, our camp equipage and live stock following by freight, the express rolled us forward toward the great plains. so far along our route we had seen but few indians, and those civilized specimens, such as straggle occasionally through the streets of topeka. the indian reservations in kansas are at some distance apart, and their inhabitants frequently exchange visits. the few whom we had seen consisted of osages, kaws, pottawatomies, and sioux, all equally dirty, but the last affecting clothes more than the others, and eschewing paint. the members of this tribe, generally speaking, have good farms and are worth a handsome average per head. at the time of our visit they were expecting a half million dollars or so from washington, and were soon to become american citizens. one privilege of this citizenship struck us as very peculiar. by the state law, as long as an indian is simply an indian, he can buy no whisky, and is thus cruelly debarred from the privilege of getting drunk, but once a voter, he can luxuriate in corn-juice and the calaboose, as well as his white brother. what a travesty upon american civilization and politics! muggs was prejudiced against the osages, having been induced by one of them to invest in a bow and arrows, "for the hinglish museum, you know." on pulling for a trial shot, one end of the bow went further than the arrow, and the cord, warranted to be buffalo sinew, proved to be an oiled string. sachem declared that he had found muggs returning the wreck to the indian with the following speech: "o-sage, little was your wisdom to court thus the wrath of a briton. take with the two pieces this piece of my mind. that your noble form may be removed soon to the 'appy 'unting ground, where bow trades are not allowed, is the prayer of your patron, muggs." [illustration: _bureau of illustration. buffalo. n. y._ unnaturalized.] [illustration: _bureau of illustration. buffalo. n. y._ naturalized.] mr. colon asked tenacious gripe to explain the condition of the native americans in kansas. the orator kindly consented and thereupon discoursed as follows: "the indians of kansas are divided into the wild and the tame. both alike cover their nakedness with bright handkerchiefs, old shirts, military coats, and many-hued ribbons. the principal difference in point of dress is in the method of procuring it. among those tribes which are at peace with the government, the white man robs the indian; among the wild tribes the conditions are reversed--the indian robs the white man. in the one case the contractors and agents carry off their half million dollars or thereabouts; in the other the savage bears away a quantity of old clothes and fresh scalps. as he finds it difficult to procure sufficient of the white man's justice to satisfy the cravings of his nature, he feeds it with what he can and whenever he can of revenge. wise men tell us, gentlemen, that revenge is sweet and justice a dry morsel. all indians beg when they get an opportunity. the tame ones, if they find it fruitless, divert themselves by selling worthless pieces of wood with strings attached, as bows. the wild ones, in a like predicament, relieve their tedium by whacking away at our ribs with bows that amount to something. the principles actuating both classes are alike. it is simply the application which causes difficulty--in the one case an appeal with bow and arrows to our pockets, in the other to our bodies. "all our wars with these people, gentlemen, are a result of their political economy. they believe that the great spirit provided buffalo and other game for his red children. when the white man drives these away, they understand that he takes their place as a means of sustenance, and as they have lived upon the one, so they intend to do upon the other. if the buffalo attempts to evade his duty in the premises, they kill him and take his meat; if the white man, they kill him and take his hair." sachem produced a roll of dirty brown paper and said that he had studied the indian question and found two sides to it. one he could give us in a nutshell, believing that the meat of the nut had often excited the spirit of war. where waters sung above the sand, and torrent forced its way, stretched out, disgusted with the land, a bearded miner lay, prepared to strike, with willing hand, whatever lead would pay. echo of hoof on beaten ground rung on the desert air, ringing a tune of gladsome sound to miner, watching there; a paying lead, at last, he'd found-- the vein a "man of hair." an instant more, and at the ford a savage chief appeared; the miner saw his goodly hoard, and tore his own good beard. (you'll always find an ox is gored when sheep are to be sheared.) [illustration: dog town--the happy family at home.] [illustration: _bureau of illustration_ "you've riled that brook"--an old fable modernized.] and these the words the miner said: "you've spoilt my drink, old fellow; you've riled the brook, my brother red, and, by your cheek so yellow, to-night above your sandy bed the prairie gale shall bellow. "no relatives of mine are dead, at least by injun cunnin', but many other hearts have bled, and many eyes are runnin'; for blood and tears alike are shed, when _you_ go out a gunnin'. "some slumbrin' peaceful, first they knew, they heard your horrid din-- women as well as men you slew, you bloody son of sin; i mourn 'em all, revenge 'em too, through adam they were kin." this having said, the miner smart, drew bead upon the red man: they're fond of beads--it touched his heart, and lo, behold, a dead man; upon life's stage he'd played his part, a gory sort of head man! two packs of goods lay on the ground; quoth miner, "lawful spoil! my lucky star at last has found as good as gold and oil; i kinder felt that fate was bound to bless my honest toil. "such heathen have no lawful heirs-- i'll be the probate judge, for though they kinder go in pairs, their love is all a fudge; i'll 'ministrate on what he wears, and leave his squaw my grudge." chapter vii. gripe's views of indian character--the delawares' the ishmaelites of the plains--the territory of the "long horns"--texans and their characteristics--mushroom rock--a valuable discovery--footprints in the rock--the primeval paul and virginia. we noticed many fine rivers rolling from the northward into the kaw, which stream we found was known by that name only after receiving the republican, at junction city. above that point, under the name of the smoky hill, it stretches far out across the plains, and into the eastern portion of colorado. along its desolate banks we afterward saw the sun rise and set upon many a weary and many a gorgeous day. all the large tributaries of the kansas river, consisting of the big blue, republican, solomon, and saline, came in on our right. upon our left, toward the south, only small creeks joined waters with the kaw, the pitch of the great "divides" there being towards the arkansas and its feeders, the cottonwood and neosho. we had now fairly entered on the great smoky hill trail. here fremont marked out his path towards the rocky mountains and the pacific, and on many of the high _buttes_ we discovered the pillars of stone which he had set up as guides for emigrant trains, looking wonderfully like sentinels standing guard over the valleys beneath. indeed we did at first take them for solitary herders, watching their cattle in some choice pasture out of sight. most of our party had expected to find indians in promiscuous abundance over the entire state, and we were therefore surprised to see the country, after passing st. mary's mission, entirely free of them. muggs asked gripe if the american indian was hostile to all nationalities alike, or simply to those who robbed him of his hunting-grounds. the orator replied as follows: "sir, the aborigine of the western plains cares not what color or flavor the fruit possesses which hangs from his roof tree. the cue of the chinaman is equally as acceptable as hairs from the mane of the english lion. a red lock is as welcome as a black one, and disputes as to ownership usually result in a dead-lock. his abhorrence is a wig, which he considers a contrivance of the devil to cheat honest indian industry. i would advise geologists on the plains to carry, along with their picks for breaking stones, a bottle of patent hair restorative. it is handy to have in one's pocket when his scalp is far on its way towards some cheyenne war-pole. the scalping process, gentlemen, is the way in which savages levy and collect their poll-tax. any person in search of romantic wigwams can have his wig warmed very thoroughly on the arkansas or texas borders. on the plains along the western border of kansas, however, geologists can find a rich and comparatively safe field for exploration. it is doubtful if the savages ever wander there again. "of the indian warrior on the plains we may well say, _requiescat in pace_, and may his pace be rapid towards either civilization or the happy hunting ground. history shows that his reaching the first has generally given him quick transit to the second. the white man's country has proved a spirit-land to lo, whose noble soul seems to sink when the scalping-knife gathers any other rust than that of blood, and whose prophetic spirit takes flight at the prospect of exchanging boiled puppies and dirt for the white brother's pork and beans. very often, however, it must be said, lo's soul is gathered to his fathers by reason of its tabernacle being smitten too sorely by corn lightning." as gripe paused, the professor took up the subject in a somewhat different strain: "we have here in this state," remarked he, "a tribe which may well be called the indian ishmael. its hand is and ever has been, since history took record of it, against its brethren, and its brethren's against it. i refer to the pitiful remnant of the once great delawares. from the shores of the atlantic they have steadily retreated before civilization, marking their path westward by constant conflicts with other races of red men. the nation in its eastern forests once numbered thousands of warriors. now, three hundred miserable survivors are hastening to extinction by way of their kansas reservation. "a number of their best warriors have been employed as scouts by the government, when administering well merited chastisement to other murdering bands. the delawares, i have often thought, are like blood-hounds on the track of the savages of the plains. they take fierce delight in scanning the ground for trails and the lines of the streams for camps. there is something strangely unnatural in the wild eyes of these ishmaelites, as they lead the destroyers against their race, and assist in blotting it from the face of the continent. themselves so nearly joined to the nations known only in history, it is like a plague-stricken man pressing eagerly forward to carry the curse, before he dies, to the remainder of his people." the valleys of the saline, solomon, and smoky hill, as we passed them in rapid succession, seemed very rich and were already thickly dotted with houses. this is one of the best cattle regions of the state, and vast herds of the long-horned texan breed covered the prairies. we were informed that they often graze throughout the entire winter. as early in the spring as the grass starts sufficiently along the trail from texas to kansas, the stock dealers of the former state commence moving their immense herds over it. the cattle are driven slowly forward, feeding as they come, and reach the vicinity of the kansas railroads when the grass is in good condition for their summer fattening. as many as five hundred thousand head of these long horns have been brought into the state in a single season. some are sold on arrival and others kept until fall, when the choicest beeves are shipped east for packing purposes, or into illinois for corn feeding. the latter is the case when they are destined eventually for consumption in eastern markets, grass-fed beef lacking the solid fatness of the corn-fed, and suffering more by long transportation. this very important trade in cattle, when fully developed, will probably be about equally divided between southern and central kansas, each of which possesses its peculiar advantages for the business. while the valley of the arkansas has longer grass, and more of it, the dealers in the kaw region claim that their "feed" is the most nutritious. my own opinion, carefully formed, is that both sections are about equally good, and that the whole of western kansas, with colorado, will yet become the greatest stock-raising region of the world. the climate is peculiarly favorable. two seasons out of three, on an average, cattle and sheep can graze during the winter, without any other cover than that of the ravines and the timber along the creeks. the herders who manage these large bodies of cattle are a distinctive and peculiar class. we saw numbers of them scurrying along over the country on their wild, lean mustangs, in appearance a species of centaur, half horse, half man, with immense rattling spurs, tanned skin, and dare-devil, almost ferocious faces. after an extensive acquaintance with the genus texan, and with all due allowance for the better portion of it, i must say, as my deliberate judgment, that it embraces a larger number of murderers and desperadoes than can be found elsewhere in any civilized nation. a majority of these herders would think no more of snuffing out a life than of snuffing out a candle. texas, in her rude solitude, formerly stretched protecting arms to the evil doers from other states, and to her these classes flocked. she offered them not a city but a whole empire of refuge. just beyond brookville, two hundred miles from the eastern border of kansas, our road commenced ascending the harker bluffs, a series of sandstone ridges bordering on the plains. on our left, mushroom rock was pointed out to us, a huge table of stone poised on a solitary pillar, and strangely resembling the plant from which it is named. as the professor informed us, we were on the eastern shore of a once vast inland ocean, the bed of which now forms the plains. sachem thought the rock might be a petrified toad-stool, on a scale with the gigantic toads which hopped around in the mud of that age of monsters. the professor thought it was fashioned by the waters, in their eddyings and washings. subsequent examinations showed this entire region to be one of remarkable interest to the geologist. a few miles east of mushroom rock, near bavaria, as we learned from the conductor, human foot-prints had been discovered in the sandstone. the professor, who had long ascribed to man an earlier existence upon earth than that given him by geology, was greatly excited, and at his earnest request, when the down train was met, we returned upon it to bavaria. [illustration: _bureau of illustration_ mushroom rock, on alum creek, near kansas pacific r. r.--from a photograph.] [illustration: _bureau of illustration_ indian rock, on smoky hill river, kansas--from a photograph.] that place we found to consist of two buildings, each serving the double purpose of house and store, the track running between them. two sandstone blocks, each weighing several hundred pounds, lay in front of one of the stores, and there, sure enough, impressed clearly and deeply upon their surface were the tracks of human feet. they had been discovered by a mr. j. b. hamilton on the adjacent bluffs. there was something weird and startling in this voice from those long-forgotten ages--ages no less remote than when the ridge we were standing upon was a portion of a lake shore. the man who trod those sands, the professor informed us, perished from the face of the earth countless ages before the oldest mummy was laid away in the caves of egypt; and yet people looked at the shriveled egyptian, and thought that they were holding converse with one who lived close upon the time of the oldest inhabitant. they wrested secrets from his tomb, and called them very ancient. and now this dweller beside the great lakes had lifted his feet out of the sand to kick the mummy from his pedestal of honor in the museum, as but a being of yesterday, in comparison with himself. this discovery was soon afterward extensively noticed in the newspapers, and the specimens are now in the collection made by our party at topeka. it is but fair to say that a difference of opinion exists in regard to these imprints. many scientific men, among whom is professor cope, affirm that they must be the work of indians long ago, as the age of the rock puts it beyond the era of man, while others attribute them to some lower order of animal, with a foot resembling the human one. for my own part, after careful examination, i accept our professor's theory, that the imprints are those of human feet. the surface of the stone has been decided by experts to be bent down, not chiseled out. science not long ago ridiculed the primitive man, which it now accepts. it is not strange, therefore, that science should protest against its oldest inhabitant stepping out from ages in which it had hitherto forbidden him existence. we also found on the rocks fine impressions of leaves, resembling those of the magnolia, and gathered a bushel of petrified walnuts and butternuts. there were no other indications whatever of trees, the whole country, as far as we could see, being a desolate prairie. "gentlemen," said the professor, "as surely as you stand on the shore of a great lake, which passed away in comparatively modern times, science stands on the brink of important revelations. we have here the evidence of the rocks that man existed on this earth when the vast level upon which you are about to enter was covered by its mass of water. the waves lapped against the rocky mountains on the west, and against the ridges on which you are standing, upon the east. from previous explorations, i can assure you that the buffalo now feed over a surface strewn with the remains of those monsters which inhabited the waters of the primitive world, and the grasses suck nutriment from the shells of centuries. geology has held that man did not exist during the time of the great lakes. i assert that he did, gentlemen, and now an inhabitant of that period steps forward to confirm my position. this man walked barefooted, and yet the contour of one of the feet, so different in shape from that of any wild people's of the present day, shows that it had been confined by some stiff material, like our leather shoes. the appearance of the big toe is especially confirmatory of this. i would call your attention, gentlemen, to the block which contains companion impressions of the right and left foot. the latter is deep, and well defined, every toe being separate and perfect. the former is shallow, and spread out, with bulged-up ridges of stone between each toe. these are exactly the impressions your own feet would make, on such a shore to-day, were the sand under the right one to be of such a yielding nature that in moving you withdrew it quickly, and rested more heavily on the other, the material under which was firmer. your right track would spread, the mud bulging up between the toes, and forcing them out of position, and the material nearly regaining its level, with a misshapen impression upon its surface. "you will also perceive that the sand was already hardening into rock when our ancient friends walked over it. i use the plural because, if i may venture an opinion from this hasty examination, i should say the two tracks were those of a female, the single one that of a man. from the position of the blocks they were probably walking near each other at that precise time when the new rock was soft enough to receive an impression and hard enough to retain it. you will perceive that the surface of the stone is bent down into the cavities, as that of a loaf of half-raised bread would be should you press your hand into it." sachem thought that the couple might have been an ancient paul and virginia telling their love on the shores of the old-time lake. the professor continued: "you notice close beside the two imprints an oval, rather deep hole in the rock, precisely like that a boy often makes by whirling on one heel in the sand." sachem again interrupted: "perhaps the maiden went through the fascinating evolution of revolving her body while her mind revolved the 'yes' or 'no' to her swain's question. it might be a refined way of telling her lover that she was well 'heeled,' and asking if he was." the professor very gravely replied: "in those days the world had not run to slang. if one of noah's children had dared to address him with the modern salutation of 'governor,' the venerable patriarch would have flung his child overboard from the ark. taking your view of the case, mr. sachem, the whirl in the sand, which gave the lover his answer, is telling us to-day that same old story. and the coquette of that remote period caused the tell-tale walk upon the sand, which has proved the greatest geological discovery of modern times. i believe that it will be followed up and sustained by others equally as important, all tending to date man's birth thousands of years anterior to the time geology has hitherto assigned him an existence upon earth." we spent many hours of the night in getting the rocks to the depot for shipment to topeka, the few inhabitants of bavaria assisting us. soon after a westward train came along, and we were again in motion toward the home of the buffalo. before we slept the professor gave us the following information: the vast plateau lying east of the rocky mountains, and which we were now approaching, was once covered by a series of great fresh-water lakes. at an early period these must have been connected with the sea, their waters then being quite salty, as is abundantly demonstrated by the remains of marine shells. during the time of the continental elevation these lakes were raised above the sea level, and their size very much diminished. over the new land thus created, and surrounding these beautiful sheets of water, spread a vegetation at once so beautiful and so rich in growth that earth has now absolutely nothing with which to compare it. amid these lovely pastures roved large herds of elephants, with the mastodon, rhinoceros, horse, and elk, while the streams and lakes abounded with fish. but the drainage toward the distant ocean continued, the water area diminished, the hot winds of the dry land drank up what remained of the lakes, and, in process of time, lo! the great grass-covered plains that we wander over delightedly to-day. what folly to suppose that such a land, so peculiarly fitted for man's enjoyment, should remain, through a long period of time, tenanted simply by brutes, and be given up to the human race only after its delightful characteristics had been entirely removed. chapter viii. the "great american desert"--its fossil wealth--an illusion dispelled--fires according to novels and according to fact--sensational heroes and heroines--prairie dogs and their habits--hawk and dog and hawk and cat. next morning, as the first gray darts of dawn fell against our windows, mr. colon lifted up a sleepy head and gazed out. then came that quick jerk into an upright position which one assumes when startled suddenly from a drowsy state to one of intense interest. the motion caused a similar one on the part of each of us, as if a sort of jumping-jack set of string nerves ran up our backs, and a man under the cars had pulled them all simultaneously. we were on the great earth-ocean; upon either side, until striking against the shores of the horizon, the billows of buffalo-grass rolled away. it seemed as if the mighty ruler had looked upon these waters when the world was young, and said to them, "ye waves, teeming with life, be ye earth, and remain in form as now, until the planet which bears you dissolves!" and so, frozen into stillness at the instant, what were then billows of water now stretch away billows of land into what seems to the traveler infinite distance, with the same long roll lapping against and upon distant _buttes_ that the atlantic has to-day in lashing its rock-ribbed coasts; and whenever man's busy industry cleaves asunder the surface, the depths, like those of ocean, give back their monsters and rare shells. huge saurians, locked for a thousand centuries in their vice-like prison, rise up, not as of old to bask lazily in the sun, but to gape with huge jaws at the demons of lightning and steam rushing past, and to crack the stiff backs of savans with their forty feet of tail. to the south of us, and distant several miles, was the line, scarcely visible, of the smoky hill, treeless and desolate; on the north, the upper saline, equally barren. as difficult to distinguish as two brown threads dividing a brown carpet, they might have been easily overlooked, had we not known the streams were there, and, with the aid of our glasses, sought for their ill-defined banks. a curve in the road brought us suddenly and sharply face to face with the sun, just rising in the far-away east, and flashing its ruddy light over the vast plain around us. its bright red rim first appeared, followed almost immediately by its round face, for all the world like a jolly old jack tar, with his broad brim coming above deck. it reminded me on the instant of our brackish friend, captain walrus; and in imagination i dreamily pictured, as coming after him, with the broadening daylight, a troop of alaskans, their sleds laden with blubber. the air was singularly clear and bracing, producing an effect upon a pair of healthy lungs like that felt on first reaching the sea-beach from a residence inland. an illusion which had followed many of us from boyhood was utterly dissipated by the early dawn in this strange land. this was not the fact that the "great american desert" of our school-days is not a desert at all, for this we had known for years; it related to those floods of flame and stifling smoke with which sensational writers of western novels are wont to sweep, as with a besom of destruction, the whole of prairie-land once at least in every story. young america, wasting uncounted gallons of midnight oil in the perusal of peppery tales of border life, little suspects how slight the foundation upon which his favorite author has reared the whole vast superstructure of thrilling adventure. the scene of these heart-rending narratives is usually laid in a boundless plain covered with tall grass, and the _dramatis personæ_ are an indefinite number of buffalo and indians, a painfully definite one of emigrants, two persons unhappy enough to possess a beautiful daughter, and a lover still more unhappy in endeavoring to acquire title, a rascally half-breed burning to prevent the latter feat, and a rare old plainsman specially brought into existence to "sarcumvent" him. [illustration: _bureau of illustration. buffalo_ fire on the plains, according to novels.] [illustration: _bureau of illustration_ fire on the plains, as it is.] at the most critical juncture the "waving sea of grass" usually takes fire, in an unaccountable manner--perhaps from the hot condition of the combatants, or the quantities of burning love and revenge which are recklessly scattered about. multitudes of frightened buffalo and gay gazelles make the ground shake in getting out of the way, and the flames go to licking the clouds, while the emigrants go to licking the indians. although the fire can not be put out, one or the other, or possibly both, of the combatants are "put out" in short order. should the miserable parents succeed in getting their daughter safely through this peril, it is only because she is reserved for a further laceration of our feelings. the half-breed soon gets her, and the lover and rare old plainsman get on his track immediately afterward. and so on _ad libitum_. we beg pardon for condensing into our sunrise reflections the material for a novel, such as has often run well through three hundred pages, and furnished with competencies half as many bill-posters. it is unpleasant to have one's traditionary heroes and heroines all knocked into pi before breakfast. it makes one crusty. possibly, it may be their proper desert, but, if so, could be better digested after dinner. the whole story would fail if the fire did, as novelists never like to have their heroines left out in the cold. but it is as impossible for flames as it is for human beings to exist on air alone. it is scarcely less so for them to feed, as they are supposed to do, on such scanty grass. the truth is, that what the bison, with his close-cropping teeth, is enabled to grow fat on, makes but poor material for a first-class conflagration. the grass which covers the great plains of the far west is more like brown moss than what its name implies. perhaps as good an idea of it as is possible to any one who has never seen it, may be obtained by imagining a great buffalo robe covering the ground. the hair would be about the color and nearly the length of the grass, at the season in question. in the spring the plains are fresh and green, but the grass cures rapidly on the stalk, and before the end of july is brown and ripe. it will then burn readily, but the fire is like that eating along a carpet, and by no means terrifying to either man or brute. the only occasion when it could possibly prove dangerous is when it reaches, as it sometimes does, some of the narrow valleys where the tall grass of the bottom grows; but even then, a run of a hundred yards will take one to buffalo grass and safety. this latter fact we learned from actual experience, later on our trip. what a wild land we were in! a few puffs of a locomotive had transferred us from civilization to solitude itself. this was the "great american desert" which so caught our boyish eyes, in the days of our school geography and the long ago. a mysterious land with its wonderful record of savages and scouts, battles and hunts. we had a vague idea then that a sphynx and half a score of pyramids were located somewhere upon it, the sand covering its whole surface, when not engaged in some sort of simoon performance above. no trains of camels, with wonderful patience and marvelous internal reservoirs of water, dragged their weary way along, it was true; yet that animal's first cousin, the american mule, was there in numbers, as hardy and as useful as the other. many an eastern mother, in the days of the gold fever, took down her boys discarded atlas, and finding the space on the continent marked "great american desert," followed with tearful eyes the course of the emigrant trains, and tried to fix the spot where the dear bones of her first-born lay bleaching. as a people, we are better acquainted with the wastes of egypt than with some parts of our own land. the plains have been considered the abode of hunger, thirst, and violence, and most of our party expected to meet these geniuses on the threshold of their domain, and, while shamus should fight the first two with his skillet and camp-kettles to war against the third with rifle and hunting-knife. but in the scene around us there was nothing terrifying in the least degree. the sun had risen with a clear highway before him, and no clouds to entangle his chariot wheels. he was mellow at this early hour, and scattered down his light and warmth liberally. wherever the soil was turned up by the track, we discovered it to be strong and deep, and capable of producing abundant crops of resin weeds and sunflowers, which with farmers is a written certificate, in the "language of flowers," of good character. we thundered through many thriving cities of prairie dogs, the inhabitants of which seemed all out of doors, and engaged in tail-bearing from house to house. the principal occupations of this animal appears to be two; first, barking like a squirrel, and second, jerking the caudal appendage, which operations synchronize with remarkable exactitude. one single cord seems to operate both extremities of the little body at once. it could no more open its mouth without twitching its tail, than a single-thread jack could bow its head without lifting its legs. those nearest would look pertly at us for a moment, and then dive head foremost into their holes. the tail would hardly disappear before the head would take its place and, peering out, scrutinize us with twinkling eyes, and chatter away in concert with its neighbors, with an effect which reminded me of a forest of monkeys suddenly disturbed. sachem declared that they must all be females, for no sooner had one been frightened into the house than it poked its head out again to see what was the matter. "that sex would risk life at any time to know what was up." the professor, with a more practical turn, told us some of the quaint little animal's habits. "why it is called a dog," said he, "i do not know. neither in bark, form, or life, is there any resemblance. it is carnivorous, herbivorous, and abstemious from water, requiring no other fluids than those obtained by eating roots. its villages are often far removed from water, and when tamed it never seems to desire the latter, though it may acquire a taste for milk. it partakes of meats and vegetables with apparently equal relish. it is easily captured by pouring two or three buckets of water down the hole, when it emerges looking somewhat like a half-drowned rat. the prairie dog is the head of the original 'happy family.' it was formerly affirmed, even in works of natural history, that a miniature evidence of the millennium existed in the home of this little animal. there the rattlesnake, the owl, and the dog were supposed to lie down together, and such is still the general belief. it was known that the bird and the reptile lived in these villages with the dog, and science set them down as honored guests, instead of robbers and murderers, as they really are." on our trip we frequently killed snakes in these villages which were distended with dogs recently swallowed. the owls feed on the younger members of the household, and the old dogs, except when lingering for love of their young, are not long in abandoning a habitation when snakes and owls take possession of it. the latter having two votes, and the owner but one (female suffrage not being acknowledged among the brutes), it is a "happy family," on democratic principles of the strictest sort. we have also repeatedly noticed the dogs busily engaged in filling up a hole quite to the mouth with dirt, and have been led to believe that in this manner they occasionally revenge themselves upon their enemies, perhaps when the latter are gorged with tender puppies, by burying them alive. an old scout once told us that this filling up process occurred whenever one of their community was dead in his house, but as the statement was only conjectural, we prefer the other theory. while we were this day steaming through one village an incident occurred showing that these animals have yet another active enemy. startled by the cars, the dogs were scampering in all directions, when a powerful chicken-hawk shot down among them with such wonderful rapidity of flight that his shadow, which fell like that from a flying fragment of cloud, scarcely seemed to reach the earth before him. some hundreds of the little brown fellows were running for dear life, and plunging wildly into their holes without any manifestations of their usual curiosity. the hawk's shadow fell on one fat, burgher-like dog, perhaps the mayor of the town, and in an instant the robber of the air was over him and the talons fastened in his back. then the bird of prey beat heavily with its pinions, rising a few feet, but, finding the prize too heavy, came down. he was evidently frightened at the noise of the cars and we hoped the prisoner would escape. but the bird, clutching firmly for an instant the animal in its talons, drew back his head to give force to the blow, and down clashed the hooked beak into one of the victim's eyes. a sharp pull, and the eyeball was plucked out. back went the beak a second time, and the remaining eye was torn from its socket, and the sightless body was then left squirming on the ground, while the hawk flew hastily away a short distance, evidently to return when we had passed on. it was pitiful to see the dog raise up on its haunches and for an instant sit facing us with its empty sockets, then make two or three short runs to find a path, in its sudden darkness, to some hole of refuge, but fruitlessly, of course. a few days afterward, at hays city, we witnessed an affair in which the air-pirate got worsted. while sitting before the office of the village doctor, a powerful hawk pounced upon his favorite kitten, which lay asleep on the grass, and started off with it. the two had reached an elevation of fifty feet, when puss recovered from her surprise and went to work for liberty. she had always been especially addicted to dining on birds, and the sensation of being carried off by one excited the feline mind to astonishment and wrath. twisting herself like a weasel her claws came uppermost, and to our straining gaze there was a sight presented very much as if a feather-bed had been ripped open. the surprised hawk had evidently received new light on the subject; it let go on the instant, and went off with the appearance of a badly plucked goose, while the cat came safely to earth and sought the nearest way home. chapter ix. we see buffalo--arrival at hays--general sheridan at the fort--indian murders--blood-christening of the pacific railroad--surprised by a buffalo herd--a buffalo bull in a quandary--gentle zephyrs--how a circus went off--bologna to lean on--a call upon sheridan. as we passed out of the dog village, the engine gave several short, sharp whistles, and numberless heads were at once thrust out to ascertain the cause. "buffalo!" was the cry, and with this there was a rush to the windows for a view of the noblest of american game. even sleepy elderly gentlemen jostled rudely, and sachem forgot his liver so far as to crowd into a favorable position beside a young woman. "there they go!" "oh, my, what monsters!" "what beards!" "what horns!" "beats a steeplechase!" "uncanny beasts, lookin' and gangin' like nick!" "sure, they're going home from a divil's wake!" and similar ejaculations filled the car, as they do a race-stand when the horses are off. two huge bulls had crossed just ahead of the engine, and one of them, apparently deeming escape impossible, was standing at bay close to the track, head down for a charge. he was furious with terror, the hissing steam and cow-catcher having been close at his heels for a hundred yards. as we flew past he was immediately under our windows, and we were obliged to look down to get a view of his immense body, with the back curving up gradually from the tail into an uncouth hump over the fore shoulders. these two solitary old fellows were the only buffalo we saw from the train, the herds at large having not yet commenced their southern journey. at certain seasons, however, they cover the plains on each side of the road for fifty or sixty miles in countless multitudes. these wild cattle of uncle samuel's, if called upon, could supply the whole yankee nation with meat for an indefinite period. about noon we arrived at hays city, two hundred and eighty miles from the eastern border of the state, and eighty miles out upon the plains. a stream tolerably well timbered, known as big creek, runs along the southern edge of the town, and just across it lies fort hays, town and fort being less than a mile apart. the post possessed considerable military importance, being the base of operations for the indian country. we found sheridan there, an officer who won his fame gallantly and on the gallop. during the summer our red brethren had been gathering a harvest of scalps, and, in return, our army was now preparing to gather in the gentle savage. we had read accounts in the newspapers, some time before, of the capture of fort wallace and of attacks on military posts. such stories were not only untrue, but exceedingly ridiculous as well. lo is not sound on the assault question. his chivalrous soul warms, however, when some forlorn fenian, with spade on shoulder and thoughts far off with biddy in erin's isle, crosses his vision. being satisfied that patrick has no arms, his only defense being utter harmlessness, and well knowing that the sight of a painted skin, rendered sleek by boiled dog's meat, will make him frantic with terror, the soul of the noble savage expands. no more shall the spade, held so jauntily, throw kansas soil on the bed of the pacific railroad; and the scalp, yet tingling with the boiling of incipient fenian revolutions underneath, on the pole of a distant wigwam will soon gladden the eyes of the traditionally beautiful indian bride, as with dirty hands she throws tender puppies into the pot for her warrior's feast. the savage hand, crimson since childhood, descends with defiant ring upon the tawny breast, and, with a cry of, "me big indian, ha, whoop!" down sweeps lo upon the defenseless hibernian. a startled stare, a shriek of wild agony, a hurried prayer to "our mary mother," and erin's son christens those far-off points of the pacific railroad with his blood. a rapid circle of hunting-knife and the scalp is lifted, a few twangs of the bow fills the body with arrows, there is a rapid vault into the saddle, and a mutilated corpse, with feathered tips, like pins in a cushion, dotting its surface, alone remains to tell the tale of horror. [illustration: "and erin's son christens those far-off points of the pacific railroad with his blood."] blood had been every-where on the railroad, which reached across the plains like a steel serpent spotted with red. there was now a cessation of hostilities, and indian agents were reported to be on the way from washington to pacify the tribes. as they had been a long time in coming, the inference was irresistible that the popping of champagne corks was a much more pleasant experience than that of indian guns would have been. the harvest of scalps had reached high noon some time before. far off, south of the arkansas, the savages had their home, and from thence, like baleful will-o'-the-wisps, they would suddenly flash out, and then flash back when pursued, and be lost in those remote regions. lately, united states troops have been so placed that the indian villages may be struck, if necessary, and retaliation had; and this, together with the pacificatory efforts of the quaker agents, is doing much to bring about a condition of things which promises permanent peace. here our party was at hays, the objective point of our journey, and our base of operations against the treasures of the past and present, which alike covered the country around. this little town is in the midst of the great buffalo range. away upon every side of it stretch those vast plains where the short, crisp grass curls to the ridges, like an african's kinky hair to his skull. bison and wild horse, antelope and wolf, for weeks were now to be our neighbors, appearing and vanishing over the great expanse like large and small piratical crafts on an ocean. we were kindly received at the big creek land company's office, on the outskirts of the town, and there deposited our guns and baggage. our horses were expected on the morrow. twilight found us, after a busy afternoon, sitting around the office door, with that tired feeling which a traveler has when mind and body are equally exhausted. our very tongues were silent, those useful members having wagged until even they were grateful for the rest. the hour of dusk, of all others, is the time for musing, and almost involuntarily our minds wandered back a twelve-month, when the plains were a solitude. no railroad, no houses, no tokens of civilization save only a few solitary posts, garrisoned with corporal's guards, and surrounded by red fiends thirsty for blood. such was the picture then; now, the clangor of a city echoed through big creek valley. while wondering at the change, away on the hills to our right there rose a thundering tread, like the marching of a mighty multitude. shamus, who sat directly facing the hill, saw something which chilled the dobeen blood, and caused that noble irishman to plunge behind us. mr. colon, who had given a startled turn of the head over his right shoulder, exclaimed, "bless me, what's that?" the glance of muggs froze that briton so completely that he failed to tell us of ever having seen a more "hextraordinary thing in hingland." i am in doubt whether even our grave professor did not imagine for the moment that the mammalian age was taking a tilt at us. gathering twilight had magnified what in broad day would have been an apparition sufficiently startling to any new arrival in buffalo land. a long line of black, shaggy forms was standing on the crest and looking down upon us. it had come forward like the rush of a hungry wave, and now remained as one uplifted, dark and motionless. in bold relief against the horizon stood an array of colossal figures, all bristling with sharp points, which at first sight seemed lances, but at the second resolved into horns. then it dawned upon our minds that a herd of the great american bison stood before us. what a grateful reduction of lumps in more than one throat, and how the air ran riot in lately congealed lungs! dobeen declared he thought the professor's "ghosts of the centuries" had been looking down upon us. one old fellow, evidently a leader in buffalo land, with long patriarchial beard and shaggy forehead, remained in front, his head upraised. his whole attitude bespoke intense astonishment. for years this had been their favorite path between arkansas and the platte. big creek's green valley had given succulent grasses to old and young of the bison tribe from time immemorial. every hollow had its traditions of fierce wolf fights and indian ambuscades, and many a stout bull could remember the exact spot where his charge had rescued a mother and her young from the hungry teeth of starving timber wolves. every wallow, tree, and sheltering ravine were sacred in the traditions of buffalo land. the petrified bones of ancestors who fell to sleep there a thousand years before testified to purity of bison blood and pedigree. now all this was changed. rushing toward their loved valley, they found themselves in the suburbs of a town. yells of red man and wolf were never so horrible as that of the demon flashing along the valley's bed. a great iron path lay at their feet, barring them back into the wilderness. slowly the shaggy monarch shook his head, as if in doubt whether this were a vision or not; then whirling suddenly, perhaps indignantly, he turned away and disappeared behind the ridge, and the bison multitude followed. our horses arrived the next morning all safe, excepting a few skin bruises, the steed cynocephalus, however, being a trifle stiffer than usual, from the motion of the cars. when they were trotted out for inspection, by some hostlers whom we had hired that morning for our trip, the inhabitants must have considered the sight the next best thing to a circus. apropos of circuses, we learned that one had exhibited for the first and only time on the plains a few months before. in that country, dear reader, Æolus has a habit of loafing around with some of his sacks in which young whirlwinds are put up ready for use. one of these is liable to be shaken out at any moment, and the first intimation afforded you that the spirit which feeds on trees and fences is loose, is when it snatches your hat, and begins flinging dust and pebbles in your eyes. but to return to our circus performance. for awhile all passed off admirably. the big tent swallowed the multitude, and it in turn swallowed the jokes of the clown, older, of course, than himself. in the customary little tent the living skeleton embodied sidney smith's wish and sat cooling in his bones, while the learned pig and monkey danced to the melodious accompaniment of the hand-organ. [illustration: _bureau of illustration_ gentle zephyrs--"going off without a drawback.] suddenly there was a clatter of poles, and two canvass clouds flew out of sight like balloons. the living skeleton found himself on a distant ridge, with the wind whistling among his ribs, while the monkey performed somersaults which would have astonished the original cynocephalus. the pig meanwhile found refuge behind the organ, which the hurricane, with a better ear for music than man, refused to turn. "mademoiselle zavenowski, the beautiful leading equestrienne of the world," just preparing to jump through a hoop, went through her own with a whirl, and stood upon the plains feeding the hungry storm with her charms. the graceful young rider, lately perforating hearts with the kisses she flung at them, in a trice had become a maiden of fifty, noticeably the worse for wear. an eye-witness, in describing the scene to us, said the circus went off without a single drawback. it was as if a ton of gunpowder had been fired under the ring. just as the clown was rubbing his leg, as the result of calling the sensitive ring-master a fool (a sham suffering, though for truth's sake), there was a sharp crack, and the establishment dissolved. high in air went hats and bonnets, like fragments shot out of a volcano. the spirits of zephyr-land carried off uncounted hundreds of tiles, both military and civil, and we desire to place it upon record that should a future missionary, in some remote northern tribe, find traditions of a time when the sky rained hats, they may all be accounted for on purely scientific grounds. much property was lost, but no lives. the immediate results were a bankrupt showman and a run on liniments and sticking-plaster. our first hunt was to be on the saline, which comes down from the west about fifteen miles north of hays city. before starting, we carefully overhauled our entire outfit. for a long, busy day nothing was thought of save the cleaning of guns, the oiling of straps, and the examination of saddles, with sundry additions to wardrobe and larder. shamus became a mighty man among grocery-keepers, and could scarcely have been more popular had he been an indian supply agent. the inventory which he gave us of his purchases comprised twelve cans of condensed milk, with coffee, tea, and sugar, in proportion; several pounds each of butter, bacon, and crackers; a few loaves of bread, two sacks of flour, some pickles, and a sufficient number of tin-plates, cups, and spoons. to these he subsequently added a half-dozen hams and something like fifty yards of bologna sausage, which he told us were for use when we should tire of fresh meat. sachem entered protest, declaring that sausage and ham, in a country full of game, reflected upon us. [illustration: _bureau of illustration buffalo ny_ "looked like the end of a tail."] [illustration: the rare old plainsman of the novels.] of course, we found use for every item of the above, and especially for the bologna. if one can feel satisfied in his own mind as to what portion of the brute creation is entering into him, a half-yard of bologna, tied to the saddle, stays the stomach wonderfully on an all day's ride. it is so handy to reach it, while trotting along, and with one's hunting-knife cut off a few inches for immediate consumption. semi-colon, however, who was a youth of delicate stomach, sickened on his ration one day, because he found something in it which, he said, looked like the end of a tail. it is a debatable question, to my mind, whether satan, among his many ways of entering into man, does not occasionally do so in the folds of bologna sausage. certain it is that, after such repast, one often feels like old nick, and woe be to the man at any time who is at all dyspeptic. all the forces of one's gastric juices may then prove insufficient to wage successful battle with the evil genius which rends him. our outfit, as regards transportation, consisted of the animals heretofore mentioned, and two teams which we hired at hays, for the baggage and commissary supplies. the evening before our departure we rode over to the fort and called upon general sheridan. "little phil" had pitched his camp on the bank of big creek, a short distance below the fort, preferring a soldier's life in the tent to the more comfortable officer's quarters. this we thought eminently characteristic of the man. he is an accumulation of tremendous energy in small compass, a sort of embodied nitro-glycerine, but dangerous only to his enemies. famous principally as a cavalry leader, because providence flung him into the saddle and started him off at a gallop, had his destiny been infantry, he would have led it to victory on the run. and now, officer after officer having got sadly tangled in the indian web, which was weaving its strong threads over so fair a portion of our land, sheridan was sent forward to cut his way through it. the camp was a pretty picture with its line of white tents, the timber along the creek for a background, and the solemn, apparently illimitable plains stretching away to the horizon in front. taken altogether, it looked more like the comfortable nooning spot of a cavalry scout than the quarters of a famous general. our chieftain stood in front of the center tent, with a few staff-officers lounging near by, his short, thick-set figure and firm head giving us somehow the idea of a small, sinewy lion. we found the general thoroughly conversant with the difficult task to which he had been called. "place the indians on reservations," he said, "under their own chiefs, with an honest white superintendency. let the civil law reign on the reservation, military law away from it, every indian found by the troops off from his proper limits to be treated as an outlaw." it seemed to me that in a few brief sentences this mapped out a successful indian policy, part of which indeed has since been adopted, and the remainder may yet be. when speaking of late savageries on the plains the eyes of "little phil" glittered wickedly. in one case, on spillman's creek, a band of cheyennes had thrust a rusty sword into the body of a woman with child, piercing alike mother and offspring, and, giving it a fiendish twist, left the weapon in her body, the poor woman being found by our soldiers yet living. "i believe it possible," said sheridan, "at once and forever to stop these terrible crimes." as he spoke, however, we saw what he apparently did not, a long string of red tape, of which one end was pinned to his official coat-tail, while the other remained in the hands of the department at washington. soon after, as sheridan pushed forward, the washington end twitched vigorously. he managed, however, with his right arm, custer, to deal a sledge-hammer blow, which broke to fragments the cheyenne black-kettle and his band. whether or not that band had been guilty of the recent murders, the property of the slain was found in their possession, and the terrible punishment caused the residue of the tribe to sue for peace. it was the first time for years that the war spirit had placed any horrors at their doors, and that one terrible lesson prepared the savage mind for the advent of peace commissioners. our brief conference ended, the general bade us good day, and wished us a pleasant experience. scarcely had we got beyond his tents, however, when we were overtaken by a decidedly unpleasant one. on their way to water, a troop of mules stampeded, and passing us in a cloud of dust, our brutes took bits in their teeth, and joined company. happily, the run was a short one to the creek, where those of us who had not fallen off before managed to do so then. poor gripe was the only person injured, suffering the fracture of a rib, which necessitated his return to topeka, so that we did not see him again until some months afterward, when we met him on the solomon. chapter x. hays city by lamp-light--the santa fe trade--bull-whackers--mexicans--sabbath on the plains--the dark ages--wild bill and buffalo bill--off for the saline--dobeen's ghost-story--an adventure with indians--mexican cannonade--a runaway. hays city by lamp-light was remarkably lively and not very moral. the streets blazed with the reflection from saloons, and a glance within showed floors crowded with dancers, the gaily dressed women striving to hide with ribbons and paint the terrible lines which that grim artist, dissipation, loves to draw upon such faces. with a heartless humor he daubs the noses of the sterner sex a cherry red, but paints under the once bright eyes of woman a shade dark as the night in the cave of despair. to the music of violin and stamping of feet, the dance went on, and we saw in the giddy maze old men who must have been pirouetting on the very edge of their graves. being then the depot for the great santa fe trade, the town was crowded with mexicans and speculators. large warehouses along the track were stored with wool awaiting shipment east, and with merchandise to be taken back with the returning wagons. these latter are of immense size, and, from this circumstance, are sometimes called "prairie schooners;" and, in truth, when a train of them is winding its way over the plains, the white covers flecking its surface like sails, the sight is not unlike a fleet coming into port. oxen and mules are both used. when the former, the drivers rejoice in the title of "bull-whackers," and the crack of their whips, as loud as the report of a rifle, is something tremendous. on the day of our arrival at hays city, one of these festive individuals noticed dobeen gazing, with open mouth, and back towards him, at some object across the street, and took the opportunity to crack his lash within an inch of the irishman's spine. the effect was ludicrous; shamus came in on the run to have a ball extracted from his back! these mexicans who come through with the ox-trains are a very degraded race, dark, dirty, and dismal. in appearance, they much resemble animated bundles of rags, walking off with heads of charcoal. personal bravery is not one of their striking characteristics; indeed, they often run away when to stand still would seem to an american the only safe course possible. we were desirous of sending back to hays city some of the proceeds of our excursion for shipment to friends at st. louis and chicago, and therefore hired two of the mexican teamsters to go as far as the saline, and return with the fruits of our prowess. for this service, which would occupy about four days, they were to receive twenty-five dollars each. the morrow was sunday, and came to us, as nine-tenths of the mornings on the plains did afterward, clear and bracing. compared with the previous evening, the little town was very quiet. there was no stir in the streets, although later in the morning a few of the last night's carousers came out of doors, rubbing their sleepy eyes, and slunk around town for the remainder of the day. all nature was calm and beautiful; it almost seemed as if we might hear the chime of sabbath bells float to us from somewhere in the depths around. one of our sea legends recites that ship wrecked bells, fallen from the society of men to that of mermaids, are straightway hung on coral steeples, where, when storms roar around the rocks above, they toll for the deaths of the mariners. was it impossible, we mused, that ancient mariners, with whole cargoes of bells, went down on this inland sea centuries before rome howled? the earth around us might be as full of musical tongues as of saurians, and only awaiting the savan's spade and sympathetic touch to give their dumb eloquence voice. if the people of those days were navigators, surely they might also have been men of metal. in the far-away past existed numerous arts which baffle modern ingenuity. stones were lifted at sight of which our engineers stand dismayed. bodies were embalmed with a skill and perfection which our medical faculty admire, but have scarcely even essayed to imitate. is it impossible that vessels plowed this ancient ocean with a speed which would have left our cunarders out of sight? if human spirits freed from earth take cognizance of following generations, how those old captains must have laughed when fulton boarded his wheezing experiment to paddle up the hudson! and if our doctor's darwinian-pythagorean theory were correct, fulton's spirit might have brought the crude idea from some ancient stoker. but while we were thus speculating and giving free reins to fancy's most erratic moods, the chaplain arrived from the fort, and mounting the freight platform, read the episcopal morning service. a crowd gathered around, and a voice from the past whispering in their ears, a few bowed their heads during prayer. a drunkard went brawling by, with a sidelong glance and the leering look of eyes whose watery lids seemed making vain efforts to quench the fiery balls. how it grated on one's feelings! in a land so eloquent with voices of the mighty past, it seemed as if even instinct would cause the knee to bow in homage before its maker. monday was our day of final preparation, and we commenced it by making the acquaintance of those two celebrated characters, wild bill and buffalo bill, or, more correctly, william hickock and william cody. the former was acting as sheriff of the town, and the latter we engaged as our guide to the saline. wild bill made his _entree_ into one court of the temple of fame some years since through harper's magazine. since then his name has become a household word to residents along the kansas frontier. we found him very quiet and gentlemanly, and not at all the reckless fellow we had supposed. his form won our admiration--the shoulders of a hercules with the waist of a girl. much has been written about wild bill that is pure fiction. i do not believe, for example, that he could hit a nickel across the street with a pistol-ball, any more than an indian could do so with an arrow. these feats belong to romance. bill is wonderfully handy with his pistols, however. he then carried two of them, and while we were at hays snuffed a man's life out with one; but this was done in his capacity of officer. two rowdies devoted their energies to brewing a riot, and defied arrest until, at bill's first shot, one fell dead, and the other threw up his arms in token of submission. during his life time bill has probably killed his baker's dozen of men, but he has never, i believe, been known as the aggressor. to the people of hays he was a valuable officer, making arrests when and where none other dare attempt it. his power lies in the wonderful quickness with which he draws a pistol and takes his aim. these first shots, however, can not always last. "they that take the sword shall perish with the sword;" and living as he does by the pistol, bill will certainly die by it, unless he abandons the frontier. [illustration: buffalo bill--from a photograph.] [illustration: _bureau of illustration_ wild bill--from a photograph.] only a short time after we left hays two soldiers attempted his life. attacked unexpectedly, bill was knocked down and the muzzle of a musket placed against his forehead, but before it could be discharged the ready pistol was drawn and the two soldiers fell down, one dead, the other badly wounded. their companions clamored for revenge, and bill changed his base. he afterward became marshal of the town of abilene, where he signalized himself by carrying a refractory councilman on his shoulders to the council-chamber. a few months later some drunken texans attempted a riot, and one of them, a noted gambler, commenced firing on the marshal. the latter returned the fire, shooting not only the gambler, but one of his own friends, who, in the gloom of the evening, was hurrying to his aid. bill paid the expenses of the latter's funeral, which on the frontier is considered the proper and delicate way of consoling the widow whenever such little accidents occur. the professor took occasion, before parting with wild william, to administer some excellent advice, urging him especially, if he wished to die in his bed, to abandon the pistol and seize upon the plow-share. his reputation as union scout, guide for the indian country, and sheriff of frontier towns, our leader said, was a sufficient competency of fame to justify his retirement upon it. in this opinion the public will certainly coincide. buffalo bill was to be our guide. he informed us that wild bill was his cousin. cody is spare and wiry in figure, admirably versed in plain lore, and altogether the best guide i ever saw. the mysterious plain is a book that he knows by heart. he crossed it twice as teamster, while a mere boy, and has spent the greater part of his life on it since. he led us over its surface on starless nights, when the shadow of the blackness above hid our horses and the earth, and though many a time with no trail to follow and on the very mid-ocean of the expanse, he never made a failure. buffalo bill has since figured in one of buntline's indian romances. we award him the credit of being a good scout and most excellent guide; but the fact that he can slaughter buffalo is by no means remarkable, since the american bison is dangerous game only to amateurs. we were off early on tuesday morning for the saline, our course toward which lay before us a little west of north, the citizens turning out to see us start. we had just parted from gripe, who went east on the first train to get his ribs healed. "to think, gentlemen," said he, "that i should have escaped rebel bullets and indian atrocities, only to have my ribs cracked at last by a stampede of mules!" poor gripe's farewell reminded me strongly of the old saying about the ruling passion strong in death. as he stood on the platform, with one hand against his aching side, he could not refrain from waving a courtly adieu with the other, and bowing himself from our presence, into the car, as if leaving the stage after a political speech. we were sorry to lose our friend, and this, together with the thought of the weeks of uncertainties and anxieties which lay before us, made our exit from hays rather a solemn affair. even tammany sachem's face was ironed out so completely that not a smile wrinkled it. dobeen had loaded one wagon with culinary weapons, and now sat among his pots and pans, evidently ill at ease and wishing himself doing any thing else rather than about to plunge further into the wilderness. when about to mount cynocephalus, semi's feelings were wounded by a depraved urchin who suggested, "you'd better fust knock that fly off, boss. both on ye 'll be too much for the hoss!" fortunately, perhaps, for our feelings, the remainder of the inhabitants were so civil that further criticisms on our outfit, though they may have been ripe at their tongues' end, were carefully repressed. moving out over the divide above town the professor noticed the general depression of the party, and forthwith began philosophising. "my friends," said he, "had the feelings which explorers suffer, when fairly launched, been allowed to be present during the days of preparation, science and discovery would be in their infancy. enthusiasm bridges the first obstacles to an undertaking, but others roll on and block the explorer's path, and the spirit which has got him into the difficulty momentarily deserts him. if properly courted, however, she returns, and meanwhile the traveler is afforded the opportunity of looking, through matter-of-fact spectacles, along his future journey. what he thought pebbles reveal themselves as hills, and what he had marked on his chart as hills develop into mountains. these he must recognize and examine with all the resolution he can summon, and he will be the more able to climb them from expecting to do so. right here is the critical point in his journey. numerous cross-roads branch off--some right, others left, but all with a brighter prospect down them. perhaps on one, a wife and children stand at the door of their home, beckoning him. the garden that his own hand planted blooms in a background of flowers, while the path he has now chosen sparkles with winter snow. he knows, however, that beyond these, perhaps amid sterile mountains, are the precious diamonds he seeks. "it is wise that, where these roads branch off--some to castles of indolence, others to comfortable homes and moderate exertion--the man should be left alone for a time and allowed to survey the rough path before him, with all the blinding glamour of enthusiasm subdued by the light of truth, and with a full knowledge of all the stumbling blocks which lie before him. if he then thumbs the edge of his hunting-knife, examines his henry rifle, and presses forward, the metal is there, and from that time onward you may at any time learn of his whereabouts by inquiring at the temple of fame." sachem interrupted the professor to remonstrate at the girding of loins being left out. he had always been used to the girding in similar discourses, and considered that loins were in much more general use than henry rifles. and now shamus, from his perch on the pans, suddenly broke in: "faith, professor, your enthusiasm once brought me sore trouble. it got me into a haunted house, when the clock was strikin' midnight, and my legs were sore put to it to get me out fast enough. ye see, i bet a pig with my next cousin that i would stay all night in an old house full of spirits. the master and his house-keeper had been murdered in the tenantry riots, and the boys that did the business, they swung for it soon afterward. and now, there was a regular barricadin' and attackin' going on those nights ever since. while i was lookin' at the old clock, and thinkin' of the pig i'd drag home in the morning, i must have dramed a little. he was as likely a pig as yez ever saw, and i was listenin' proudly to his swate cries as i carried him from the sty, and feelin' full enough of enthusiasm to stay there a hundred years. just then there was a rustlin' in front, and i opened my eyes wide, and there stood the old house-keeper leanin' against the shaky clock, with her ear to its yellow face, and lookin' straight behind me to where i could feel the master was sittin'. there was an awful light in her eyes, and i thought i heard her say--any way, i knew she was sayin' it--'hark, sir donald, they're comin', but the soldiers will be here, too, at twelve.' an' then there was a sort of shudder in the old clock and it commenced a wheezin' an' bangin' away, a tryin' to get through the strokes of twelve, as it did twenty years before. but it hadn't got out half, when i heard the crowd outside scrapin' against the window sill. an' then there come a report, and the room was filled with smoke, an' somethin' hit the back of my head. how i got out i don't know, but when i come to myself i was running for dear life across the common. i have the scar of the ghost's bullet ever since. see here, yez can see it for yourselves." and taking off his cap, shamus showed us a bald spot about the size of a silver dollar on the back of his cranium. "and what became of the pig?" asked mr. colon quietly. "faith, an' my cousin carried him home next morning," replied shamus, with a regretful sigh; "and lady dobeen, bless her sowl, never forgot to tell me of that to her dying day. we were needin' the bacon them times." sachem, who delighted to spoil our cook's stories, declared that, to gain a pig, it was worth the cousin's while to fire an old musket through the window over a drunken irishman inside. still that did not excuse him for his carelessness; he should have seen that the wad flew higher. what dobeen's answer might have been will never be known; for, just at that moment, the attention of the entire party was suddenly directed to a dark mass of moving objects away off upon our right, a mile distant at least, and to our untrained eyes entirely unrecognizable. the mexicans, however, pronounced them buffaloes. whether thinking to vindicate his reputation for personal courage, or whether simply from love of excitement, is not exactly clear, but dobeen eagerly requested permission to pursue them, and as he would, _ex officio_, be debarred the pleasure of future sport, consent was given. this was done the more readily, because we knew that shamus, while as inexperienced in the chase as any of us, was also a wretched rider; for, although constantly boasting of the tournaments he had been engaged in, we all indorsed sachem's opinion, that, if ever connected with such an affair at all, it must have been in holding a horse, not riding one. it was worthy of note that every one of the party was as eager for the chase as shamus, and yet that personage was allowed to ride off alone. mr. colon, it is true, essayed to join his company, but after going a hundred yards or so, suddenly changed his mind and came back. our maiden efforts in buffalo hunting promised such modesty as to refuse a public appearance, unless together. our cook had been instructed by the guide to avail himself of the ravines, and after getting as near the herd as possible, then spur rapidly up to it. he went off at a gallop, his solid body flying clear of the saddle whenever the donkey's feet struck ground, and soon disappeared in a ravine which seemed to promise a winding way almost into the very midst of the herd. we watched intently for his reappearance. in such periods of suspense the minutes seem strangely long, creeping as slowly toward their allotted three-score as they do when one, at a sickbed vigil, listens for the funeral chimes of the clock, telling when the minutes are buried in the hours. at length, in the far away distance, we descried shamus, disdaining further concealment, riding gallantly out of the ravine for a charge. a few moments more and game and hunter were face to face, and we held our breath, expecting to see the dark cloud dash away with our bloodthirsty cook at its skirts. "as i am alive," suddenly ejaculated muggs, "dobeen's coming this way, at a bloody good run, and the buffalo after him!" we could scarcely believe our eyes, but, sure enough, it was a clear case of pursuer and pursued, with the appropriate positions entirely reversed. shamus seemed imitating that famous hunter who brought home his bear-meat alive, preceding it by only half a coat-tail. but the game before us was changing in appearance most wonderfully. it seemed bristling with unusually long horns, and as we looked the dark cloud suddenly spread out into a fan-like shape, and we all cried, simultaneously, "indians!" there they were, a party of our red brethren bearing rapidly down upon us in pursuit of dobeen, whose arms and legs were playing like flails on his donkey's sides, with an appeal for speed which had evidently called into action all the reserves of that true conservative. our party would have sold out their interest in the plains for a bagatelle. our whole outfit had whirled, like a weather-cock, and was pointing back to hays. the mexicans were already dodging in and out among their oxen, and firing their old muskets furiously, although the foe was yet a fair cannon-shot away. shamus could not well have been in more danger from foes behind than he was from friends before; indeed, he afterward said that asking deliverance from the latter made him almost forget the former. [illustration: _bureau of illustration_ our horses run away with us.] the horses of both sachem and muggs ran away, taking a straight line for the distant town. this caused a general stampede on the part of all the other horses, much to the regret of their riders, who were thus cruelly prevented from a proper display of latent prowess in rendering protection to the wagons and our cook. from the former came a steady cannonade. squirming like eels among their oxen, the mexicans fired from under the animals' bellies, astride the tongue, from anywhere, indeed, that furnished a barricade between the distant indians and themselves. it is one of the remarkable tactics of this remarkable people, in military emergencies, that when they can not put distance between them and the enemy, they must substitute _something_ else. a single trooper, on an open plain, could send a small army of them scampering off, but let them get behind a barricade, and they will continue banging away with their old muskets until either the weapon bursts or ammunition gives out. it is surprising how harmless their fusillades generally are. if mexican powder is used, it goes off like a mixture of lamp-black and nitro-glycerine, with a premonitory fiz and then a fearful concussion, leaving a smell of burnt oil in the air which overcomes for a moment the natural aroma of the warriors themselves. but while we were still being run away with by our spirited animals, another change occurred in the situation equally as unexpected as the first. the indians had stopped running about the time that we commenced, and now stood in a dusky line something less than half a mile off, making signs to us. shamus evidently considered it a horrible incantation for his scalp, and every time he looked backward plied with renewed fervor at his donkey's ribs. our guide, who had stayed with the wagons and exerted himself to silence the mexican batteries, motioned us to return, which we were finally enabled to do by virtue of steady pulling upon one rein and coming back in half circles. by the time our cook reached us, out of breath and perspiring terribly, two savages had ridden out from their band, weaponless, and were now gesturing a wish to communicate. the professor and our guide rode to meet them, apparently unarmed; but with characteristic exhibition of the white man's subtlety, the tail-pocket of the philosopher's coat held a pistol in reserve, and the guide, i have no doubt, was equally well provided. chapter xi. white wolf, the cheyenne chief--hungry indians--return to hays--a cheyenne war party--the pipe of peace--the council chamber--white wolf's speech, as rendered by sachem--the white man's wigwam. about midway between our party and the dusky group that stood watching us the four embassadors met. the indians proved to be a band of cheyennes, under white wolf, or, as he is more frequently called, medicine wolf, out on the war-path against the pawnees. the wolf was a fine-looking man, six feet four in height, straight as an arrow, and developed like a giant. being a chief, he possessed the regalia and warranty deed of one, consisting of a ragged military coat without any tail, and a dirty letter from some indian agent, with a lie in it over which even a cheyenne must have smiled, telling how white wolf loved the whites. perhaps he did; his namesake loves spring lamb. our guide was an indifferent interpreter, but had no difficulty in understanding that the indians were hungry and wished something to eat. in all my experience from that day to this i have never found an indian who was not hungry, except once. the exception was an old fellow who, although enough of an indian to be habitually drunk, was so degenerate a specimen in other respects as to be somewhat dyspeptic. his stomach had repudiated, after receiving a deposit from a trader of one hundred pickled oysters, and had temporarily closed its doors. his stock of gastric juices seemed to have been well-nigh bankrupted by a fifty years' discounting of jerked buffalo. the one hundred tons of this compound which the noble warrior had dissolved would have exhausted the liquid of a tannery. let these savages of the plains meet a white man, whenever or wherever they may, their first demand is always for meat and drink, followed not unfrequently by another for his scalp. the victim may have but a day's rations, and be a hundred miles from any station where more can be obtained, but his all is taken as greedily and remorselessly as if he commanded a commissary train. the professor and our guide motioned white wolf and his companion to wait, and rode back to us for the purpose of casting up our account of ways and means. the only chance of balancing it seemed to be by sight draft on shamus' wagon or an entry of war. we dare not refuse them and go on; they would be sure to dog our steps, and at the first convenient opportunity attack and probably murder us. shamus, with recovered courage, stoutly protested against a raid upon his department. "to think," he expostulated, "of the swate sausage and ham bein' used to wad such painted carcasses as them divils!" the guide suggested as the best alternative that we should invite the indians to return with us to hays. we caught at the idea and adopted it immediately; and while the guide rode back as the bearer of our invitation, we "stood to arms," awaiting the result with silent but ill-concealed solicitude. should the indians consider it an attempt to trap them, our bones might have an opportunity to rest in some neighboring ravine until the ready spades of some future geological expedition should disturb them, and we be at once reconstructed into some rare species of ancient ape or specimens of extinct salamanders. or, if happily resurrected at a somewhat earlier period, might not some enterprising barnum of the twentieth century place on our bones the seal of centuries, and lay them with the mummies in his showcases? our expedition was partly intended for diving into the past, but not quite so deep or so permanent a dive as that. what wonder that incipient ague-chills played up and down and all about our spinal column, as we reflected how completely we were dependent on the caprice of those native americans sitting out there, in half-naked dignity, on their tough ponies? or that we gazed anxiously at the huge chief as he sat, silent and motionless, awaiting the approach of our guide? our ideas of the savage had been so thoroughly cooperised during boyhood, that when our guide approached the wolf, and, with a gesture to the south, invited him back to hays, i was prepared to see the tall form straighten in the saddle, and pictured to my imagination some such specimen of untutored eloquence as this: "pale-face, the blood of the cheyenne burns quick. he meets you trailing like a serpent across his war-path, seeking to steal treasures from the red man's land. he asks food, and you tell him to come into your trap and get it. pale-faces, remove your hats; noble cheyennes, remove their scalps!" nothing of this kind occurred, however. our guide informed us that the bold savage simply fastened one button of his tailless coat, grunted out "ugh!" in a satisfied way, and motioned his band to follow. this they did, and we were soon retracing our steps to hays; by the guide's advice, making the savages keep a fair distance behind us. the roofs of hays glistened across the plains, as they say those of damascus do in the east. we had formed a boy's romantic acquaintance with that land, where the sun burns and the simooms frolic, and once were quite enamored of its wild bedouins of the desert. our manhood was now experiencing the sensation of seeing a tribe fiercer than their eastern brethren, not exactly at our doors, because we had none, but following very closely at our heels. as our strange cavalcade re-entered the town the people stopped to gaze a moment, and then came out to meet us. news flew to the fort, and some of the officers rode over. the land company's office was selected for a council room, the cheyennes tying their ponies to the stage corral near. the indians were a strange-looking crew. sachem declared them all women, and dobeen affirmed that they looked more like a covey of witches than warriors. with their long hair divided in the middle, and falling, sometimes in braids and again loosely, over their shoulders, and their blankets hanging around them, they did really look much like the traditional squaw who so kindly assists one in cutting his eye-teeth at niagara falls, with her sharp practice and cheap bead-work. their faces were as smooth as a woman's, without the least trace of either mustache or whiskers; so that, altogether, when we essayed to pick out some females, we got completely "mixed up," and were at length forced to the conclusion that the majestic white wolf was traveling over the plains with a copper-colored harem. cooper having told us that the indian term of reproach is to be or to look like a woman, we avoided offense and the "arrows of outrageous fortune" which an indian is so dexterous in using, and gained the information desired by addressing a direct inquiry to white wolf, through the interpreter, whether he had any squaws along. he replied by holding up two fingers and pointing out the couple thus designated. we tried to find, first in their features and then in their clothing, some distinguishing characteristic but found it impossible; so that when they changed positions an instant afterward, i was entirely at a loss to recognize them again. all had extremely uninviting countenances, any one of which would have sufficed to hang three ordinary men, and a common villainy made them as much alike as forty-six nutmegs. white wolf alone differed in appearance. he was stoutly built, as well as tall and straight, with broad features, the bronze of his complexion merging almost into white, and he smiled pleasantly and readily. the others were no more able to smile than satan himself, the expression which their faces assumed when attempting it being simply diabolical. dobeen was so startled by one who tried that contortion on and asked for "tobac," that he retreated in disorder from the council-chamber. white wolf and the more important members of his band took the chairs proffered them, and sat in a circle, the professor, sachem, and two leading citizens of hays being sandwiched in at proper intervals. the object of the gathering was gravely announced to be that the indians might smoke the pipe of peace with the towns-people. as war was a chronic passion with these wild horsemen of the plains, none of them had ever been near the place in friendly mood before, and the novelty of the occasion, therefore, brought the entire population around the building. the postmaster of hays, mr. hall, had once traded among the cheyennes and, understanding their sign-language, acted as interpreter. this curious race has two distinct ways of conversing--one by mouth, in a singularly unmusical dialect, and the other by motions or signs with the hands. the latter is that most generally understood and employed by scouts and traders. [illustration: the pipe of peace--the professor's dilemma.] one of the indians now took from a sack a red-clay pipe, with a ridiculously long bowl and longer shank, and inserted into it a three-foot stem, profusely ornamented with brass tacks and a tassel of painted horse hair. this was handed to white wolf, together with a small bag of tobacco, in which the killikinnick leaves had been previously crumbled and mixed. these were a bright red, evidently used for their fragrance, as they only weakened the tobacco without adding any particular flavor. we were struck with the indian mode of smoking. the chief took a few quick whiffs, emitting the fumes with a hoarse blowing like a miniature steam-engine. he then passed it, mouth-piece down so that the saliva might escape, and it commenced a slow journey around the circle. when it reached our worthy professor he found himself in a sore dilemma. no smoke had ever curled along the roof of his mouth, or made a chimney of his geological nose. for an instant the philosopher hesitated; then, reflecting that passing the pipe would be worse than choking over it, the excellent man put the stem to his mouth and gave a pull which must have filled the remotest corner of his lungs with killikinnick. gasping amid the stifling cloud, it poured from both mouth and nose, and called on the way at his stomach, which gave unmistakable symptoms of distress. we feared that he would be forced to forsake the council, but, with an effort worthy of the occasion and himself, he kept his seat, and opening wide his mouth, waited patiently until the fiend of smoke had withdrawn from his interior its trailing garments. the council disappointed us. in white wolf we had found as fine-looking an indian as ever murdered and stole upon his native continent. his people were first in war, first to break peace, and the last to keep it, their excuse being that the white man trespassed on their hunting grounds. we had rather expected that burly form to rise from his seat, and, with flashing eyes, utter then and there a flood of aboriginal eloquence: "white man, your people live where the sun rises, ours where it sets. when did you ever come to us hungry and be fed, or clothed and go away so," and so on _ad infinitum_. instead of all this there was a tremendous smoking and grunting, more like a farmer's fumigation of hogs than one of those pipe-of-peace councils which i had so often studied on canvas and in books. i have often regretted since that our aborigines can not read. if they could only learn from the white man's literature what they ought to be, the contrast between it and what they really are would be so violent that it might make an impression, even upon an indian. for a happy mingling of lies and truth our "big talk" could hardly be excelled. a reporter could have taken down the proceedings somewhat as follows: scene--six indians and as many white men in a ring. postmaster hall in the center, acting as interpreter. _indian_--"cheyenne love white man much (lie). forty-six warriors all hungry (truth). us good indians" (lie). and so on, alternately. _pale brother_--"white man love cheyenne. got lots of food, but no whisky" (the latter a lie which almost choked the speaker). it would not interest the reader to know all the repetitions or nonsense uttered, and we spare him the infliction of even attempting to tell him. the indians had for their object food, and they got it. the whites had for their object permanent peace, and did not get it. [illustration: _bureau of illustration buffalo_ white wolf at home. "the red man is noble, big injun is me."] in due time the council broke up, and in an incredibly short time thereafter many of the indians were reeling drunk. that white wolf did not become equally so was owing altogether to his being a man of iron constitution. any thing but metal, it seemed to me, must have been burnt out by the fiery draughts which we saw the noble chief take down. a tin cupful of "whisk," such as would have made the cork in a bottle tight, was tossed off without a wink. sachem, who took notes, rendered white wolf's speech at the council in verse, as follows: white brother, have pity; the white wolf is poor, the skin of his belly is shrunk to his back; a gallon of whisky is good for a cure, if followed by plenty of "bacon and tack." the red man is noble, big injun is me: like berries all crimson and ready to pick, the scalps on my pole are a heap good to see-- good medicine they when poor injun is sick. the red man is truth, and the white one is lies; the first suffers wrong at hand of the other; the way they skin us is good for sore eyes, the way we skin them astonishing, rather. they rob us of guns and offer us plows, and tell us to farm it, to go into corn; we're good to raise hair, and good to raise rows, and good to raise essence of corn--in a horn. go back to your cities and leave us our home, or off with your scalp and that remnant of shirt; go, let the poor injun in happiness roam, and live on his buffalo, puppies, and dirt. two or three of the indians mounted their ponies and took a race through the streets. the animals were thin, despondent brutes, but as wiry as if their hides were stuffed, like patent mattresses, full of springs. the indians, as is their universal custom, mounted from the right side, instead of the left as we do. at the lower end of the street they got as nearly in line as their inebriated condition would permit, and when the word was given set off toward us with frightful shouts, which made the ponies scamper like so many frightened cats. the animal which came out ahead had no rider to claim the honors, that blanketed jockey having fallen off midway. he was now sitting on his hams, looking the wrong way down the track, and evidently adding up the "book" which he had made for the race. as he soon arose, with a dissatisfied grunt, we thought his figures probably read about as follows: given--a gallon of hays whisky in the saddle, and a race-horse under it. endeavor to divide the latter by a rawhide whip, and the result is a sore-headed indian, who stands forfeit to his peers for "the drinks." as we wandered back to the council-chamber, the scene there had changed somewhat. white wolf had been transformed into a cavalry colonel, and was strutting around with two gilt eagles on his broad shoulders, looking fully as important as many a real colonel whom we have caught in his pin feathers and, withal, much more of the hero. our warrior had seen some of the officers from the fort strolling around, and straightway fell to coveting his neighbors' straps, which observing, sachem at once purchased from a store the emblems of power and pinned them upon him. he whispered to us that when white wolf took his first step as a colonel, it had been accompanied by a snort of pain, the unlucky slipping of a pin having evidently conveyed to the chief the idea that one of the eagles had grasped his shoulder in its talons. the chief modestly requested similar honors for his "papoose," and that individual was treated to the straps of a captain. a different application of strap, it occurred to me, would have seemed more proper upon the six feet of unpromising humanity which appeared above the "papoose's" moccasins. it had been a matter of surprise to us how the indians could make such inferior looking stock as theirs capable of such speed and extraordinary journeys; but it ceased to excite our wonder after an examination of their whips. these ingenious instruments of torture have handles, which in form and size resemble a policeman's club. to one end are attached some thongs of thick leather, half a yard in length, and to the other a loop of the same material, just large enough to go over the hand and bind slightly on the wrist. dangling from the latter, the handle can be instantly grasped, and the body of thongs brought down on the pony's skin, with a crack like a flail on the sheaves, and the result is what sachem called an astonishing "shelling out" of speed. we explained to white wolf that tammany sachem was one of many great chiefs who had a mighty wigwam in the big city of the pale-faces, far away toward the rising sun; that they were all good men, and never lied like the chiefs of the cheyennes, or took any thing belonging to others; and that their women, instead of carrying heavy burdens, spent all their time in distributing the money and goods of the big wigwam to the needy. white wolf signified, through the interpreter, that such a wigwam was too good for earth, and ought to be pitched on the happy hunting grounds as soon as possible. sachem thought the savage meant to be sarcastic. chapter xii. arms of a war party--a donkey present--eating powers of the nomads--satanta, his crimes and punishment--running off with a government herd--daub, our artist--antelope chase by a greyhound. at our request white wolf and two of his braves gave us a display of their skill--or rather, their strength--in the use of their bows, shooting their arrows at a stake sixty yards off. the efforts were what would be called good "line shots," although missing the slender stick. we then essayed a trial with the chief's bow, which was an exceedingly stout hickory wrapped in sinew, but we found that more practiced strength than ours was required even to bend it. some amusement was created when the first of our party took up the bow, by the haste with which a small and unusually ugly indian retreated from the foreground as if fearing that an arrow might be accidentally sent through his blanket. among the stock which the savages had brought with them was a long-eared, diminutive brute, scarcely higher than a table, and apparently forming the connecting link between a jackass rabbit and a donkey. this animal white wolf seemed extremely anxious to present to the professor, but it was politely declined, by the advice of the interpreter, who explained to us that a return gift of the donkey's weight in sugar and coffee would be expected. notwithstanding the stringency of the law forbidding the sale of whisky and ammunitions to the indians, the savages found little difficulty in filling themselves with fire-water, and also got a little powder. white wolf went off with his pocket full of cartridges in exchange for some indian commodities, but the cunning pale face rendered them of little value by selecting ammunition a size too small for the gun. the eating powers of these nomads are marvelous. we saw the chief, inside of two hours, devour three hearty dinners, one of which was gotten up from our own larder and was both good and plentiful. as he did full justice to every invitation to eat and drink, we concluded that he would continue to accept during the whole afternoon, if the opportunity were only offered him. what a capital minister to england was here wasting his gastric juices on the desert air! if great britain should continue her hesitation to digest our alabama claims, the wolf at their door would digest enough roast beef to bring them to terms or starvation. sugar, coffee, spices, pickles, sardines, ham, and many another luxury of civilization, were alike welcome at the capacious portal of the untutored savage. dobeen discovered him eating a can of our condensed milk under the impression that it was a sweet porridge. their entertainment at the town being concluded, the indians were conducted over to the fort and some rations given them. they manifested an especial fondness for sugar, but took any thing they could get, their ponies proving capable of carrying an unlimited number of sacks. it seemed as difficult to overload these animals as it is a broadway omnibus; and their riders, perhaps in order to avoid being top heavy, took freight for the inside whenever opportunity offered. as they came back through the town, we all turned out to see them off. the band promised us peace, notwithstanding which it was no small satisfaction to discover that they were poorly armed. bows and arrows were the only weapons which all possessed, and while a few had revolvers, the chief alone sported a rifle, a rusty-looking old breech-loader. as our late cavalry escort rode off, their attitudes plainly bespoke that they had been raiding upon more than the flesh-pots of egypt. sons of the sandy-complexioned desert, we saw several of them kiss their mother before they got out of sight. the most serious question with us now was whether or not these red gormandizers had been uttering peace notes not properly indorsed by their hearts. the trouble is that when one discovers a circulation of this kind, his own ceases about the same instant, and his bones become a fixed investment in the fertile soil of the plains. one of the officers of the fort told us an amusing instance of the impudent treachery of which the western indians of to-day are sometimes guilty. a year or two before, when hancock commanded the department and was encamped near fort dodge, on the arkansas, satanta and his band of kiowas came in. this chief has always been known as very hostile to the whites, usually being the first of his tribe to commence hostilities. he was the very embodiment of treachery, ferocity, and bravado. phrenologically considered, his head must have been a cranial marvel, and the bumps on it mapping out the kingdom of evil a sort of rocky mountain chain towering over the more peaceful valleys around. viewed from the towering peaks of combativeness and acquisitiveness the territory of his past would reveal to the phrenologist an untold number of government mules, fenced in by sutler's stores, while bending over the bloody trail leading back almost to his bark cradle, would be the shades of many mothers and wives, searching among the wrecks of emigrant trains for flesh of their flesh and bone of their bone. satanta was long a name on the plains to hate and abhor. he was an abject beggar in the pale faces' camp and a demon on their trail. on the occasion in question he came to gen. hancock with protestations of friendship, and, although these were not believed, he was treated precisely as if they had been. to gratify his love of finery an old military coat with general's stars, said to be one that hancock himself had cast off, was presented him. by some means he also acquired a bugle, and the garrison were greatly amused for the remainder of the day by seeing satanta galloping back and forth before his band, blowing his bugle and parading his coat, the warriors all cheering the old cut-throat and proud as himself of the display. the way he handled that bugle, however, before the next morning was by no means so amusing. some time before dawn the sleepy garrison were aroused by the thunders of a stock stampede, and out of the darkness came the clatter of hoofs, as satanta and his band departed for the south with a goodly herd of government mules and horses. pursuit was commenced at once, with the hope of cutting them off before they could get the stock across the arkansas, then somewhat swollen. just as the troops reached the bank of that stream, a major-general's uniform was seen going out of the water upon the other side. notwithstanding its high rank fire was instantly opened upon it, but ineffectually. the savage turned a moment, blew a shrill, defiant blast upon his bugle, and galloped off in safety. too much promotion made him mad. as a simple chief, he might have stolen some straggling teams; as a major-general, he appropriated a whole herd. during the next eighteen months, satanta had several encounters with the troops, generally wearing the major-general's coat and blowing his bugle. his last exploit, which brought the long hesitating sword of justice upon his head, is too fresh and too painful to be soon forgotten. a few months ago the savage chief was living with his people on a reserve in the indian territory and being fed by the government. gathering a few of his warriors he stole forth, and, crossing the texas border, surprised a wagon train, murdered the teamsters, and drove off the mules. fortunately, gen. sherman, in his examination of frontier posts, happened to be near the scene of murder, and at once ordered troops in pursuit. they were still trailing the marauders when satanta returned to the reservation at fort sill, and with bold effrontery begotten of long immunity, actually boasted of the crime before the quaker agent. "i did it," said he, "and if any other chief says it was him, tell him he lies. i am the man." gen. sherman had just arrived, and when satanta, with a number of minor chiefs who were with him on the raid, came into the fort to trade and visit, they were seized and bound, and started for texas under a strong guard, to be tried by the authorities there. on the way one of the indians in some manner loosened his bands, and seizing the musket of the guard nearest him, shot the soldier in the shoulder, but before he could do further harm the other guards fired, and the savage rolled from the wagon down upon the plain, apparently dead. the body was afterward found close by the road-side in a position which showed that after falling the savage had enough of vitality left to enable him to crawl with bloody hands for several yards. finding the life-tide ebbing fast, he had then placed his body in position toward the rising sun, composed his arms by his side and, with indian stoicism, yielded up his breath. the remainder of the party, including satanta, were brought safely to texas, tried, and sentenced to be hanged. our adventure with white wolf and his band obliged us, of course, to pass another night in hays. we spent a most pleasant hour during the evening in the office of dr. john moore, an old resident of plattsburg, n. y., who assisted us materially in selecting medical stores, and who by his genial disposition endeared himself to our entire party, so that when we heard of his sad fate soon afterward, it seemed as if death had crouched by our own camp-fire. should the indians become troublesome, there was some talk at the fort, he now informed us, of organizing a company for operations against them, composed of buffalo hunters and scouts under the lead of regular officers, and in this case it was his purpose to accompany it in the capacity of a surgeon. as good guns were difficult to obtain there, and we had some extra weapons, one of our party loaned the doctor an improved henry rifle and holster revolvers. before we again heard of him, he had crossed that shadowy line which winds between the tombs and habitations of men, and his name was added to the drearily long list which bears for its heading--"killed by indians." commencing with those first entries after the mayflower introduced our fathers to savage audience, and chiseling separately each name on a marble milestone, the white witnesses would girdle the earth. sunrise next morning saw us again moving northward, fully determined that no body of indians, unless comprising the whole cheyenne nation, should force us back again. we had met the red man on his native heath and familiarity had bred contempt. all were in excellent spirits and felt the braver, perhaps, because our late visitors had assured us that their tribe was on the war-path against the pawnees, and meant only peace with the whites. our party left hays the second time with quite an acquisition. on the eve of starting we had been approached by an artist, who begged permission to accompany us. we assented on the instant. an artist was, of all others, the thing we needed. how interesting it would be to have the thrilling incidents of the coming months sketched by our artist on the spot. "daub" was a fine-looking fellow, with peaked hat, peaked beard, and peaked mustache; in short, was of the genuine artist cut, of the kind that are always sitting around on the stones in romantic places and getting married to heiresses. during the day we saw many varieties of the cactus, some of them very beautiful. as we had no regular botanist with our expedition, mr. colon developed a taste in that direction, and secured and deposited several fine specimens which were carefully laid away in shamus' wagon. it was not long before that excellent irishman gave a prolonged howl, the cause of which he did not vouchsafe to tell us, but as we saw him cautiously rubbing his pantaloons we surmised that he had rolled or sat down upon a choice variety. the remainder of the plants he must, with still greater caution, have dropped overboard, as none could subsequently be found for boxing. if the truth must be said, i was not at all sorry for it. i had lent a hand in obtaining an unusually large cactus, but the loan was returned in such damaged condition that i lost all interest at once. the minute needles which nature has scattered over these plants will pierce a glove readily, and burrow in the flesh like trichina. the cactus may be set down as dame nature's pin-cushions. endless prairie-dog villages covered the country, and occasionally cayotes, about the size of setters, with brushy, fox-like tails, started out of ravines and ran off with a hang-dog sort of look, stopping occasionally to see if they were being pursued. our guide ran one of these down with his horse and it was almost with sympathy that we watched the tired wolf, when he found running useless, dodging between the horse's legs, rendering the rider's aim false. it was finally dispatched by a greyhound. the latter deserved his name only from courtesy of species, as his color was inky black. he belonged to one of our hostlers, who got him from a mexican train-master, and was a wonderful fighter. i saw him afterward in combats with not only the cayote, but the large timber wolf, and in every instance he came off the victor. on one occasion, i remember, he whipped the combined curs of a railroad tie camp, making every antagonist take to his heels. very nearly as high as a table, with powerful chest and immense spring, the hound's movements were like flashes of light. he danced round and over his foe, his fangs clicking like a steel trap, first on one side and now on the other, and again, ere his enemy had closed its jaws on the shadow in front, he was at the rear. i have seen a gray wolf bleeding and helpless, and the hound untouched, after a half hour's combat. on the north fork of big creek we frightened a dozen antelopes out of the brakes, and had a fine opportunity of witnessing a chase by the hound which alone was worth a journey to the plains to see. i remember having been very much interested, when a boy, in reading accounts of gazelle hunting in the orient, where hawks and dogs are both used. the former pounce down from the air on the fleet-footed victim's head, compelling it to stop every few moments to shake its unwelcome passenger off, and the dogs are thus enabled to overtake it. this always seemed to me a cowardly sort of sport. the harmless victim of the chase, who can not touch the earth without its turning tell-tale to the keen-scented pursuer, should not be robbed of his only refuge, speed, or the pursuit becomes butchery. the american antelope upon our plains is what the gazelle is upon those of africa. timid and fleet, it often detects and avoids danger to which its powerful neighbor, the buffalo, falls a victim. the group which we had frightened bounded away with an elasticity as if nature had furnished them hoofs and joints of rubber. there was no apparent effort in their motion, and we imagined larger powers in reserve than really existed. as the greyhound slowly gained upon them, we noticed this, and the professor thereupon delivered what sachem aptly styled a running discourse. "gentlemen, poetry of motion, perhaps by poetical license, gives exaggerated ideas of force. a smooth-running engine, though taxed to its utmost capacity, seems capable of accomplishing more, while its wheezing neighbor, groaning and straining as if on the verge of dissolution, has abundant powers in reserve. some hercules may lift a weight on which a straw more would seem to him large enough to sustain the traditional drowning man. the feat marks itself by a life-long backache, but, if he has performed it gracefully, he bears with it a reputation for a fabulous reserve of power, the exhibition seeming but the safety valve to his supposed giant forces struggling for expression." our learned friend seldom found us less attentive than then. all the wagons were stopped, and from every elevation upon them we looked out over the solitudes at the race going on before us. pursuer and pursued were pitting against each other the same quality--speed. there was no lying in ambush or taking unawares. the fleetest-footed of game was flying before the swiftest of dogs. there could be no trailing, as these hounds run only by sight. what a straining of muscles! the low ridge barely lifting the animals against the horizon, their legs, from rapidity of motion, were invisible, and the bodies, for a short space, seemed floating in air. it was one short, black line, running rapidly into twelve gray ones, these latter resolving occasionally into as many balls of white cotton, when the puffy, rabbit-like tails of the antelopes were turned toward us. two of the best mounted horsemen from our party had started with the chase, but seemed scarcely moving, so rapidly were they left behind. twice we thought the hound had closed, but instantly succeeding views showed daylight still between, although the narrow strip was being blotted out with the same regular certainty with which the dark slide of the magic lantern seizes the figures on the wall. down into a ravine, and out of sight they passed, and we were fearing the _finale_ would be hidden, when they came into view on the opposite side and pressed up the bank. the bounds of the hound were magnificent, and we all gave a cry of admiration, as with a splendid effort he launched himself like a black ball upon the herd. in an instant after we saw him hurled back and taking a very unvictor-like roll down the hill. he quickly recovered, however, and fastened on an antelope which seemed lagging behind. his first selection, the leader of the herd, had proved an unfortunate one, and he bore a bruise for some time where the buck had struck him with his horns. the second seizure turned out to be a doe, and was quite dead when we reached it. the victor was lying along side, looking very much as if one antelope hunt a day was sufficient for even a greyhound. we noticed that the hair was rubbed off from the doe's sides by its struggles, and on passing our hands over the neck found that its coarse coat parted from the skin at a slight touch. this peculiarity in the antelope is very marked. in a subsequent hunt i once saw a wounded buck plunge forward, roll along the ground for a few feet, and then run off with the bare skin along his entire side showing just where he had struck the earth. one of our party produced a knife, and the animal was bled and the entrails taken out. we seemed destined to have a mishap with every adventure, and had already learned to expect such sequences, the only question being whose turn should come next. this time it proved to be semi-colon's. we were a mile from the wagons, and semi's horse, being considered the most thoroughly broken, was nominated to bear the game to them. to this proceeding cynocephalus seemed in nowise indisposed, quietly submitting to the management of one of the hostlers and our guide, as they lashed the antelope across his back, securing it to the rear of the large texas saddle with the powerful straps which always hang there for purposes of this kind. this accomplished, semi climbed into the saddle, gave a click and a kick, and set his steed in motion. that eccentric assemblage of bones made one spasmodic step forward, which brought the bloody, hairy carcass with a swing against his loins. what a change that touch produced! those wasted nostrils emitted a terrific snort, the stiff stump-tail jerked upward like the lever of a locomotive, and with a dart cynocephalus was off across the plains. he probably imagined that some beast of prey had coveted his spare-ribs, and was whetting its teeth on the vantage-ground of his backbone. occasionally the frightened animal would slack up and indulge in a fit of kicking, looking back meanwhile with terror at the object fastened upon his hide, then plunge frantically forward again. the antelope stuck to the saddle for some time, but not so semi-colon. the first of these irregular proceedings caused that young man, as sachem expressed it, "to get off upon his head." cynocephalus finally burst his saddle-girths, and we were obliged to furnish other transportation for our game. let me say, _en passant_, that i am trying to chronicle minutely the events which befel our half-scientific, half-sporting, and somewhat incongruous party on its trip through buffalo land; and, although my readers may think us particularly unfortunate, we really suffered no more than amateurs usually do. my object is to set up guide boards at the dangerous places, that other travelers may avoid the pitfalls and the perils into which we fell. and to every amateur hunter we beg to offer this advice: never tie dead game upon a strange horse unless you owe the rider a grudge. "young men," said the doctor, from his saddle, "you have seen a beautiful illustration in the theory of development. the hound and the antelope may have been originally an oyster and a worm. from their first slow motion, when one only opened its jaws to seize the other, they have progressed until the speed of to-day results. should the hound ever become wild, and pursuit and flight change to an every-day matter instead of a holiday-sport, development would still continue. a giraffe-like antelope, with the speed of the wind, would fly before a hound the size of a stag." the doctor's "clinic," as sachem called it, was suddenly cut short at this point by a struggle for mastery between himself and the human spirit concealed in his horse. "how much," exclaimed the professor, when pythagoras had at length come off triumphant, and we again moved forward--"how much the race that we have witnessed is like that we all run. powerful and eager as the greyhound, man sees flying before him, on the plain of life, an object which he thirsts to grasp. taxing every muscle in pursuit, panting after it over the smooth country below the th mile-post, he crosses there the ravine where rheumatism and straggling gray hairs lurk, and with these clinging to him, starts up the hill of later life. half-way to its summit, on which the three-score stone marking the down-hill grade looks uncomfortably like that over a tomb, he seizes the object of pursuit only to be flung back by it bruised. if of the proper metal, he falls but to rise again, and should the first wish be out of reach, fastens on one of its companions. there is where blood tells. if the least taint of cur is in it the first blow sends its recipient yelling to his kennel, there to whine for the remainder of life over bruised ribs." muggs thought a single toss was sufficient, and retreat then only prudence. if the bones on one side were broken, he saw no reason to expose the other. dying successful was only procuring meat for others to enjoy. the professor was developing a remarkable talent for finding not only the stones of the past written all over with a wonderful and translatable history, but also the moral connected with each incident of our journey. had any of us broken our necks he would doubtless have improved the occasion to draw a comparison and have made it the text of a philosophic disquisition. chapter xiii. character of the plains--buffalo bill and his horse brigham--the guide and scout of romance--cayote versus jackass-rabbit--a lawyer-like rescue--our camp on silver creek--uncle sam's buffalo herds--turkey shooting--our first meal on the plains--a game supper. our trail was taking us west of north, and we expected to reach the saline about dusk and there encamp. the same strange evenness of country surrounded us. over its surface, smooth and firm as a race track, we could drive a wagon or gallop a horse in any direction. even the bedouin has no such field for cavalry practice--his footing being shifting sand, while ours was the compact buffalo grass, so short that its existence at all could scarcely have been detected a few yards away. sachem said he could think of no such cavalry field except that of his boyhood, when he slipped into the parlor and pranced his rocking-horse over the soft carpet; with which memory, he added, was coupled another, to the effect that while thus skirmishing on dangerous ground, his cavalry was attacked from the rear by heavy infantry and badly cut up. numerous buffalo trails crossed our path, running invariably north and south. this is caused by the animals feeding from one stream to another, the water courses following the dip of the country's surface from west to east. wallows were also very numerous, and we noticed as a peculiarity of these, as well as the paths, that the grass killed by treading and rolling does not renew itself when the spots are abandoned. more than once on the grand prairie of illinois i have seen these wallows, made before the knowledge of the white man, still remaining destitute of grass. an old bull who has been rolling when the wallow is muddy, is an interesting object. the clay plastered over and tangled in his shaggy coat bakes in the sun very nearly white; and this it was, probably, that gave rise to the early traditions of white buffalo. wherever on our route the rock cropped out along creeks or in ravines, it was the white magnesia limestone, and so soft as to be easily cut. further west alternate pink and white veins occur, giving the stone a very beautiful appearance. we frequently found on the rocks and in the ravines deposits of very perfect shells, apparently those of oysters. sachem suggested that they marked the location of pre-historic restaurants--the delmonicos of the olden time, say fifty thousand years before the pharaohs were born. he thought it possible that some future quarry-man might blast out an oyster-knife and money pot of quaint coins. muggs thought this patch of our continent resembled australia--"not that it is as rich, you know, but there's so much of it." he even became enthusiastic enough to affirm that the land might be made profitable, "if some hinglish sheep and 'eifers were put on it, you see." the professor assured us that the country around was equal to the plains of lombardy in point of fertility, and as the soil was of great depth, and rich in the proper mineral properties, it would undoubtedly become before the great wheat-producing region of the world. our party fell into silence again, and, having nothing else to interest me at the moment, i resumed my study, which this episode had interrupted, of buffalo bill, our guide. athletic and shrewd, he rode ahead of us with sinews of iron and eye ever on the alert, clad in a suit of buckskin. his mount was a tough roan pony which he had named brigham and of which he seemed very fond. nevertheless, this fondness did not prevent hard riding, and when i last saw brigham, several months afterward, he was a very sorry-looking animal, insomuch that i concluded not to have his photograph taken as that of a model steed for buffalo land, as i once contemplated doing. it was extremely fortunate for us that we had secured cody as guide. the whole western country bordering on the plains, as we afterward learned, from sorry experience, is infested with numberless charlatans, blazing with all sorts of hunting and fighting titles, and ready at the rustle of greenbacks to act as guides through a land they know nothing about. these reprobates delight in telling thrilling tales of their escapes from indians, and are constantly chilling the blood of their shivering party by pointing out spots where imaginary murders took place. without compasses they would be as hopelessly lost as needleless mariners. i have my doubts if one-third of these terribly named bullies could tell, on a pinch, where the north star is. unless they chanced to strike one of the pacific lines which stretch across the plains, a party, under their guidance, wishing to go west would be equally liable to get among the northern siouxs or the ku-klux of arkansas. a thousand miles east young america's cherished ideal of the frontier scout and guide is an eagle-eyed giant, with a horse which obeys his whistle, and breaks the neck of any indian trying to steal him. in addition to its wonderful master, the back of this model steed is usually occupied by a rescued maiden. at risk of infringing on the copyrights of thirty-six thousand of the latest indian stories, we have obtained from an artist on the spot an illustration of the last heroine brought in and her rescuer, the rare old plainsman.[ ] [ ] see illustration on page . cody had all the frontiersman's fondness for practical jokes, and delighted in designating mr. colon as "mr. boston," as if accidentally confounding the residence with the name. in one instance, with a cry of "come, mr. boston, here's a specimen!" he enticed the philanthropist into the eager pursuit of a beautiful little animal through some rank bottom grass, and brought the good man back in such a condition that we unanimously insisted on his traveling to leeward for the rest of the day. while we thus journeyed, and, in traditional traveler's style, mused and pondered, shamus came running back to say that we were wanted in front. "such a goin' on in the ravine beyant as bates a witch's dance all holly!" we saw that the forward wagons had halted and the men were peering cautiously over the edge of the highland into the valley of silver creek, which stream wound along below, entirely out of sight until one came directly upon it. in this lonely land, the pages of whose history time had so often turned with bloody fingers, an event slight as even this was startling. that hollow in the plain before us seemed to yawn, as if awaking in sleepy horrors, and we noticed a general tightening of reins and rattling of spurs. this maneuver was executed to prevent our horses running away again and thus rendering us incapable of supporting our advanced guard. if savages were around, our provisions must be protected, and we at once dismounted and scattered among the teams in such a way as to offer the most successful defense. our fears were groundless. in a few moments cody came galloping back on brigham, and said briefly that we should lose a fine lesson in natural history unless we hurried to the front. truth compels me to say that we did not hanker after a close acquaintance with lo on the rampage; yet we did earnestly desire to improve every opportunity of studying the other inhabitants of the plains, and a few moments accordingly found our whole party peering over the edge of the bluff into the valley below. [illustration: the wild denizens of the plains.] there, on a patch of bottom grass, half a dozen elk were feeding; a short distance away, a small herd of wild horses drank from the brook; while in a ravine immediately in front of us, three cayotes were attempting to capture a jackass-rabbit. what a wealth of animal life this valley had opened to us. from our own level the table-lands stretched away in all directions until striking its grassy waves against the horizon, with not a shrub, tree, or beast to relieve the clearly-cut outlines. casting our eyes upward, the bright blue sky, clear of every vestige of clouds, arched down until resting on our prairie floor, and not even a bird soared in the air to charm the profound space with the eloquence of life. casting our eyes downward, the earth was all astir with the activity of its brute creation. before we could make any effort at capture, the elk and horses winded us and fled away toward the opposite ridges, where stalking them would have been exceedingly difficult, if not impossible. leading the mustangs was a large black stallion, which kept its position by pacing while the others ran. buffalo bill said this was an escaped american horse which had fled to solitude with the rider's blood upon his saddle. we noted the statement as one for future elucidation at our camp-fire. the rabbit chase in the ravine continued, and we watched it unseen for several minutes. the wolves were endeavoring to surround their victim, and cut in ahead of it whenever he attempted to get out of the ravine. although such odds were against him, the rabbit had thus far succeeded by superior speed and quick dodging in evading his enemies; but escape was hopeless, as he was hemmed in and becoming exhausted. these tireless wolves, cowardly creatures though they are, might worry to death an elephant. a few shots terminated this scene, driving off the wolves, but killing the rabbit for whose protection they were fired. the professor remarked that this was like a lawyer's rescue. he sometimes frightens away the persecutors, but the charges generally kill the client. for the benefit of those of my readers who have never seen a member of that unfortunate rabbit family which has been christened by such a humiliating given name, i would state that the species is remarkable for its very long ears, and very long legs. if the reader, being a married man, desires a pictorial representation of this animal, let him draw a donkey a foot high on the wall, and if his wife does not interrupt by drawing a broomstick, he may be satisfied that his work is well done, and a life-size jackass-rabbit will stand out before him. a mile from the scene of this adventure silver creek joined the saline, and at the junction it was determined to make our camp. we descended among heavy "brakes," staying our loaded wagons with ropes from behind. immense quarries of the soft, white limestone rose from the valley's bed to the level of the plains above, and the rains of centuries had fashioned out pillars and arches, giving them the appearance of ancient ruins staring down upon us. mr. colon picked up a fine moss agate and the professor a kansas diamond. under the surface of the former were several figures of bushes and trees, outlined as distinctly as the images one sees blown into glass. the diamond was as large as a hazel nut and as clear as a drop of pure water, so that, notwithstanding its size, ordinary print could be easily read through it. had it possessed a hardness corresponding with its beauty, the professor could have enriched with it half a dozen scientific institutions. such stones now command a fair market value among travelers, and are generally mounted in rich settings as souvenirs of their trips. a picturesque group of some half-dozen oaks offered a good camping spot, and around it the wagons were placed for the night in a half-circle, the ends of the crescent resting each side of us upon the creek. the rule of the plains is, "in time of peace prepare for war." northward from us, and distant perhaps fifty yards, rippled the clear waters of the saline, which was then at a low stage. high above it was the table-land of the plains, and the edge of this, as far as we could trace it, was dotted with the dark forms of countless buffalo. so distant as to appear diminutive, their moving seemed like crawling, and the back-ground of light grass gave them much the appearance of bees upon a board. they were crowding up to the very edge of the valley of the saline, from whence, as we were told, they extended back to the solomon, thence to the republican, and at intervals all the way northward to the remote regions of the upper missouri. could the venerable uncle samuel go up in a balloon and take a thousand miles' view of his western stock region, he would perceive that his goodly herds of bison, some millions in number, feeding between the snows of the north and the flowers of the south, were waxing fat and multiplying. this latter fact might somewhat surprise him, when he discovered around his herd a steady line of fire and heard its continual snapping. the unsophisticated old gentleman would see train after train of railroad cars rustling over the plains, every window smoking with the bombardment like the port-holes of a man-of-war. he would see upper missouri steamers often paddling in a river black with the crossing herds, and pouring wanton showers of bullets into their shaggy backs. to the south indians on horseback, to the north indians on snow shoes, would meet his astonished gaze, and around the outskirts of the vast range his white children on a variety of conveyances, and all, savage and civilized alike, thirsting for buffalo blood. that the buffalo, in spite of all this, does apparently continue to increase, shows that the old and rheumatic ones, the veteran bulls which in bands and singly circle around the inner herds of cows and calves, are the ones that most commonly fall the easy victims to the hunters. their day has passed, and powder and ball but give the wolves their bones to pick a little earlier. such were the thoughts that revolved in my mind while sitting upon one of the wagons, and dividing my attention between the tent pitching going on under the trees and the shaggy thousands which, feeding against the horizon, seemed to grow larger as the sun went down behind them and they stood out in deepening relief in the long autumn twilight. these solitudes made me think of du chaillu on the african deserts when night set in, and i wondered if the brute denizens there could be more interesting than those which surrounded us. had a lion roared, i doubt whether it would have struck me as unnatural, although it might have induced a speedy change of base. it begets a peculiar feeling in one's mind, i thought, when the lower brutes surround him and his fellow-creature alone is absent. animal organizations are every-where, blood throbbing and limbs moving, and yet the world is as solitary to him as if the planet had been sent whirling into space and no living being upon it except himself. a handkerchief, a hat, any thing which his brother man may have worn, yields more of companionship than all the life around him. and now, through the trees, we saw several of our men running with their weapons in hand, and immediately afterward heard the rapid reports of their revolvers and rifles from the creek just below, followed by the fluttering, noisy exit of turkeys from among the trees. some flew away, but most of them were running, and, in their fright, passed directly among the wagons. one old gobbler, with a fine glossy tuft hanging at his breast, had a hard time of it in running the gauntlet of our camp-followers, narrrowly escaping death by a frying pan hurled from the vigorous grasp of shamus. this class of our game birds is noted the continent over for its wildness and cunning, these qualities furnishing old hunters with material for numberless yarns, as they gather around the camp-fires and weave their fancies into connected sequence. thus it has become a matter of veritable history that knowing gobblers sometimes examine the tracks that hunters have left to see which way they are going. on silver creek the turkeys were very tame, and before it became too dark for shooting our party had killed twelve. muggs and sachem had combined their forces and devoted their joint attention to one of them sitting stupidly on a limb, where it received a bombardment of five minutes' duration before coming down. our briton explained that "the bird was unable to fly away, you see, because i 'it 'im at my first shot." to this statement sachem stoutly demurred upon two grounds: first, that muggs' gun had gone off prematurely, the time in question, and barely missed one of his english shoes; and, second, that the turkey showed but one bullet mark, and that wound was necessarily fatal, as it had carried away most of the head! a compromise was finally effected, and we were much edified by seeing the two coming into camp with the bird between them, sharing mutually its honors. great numbers of turkeys seemed to inhabit the creek, all along which we heard them, at dark, flying up to their roosts. this induced a number of our party to visit a large oak scarcely a hundred yards from camp, which one of our men had marked as a favorite resort. proceeding with the utmost caution, under the dim shadows of approaching night, we presently stood beneath the roost. clearly defined between us and the sky were the limbs, and clustering thickly over them, like apples left in fall upon a leafless tree, we could descry large black balls, indicating to our hunger-stimulated imaginations as many prospective turkey roasts. for this special occasion our only two shot guns had been brought forth from the cases, the remainder of the party being furnished with spencer and henry rifles. we had been instructed each to select our bird, and fire at the word to be given by the guide. how loud and sharp the clicking of the locks sounded, in the stillness of that jungle on the plains, as six barrels pointed upward, but their aim made all unsteady by the thumping of as many palpitating hearts. then, in a low tone, came the words--and they seemed hoarsely loud in the painful silence around us--"ready! take careful aim!" "hold!" cried the professor, in a sudden outburst of enthusiasm; "gentlemen, you see above us thirty fine specimens of that noblest of all american birds, the turkey. wisely has it been said that, instead of the eagle, the turkey should have been our national"--"fire!" cried the guide, in an agony, as the professor, having dropped his gun, was rising to his feet, and the turkeys, alarmed by his eloquence, were preparing for flight. and fire we did. a half dozen tongues of flame shot upward, and the roar of our unmasked battery reverberated over the solitude. the rustling and fluttering among the tree tops was terrific, and showers of twigs and bark rained down upon us. every one of us knew that his shot had told, yet for some reason, perhaps owing to the superior cunning of the birds, none fell at our feet. before regaining the wagon, however, we found fluttering on our path a fine fat one with a shattered second joint. it was claimed by sachem, on the ground that in his aiming he had made legs a speciality, not wishing to injure the breasts. later in the season, when the birds had become much wilder, i often shot them, both running and flying. they are very hard to kill, and a sorely wounded one will often astonish the hunter by running long distances, or hiding where it seems impossible. the fall through the air, or sudden stop from full speed when running, are alike exciting spectacles. and the big body, with red throat and dark plume, luscious even to look at, is fit game to excite the pride of any sportsman. the modes of hunting the wild turkey are numerous.[ ] mounted on a swift pony it is not difficult to run one down, as may be done in half an hour, the birds, when pushed, seeking the open prairie and its ravines at once. on foot, with a dog, they can easily be started from cover, and generally rise with a tremendous commotion among the bushes, when they may be brought down with coarse shot. another method of turkey shooting, and one that became quite a favorite of mine, was to steal out from camp in the gray of early morning--so early that only the tops of the trees were visible against the sky--provided with a rifle and shot gun both. when the birds have once been hunted, extreme caution is necessary to get within seventy yards of them. upon a high bough, in the gloom, the old gobbler appears twice his real size, looking as long as a rail. try the rifle first, and, two chances out of three, there is a miss. then, as the great wings spread suddenly, like dark sails against the sky, and the big body, launched from the bough, shakes the tree top as if a wind was passing through it, catch your shot gun, and fire. in the dim light, and at long distance, it takes a quick and true eye to call from the ground that welcome resound which tells of game fallen. [ ] the amateur sportsman or other reader, will find them described at length in the appendix. under the big oaks, meanwhile, our camp fire burned brightly, and shamus was developing the mysteries of his art. roast turkey and broiled antelope tempt the pampered appetites of dyspeptic city men, but here in the wilderness, their fresh juices, hissing from beds of glowing coals, filled the air with a fragrance that to us was sweeter than roses. tired enough, after an all day's ride, and hungry as bears from twelve hours fasting, we sucked in the odors of the cooking meat, as a sort of aërial soup, while the dobeen stood an aproned king of grease and turkey, with basting spoon for scepter, and with it kept motioning back the hungry hordes that skirmished along his borders. two mess chests had been placed a few feet apart, with the tail-boards of our wagons connecting them, and over this was spread a linen table cloth, white plates, clean napkins, and bright knives, with salt, pepper, and butter. all were in their accustomed places. this our first meal on the plains looked more like an aristocratic pic-nic than a supper in the territory of the buffaloes. but the picture was too bright to last, and ere many days neither napkins nor cloth could have been made available as flags of truce. it is one of those threadbare truisms, adorning all hunting stories of every age and clime, that hunger is the best seasoning. we had an excess of it on hand just then, and would willingly have shared it with the dyspeptic, baldheaded young men of fifth avenue. the turkey we found fat and very rich in flavor, and the antelope steaks more delicate than venison. condensed milk supplied well the place of the usual lacteal, and was an improvement on the city article, inasmuch as we knew exactly what quantity and quality of water went into it. we were obliged to economize, however, respecting this part of our supplies. the following entry in our log-book, by sachem, under date of the day preceding this, will explain the reason: "two cans of milk stolen, probably by the cheyennes. consider the article more reliable for families than city stump-tail, requiring neither milking or feeding, and never kicking the bucket, or causing infants to do so. had no idea that a taste of it would develop such a talent for hooking." chapter xiv. a camp-fire scene--vagabondizing--the black pacer of the plains--some advice from buffalo bill about indian fighting--lo's abhorrence of long range--his dread of cannon--an irish goblin--sachem's "song of shamus." how vividly, when one is fairly embarked in any new enterprise, do the events of the first night impress one's imagination, and how indelibly do they fix themselves in the memory! inside our tents all was clean and cheery, but as none of us were disposed to seek them before a late hour, we spent the evening around our camp-fires. excitement, for the time, had overmastered our sense of fatigue. the professor's notes were out, and, with his feet to the fire and a box for a desk, he looked more like the arkansas traveler writing home, than the learned savan committing to paper the latest secrets wrung from nature. the remainder of our party were scattered promiscuously around the fire, some seated on logs and boxes, the others outstretched upon the grass. tammany sachem was the first to break the silence. "fellow citizens," he exclaimed, "let's vagabondize!" now, with our alderman, vagabondizing meant story telling, an accomplishment which we consider the especial forte of vagabonds. we all hailed this proposition gladly, for buffalo bill, stretched there before the fire, had much of plain lore stored in his active brain that we wished to draw out, and we at once seized the opportunity to ask about the black pacer we had seen during the afternoon, and his weird story of the bloody saddle. from bill's narrative we gathered the following: something over a year before the era of our expedition a train of government wagons left fort hays destined for fort harker, and the indians being troublesome, some twenty soldiers were sent in the wagons, as a guard. a few hours later there passed through hays city a man from the mountains riding a powerful black stallion, while his family, consisting of a young wife and her brother, occupied a covered wagon which followed close behind. the stranger determined to take advantage of the protection afforded by the government train, and the little party pushed out after it over the plains. the day was a sultry one in midsummer, the sun pouring down its flood of heat on the desolate surface of the expanse that spread away on all sides. the long train, a full mile from front to rear, dragged its slow length sluggishly along, the mules sleepily following the trail, while the teamsters and soldiers dozed in the covered wagons. a driver, who happened to be awake, saw in the distance a beautiful mirage, and in it, as he looked, strange objects, like mounted men, were bobbing up and down. but then he had often seen weeds and other small objects similarly transformed, by these wonderful illusions of the plains, and even he forgot the bobbing shadows and dozed away again on his seat. but there was danger near. stealthily out of the mirage, and bending low in their saddles, rode a painted band of savages, hiding their advance in a ravine. their purpose was to strike and cut off the rear of the train, the length of which promised unusual success to their undertaking, as the white men were too much scattered to oppose any resistance to a sudden onset. at length, nearly the entire train had filed by, and the foremost of the last half dozen wagons approached the ravine. at the signal, out from it burst the troop of red horsemen, and crossed the road like a dash of dust from the hand of a hurricane, every savage spreading his blanket and uttering the war whoop. the startled teams fled in stampede over the plains, dragging the wagons after them. some of the drivers were thrown out and others jumped. two or three were killed, and by the time the other teams and the guards had taken the alarm, and turned back for a rescue, the savages had cut the traces of the frightened mules, and were on the return with them to their distant villages. instead of stopping the animals to release them from the wagons, the indians urged them to wilder speed, and leaning from their saddles, cut the fastenings at full run. among the booty taken, was a valuable race horse and fifteen hundred dollars in greenbacks, belonging to an officer who was on his way from new mexico to the east. meanwhile, our friend, the owner of the black pacer, with his outfit, was moving quietly along two or three miles in the rear, entirely unaware of affairs at the front. some of the savages, while escaping with the booty, espied him, and coveting the noble animal which he rode, they made a detour and surprised him as he sat jogging along a hundred yards or so ahead of the wagon containing his wife and brother-in-law. though mortally wounded at their first volley, with the desperate effort of a dying man he clung to the saddle for a hundred yards or more, and then rolled upon the prairie a lifeless corpse. frantic with terror, the horse dashed through the circle of indians that surrounded him, and fled. the savages, probably fearing longer delay, did not pursue, nor even attack the wagon, and the black pacer was not seen again for some months, when at length some hunters discovered him, freed from saddle and bridle, the leader of the wild herd. buffalo bill gave us quite an insight into some of the mysteries of plain craft. when you are alone, and a party of indians are discovered, never let them approach you. if in the saddle, and escape or concealment is impossible, dismount, and motion them back with your gun. it shows coolness, and these fellows never like to get within rifle range, when a firm hand is at the trigger. if there is any water near, try and reach it, for then, if worst comes to worst, you can stand a siege. the savages of the plains are always anxious to get at close quarters before developing hostility. unless very greatly in the majority, and with some unusual incentive to attack, they will not approach a rifle guard. were they as well supplied with breech-loading guns as with pistols, the case would be different, of course. bill was the hero of many indian battles, and had fought savages in all ways and at all hours, on horseback and on foot, at night and in daytime alike. as an amusing illustration of the savage abhorrence of long-range guns, i beg the reader's indulgence for introducing an anecdote which i afterward heard narrated by an officer who participated in the affair. major a---- was sent out from fort hays with a company of men on an indian scout, and, when near a tributary of the south fork of the solomon, the savages appeared in force, and a fight commenced, which continued until dark. several soldiers were wounded and two killed. as the indians were evidently increasing in numbers, after nightfall a squad was dispatched to the fort for ambulances and reinforcements. only six men could be spared, and these were sent off with a light field-piece in charge. soon after crossing the saline, a strong band of indians was discovered half a mile off reconnoitering. a shell was sent screaming toward them, but the aim was too high, and it burst a short distance beyond them. nevertheless, the effect was instantaneous; the savages vanished, nor stood upon the order of their going. during the next ten miles this scene was repeated three times, the stand-point on each occasion being removed further and further away. the last shot was a remarkably long one, and the shell burst directly in their faces. not only did they disappear for good, but the whole investing force, on receiving their report, fled likewise. talking thus about indians, under the gloom of the trees, seemed in some unaccountable way to suggest the idea of witches to the mind of pythagoras. perhaps, in accordance with his pet theory of development, he was cogitating whether, ages ago, the red man's family horse might not have been a broomstick. at any rate, he suddenly gave a new turn to the conversation by asking shamus why, when the dogs pointed the witch-hazel during our quail hunt at topeka, he had affirmed that the canine race could see spirits and witches which to mortal eyes were invisible. now, the dobeen had been bred on an irish moor, where the whole air is woven, like a gobelin tapestry, full of dreams of the marvelous, and where whenever an unusual object is noticed by moonlight, the frightened peasant, instead of stopping a moment to investigate the cause, rushes shivering to his hut to tell of the fearful _phookas_ he has seen. he was very superstitious, and we had often been amused at his evasions, when, as sometimes happened, his faith conflicted with our commands. the time might be near when such peculiarities would prove troublesome instead of amusing, and it was well, therefore, that we should get a peep at the foundations of our cook's faith, and perhaps that portion of it which related to our friends, the dogs, would be especially entertaining. moreover, we had had so much of the red man that we were glad to welcome an irish witch to our first camp-fire. dobeen's narrative was substantially as follows, though i can not attempt to clothe it in his exact language, and still less in the rich brogue which yet clung to him after years of ups and downs in "ameriky." "dogs can study out many things better than men can," said shamus, in his most impressive manner. "before i left old ireland for america, i had a dashing beast, with as much wit as any boy in the country. he could poach a rabbit and steal a bird from under the gamekeeper's nose, an' give the swatest howl of warnin' whenever a bailiff came into them parts." sachem suggested that these were rather remarkable habits for a dog connected with the great house of dobeen. "but yez must know he was only a pup when my fortunes went by," responded shamus, "and he learnt these tricks afterward. ah, but he was a smart chap! couldn't he smell bailiffs afore ever they came near, an' see all the witches and ghosts, too, by second sight! he wouldn't never go near the o'shea's house, that had a haunted room, though pretty mary, the house-girl, often coaxed at him with the nicest bits of meat." sachem thought that perhaps the animal's second sight might have shown him that stray shot from pretty mary's master, aimed at a vagabond, might perhaps hit the vagabond's dog. "i wasn't a vagabond them times," retorted shamus, quickly, yet with entire good humor, "and sorry for it i am that the name could ever belong to me since. and please, mr. sachem, don't be after interruptin' again. some people wonder why the dogs bark at the new moon an' howl under the windows afore a death. in the one matter, your honors, they see the witches on a broomstick, ridin' roun' the sky, an' gatherin' ripe moon-beams for their death-mixtures an' brain blights. many a man in our grandfathers' time--yes, an' now-a-days too--sleepin' under the full moon, has had his brains addled by the unwholesome powder falling from the witches' aprons. wise men call it comet dust. and why shouldn't a dog that has grown up to mind his duty of watchin' the family, howl when he sees death sittin' on the window sill, a starin' within, and preparin' to snatch some darlint away? ah, but their second sight is a wonderful gift though! "the name of my dog, your honors, was goblin, an' he came to us in a queer sort of way, just like a goblin should. there was a hard storm along the coast, an' the next mornin' a broken yawl drifted in, half full of water, with a dead man washin' about in it, an' a half-drowned pup squattin' on the back seat. me an' my cousin buried the man, an' the other beast i brought up. may be there was somethin' in this distress that he got into so young that he couldn't outgrow. even the priest used to notice it, and say the poor creature had a sort of touch of the melancholy; an' sure, he never was a joyful dog. smart an' true he was, but, faith, he wasn't never happy; yez might pat him to pieces, an' get never a wag of the tail for it. he delighted in wakes and buryins, an' when a neighborin' gamekeeper died, he howled for a whole day an' a night, though the man had shot at him twenty times. mighty few men, your honors, with a dozen slugs in their skin, would have stood on the edge of a man's grave that shot them, an' mourned when the earth rattled on the box the way goblin, poor beast, did then. ah, nobody knows what dogs can see with their wonderful second sight. that beast thought an' studied out things better than half the men ye'll find; an' it's my belief that dogs did so before, an' they have done it since, an' they always will." "you are right, dobeen," said the professor. "put a wise dog, and a foolish, vicious master together. the brute exhibits more tenderness and thoughtfulness than the man. in the latter, even the mantle of our largest charity is insufficient to cover his multitude of sins, while the skin of his faithful animal wraps nothing but honest virtue. the dog, having once suffered from poison, avoids tempting pieces of meat thenceforward, when proffered by strange hands, but the man steeps his brain in poison again and again--or as often as he can lay hold of it. while grasping the deadly thing, he sees, stretching out from the bar room door, a down grade road, with open graves at the end, and frightened madmen, chased by the blue devils and murder and misery, rushing madly toward them. these swallow their victims, as the hatches of a prison ship do the galley slave, and close upon them to give them up only when the jailer, the angel of the resurrection, shall unlock the tombs, and calls their occupants to judgment. does the sight appall and bring him to his senses? no, he crowds among the terrors, and takes to his bosom the same venomous serpent that he has seen sting so many thousands to death before him. and yet people give to the brute's wisdom the name of instinct, and call man's madness wisdom." "but, your honors," interposed dobeen, "i shall be after losing my dog entirely, unless yez lave off interruptin' me, an' let me finish my story." "go on, shamus, go on!" we all cried with one breath. "well, then, when goblin came to me in his infancy, he wore a silver collar with his name all beautifully engraved on it. may be the dead man in the boat had been bringing him from some strange land to the childer at home, and thinking how the odd name would please them all, when the shadows were darting around his hearth. and so goblin howled his way through the world, till one full moon eve, when every bog was shinin' as if the peat was silver. such times, any way in old ireland, your honors, the air is full of unwholesome spirits. this was good as a wake for goblin, and i can just hear him now the way he cried and howled that night! he kept both eyes fixed on the moon, and no mortal man, livin' or dead, will ever know what he saw, but when he howled out worse nor common that night, it meant, may be, that some witch, uglier than the rest, had just whisked across the shinin' sky. just at midnight, i was waked out of a swate sleep by the quietness without, the way a miller is when his mill stops. i looked out of the window at the dog where he sat, an', faith, the dog wasn't there at all! just then i heard a despairin' sort of howl, away up in the air above the trees, an' by that token i knew the witches had goblin. next mornin', one of the lads livin' convanient to us told me he had heard the same cry in the middle of the night, the cry, your honors, of the poor beast as the witches carried him off. afore the week was out, goblin's collar was found on the gamekeeper's grave; that was all--not a hair else of him was ever seen in old ireland." as shamus concluded his veracious narrative he looked around upon us with an air of triumph, as if satisfied that even sachem dare not now dispute the second sight of the canine race. that worthy took occasion to declare on the instant, however, that the nearest neighbor was fully justified in playing the witch. if any thing could destroy the happiness of human beings, as well as of the broom-riding beldams, it would be the howling of worthless curs at night. he himself had often been in at the death of vagabond cats and dogs engaged in moon-worship. the outbursts of goblin had simply been silenced in an outburst of popular indignation. [illustration: _bureau of illustration ny._ smashing a cheyenne black kettle.] chapter xv. a fire scene--a glimpse of the south--'coon hunting in mississippi--voices in the solitude--friends or foes--a startling serenade--panic in camp--cayotes and their habits--worrying a buffalo bull--the second day--daub, our artist--he makes his mark. our fire scene was evidently no novelty to the mexicans, whose lives had been spent in camping out, and who, with one cheap blanket each, for mattress and covering, slept soundly under the wagons. across their dark, expressionless faces the flames threw fitful gleams of light, which were as unheeded as the flashes with which the nineteenth century endeavors to penetrate the gloom which shrouds them as a nation. while the world moves on, the degenerate descendants of montezuma sleep. in the valley bordering our little skirt of trees we could hear the horses cropping the short, juicy buffalo grass, and trailing their lariat ropes around a circle, of which the pin was the center. semi-colon lay on the grass close to his father, who occupied a cracker-box seat in this tableau, the amiable son at little intervals raising his head to indorse, in his peculiar dissyllabic way, what the positive parent said. looking at the group around me, and thinking of our evening turkey hunt, memory carried me back to the last time i had been among the trees after dark, with gun in hand, which was at the south, away down in mississippi, just after the war. it was a lazy time, those november days. large flocks of swans filled the air above, with their flute-like notes, and thousands of sand-hill cranes circled far up toward the sun, their bodies looking like distant bees, as from dizzy heights they croaked their approbation of the rich crops beneath them. ducks passed like charges of grape shot, sending back shrill whistles from their wings, as they dived down into the standing corn. as night came on, the moon went up in a great rush of light, like the reflector of a railroad train mounting the sky. soon every shadow is driven from the woods, and then the horns are tooted, the dogs howl, and away go gangs of woolly heads, old and young, in pursuit of messrs. 'possum and 'coon. in vain the sly tree-fox doubles around stumps, and leaving tempting persimmon and oaks full of plumpest acorns, at the warning noise, seeks refuge among huge cypresses. on go the hunters--big dogs, little dogs, bear-teasers, and deer-hounds, sprinkled with darkeys--crashing through cane and underbrush, the human portion of the party laughing and yelling as if a tempest had stolen them ages ago from babel, and just discharged them in pursuit of that particular 'coon. the voice of the professor suddenly called me back to the present, and i found myself chilled by the wet grass, as if my body had been wandering with the mind in that land of cotton, and was unprepared for the northern air. "gentlemen"--this was what the voice said--"we are now one thousand and five hundred miles from washington city, latitude , longitude . stick a pin there on the map, and you will find that we have got well out on the spot that geographers have been pleased to call desert. does it look like one? tell me, gentlemen, had you rather discount your manhood among the stumps of new england than loan it at a premium to the rich banks of these streams?" the professor came to an abrupt pause, for borne to us on the still air was that most unmistakable of all sounds, the human voice. the note of one bird at a distance may be mistaken for another, and the cry of a brute, when faintly heard, lose its distinguishing tones. but once let man lift up his voice in the solitude, and all nature knows that the lord of animal creation is abroad. there are many sounds which resemble the human voice, just as there are many objects which, indistinctly seen, the hunter's eye may misinterpret as birds. but when a flock of birds does cross his vision, however far away, he never mistakes them for any thing else. the first may have excited suspicion, the latter resolves at once into certainty. we listened attentively and anxiously. it might very naturally be supposed that, after leaving the abodes of his fellows, and going far out into the solitary places of nature, man would rejoice to catch the sounds which told him that others of his race were near, but this, like many other things, is modified by circumstances. on the plains the first question asked is, "are they friends or foes?" no one being able to answer, the breeze and general probabilities are inquired of, and until the eyes pass verdict the moments are laden with suspense. even in times of peace the hunter, if possible, avoids the savage bands which flit back and forth across buffalo land; for, if he saves his life, he is apt to lose an inconvenient amount of provisions, at least, at their hands. our guide speedily informed us that indians never make any noise when in camp, which was gratifying intelligence. all further suspense was shortly relieved by the appearance down the valley of muskets glittering in the moon-light. the bearers proved to be two soldiers, who stated that some officers, with a small force of cavalry, were in camp a mile below us, being out for the purpose of obtaining buffalo meat, and having as guests two or three gentlemen from st. louis, desirous of seeing the sport. they had heard our late heavy firing, and sent to know what was the matter. we gave the soldiers a late paper to carry back, and with many regrets that our fatigue was too great to think of accompanying them for a neighborly call, we bade them good-night, and saw them disappear down the valley. at the professor's suggestion, preparations were now made for retiring, and we sought our tent and blankets. in a few brief moments, the others of the party were blowing, in nasal trumpetings, the praises of morpheus. i could not sleep, however; for each bone had its own individual ache, and was telling how tired it was. pulling up a tent-pin, i looked out under the canvas. on a log by the fire sat shamus, his head between his hands, gazing at the coals, and droning a low tune. occasionally, he would make a dash at some fire-brand, with a stick which he used as a poker, and break it into fragments, or toss it nervously to one side. whether this was because it resolved itself into a fire-sprite winking at him, or some unhappy memory glowed out of the coals, i tried to tempt sleep by conjecturing. off at a little distance, i could see one of our men standing guard near the horses, and once or twice my excited fancy thought it detected shadows creeping toward him. a little beyond, nervously stretching his lariat rope, while walking in a circle around the pin, was mr. colon's iron billy. his clean head erect, and fine nose taking the breeze, the intelligent animal appeared restless, and i could not help thinking that he saw or smelt something unusual, away in the darkness. what if the bottom grass was full of creeping savages? the crescent moon, just rising over the divide, was scarred by many cloud lines, and as yet gave no light. the sensation which had stolen over me was becoming disagreeable, when far off, at some ford down the creek, i heard animals splashing through water, and concluded that billy's nervousness was caused by crossing buffaloes. the horse had an established reputation as a watch, his former owner having assured us that neither indian nor wild beast could approach camp without billy giving the alarm. presently, dobeen resumed his droning, which had been suspended for a few moments, this time singing some snatches from an old irish ballad. the last words were just dying away, when i started to my feet in horror. what an infernal chorus filled the air! each point of the compass was represented, and we were wrapped around with a discordant, fiendish cordon of sound. bursting upon us with a deep mocking cry, it ended abruptly in a wild "ha-ha!" it was such a chorus as pours through hades, when some poet opens, for an instant, the gate of the damned. our poor irishman, at the first sound, had fallen from the log as if shot, but had suddenly sprung to his feet, and was now performing a terror-dance behind the fire with a club. for a moment, i, too, had taken the outburst for the war-whoop of savages, but was saved from a panic by seeing through the gloom the figure of the sentinel still at his post, and the next instant the voice of the guide was lifted, with the re-assuring intelligence--"only cayotes, gentlemen, only cayotes!" mr. sachem and mr. muggs had been lying close behind me in their blankets. the former had given a terrified snort, and then both lay motionless. after the alarm, sachem admitted that he was frightened. had always heard that people shot over instead of under the mark in battle. was resolved to lay low. had no high views about such things. muggs had not thought it worth while to get up. knew they were wolves. had heard more hextraordinary 'owls before he came to the blarsted country. but where was the doctor? echo answered, "where?" "hallo, doctor!" cried the guide, and a voice from the woods, which was not echo, answered, "coming!" again buffalo bill lifted his voice in the solitude, and again came an answer, this time in a form of query, "is it developed, my boy? if so, classify it." and we answered that the birth in the air had developed into wolves, and been classified as the _canis latrans_, noisy and harmless. finding that this new lesson in natural history had taken away all desire for sleep, i finished the study by the fire, with our guide for a tutor. the cayote (pronounced k[=i]-o-te), in its habits, is a villainous cross between a jackal and a wolf, feasting on any kind of animal food obtainable, even unearthing corpses negligently buried. with the large gray wolf, the cayotes follow the herds of bison, generally skulking along their outskirts, and feeding upon the wounded and outcasts. these latter are the old bulls which, gaunt and stiff from age and spotted all over with scars, are driven out of the herd by the stout and jealous youngsters. feeding alone, and weak with the burden of years upon his immense shoulders, the old bull is surrounded by the hungry pack. but they dare not attack. one blow of that ponderous head, with the weight of that shaggy hump behind it, is still capable of knocking down a horse. the veteran could fling his adversaries as nearly over the moon as the cow ever jumped, if they only gave him a chance. like a grim old castle, he stands there more than a match for any direct assault of the army around. [illustration: midnight serenade on the plains.] with the tact of our modern generals, a line of investment is at once formed, and a system of worrying adopted. no rest now for the old bull. he can not lie down, or the beasts of prey will swarm upon him. again and again he charges the foe, each time clearing a passage readily, but only to have it close again almost instantly. in these resultless sorties the garrison is fast using up its material of war. the ammunition is getting short which fires the old warrior, and sends the black horns, like a battering-ram, right and left among his foes. as long as he keeps his feet he lives, though hemmed in closely by the snapping and snarling multitude. the tenacity of one of these patriarchs is wonderful. for a whole life-time chief of the brutes on his native plains, he has grown up surrounded by wolves. not fearing them himself, he has easily defended the cows and calves. an attempted siege would once have been but sport to him, and it seems difficult for the brain in the thick skull to understand that time, like a vampire, has been sucking the juices from his joints and the blood from his veins. tired out at length, the old bull begins to totter, and his knees to shake from sheer exhaustion. his shakiness is as fatal as that of a wall street bull. as he lies down the wolves are upon him. they are clinging to the shaggy form, like blood-hounds, before it has even sunk to the sod, and the victim never rises again. the cayotes are very cowardly, and when carcasses are plenty, sleep during the day in their holes, which are generally dug into the sides of some ravine. if found during the hours of light, it is usually skulking in the hollows near their burrows. they have a decidedly disagreeable penchant for serenading travelers' camps at night, so that our late experience, the guide assured me, was by no means uncommon. they will steal in from all directions, and sit quietly down on their haunches in a circle of investment. not a sound or sign of their coming do they make, and, if on guard, one may imagine that every foot of the country immediately surrounding is visible, and utterly devoid of any animate object. all at once, as if their tails were connected by a telegraphic wire, and they had all been set going by electricity, the whole line gives voice. the initial note is the only one agreed upon. after striking that in concert, each particular cayote goes it on his own account, and the effect is so diabolical that i could readily excuse shamus for thinking that the dismal pit had opened. at this point dobeen approached and cut off my further gleaning of wolf lore. the corners of his mouth seemed still inclined to twitch, showing that the shock had not yet worn off. he was chilled by the night, he said, and did not feel very well, and craved our honors' permission to sleep at our feet in the tent. consent was given, and as he left us he turned to announce his belief that animals with such voices must have big throats. it was not yet light, next morning, when our camp was all astir again. drowsiness has no abiding place with an expedition like ours upon the plains. should he be found lurking anywhere among the blankets, a bucket of water, from some hand, routs him at once and for the whole trip. even sachem, who usually hugged morpheus so long and late, might that morning have been seen among the earliest of us washing in the waters of the creek. we were all in excellent spirits, and with appetites for breakfast that would have done no discredit to a pack of hungry wolves. no sign of the sun was yet visible, save a scarcely perceptible grayish tinge diffusing itself slowly through the darkness, and the lifting of a light fog along the creek upon which we were encamped. although sufficiently novel to most of our party, the scene was quite dreary, and we longed, amid the gloom and chill, for the appearance of the sun, and breakfast. by the way, i have noticed that with excursion parties, whether sporting or scientific, enthusiasm rises and sets with the sun. the gray period between darkness and dawn is an excellent time for holding council. the mind, no less than the body, seems to find it the coolest hour of the twenty-four, and shrinks back from uncertain advances. added to the discomforts usually attendant upon camp-life were our stiff joints. the first day upon horseback is twelve hours of pleasant excitement, with a fair share of wonder that so delightful a recreation is not indulged in more generally. the next twenty-four hours are spent in wondering whether those limbs which furnish one the means of locomotion are still connected with the stiffened body, or utterly riven from it; and, if the whole truth must be told, the saddle has also left its scars. as the edge of the plateau overlooking the river became visible in the growing light, we saw, as on the evening previous, multitudes of buffalo feeding there, and after breakfast a council of war was held. i am somewhat ashamed to record that it voted no hunting that day. to find the noblest of american game some of us had come half away across the continent, and now, in sight of it, the tide of enthusiasm which had swept us forward hitherto stood suddenly still. not because it was about to ebb, but simply in obedience to certain signals of distress flying from the various barks, and which it was utterly impossible for any of us to conceal. for mounting a horse was entirely out of the question for that day. not one of us could have swung himself into saddle for any less motive than a race with death. our steps were slow and painful, and we felt as if, at this period of life's voyage, every timber of our several crafts had been pounded separately upon some of the hidden rocks of ocean. it was absolutely necessary to go into dock for repairs, and the valley promised to be a pleasant harbor. it was a truly melancholy spectacle to behold sachem and muggs. the liveliest and the gayest ones yesterday, but to-day the gravest of the grave. that rotund form, which always doubted his own or other people's emotions, was the walking embodiment of woe, and for once evidently clear of all doubt upon one subject, at least. muggs was even free to confess that, for general results, yesterday's rough riding exceeded "a 'unt with the 'ounds." our animals were also quite stiff, but the hostlers attributed this not so much to their yesterday's service as to their long ride in the cars. they had not yet got their "land legs" fully on again. it was soothing to our pride, if not to our feelings, to reflect that perhaps some of our soreness was the result of their first day's stiffness. a beaver colony near us, and a great abundance of turkeys, offered lessons in natural history of no small interest, and within reach of lame students. the valley gave an entomological invitation to mr. colon, and the great ledges, with their possibilities of valuable fossils, attracted the professor. sitting on a wagon tongue, and applying liniment to an abraded shin, might have been seen pythagoras, m. d., whose daily life, since leaving topeka, had been a series of struggles with the brute he rode. his belief in the transition of souls into horses was growing upon him. he felt that he was combating the spirit of a deceased prize-fighter, which used its hoofs as fists, landing blows right and left. doctor david called these "spiritual manifestations." a favorite habit of the animal was what is known as brushing flies from the ear with the hind foot, and often, as the owner was about to mount, this species of front kick would upset him. the equine's disposition, it must be said, had not been improved by the immense saddle-bags with which the doctor had surmounted him when on the march. originally, these contained a small amount of medicine, but this had all been ground to powder under the weight of sundry stones and bones, gathered in the furtherance of the great theory of development. as the sun got well up in the heavens, staying in camp became monotonous, and we hobbled off in different directions, to examine the surroundings. our mexicans climbed to the plains above, taking their rusty muskets along to kill buffalo. our guide went down to the hunting camp below us, intending to return to hays with the officers, home duties requiring his attention. one of our hostlers, familiar with the country, was to be our pilot in future. back of our camp lay the castellated rocks which had attracted our notice the previous evening, and over which daub, our artist, now became intensely enthusiastic. he wandered back and forth in front of them, his soul in his eyes, and these upturned to the bluffs. and thus we left him. "genius is struggling hard for utterance there," said the professor impressively. "that young man will make his mark; see if he doesn't." alas, how little we thought he would do it so soon. an hour later, returning that way, we descried our artist high up on the face of the rocks, perched on a jutting fragment, and clinging to a stunted cedar with one hand, while with the other he plied his brush. fully forty feet intervened between him and the earth. "what devotion!" cried the professor. "beautiful spirit," said mr. colon, "how soon it commences to climb." "that young man will develop," said dr. pythagoras. a few feet more, and the artist and his work were fully revealed. he had developed. a cry of agony came from the professor's lips; for there in large yellow lines, half blotting out a beautiful stone, our eyes beheld the diabolical letters, s o z. he never finished the word. the professor seized a rifle, and brought it to a level with the artist's paint pot. "come down, you rascal!" he cried. "how dare you deface one of nature's castles with a patent name?" would he have fired? i think he would. but the man of genius caught his eye, and comprehending the situation, cried, with face whiter than the chalk before him, "o, don't!" "add the 'odont', you villain," screamed the professor, "and i'll--i'll fire!" with our first returning wagon, the artist went back to hays, but his work, alas! remains, and perhaps--who knows?--some future generation may yet point to that wall and tell how soz, king of an extinct people, once held dominion over the beautiful valley. chapter xvi. bison meat--a strange arrival--the sydney family--the home in the valley--the solomon massacre--the murder of the father and the child--the settlers' flight--incidents--our queen of the plains--the professor interested--irish mary--dobeen happy--the heroine of romance--sachem's bath by moonlight--the beaver colony. at noon we were all in camp again, fully prepared to do justice to the ample dinner of buffalo, antelope, and turkey which we found awaiting us. the mexicans brought in the quarter of an old bull, and, according to their own story, had committed terrible slaughter on the plain above; but, as we had already learned to balance a mexican account by a deduction of nine-tenths for over-drafts, we felt that we saw before us the result of their day's hunt. this our first taste of bison, gave us highly exaggerated ideas of that animal's endurance. the entire flesh was surprisingly elastic--indeed, a very clever imitation of india rubber. it recoiled from our teeth with a spring, and just then i should scarcely have been surprised had i seen those buffalo which were feeding in the distance, go bounding off like immense foot-balls. my opinion in regard to buffalo meat afterward underwent a great change, but not until i had tasted the flesh of the cows and calves. shamus, on this occasion, had devoted his culinary energies especially to the turkeys, and they were well worthy such attention. their fat forms, nicely browned, would have tempted the veriest dyspeptic. just as we rose from dinner, a covered emigrant wagon was discovered approaching us, coming down the valley right on our trail. from the fact that we were off the route of overland travel, our first conjecture was that it was from hays, with a party of hunters, or possibly with tenacious gripe, so far recovered as to be rejoining us. we assumed an attitude of dignified interest, prepared to develop it into friendship, or "don't want to know you" style, as occasion might require. a hale, elderly man was the driver, now walking beside his oxen. the outfit halted before our astonished camp, and as it did so two women, genuine spirits of calico and long hair, lifted a corner of the wagon cover and looked out. both were apparently young, but one face was thin, and had that peculiar expression of being old before its time which is far more desolate than age. the other countenance was certainly good-looking and interesting--quite different, indeed, from those usually seen peeping out of emigrant wagons. introductions are short and decisive on the plains. we liked their looks, and invited them to stop; they liked ours, and accepted. i think the professor's dignified attitude and scholarly bearing stood us in good stead as references. another female developed as the wagon gave forth its load--this time a bouncing irish girl, rosy-cheeked and active, evidently the family servant. at this latter apparition shamus dropped one of our platters, but quickly recovering himself, began to put forth wonderful exertions to prepare a second dinner, the new comers having consented, after some hesitation, to become our guests during the nooning hour. before proceeding to give the reader the history of this interesting family, i ought, perhaps, to say that i do so with their express permission, the only disguise being that, at his request, the father will here be designated by his christian name, sydney. these people, after an absence of about a year, were now returning from elizabeth city, a recently-started mining town in new mexico, to their former home, about forty miles east of our present camp, which they had left the preceding season under circumstances that were sad, indeed. about three years before, the family, then consisting of mr. sydney and wife, and their two daughters, had moved from ohio to kansas and settled on a tributary of the solomon. availing himself of the homestead law, mr. sydney took a tract of one hundred and sixty acres, and commenced improving it. one of the daughters soon married a young man to whom she had been betrothed at the east, and who at once set earnestly to work to make for himself and young wife a home in the new land. the houses of the father and the child were but half a mile apart, and, no timber intervening, each could be plainly seen from the other. for a time this little colony of two families was very happy. having had the first choice, their farms were well situated, embracing both river and valley, and their herds, provided with rich and unlimited range, increased rapidly. soon rumors came from below that a railroad, on its way to the rocky mountains, would shortly wind its way up the solomon valley, bringing civilization to that whole region, and daily mails within a few miles of their doors. the second year of prosperity had nearly ended, when one morning a man from the settlements above dashed rapidly past mr. sydney's house, turning in his saddle to cry that the cheyennes had been murdering people up the river, and were now sweeping on close behind him. the message of horror was scarcely ended when the dusky cloud appeared in sight, rioting in its tempest of death down the valley. midway between home and the house of her daughter, mrs. sydney was overtaken by the yelling demons. in vain the agonized husband pressed forward to the rescue, firing rapidly with his carbine. she was killed before his eyes, but not scalped, the indians evidently considering delay dangerous. it is a fact that speaks volumes in illustration of the mingled ferocity and cowardice that characterize the wild indians of to-day that, in all that terrible solomon massacre, not a single armed man who used his weapon was harmed, nor was one house attacked. the victims were composed entirely of the surprised and the defenseless, overtaken at their work and on the roads. passing the dead body of the mother, the cheyennes, on their wiry ponies, swept onward, like demon centaurs, toward the home of the daughter. sitting by our fire at evening, with that dreary, fixed look which one never forgets who has once seen it, the young woman told us the story of her childless widowhood. her face was one of those which, smitten by sorrow, are stricken until death. once evidently comely, the smiles and warm flush had died out from it forever--just as in the lapse of centuries the colors fade from a painting. though scarcely twenty-five, her youth was but an image of the past. she told her story in that mechanical, absent sort of manner which showed that no morning had followed the evening of that desolate day. she was still living with her dead. "the lord gave me then a cup so bitter," she said, "that its sting drove a mother's joy from my heart forever. i have been at peace since, because, among the dregs, i found that god had placed a diamond for me to wear when i was wedded to him. even then i did not rebel and reproach my maker, but i sunk down with one loud cry, and it went right along to the great white throne up there, with the spirits of my husband and my babe. i thought i could see them in the air, like two white doves flitting upward, bearing with them, as part of our sacrifice, the cry that i gave, when my heart-strings seemed to snap, and i knew that i was a widow and childless. perhaps i was crazed for a moment, or--i do not know--perhaps my spirit really did go with them part of the way. the neighbors found me there for dead, and i remained cold, till they brought in my dear babe, my poor, mutilated babe, and placed him on my breast. his warm blood must have woke me, and i sat up, and saw them bringing john's body to lay it by me. and then the whole scene came before me again, and it seemed so stamped into my very brain, that shutting my eyes left me more alone with my murdered ones and the murderers. and i just dragged myself where i could look at the setting sun, and tried with its bright glare to burn the scene from off my vision, so that, if i went mad, there wouldn't be any memory of it left. for mad people have their memories and suffer from them, and they know it, and the very fact that they know it keeps them mad. i went through it all. "a person dreaming is not rational, and yet may suffer so, and feel it too, as to shudder hours after waking up. there was john, running toward the house with our baby boy, and the savages yelling and whipping their ponies, trying to get between the open door and him. alone, he could have saved himself. and our baby thought john was running for play, and was clapping his little hands and chirping at me as the savages closed around my husband. i had only time to pray five words, 'o god, save my husband!' and it did not seem an instant until i saw the poor body i loved so well lying on the ground, and they standing over, shooting their arrows into it. baby was not killed, but thrown forward under one of the horses, and i had just taken a step or so toward him, when an indian, who seemed to be the chief, lifted him by the dress to his saddle. i think his first intention was to carry him with them, but, seeing some of our neighbors hurrying toward us, they struck the baby with a hatchet, and hurled him to the ground. at the instant they struck him, he was looking back at me with his great blue eyes wide open and staring with fright." and then the poor woman, having finished her story, began sobbing piteously. the solomon had numberless tales of these terrible massacres equally as harrowing as this, and i could fill pages of this volume with chapters of woe that terminated many a family's history. the result of these and other indian atrocities is probably yet remembered throughout the entire country. kansas well nigh rebelled against a government which left her unprotected. the war department authorized vigorous measures, and the governor of the state raised a regiment and at its head took the field. through blows from custar and carr, the savages found out, at last, that the dogs of war which they let loose might return to bay at their own doors. two women from the saline were carried into captivity by the indians, and taken as wives by two of their chiefs. one day carr, at the head of his troops, looked down into the valley upon the encampment of a band especially noted for its hostility, now lying in fancied security below him. the two white captives were in the wigwams. suddenly, to the ears of the savages, came a murmur from the hill-side like the first whisper of a torrent. instantly, almost, it increased to a roar, and, as they sprung to their feet and rushed forth, the blue waves of vengeance dashed against the village, and broke in showers of leaden spray upon them. mercy put no shield between them and that annihilating tempest. every savage in the number was a fiend, and, as a band, they had long been the scourge of the border. their hands were yet red with the blood of the massacres upon the saline and solomon, and white women toiled in the wigwams of their husbands' murderers. one of the captives, mrs. daley, was killed by the savages, to prevent rescue; the other was saved, and restored to her husband. somewhat later, two women from the solomon were taken captive, one of them being a bride of but four months who had recently come out with her young husband from the state of new york. custar seized some chiefs and, with noosed lariats dangling before their eyes, bade them send and have those prisoners brought in, or suffer the penalties. indians have an unconquerable prejudice against being hung, as it prevents their spirits entering the happy hunting grounds, and the captives were promptly sent to custar's camp. we afterward saw one of them, mrs. morgan, on the solomon. what an agony must have been hers, as she came in sight of her old home, and the memory of her wrongs since leaving it, rose anew before her! but to return to the history of our emigrants. after the murders, mr. sydney and his daughters abandoned their farms, and with the same wagon and oxen which two years before had brought the family out from ohio, they started for the recently discovered mines in new mexico. the journey was tedious, and, when at length arrived there, he found but little gold, and even less relief from his mighty sorrow. the old home, with its graves, beckoned him back, and thither he was now returning to spend his remaining days, unless, as he laconically stated, some one had "jumped the claim." lest my readers toward the rising sun should not clearly understand the old gentleman's meaning, i ought perhaps to explain that, under existing laws, a "homesteader" can not be absent from his land over six months at any time, without forfeiting his title, and rendering it liable to occupancy by other parties. it was already two days over the allotted period, he said. but the oxen were thin, and he finally decided to rest with us until the next morning, and then push forward. flora, the younger daughter, was a blooming western girl of a thoroughly practical turn, and a counselor on whose advice the father and sister evidently relied greatly. the professor assured me confidentially that evening, and with much more than his wonted enthusiasm on such a subject, that she preferred the language of the rocks to that of fashion plates. she had even disputed one of his statements, he said, and vanquished him by producing the proof from a well-worn scientific work--one of a dozen books carefully wrapped up and stowed away with other goods in the wagon. a novel accomplishment which the young lady possessed was that of being an excellent rifle shot, and it afforded us all considerable merriment when she challenged muggs to a trial of skill, and, producing a target rifle, utterly defeated him. such a woman as that, the professor said, was safe on the frontier; she could fight her own way and clear her vicinity of savages, whenever necessary, as well as any of us. we did not wish our emigrant maiden aught but what she was, and were well pleased with the romance of her visit. for the nonce, she was our queen; the rough ox-wagon was her throne, and the great plains her ample domain. in sober truth, she might justly challenge our esteem and admiration. here was one of the gentler sex willing to make divorce of happiness, that she might minister to a half-crazed father and mourning sister, and who, for their sake, chose to wander through a country which might at any moment become to them the valley of the shadow of death. in the presence of such heroism, what right had we, though bruised and tired, to complain? no wonder the professor took early occasion to tell us that she was a noble woman, an honor to her sex. this emigrant wagon, with its wee bit of domestic life, was a pleasant object to all of us out there on the desert, with the single exception of alderman sachem. that worthy member of our party avoided its vicinity, as if a plague spot had there seized upon the valley. "i did think," he exclaimed, dividing glances that were quite the reverse of complimentary between the professor and shamus--"i did think that we had got out of the latitude of spooning. we haven't had a digestible mouthful since they came in sight. a love-struck irishman can neither eat, himself, or let others." but shamus was too happy to heed the remark; for the first time since starting, he seemed perfectly contented. an irish girl, the like of mary, and devoted enough to follow her old master through such adversity, seemed dobeen's beau ideal of the lovely and lovable in the sex. the valley became for him the brightest spot upon earth. he would have been content there to court and cook, i think, during the remainder of his natural life. mary was shy, and shamus was bold, but it was quite apparent that both enjoyed the situation immensely. although the little party stayed but a day, their departure seemed to leave quite a void in the valley. the most noticeable results to us were some errors in cooking and a slackness in the prosecution of scientific investigations. mr. sydney gave us a hearty invitation to visit him upon the solomon, if our wanderings took us that way, and our prophetic souls, with a common instinct, told all of us that the professor would recognize a call of science in that direction. by a look and a smile from a maiden, the philosopher, deeply sunken in the primary formation, had been drawn to the surface of the modern, a result which fashionable society had more than once striven in vain to bring about. miss flora certainly bid fair to become a favorite pupil of his, were the opportunity only offered. this maiden of the plains was a new character. the beautiful heroine mentioned in most western novels as having penetrated the indian country, is either the daughter of "once wealthy parents," or the heiress of a noble family and stolen by gypsies for reward or revenge. it was the first appearance that i could recall of a farmer's girl in a position where kidnapping indians and a frantic lover could so easily appear, and by opportune conjunction weave the plot of a soul-harrowing romance. another evening in camp was spent in writing and story-telling. the fire was getting low, when sachem rose to his feet and called to shamus. "dobeen," said he, "your country folks are always handy with the sticks. let's go for wood, and have a fire that will warm up the witches on their broomsticks and send them flying off to hug the clouds." we watched the pair go out of sight. knowing well the habits of tammany, we all felt sure that, though he might find the load, irish shoulders would have to bear it back to camp. scarcely three minutes had elapsed, when out of the timber, with garments as wet as water could make them and dripping fast, a fat form came shivering to our fire. our alderman had taken a night bath in the creek--an adventure which he thus related in his own peculiar way: "below us in the woods is a big beaver pond, i don't know how deep. i seemed an hour going down, and didn't touch bottom then. i was fooled by the moon. (to be expected, though, as she's a female!) a few of her beams, thrown down through the trees, glittered on the water like drift wood. that sort of beams make poor timber for bridges, but i didn't know it then as well as i do now. one of them went from bank to bank, and i took it for a log, and got a ducking. how frightened i was, though, when my feet touched water and my body went, with a swash, right under it! i opened my mouth to shout and the water rushed in, and i was like a vessel sinking with open hatches. i took in so much, i was afraid i'd be waterlogged and never come up. i did, though, and found that rascally irishman throwing sticks at my head, and telling me to hold on to them. i told him to do that thing himself, and finally climbed ashore." we afterward sought out our newly-found neighbors, the beavers, finding their pond a short distance below us on the creek, and a little lower down the dam itself. many more trees had been cut for the latter than were used in its construction, several having been abandoned when almost ready to fall. we noticed that the butts of the prostrated trees were sharpened down gradually like the point of a lead-pencil, but both ways, instead of one, so that a tree cut nearly through met from above and below at the point of breaking, like the waist of an hour glass. this dam was most interesting to all of us, since it seemed so much to resemble the work of man. in this waste place of the earth, it really seemed almost like company, and we felt a strong desire to have a friendly conference with the builders. but these had formed this reservoir for the express purpose that in its depths they might escape intrusion, and now the whole regiment of engineers seemed asleep in barracks. still our men secured a few very fine ones by trapping. it appeared that the beavers were a vacillating set of architects, as all the trees which stood near the water and leaned over it at all, were gnawed more or less, and many of them left when almost ready to fall. the position of the dam had evidently been determined by the tree which fell first. from the reckless manner in which they had slashed around with their teeth, it was pertinently suggested that this colony must have obtained from the beaver congress a government subsidy. having been acquainted with the art of building before man mastered it, the beaver race also probably understood how to do it at little personal expense. the beaver appears to be distributed in considerable numbers all over the western half of kansas, although the spring floods sweep away their dams almost every season. once afterward, when lost on the plains for a day, i came across a beaver dam. several hours of anxious suspense in the solitude, fearing to meet man lest he should prove a savage, begot a strange feeling of companionship when i came in sight of the rude structure of logs. if not civilization, it was a close imitation of it, and i laid down and fell into a refreshing sleep, soothed, in the fantasies of dreamland, with the whir of looms and hum of factory life. chapter xvii. preparations for the chase--the valley of the saline--queer 'coons--a bison's game of bluff--in pursuit--alongside the game--firing from the saddle--a charge and a panic--false history again--going for ammunition--the professor's letter--disrobing the victim. the early dawn of wednesday morning saw us again astir. there was the same creeping of mist out of the valley to join the darkness as it fled from the plains above, and the same revealing of thousands of shaggy forms silently feeding in the distance. this time our beasts and our bodies were both in excellent condition for the chase. joints gain and lose stiffness quickly in such a life. one morning the hunter feels as if the mill of life, though he turn its crank ever so slowly, had broken every bone in his body; twenty-four hours later may find him elastic and buoyant, as if youth had torn away from the embrace of the dead past and was with him again in all its pristine vigor. in the present case, too, that friend of early hours and foe of sleepy eyes, the coffee bean had done its work for us grandly. ten horsemen comprised the strength of the party which rode out of the valley just as daylight was coming into it. one of the hostlers and a mexican were left in camp, the remainder of our force accompanying us, with a couple of wagons to bring in the game. at his earnest solicitation, shamus was permitted to abandon his post of duty temporarily, and go along also, with the understanding that he was to select choice pieces from the first suitable game we might bring down, and, returning to camp, be ready for our arrival with an ample dinner. as we rode down the valley of silver creek, gangs of wild turkeys occasionally came out of the narrow skirt of timber, and, running along before us for short distances, re-entered it, and were lost to view again. never having been hunted, they seemed destitute of the timidity and cunning which are the usual characteristics of this bird. twenty minutes' ride brought us to the saline, the basin of which we found to be half a mile or thereabouts in width, and presenting a scene of great desolation. we were something like two hundred feet below the table-lands which came down to the narrow valley in barren canyons and masses of rock. the stream itself is narrow, with less than two feet of water running swiftly over the sands, and along its banks, at intervals, a few dwarfed cottonwood trees. such was the valley of the saline at this point; yet thirty miles below, our men told us, the valley opened out into rich bottom lands, and was famous for its beauty. while in the act of crossing, we came suddenly upon four small animals playing and fishing in the shallow water. with an exclamation of astonishment, the professor had his glasses out in a moment. the guide informed us they were only 'coons, and such they were sure enough, with the peculiar color and distinctive rings that made it impossible, on second look, to mistake them for any thing else. truly, nature seemed full of eccentricities in this remarkable region. the raccoons of natural history have always affected trees, and been considered, _par excellence_, creatures of the forest. i scarcely think the professor would have been surprised, at that moment, to know that hereabouts fish were in the habit of climbing around in bushes, or stealing corn. when they heard us, the four little fellows scampered away a few steps, and disappeared in some holes in the bank, in executing which maneuver one of them swam a yard or two across a deep spot, making good progress. we learned from our men that small colonies of these animals are frequently found along treeless creeks on the plains, living in the banks, and fishing for a living, by grasping the minnows and frogs, as they pass over the shallow places. from the river we directed our course toward a deep canyon which, opening toward us as if the bluff had been riven asunder by some great convulsion of nature, at its further end reached the level of the plains, and offered us an easy ascent. evidence of volcanic action appeared along the canyon in the form of vitrified fragments and occasional masses of lava resembling rock. the guide called our attention to an object in the ravine some distance ahead, which was enveloped in a cloud of dust. it was a buffalo, he said, indulging in a game of bluff. this statement not appearing very clear to our non-gambling party, he explained that the old fellow was "butting against the bank, as if he was going to break it all to pieces, when in reality he had no show at all." as we could not approach nearer without frightening him, we stood still for a few minutes and watched him. he would back fifteen or twenty yards from the bluff, paw the ground for an instant, and then fling himself headlong against the wall of earth with a tremendous force, as was abundantly testified by the great clouds of dust that would rise in the air. for a moment afterward he would continue violently hooking the soil, as if the bowels of the earth were those of an adversary. we afterward repeatedly saw bulls engaged in this exercise. it is to the buffalo what the training school is to the prize-fighter, a developing of brute force for future conflicts. the shock of such charges as we witnessed, if made by a domestic ox, would have broken his neck. even our bison friend finally overdid the matter. either because his foot tripped or the blow glanced, upon one of his charges, he fell down on his fore legs, and then rolled completely over. we thought this a good time to push forward, and accordingly did so at a gallop. whether thinking himself knocked down by a foe, or because he heard the rattling of hoofs, we could not determine, but he suddenly sprang to his feet, whirled his shaggy head into bearing upon us, then turned and set away at full speed up the canyon, toward the plains above. the order was given to ply spur and close in upon him, if possible, or he would set the herds above in motion. it was a mad ride that we had for the next ten minutes--across beds of gravel, among huge bowlders, and once or twice over great fissures in the earth which chilled my blood as i took a sort of bird's-eye view of their depths. in a lumbering run on ahead of us went the frightened bull, his feet occasionally sending back dashes of pebbles, while behind him rattled such a clattering of hoofs that the poor brute, if he could think at all, must have imagined he had butted open the door of hades, and was now being pursued by its inmates. there were mishaps in this our first buffalo hunt, of course, and among them, muggs dropped a stirrup, and was obliged to support himself afterward on one foot--an awkward matter, resulting from his inconvenient english saddle, one of the kind which compels one, half the time, to sustain the whole body by the stirrups alone. we gained upon the game steadily, though no particular member of our party excelled as leader, first one being ahead and then the other. cynocephalus developed wonderfully, and kept well up with his better conditioned neighbors. what a magnificent prize for the hunter rushed on before us, swinging his ponderous head from side to side, for the purpose of getting better rear views--such an ungainly and shaggy animal, a perfect marvel of magnificent disproportions! it is well enough to go to africa and hunt lions, and describe their majestic, flowing manes; but this bison, in mad flight ahead of us, could have furnished hair and mane enough to fit out half a dozen lions. at close quarters, too, he was fully as dangerous as the king of beasts. we were close at his heels when the level of the plain was reached, and pursuer and pursued shot out upon it together. a large herd, feeding not five hundred yards away, was speedily in full flight northward. "a stern chase is a long chase," is no less true in buffalo hunting than in nautical matters. after considerable experience in the sport, i would recommend amateurs to get as near their game as possible before starting, and then try their horses' full metal. once by the side of the game, he can keep there to the end. and so, after a terrible chase, when at times we had almost despaired of overtaking the old fellow, we now found it easy to keep alongside. our bull was a huge one, even among his species, and in such moments of excitement the imagination seems to have a trick of entering the chambers of the eye, and sliding its mirrors into a sort of double focus arrangement. with blood boiling until my heart seemed to bob up and down on its surface, i found myself riding parallel with the brute, and had i never seen him afterward, would have been almost willing to make oath that his size could be represented only by throwing a covering of buffalo robes over an elephant. every one in the party was firing, some having dropped their reins to use their carbines, and others yet guiding their horses with one hand, while they fired their holster revolvers with the other. shooting from the saddle, with a horse going at full speed, needs practice to enable one to hit any thing smaller than a mammoth. you point the weapon, but at the instant your finger presses the trigger, the muzzle may be directed toward the zenith or the earth. an experienced hunter steadies his arm, not allowing it to take part in the motion of his body, no matter how rough the latter may be. but we were not experienced hunters, and so, although such exclamations as, "that told!" "mine went through!" and "perfectly riddled!" were almost as numerous as the bullets, it was easy to see that the flying monster remained unharmed. from the first, mr. colon had fired without taking any aim whatever, and so it happened that his gun, in describing its half circle consequent upon the rising and falling motion of the horse, at length went off at the proper moment, and we heard the thud of the ball as it struck. dropping his head into position as if for a charge, the buffalo whirled sharply to the right, and passing directly between our horses, made off toward the main herd. but he soon slowed down to a walk, and as we again came up with him, we could see the blood trickling from his nose, which he held low like a sick ox. in the excitement of the chase, and perhaps from being well blown before coming near the buffalo, our horses had hitherto shown no fear, but now, as the old bull stood there in all his savage hugeness, and the smell of blood tainted the air, they pushed, jostled, snorted, and pranced, so that it required all our efforts to keep them from downright flight. even dobeen's donkey kept his rider uncertain whether his destiny was to seek the ground or abide in the saddle. the brute stood facing us, perhaps fifty yards off, his eyes rolling wildly from pain and fury, and the blood flowing freely through his nostrils. we were waiting patiently for him to die, when suddenly the head went into position, like a roman battering ram, and down he came upon us. we were utterly routed. no spur was necessary to prompt the horses, and i doubt if their former owners had ever known what latent speed their hides concealed. the whole thing was so sudden there was no time for thought, and all that i can remember is a confused sort of idea that each animal was going off at a tremendous pace, with the rider devoting his energies to sticking on. after the first few jumps, we were no longer an organized company, each brute taking his own course, and carrying us, like fragments of an explosion, in different directions. a marked exception, however, was muggs' mule, which for the only time in his life, seemed unwilling to run away. after being the first to start, and assisting the others to stampede, he stopped suddenly short, depositing his rider something like ten yards ahead of him, in a manner quite the reverse of gentle. we did not stop running as soon as we might have done. and i here enter protest against the nonsense indulged in on one point by most of the novelists who educate people in buffalo lore. when we halted, there stood the bull not thirty yards from the spot where he had first stopped, although we had located him, throughout more than half a mile's ride but a few feet from our horses' tails, and at times had even imagined we heard his deep panting. this mortifying record would have been saved us had we known that a buffalo's charges never extend beyond a short distance. either his adversary or his attack is speedily terminated. he does not pursue, in the "long, deep gallop" style at all. yet i scarcely remember a single instance mentioned in those old books of western adventure, in which a buffalo's charge was for a less distance than a mile. in one case that i now recall, the race was nip and tuck between man and bison for over an hour, and the biped was finally enabled to save his life only by leaving the saddle and swinging into a tree! such stories are simply balderdash. as soon as possible after checking our horses, we rode back toward the wagon and the game, seeing in the former, the grinning faces of our men. the buffalo was still on his feet, but while we looked he slowly sunk to his knees, like an ox lying down to rest, and then quietly reposed on his belly, in the same attitude one sees domestic cattle assume when wishing a quiet chew of the cud. had it not been for his bloody nose and wild eyes, he would have looked as peaceful as any bovine that ever breathed. [illustration: _bureau of illustration_ going after ammunition.] wishing to put the poor brute out of misery, we approached closer, and several of us dismounted, when a general fire was opened. like a cat, the old fellow was on his feet again almost instantly. by a singular coincidence, our entire party just then discovered that we were out of ammunition, and in a body started for the wagon, to get some. muggs afterward assured us that, at the time, he had just got his hand in, "so that every shot told, you know," and i have the authority of all for the deliberate statement that the bull would have been riddled before moving a foot had not the cartridges suddenly given out. the effort of getting up had sent the mass of blood collected from inward bleeding surging out of the buffalo's nose, and, as we looked back, he was tottering feebly, and an instant afterward fell to the ground. there was no doubt now of his death, and we swarmed upon and around him. he was an immense old fellow, and his hide fairly covered with the scars of past battles. inasmuch as this was our first trophy, it was determined to take his skin, and we forthwith seated the professor on his great shaggy neck, with the horns forming arms for an impromptu hunter's throne. from thence he wrote upon leaves from his note-book a letter to his class at the east, which he permitted me to copy. i introduce it here, as showing that the blood of even a savan pulsates warmly amid such circumstances as now surrounded us. "on a buffalo, in the } year of my happiness, one.} "_dear class_--i know the staid and quiet habits that characterize all of you, and that you are not given to hard riding and buffalo hunting. yet this prairie air, with its rich fragrance and wild freeness, would give a new circulation to the blood of each one of you. like a gale at sea, the breeze sweeps against one's cheeks, and the great billows of land rise on every side, as mountains of troubled ocean. why not desert the city and lose yourself for awhile in this great grand waste? antelope are bounding and buffalo running on every side of us, while villages of prairie dogs bark at the flying herds. one grows in self-estimation after breathing this air, and, feeling that safety and life depend on his own exertions, learns to place reliance upon the powers which nature has given him, with manly independence of artificial laws and police. "while i am writing, the first victim of our prowess, a magnificent specimen of the american bison, is being skinned by our suite, the robe from which, when prepared, we intend sending you. the men say it must be dressed by some of the civilized indians on the reserves, as the white man's tanning injures the value. * * * * * "the robe is now off, and half a ton of fat meat lies exposed. we shall only take the hind quarters, a portion of the hump, and the tongue. how glad the famishing wretches in the tenement houses of the city would be for an opportunity to pick those long ribs which we leave for the wolves! his horns are somewhat battered, but we have cut them off, to supplant hooks on a future hat-rack. one of the men has just taken a large musket ball from the animal's flank. that shot must have been received years ago, as the ball is an old fashioned one and is thickly encased in fat. "the geological formation of the country is very interesting. i expect to examine the same more thoroughly after we have studied the animals traversing its surface. yesterday, we had in camp a family from the solomon, who were sufferers some months since from the fearful indian massacre there. their story was an exceedingly interesting one, though very sad. we shall visit them if duty calls that way. i must close. the men have thrown the skin in the wagon, flesh side up, and deposited the meat upon it, and all are now ready for further conquests. "your sincere friend and instructor, "h----." chapter xviii. still hunting--dark objects against the horizon--the red man again--retreat to camp--preparations for defense--shaking hands with death--mr. colon's bugs--the embassadors--a new alarm--more indians--terrific battle between pawnees and cheyennes--their mode of fighting--good horsemanship--a scientific party as sextons--ditto as surgeons--camps of the combatants--stealing away--an apparition. our further conquests for that day, it was decided, could best be effected by still hunting. the guide had suggested that, if we desired to fill our wagon with meat and get back to camp before night, we might profitably adopt the practice of old hunters, who, when they pursue bison, "mean business." the new tactics consisted of infantry evolutions, and required a dismounting of the cavalry. we were to crawl up to the herds, through ravines, and from those ambuscades open fire. a mile away buffalo were feeding in large numbers, and our men pointed out several swales into which we could sink from the surface of the plains, and, following the winding lines, find cover until emerging among the herd. but while we were still gazing at the latter, sharp and distinct against the northern horizon appeared other objects, evidently mounted men, and men in that direction meant indians. it is wonderful how quickly one's ardor disappears, when, from being the hunter, he becomes the hunted. our only desire now was, in sachem's language, "a hankering arter camp," which we at once proceeded to gratify. back again with the remainder of our party, we felt quite safe. indians of the plains seldom attack an armed body which is prepared for them; and then there had been no recent demonstrations of hostility. on the other hand, no massacre had yet occurred upon the frontier which was not unexpected. the whole life of many of these nomads has been a catalogue of surprises. it was artemus ward, i think, who knew mules that would be good for weeks, for the sake of getting a better opportunity of kicking a man. these savages will do the same for the sake of killing one. many an armed man, fully capable of defending himself, has thus been thrown off his guard, and sent suddenly into eternity. the cunning savage, seeing his foe prepared, approaches with signs of friendship, and cries of "how, how?"--indian and short for "how are you?" their extended hands meet, and as the palms touch, the pale-face shakes hands with death; for, while his fingers are held fast in that treacherous clasp, some other savage brains him from behind, or sheaths a knife in his heart, and the betrayed white, jerked forward with a fiendish laugh, kisses the grass with bloody lips. we had been repeatedly warned by our guides that, when in the minority, the only safe way to hold councils with the indians is at rifle range. even if bound by treaty, a knowledge that they can take your scalp without losing their own, is like binding a thief with threads of gold: the very power which should restrain, is in itself a temptation. our little camp soon bristled all over with defiance, a sort of mammoth porcupine presenting points at every angle for the enemy's consideration. our animals were put safely under cover among the trees, where they could not be easily stampeded; the wagons were ranged in a crescent, forming excellent defense for our exposed side; and pockets were hurriedly filled with ammunition. as we were thus earnestly preparing for war, an entomological accident occurred. sachem, while excitedly thrusting a handful of cartridges into mr. colon's pockets, suddenly drew back his hand with an expression of alarm, bringing with it a whole assortment of bugs. one of the pocket-cases of our entomologist had opened, and the inmates, imprisoned but that morning, were now swarming over our fat friend's fingers, and up his arm, which he was shaking vigorously. there they were--rare bugs and plethoric spiders, together with one lively young lizard--all clinging to the limb which had brought them rescue from their cavernous cell with more tenacity than if they had been stuck on with spalding's glue. poor sachem! while he danced and fumed, and gave his opinion of bug-men generally, mr. colon cried--"o, my bugs, my beautiful bugs!" and grasped eagerly at his vanishing treasures. our alderman disengaged himself at length from his noxious visitors, and meanwhile the other members of the party, having provided themselves, poured into the other pocket of the grieved naturalist a further supply of cartridges, thereby utterly annihilating the remainder of his collection. our preparations being concluded, and still no signs of the indians, we sat down to dinner. shamus was terribly agitated, and the shades of dyspepsia hovered over his cooking; but, although the coffee was muddy and the meat burned, we were in no mood to take exceptions. there was considerable determination visible on the faces of all our party. the red man was getting to be as sore a trouble to us as the black man had been to politicians, and having already lost a day on his account, we were now fully resolved to hold our ground. we had seen the savage in all the terrors of his war-paint, and felt a very comforting degree of assurance that a dozen cool-headed hunters, mostly armed with breech-loaders, possessed the odds. at length, along the edge of the breaks beyond the saline, a dark object appeared, followed by another and then another in rapid succession, until forty unmistakable indians came in sight, and were bearing directly toward us, following the tracks of our wagons. half a mile off they halted, and then we saw one big fellow ride forward alone. his form seemed a familiar one, and soon it revealed itself as that of our late friend, white wolf. now we had, but a few days before, in the space of four brief hours, concluded at least forty treaties of peace with this chief and his drunken braves; yet, remembering past history, we should have wanted at least as many more treaties, before taking the chances of having one of them kept, and admitting the painted heathens before us to full confidence and fellowship. as the leader of our party, it devolved upon the professor to go forward and meet the chief, which he promptly did, taking along our man who was acting in cody's place as guide, to assist him in comprehending the savage's wishes. midway between us the respective embassadors met. we heard the chief's loud "how, how?" and saw their hand-shaking, and could not help wondering what the philosopher's class would say, could they have beheld their honored tutor officiating as a frontispiece for such a savage background. white wolf stated that he had been out after pawnees; he could not find them, and so "indian felt heap bad!" just at this instant a loud, quick cry came from his knot of warriors, who were now manifesting the wildest excitement, lashing up their ponies, stringing their bows, and making other preparations as if for a fight. without a word, the chief turned and ran for dear life toward his band, while the professor and our guide wheeled and ran for dear life toward us. seldom has the man of science made such progress as did the respected leader of our expedition then. the guide called, "cover us with your guns!"--a command which we immediately proceeded to obey, evidently to the intense alarm of the professor, for so completely were they covered, that i doubt if either would have escaped, had we been called upon to fire. our first thought had been a suspicion of treachery, but we now saw that the cheyennes had faced toward the hills, and, following their gaze, we beheld coming down their trail, and upon the tracks of our wagon, another band of mounted indians. it soon became clear to us that the pawnees, the wolf's failure to find whom had made that noble red man feel "heap bad," were coming to find him. we counted them riding along, twenty-five in all--inferior in numbers, it was true, but superior to the cheyennes in respect to their arms, so that, upon the whole, the two forces now about to come together were not unevenly matched. the pawnees live beyond the platte, and for years have been friendly to the whites, even serving in the wars against the other tribes on several occasions. what a stir there was in the late peaceful valley! the buffalo that were lately feeding along the brow of the plateau had all fled, and here right before us were sixty-five native americans, bent upon killing each other off, directly under the eyes of their traditional destroyer, the white man. the professor said it forcibly suggested to his mind some of the fearful gladiatorial tragedies of antiquity. sachem responded that he wasn't much of a roman himself, but he could say that in this show he was very glad we occupied the box-seat, the safest place anywhere around there; and we all decided that it must be a face-to-face fight, in which neither party dare run, as that would be disorganization and destruction. it was strange to see these wild ishmaelites of the plains warring against each other. over the wide territory, broad enough for thousands of such pitiful tribes, they had sought out each other for a bloody duel, like two gangs of pirates in combat on mid-ocean; and, like them, if either or both were killed, the world would be all the better for it. it was clearly what would be called, on wall street, a "brokers' war," in which, when the operators are preying on each other, outsiders are safe. while we were looking, a wild, disagreeable shout came up from the twenty-five pawnees, as they charged down into the valley, which was promptly responded to by fierce yells from the forty cheyennes. "let it be our task to bury the dead," said the professor, looking toward the wagon in which rested his geological spade. "it is extremely problematical whether any of these red men will go out of the valley alive." and thus another wonderful change had come over the spirit of our dream. from being a scientific and sporting expedition, we had been suddenly metamorphosed into a gang of sextons, who, in a valley among the buffaloes, were witnessing an indian battle, and waiting to bury the slain. as the pawnees came down at full gallop, the cheyennes lashed up their ponies to meet them. then came the crack of pistols, and a perfect storm of arrows passed and crossed each other in mid-air. as the combatants met, we could see them poking lances at each other's ribs for an instant, and then each side retreated to its starting point. charge first was ended. we gazed over the battle-field to count the dead, but to our surprise none appeared. [illustration: battle between cheyennes and pawnees.] a few minutes were spent by both parties in a general overhauling of their equipments, and then another charge was made. they rode across each other's fronts and around in circles, firing their arrows and yelling like demons, and occasionally, when two combatants accidentally got close together, prodding away with lances. the oddest part of the whole terrible tragedy to us was that the charges looked, when closely approaching each other, as if they were being made by two riderless bands of wild ponies. the indians would lie along that side of their horses which was turned away from the enemy, and fire their pistols and shoot their arrows from under the animals' necks, thus leaving exposed in the saddle only that portion of the savage anatomy which was capable of receiving the largest number of arrows with results the least possibly dangerous. i noticed one fat old fellow whose pony carried him out of battle with two arrows sticking in the portion thus unprotected, like pins in a cushion. he still kept up his yelling, but it struck me that there was a touch of anguish in the tone, and i felt confident that he would not sit down and tell his children of the battle for some time to come. we saw one exhibition of horsemanship which especially excited our admiration. an arrow struck a cheyenne on the forehead, glancing off, but stunning him so with its iron point, that, after swaying in the saddle for an instant, he fell to the earth. another of the tribe, who was following at full speed, leaned toward the ground, and checking his pony but slightly, seized the prostrate warrior by the waistband, and, flinging him across his horse in front of the saddle, rode on out of the battle. for several hours--indeed until the sun was low in the heavens and the shadows crept into the valley--this terrible fray continued, the charging, shouting, and firing being kept up until both combatants had worked down the river so far that we could no longer see them. it was approaching the dusk of evening when white wolf and his band rode back. we counted them and found the original forty still alive. the chief assured us they had killed "heap pawnees," whereupon some of us sallied forth to visit the battle-field. three dead ponies lay there, and with a disagreeable sensation we looked around, expecting to discover the mangled riders near by. not one was visible, however, nor even the least sign of their blood. the grass was not sodden with gore, nor did a single rigid arm or aboriginal toe stick up in the gathering gloom. neither the wolves or buzzards gathered over the field, and slowly the conviction dawned upon us that indian battles, like some other things, are not always what they seem. as we turned again toward camp, the professor, dragging his spade after him, suggested that, in accordance with the reputed habits of these savages, the pawnees had perhaps carried off their dead. but at the instant, only a short distance down the river, the camp-fire of that miserable and all but annihilated band glimmered forth. it was decidedly too bold and cheerful for the use of twenty-five ghosts, and we knew then that white wolf had lied. that valorous chieftain we found limping around outside our wagons, with a lance-cut in one of his legs, while several of his warriors had arrow-wounds, and one a pistol-shot, none of the injuries, however, being dangerous. the pawnees probably suffered with equal severity; and this was the sum total of the day's frightful carnage--the entire result of all the fierce display that we had witnessed. not long afterward, in front of a government fort, and in plain sight of the garrison, a battle occurred between two large parties of rival tribes, about equal in numbers. back and forth, amid furious cries and clouds of arrows, the hostile savages charged. noon saw the affair commenced, and sunset scarcely beheld its ending. the government report states, if my memory serves me correctly, that one indian and two horses were killed; and a shade of doubt still exists among the witnesses whether that one unlucky warrior did not break his neck by the fall of his pony! these savages fight on horseback, and are neither bold nor successful, except when the attacking party is overwhelming in numbers, and then the affair becomes a massacre. all this knowledge came to us afterward, but our first introduction to it was a surprise. kind-hearted man though he was, i think the resultless ending of the battle disconcerted even the professor. having nerved one's self to expect horrors, it is natural to seek, on the gloomy mirror of fate, some rays of glimmering light which can be turned to advantage. i think the professor's rays, had the contest proved as sanguinary as we first anticipated, would have found their focus in some stout cask containing a nicely-pickled pawnee or cheyenne _en route_ to a distant dissecting table. it would have been rather a novel way, i have always thought, of sending the untutored savage to college. we made a requisition upon our medicine-chest, and dressed the wounds of the suffering warriors. white wolf stripped to the waist, and, exposing his broad, muscular form, exhibited thirty-six scars, where, in different battles, lances and arrows had struck him. it struck us all as a rather remarkable circumstance, though we prudently refrained from commenting upon it just then, that nearly all these scars were on his back. the chief expressed great friendship for us, and i really believe he felt it. sachem's stout form was especially the object of his admiration. between these two worthies a very cordial regard seemed to be springing up, until white wolf unluckily offered him an indian bride and a hundred buffalo robes, if he would go with the band to its wigwams on the arkansas--a proposition which disgusted our alderman beyond measure. savages, sooner or later, generally scalp white sons-in-law, and it would be "heap good" for the cheyenne to have such an opportunity always handy. sachem declined the honor with all the dignity he could command, and carefully avoided "the match-making old heathen," as he termed him, for the remainder of the evening. we kept early hours that night. guard was doubled, to prevent any possible treachery, and a sleepy party laid down to rest. the cheyennes went into camp a few hundred yards up the creek, a barely perceptible light, looking from our tents like a fire-fly, marking the spot. when a "cold camp" is discovered on the plains, the experienced frontiersman can always determine at once whether white men or indians made it, by the size of the ash-heap. the former, even when trying to make their fire a small one, will consume in one evening as much fuel as would last the red man a half-moon. the latter, putting together two or three buffalo chips, or as many twigs, will huddle over them when ignited, and extract warmth and heat enough for cooking from a flame that could scarcely be seen twenty yards. the two opposing parties, which were now resting only a mile or so apart, had each tested the other's metal, and, as the sequel proved, found them foemen worthy of their _steal_. from the unconcealed fires in their respective camps, we concluded that neither side had any intention of attacking, or fear of being attacked. it was early in the dawn of the next morning when we were startled from our slumbers by a terrific cry from shamus, which brought all of us to our tent-doors, with rifles in hand ready to do battle, in the shortest possible time. looking out, we beheld our cook standing near the first preparations of breakfast, and gazing with astonished eyes toward the darkness under the trees, among which we heard, or at least imagined we heard, the stealthy steps of moccasined feet. in answer to our interrogatories, shamus stated that just as he was putting the meat in the pan, he saw the light of the fire reflected, for an instant, on a painted face peering out at him from behind a tree. "faith, but i shaved the lad's head wid the skillet!" said dobeen, and sure enough we found that article of culinary equipment lying at the foot of the suspected cottonwood, badly bent from contact with something, but whether that something was the bark or a painted skull is known only to that skulking cheyenne. we waited until broad daylight, but no further disturbance occurred, and what was strangest of all, the valley both above and below us seemed entirely destitute of either pawnee or cheyenne. a reconnoissance, which was made by the professor, mr. colon, and our guide, developed the fact that not being able to steal any thing else, the savages had executed the difficult military maneuver of stealing away. just before daybreak, the pawnees had gone due north, and the cheyennes, about the same time, due south. as white wolf had expressed a cold-blooded intention of exterminating the remnant of his foes in the morning, the pitying stars may have taken the matter in hand and misled him; and if so, how disappointed that blood-thirsty band must have been when their path brought them into their own village, instead of the pawnee camp! in confirmation of this astrological suggestion, i may say that while in topeka i saw "stars," on several occasions, leading indians in the opposite direction from that in which they wished to go. in due time our party sat down to another plentiful breakfast, which was eaten with all the more relish because we had all that little world to ourselves again. discussing dobeen's apparition, we finally came to the unanimous conclusion that it was some indian who, while his brothers stole away, had straggled behind, to pick up a keepsake. i think that hideous face among the trees never entirely ceased to haunt the chamber of dobeen's memory. he shied as badly as did muggs' mule, when in strange timber, and was ever afterward a warm advocate for pitching camp on the open prairie. in justice to white wolf, it should be stated that we afterward learned that while charging in such a mistaken direction after pawnees that morning, he met two men from hays city, out after buffalo meat. finding that they were from the village which had been kind to him, he loaded their wagons with fat quarters, instead of filling their bodies with arrows, as they had first expected, and sent them home rejoicing. chapter xix. stalking the bison--buffalo as oxen--expensive power--a buffalo at a lunatic asylum--the gateway to the herds--infernal grape-shot--nature's bomb-shells--crawling bedouins--"thar they hump"--the slaughter begun--an ineffectual charge--"ketching the critter"--return to camp--calves' head on the stomach--an unpleasant episode--wolf baiting, and how it is done. breakfast over, the day's work was planned out. we were desirous of loading one of our wagons with game, and sending it back to hays, from whence the meat could be forwarded by express to distant friends, and serve as tidings from camp, of "all's well." the other wagon we decided to keep with us. horseback hunting, although fine sport, evidently would not, in our hands, prove sufficiently expeditious in procuring meat. our guide adduced another argument as follows: "yer see, gents, if yer want ter ship meat by rail, it won't do ter run it eight or ten miles, like a fox, and git it all heated up. ther jints must be cool, or they'll spile." stalking the bison was to be our day's sport, therefore, and we were speedily off, taking only the two wagons, the riding animals being all left in camp. shamus prepared a lunch for us, as we did not expect to return for dinner before dusk. following the same route as the day before, we soon ascended the saline "breaks," and emerged on the plains above. looking to us as if they had not changed position for twenty-four hours, the buffalo herds still covered the face of the country, busy as ever in their constant occupation of feeding. for animals which perform no labor, they have an egregious appetite, eating as if they were nature's lawn-gardeners, and were under contract with her to keep the grass shaved. what an immense aggregate of animal power was running to waste before us. those huge shoulders, to which the whole body seemed simply a base, were just the things for neck-yokes. others, indeed, had thought the same before us, and tried to utilize these wild oxen. a gentleman at salina, kansas, obtained two buffalo calves, and trained them carefully to the yoke. they pulled admirably, but their very strength proved a temptation to them. a pasture-fence was no obstacle in the way of their sweet will. not that they went over it, but they simply walked through it, boards being crushed as readily as a willow thicket. in summer they took the shortest road to water, regardless of intervening obstructions, and they thought nothing of flinging themselves over a perpendicular bank, wagon and all. after carefully calculating the result of his experiment at the end of the first year, the owner decided that, although he undoubtedly had a large amount of power on hand, he could obtain a similar quantity, at less expense, by buying a couple of steam-engines. a few months previous to our trip, a contractor on the kansas pacific railroad determined to domesticate a young bison bull, and accordingly took it to his home at cincinnati. proving a cross customer, he presented it to the longview lunatic asylum, near that city, but there was no inmate insane enough to occupy the yard simultaneously with taurus for any length of time. the first day he charged among the lunatics in a reckless manner, eliciting surprising activity of crazy legs. if exercise for their minds was what the poor creatures needed, they certainly obtained it, by calculating when and where to dodge. without loss of time, we set about finding a gateway into the herds. looking at the surface before us, it appeared a level, unbroken plain, quite to the verge where it rolled up against the distant horizon. one would have maintained that even a ditch, if there, might be traced in its meanderings across the smooth brown floor. yet deep ravines, miles in length, wound in and out among the herds, though to us entirely invisible. a short search discovered one of these, which promised to answer our purpose, and to lead to a spot where a large number of cows and calves were feeding. fortunately the wind was north, so that we could creep into its teeth without sending to the timid mothers any tell-tale taint. the wagons were stopped, and we got out, and descending into the hollow, moved forward. the walls on either side seemed disagreeably close. all around us was animal life, a small portion of which would have been sufficient, if so disposed, to make the concealed path which we were traversing a veritable "last ditch" to us. as we entered the ravine, some cayotes slunk out of it ahead of us, and one large gray wolf, with long gallop, disappeared over the banks. the temptation to fire at them was very strong, but prudence and the guide forbade. we picked up some very fine specimens of "infernal grape," in the form of nearly round balls of iron pyrites. they lay upon the surface like canister-shot upon a battle-field. it seemed as if during the early period, when mother earth began to cool off a little, her fiery heart still palpitated so violently under her thin bodice, that beads of the molten life within, like drops of perspiration, had forced their way through, and, in cooling, had retained their bubble-like form. we could have picked up a half-bushel of them which would have made very fair aliment for cannon. the dogs of war could have spit them out as spitefully and fatally against human hearts as if the morsels had been prepared by human hands. from such well-molded shot, of no mortal make, milton might have obtained his charges for those first cannon which the traitor-angel invented and employed against the embattled hosts of heaven. shamus, when he afterward became acquainted with the specimens, called them "a rattlin' shower of witches' pebbles." we also passed large surfaces of white rock, which were sprinkled all over with dark, hollow balls, of a vitrified substance. most of them were imbedded midway in the rock, leaving a hemisphere exposed which, in color and form, was an exact counterpart of a large bomb. if the reader has ever seen a shell partly imbedded in the substance against which it was fired, this description will be perfectly plain. there were indications that a volcano had once existed in this vicinity, and it seemed highly probable that the red-hot balls which it projected into air had fallen and cooled in the soft formation adjacent, still retaining their original shape. we should have lingered longer over these geological curiosities, had not the premonitory symptoms of a scientific lecture from the professor alarmed our guide into the remonstrance, "you're burnin' daylight, gents!" and thus warned, we pushed forward. a few hundred yards further brought us to the spot for commencing active operations. dropping upon hands and knees, we began crawling along the side of the ravine in a line, pushing our guns before us. we knew that the buffalo must be very close, for we could hear the measured cropping of their teeth upon the grass. they seemed to be feeding toward us, as we slowly drew up to the level. i found myself trembling all over, so nervous that the cracking of a weed under our guns sounded to me as loud as a pistol-shot. i looked around, and the stories which i had read in my youth of adventures in oriental lands rose fresh to my memory. i almost imagined our party a dozen wild bedouins, creeping from ambush to fire upon a caravan, the first note of alarm to which would be a storm of musketry. unshaven faces, soiled clothes, and rough hair, assisted us to the personation, and if aught else was needed to carry out the fancy, it soon came in a low "hist!" from the guide, as he pointed to the level above us. following the direction of his finger, we saw some hairy lumps, about the size of muffs, not fifty yards in front of us, bobbing up and down just above the line which defined the prairie's edge against the sky. for an instant, we supposed them to be small animals of some sort, playing on the slope, but the low voice of the guide said, "thar they hump, gents!" and we caught the word at once, just as the whaler does the welcome cry of "there she blows," from the look-out aloft. what we saw, of course, were the humps of buffaloes moving slowly forward as they fed. at a word from our guide, we halted for last preparations. "fire at the nearest cows, gents," he said, "and if you get one down, and keep hid, you'll have lots of shots at the bulls gatherin' round." muggs was continually getting his gun crosswise, so that should it go off ahead of time, as usual, it would shoot somebody on the left, and kick some one on the right. just ahead of us, a prairie dog sat on his castle wall, and barked constantly. but, fortunately, neither his signals nor our grumbled remonstrances to the briton seemed to attract the attention of the herd in the least degree. a few more feet of cautious crawling, and several buffaloes stood revealed, a cow and calf among the number. the mother espied us, and lifting her uncouth head, with its crooked, homely horns, regarded us for an instant with a quiet sort of feminine curiosity, and then went to feeding again. she probably considered us a parcel of sneaking wolves, and being conscious of having hosts of protectors near her, was not at all frightened. almost simultaneously, the guns of the whole party were at shoulder, and just as the cow lifted her head again, to watch the movement, we fired. the fate of that bison was as effectually sealed as that of the condemned army horse which was first used to tell paris and the world the terrors of the mitrailleuse. the poor creature gave a quick whirl to the right, made two convulsive jumps, and then stood still. she dropped her nose, a gush of blood following fast; her whole frame shuddered, as the air from the lungs tried to force its way through the clotted tide, and then she fell dead, almost crushing the calf also. the smell of the blood seemed to excite the bulls more than the report of the guns, which had only startled them for an instant. some stood stupidly snuffing about the prostrate victim, while others, straightening out their tails, marched uneasily around. lying on the ground, and our heads only visible, we kept up a constant firing. it was almost impossible not to hit some of the old bulls. the veterans were wounded rapidly, and in all portions of their bodies. one old fellow, who had been standing with his rear to us, suddenly took it into his head to run for dear life, and away he went accordingly, with his hams looking very much like the end of a huge pepper-box. two or three others soon began to show signs of grogginess, being drunk with the blood which was collecting internally from their many wounds. one bulky and distressed specimen suddenly caught a glimpse of the professor's hat. forthwith the tail was straightened and raised stiffly into the air, the head was lowered, and down he came upon us at full charge. such a proceeding, a few days before, would simply have resolved itself into a question whether he could catch us or not. now, however, we stood our ground, or rather we lay upon it very firmly, while enough of us took careful aim to batter his bones fast and sorely. before taking twenty steps, he was limping from a shattered foreleg, and in a moment more came to a sullen halt, and shook his old head in impotent rage. his eyes were fixed fiercely upon ours; he evidently desired nothing in the world so much as to get forward for a closer acquaintance, but his broken bones forbade. we fired rapidly, and fairly loaded his body with lead before he allowed death to trip him from his feet. he never took his eyes from off us, until the body rolled over, and i thanked our breech-loaders which had prevented the poor beast from having a fair chance. three buffalo were down, as the result of our first "stalk." the herd had fled, but the calf we had first seen remained standing stupidly by his dead mother. "let's ketch the critter," said our guide, and to catch him we accordingly prepared. the first movement was to surround him, which done, we began closing in upon him. he was hardly larger than a good-sized goat, and we feared might succeed in dodging us, but as the circle narrowed, our hopes of securing a live specimen increased. suddenly, the little fellow seemed aware of his danger, and, whirling about, with head down, made a dart for the open space between sachem and the guide. as they closed to prevent his escape, our fat friend went down with a butt in the stomach, which, although far from pleasant, was nevertheless the occasion of sufficient delay on the part of the calf to enable the guide and semi-colon to lay firm hold upon him. it was wonderful what a warlike little fellow he proved, butting undauntedly at our legs, and uttering, as he did so, a hissing noise. "but me no butts," exclaimed the professor, with a facetiousness which from him was almost as amusing to the rest of us as the pugnacity of the calf, as he sprang aside to avoid a blow on the knee, and suddenly recognized duty's call in another direction. it was not long, however, before the little animal was securely bound, and laid in one of the wagons, which by this time had come up. the work of skinning and cutting up our game now began, the robe of the cow proving finer than that from either of the others. our men told us that from one position old hunters sometimes shoot down a dozen buffalo before the herd takes flight. success is much more probable if the first victim is a female. other herds invited our attention, and by three o'clock in the afternoon we had twenty quarters secured, and were returning to camp. only the first three robes had been taken off, the skin being left on the rest of the meat, the better to preserve it from soiling. such hunting fatigues one, and we were glad enough to see the smoke of our fire rising from the valley, and to anticipate the dinner which we felt was waiting for us. the plains tired us, and so did conversation, and all instinctively felt that any attempt at a joke, in our hungry, worn out condition, would have caused an all but fiendish state of feeling. momus himself could not have made that party smile. most of us had taken part in cutting up the carcasses, and as we now rode home, sitting on the skin-covered quarters, we looked like a party of butchers returning from the slaughter-pens. as we drew close to camp, how goodly a sight did shamus seem, in his white apron, bidding us "hurry to yer dinner!" while backing up his invitation were the brown turkeys, the stews and roasts, the white bread and yellow butter, and a clean table-cloth. on the spot, we could have pardoned shamus all his notions of witchcraft, and i think that sachem's charity just then would even have covered our cook's late weakness in the line of "spooning." the professor's science, colon's philanthropy, sachem's wealth of worldly wisdom, and muggs' british self-complacency, all combined, offered no such consolation, in this hour of sober realities, as the simple irishman, with his basting-spoon. water from the brook and towels from the chest soon removed blood and dust, and dinner followed. shamus had many a mark scored against sachem for attacks on himself and his ancestry, and ventured during dinner to rub out one, by asking tammany, in a very respectful manner, and as if it was a matter of our _cuisine_, whether calves' heads agreed with his stomach. what would have been called in washington, "an unpleasant episode," was discovered by muggs in the center of a biscuit. taking a hearty british bite from it, various hairy lines followed the morsel into his mouth, and caught among his teeth. examination revealed one of mr. colon's choicest spiders, which by some means had effected his escape and crawled into the dough. it was hard to tell which was most incensed, the briton or the entomologist. sachem remarked that the specimen was much kneaded, and added it to our bill of fare as "game, breaded." as night approached, our mexicans prepared for wolf-baiting. during the day they had shot two or three old bulls, which wandered within half a mile of camp, and now the swarthy fellows intended to turn an honest penny. for these purposes professional hunters, and occasionally teamsters on the plains, provide themselves with bottles of strychnine, and a quantity of this was accordingly produced. we went with the men to see the operation, as it clearly came within the province of our studies. with their knives the mexicans cut from the carcass lumps of flesh about the size of one's fist, into which gashes were made, doses of strychnine inserted, and the flesh then pressed together again. the balls, thus charged, were scattered close around the carcass, and a few laid upon it. cuts were also made, and the poison introduced in various parts of the hams. as many as fifty doses were thus prepared, and we then returned to camp. no cayote serenade occurred that night, the musicians evidently being busy drawing sweetness from the cords of the slain. a solemn hush lay over the land, for the bisons are a quiet race, and, except in novels, never take to roaring any more than they do to ten-mile charges. chapter xx. the cayotes' strychnine feast--capturing a timber wolf--a few cords of victims--what the law considers "indian tan"--"finishing" the new york market--a new york farmer's opinion of our gray wolf--westward again--episodes in our journey--the wild huntress of the plains--was our guide a murderer?--the reader joins us in a buffalo chase--the dying agonies. the next day's life began, as did the previous one, before sunrise, and while breakfast was cooking, we followed the mexicans down to examine their baits. the ground around the carcasses was flecked with forms which, in the early light, looked like sleeping sheep. a half-dozen or more wolves, which were still feeding, scampered away at our approach. from the number of animals lying around, we at first supposed most of them simply gorged, but the rapid, satisfied jabbering of the mexicans quickly convinced us that the strychnine had been doing its work more effectually than we had given it credit for. twenty-three dead wolves were found, and the even two dozen was made up by a large specimen of the gray variety--or timber-wolf, as it is called in contradistinction from the cayote--who was exceedingly sick, and went rolling about in vain efforts to get out of the way. before proceeding to skin the dead wolves, the mexicans captured this old fellow and haltered him, by carbine straps, to the horns of one of the buffalo carcasses, near which he sat on his haunches, with eyes yellow from rage and fright. just to stir him up, we tossed him a piece of bone; he caught it between his long fangs with a click that made our nerves twitch. man never appreciates the wonderful command that god gave him over the other animals until away from his fellows, and surrounded by the wild beasts of the solitudes, in all their native fierceness. here were a few mortals of us encompassed by wolves, in sufficient numbers and power to annihilate our party, and yet one solitary man walking toward them would have put the whole brute multitude to flight. although we wondered, at the time, that so many wolves were gathered from a single baiting, we soon learned that this success was by no means unusual. at grinnel station, where a corporal's guard was stationed, we afterward saw over forty dead wolves, and most of them of the gray variety, stacked up, like cord-wood, as the result of one night's poisoning by the soldiers. the remainder of this day was devoted to stalking, and resulted in our obtaining a sufficiency of robes and meat to justify us in sending the two mexican wagons back with them to hays. our two captives, the buffalo calf and wolf, went also. the history of that shipment merits brief chronicling. the robes went to st. louis, to a man who advertised a patent way of curing such skins, "warranted as good as indian tan." some months afterward they were returned to topeka, duly finished, and i find in the official note-book the following entry. "robes received to-day. resolution, by the company, to learn what the law would consider 'indian tan,' in a suit for damages." they had been shaved so thin that the roots of the hair stuck out on the inside, while the patent liquid in which they had been soaked gave forth an odor which would have been wonderful for its permanency, if it had not been still more wonderful for its offensiveness. of the meat, a portion went to our friends, and the balance to fulton market, new york. in the first quarter, it carried dyspepsia and disgust, and was so tough that the recipients, with the utmost effort, could not find a tender regret for our danger in obtaining it; while our new york consignee wrote that the first morning's steaks "finished the market," and very nearly finished his customers. he found it impossible, even by the fulton market method of subtraction, to get three hundred dollars' worth of express charges out of half that amount of sales, and suggested a discontinuance of shipments. the buffalo calf died on the cars, which probably saved somebody's bones from being broken in celebration of his maturity. the gray wolf got safely to the state of new york, but escaping soon after, a county hunt became necessary, to save the sheep from total extinction. one farmer, in his ire, even went so far as to threaten us with a suit for violating the law, and importing a pauper and disreputable character into the state. our experience may be useful to future hunters, to all of whom we would say, unless solely to find amusement, never kill old bulls. cows and calves are generally juicy and tender, but not so the veterans; they, after death, butt around among one's digestive organs with a ferocity which makes the liver ache. being most easily obtained, bull beef is generally all that is sent to market, and thus many a patriarchal bison, dead, accomplishes more in retaliation for his sudden taking-off than the fates ever permitted him to do in lusty life. * * * * * a few days more were spent in our silver creek camp, and we then folded our tents and took a westward course, with the purpose of examining, not only the remoter regions of kansas, but also the colorado portion of the plains. the new town of sheridan, fourteen miles east of the state line, and nine from fort wallace, was our objective point. "gentlemen," said the professor, as we packed and adjusted our things in the wagons, "we are now to climb for a hundred miles directly up the roof of the rocky mountain water-shed, its long rivers and rich valleys forming the gutters, or spouts, to carry off the surplus water." sachem, who dreaded these lectures almost as much as he did crinoline, interposed with some of his usual badinage; but among irreverent classes of sophomores and freshmen, the professor had learnt to answer only such questions as were relevant, and to pass all others by unheeded. for this reason such interruptions never broke the thread of his discourse, and but temporarily checked its unwinding. in a few minutes, however, the wagons started, and our expedition began crawling up the slope of the professor's metaphorical roof, and thereupon our worthy leader's discourse was brought to a graceful conclusion. for four days we continued our westward journey, the soft grass carpet beneath us ever stretching away to the horizon in its tiresome sameness, its figures of buffalo and antelope, big antlered elk and skulking wolves woven more beautifully upon its brown ground than in the rug-work of the looms. how i loved to sit upon such rugs, when a child, and gaze at the strange figures, as they were lit up by the flashing fire-light! memory recalled one very impracticable reindeer, which used to lie just in front of a maiden aunt's chair, representing a brussels manufacturer's idea of the animal. his horns were longer than his head, body and tail combined, and the spring he was making, when transfixed by the loom, brought his nose so close to the ground, that my older boyhood calculated the immense antlers would certainly have tipped him over had he not been held back by the threads. but to return to the plains. we examined highlands and lowlands for poor soil, but found none. what we had once expected to see a bed of sand, if ever we saw it at all, turned up under the spade a rich dark loam, in depth and character fully equal to an illinois prairie. together with those other legends, localized drought and grasshoppers, the american desert, when revealed by the head-light of civilization, had taken to itself the wings of a myth, and fled away. there was a great sameness in the climate, as well as the scenery. day followed day, with its sunshine and its winds, the latter being decidedly the most disagreeable feature of the entire trip. various episodes marked our journey from silver creek to sheridan. a few only of the more noteworthy incidents can be transferred to these pages. they will suffice, however, as specimens of our adventures, and help the reader, i trust, to a better acquaintance with the free, wild life of the west. the second day after leaving silver creek, we suddenly encountered another specialty of the plains, the "wild huntress." so often has this personage and her male counterpart danced, with big letters and a bowie-knife, across yellow covers, that we met the "original jacobs" of the tribe gleefully. she came to us in a cloud of buffalo, with black eyes glittering like a snake's, and coarse and uncombed hair that tangled itself in the wind, and streamed and twisted behind her like writhing vipers. a black riding habit flowed out in the strong breeze, its train snapping like a loose sail, and a black mustang fled from her indian lash--the dark wild horse, a fit carrier for such somber outfit. she was introduced to us by the bison herd, which came thundering across our front, with this strange figure pressing its flank and darting hither and thither from one outskirt of the flying multitude to the other. the reins lay loose on the neck of her mustang, which entered into the fierce chase like a bloodhound, doubling and twisting on its course with an agility that was wonderful. one hand of the huntress held out a holster revolver, which she fired occasionally, but with uncertain aim, one of the bullets indeed whistling our way. the chase constituted the excitement that she sought, and the pistol was little more than a spur to urge it on. "that's ann, poor p--'s wife," said our guide. "crazy since the indians killed her husband. he was a contractor on the railroad; his camp used to be just above hays. she lives in the old 'dug-out' on the line yet, and spends half her time chasing buffalo. she never kills none, but that isn't what she is after. she wants to be moving, and just as wild as she can; it sort o' relieves her mind." the huntress had seen our outfit, and rode toward us. the face was a very plain one, with a vacant yet anxious expression, and the tightly-drawn skin seeming scarcely to cover the jaw-bones. she halted before us, and commenced conversation at once. "good day, gentlemen." "good day, madam." "she always tells her story to every body," muttered the guide in a low voice. "have you seen any cheyennes hereabouts, gentlemen? i sighted a party this morning, and you ought to have seen them run. raven dick, here, put his best foot foremost, but they shook him out of sight in a ravine. haven't any thing better to do, friends, and so i'm riding down some buffalo." we could easily understand why superstitious savages should run when a maniac female of such dismal aspect flitted along their trail. "out from hays, sirs?" she continued, after a pause. "i left there yesterday. dick and i camped last night. we must be home when the men come in from work this eve. up, rave!" and she struck the mustang a cruel blow, from which he jumped with quivering muscles, only to be violently curbed. for the first time she had just noticed our guide, and sat for an instant with her wild eyes eating a way to his heart. then she turned again to us. "sirs, you must aid me. some say the cheyennes killed my husband, and others there be who think abe there did it. more shame to me who has to tell it, but the two had a fight about a woman, some months gone. it was just after pay-day, and husband was drunk; otherwise he'd never have bothered his head about any girl but the one he married. "there were blows and black eyes, and being a rough man's quarrel, it ended with hand-shaking. my man came home, and we sat by the fire that night, and i took no notice that he'd been wrong, but spoke of our old home in ohio, and asked him wouldn't he go back there when the contract was finished. and he put his hand on mine, and says: 'sis, if the cuts and fills on the next mile work to profit, we'll go home.' just then there came a hiss from the door at our backs, and husband turned sharp and quick. there was a knot-hole in the planks, and its round black mouth, gaping from out in the night at us, had spit the sound into our ears. husband he rose and went to the door, and fell back dying, with an arrow in his breast. some said it was a cheyenne, and others said abe did it. there were lots of indian bows in camp, and cheyennes don't kill for the love of it, but only to steal. i'm going to ask them, if i can catch them, did they do it, and if not, i know who did. i've a bow, abe, and an arrow too, and i hope his blood isn't on your hands." "i didn't do it, ann. i don't shoot no man in the dark," replied our hostler guide, with a sullen defiance, which among that class stands equally well for innocence or guilt. we looked at the two, as they sat for an instant facing each other. the picture was a weird one--a wildcat, fronting the object of its chase, but undecided whether to spring or not. we felt that the dark maniac had been hovering around us, and that this meeting was not altogether accidental. her disordered brain was yet undecided in which direction vengeance lay, and, like a tigress, she was watching and waiting. our policy developed, on the instant, into a non-committal and a safe one. as she wheeled her horse, and left us without a word, we remarked to our guide that crazy folks were often suspicious of their best friends. "that's so," he replied, and rode off to urge on the wagons. we shrank from the idea of living with a murderer, and acquitted him of the crime on the spot. * * * * * we are moving out over the grand, illimitable plain again. reader, ride with us awhile by the side of that big bison bull, which we have just stirred up from his noonday dream. you see his broad nostrils, reddish just under the dark skin at the end, and sensitive as the nose of a pointer. they have caught the air which we tainted, while passing for a moment across the breeze. [illustration: one of our specimens. _bureau of illustration. buffalo. n. y._] he has seen nothing, and we are still invisible, but he does not stop to look behind. "escape for your life!" has been as plainly telegraphed from nose to brain, as it could be by eyes or mouth. we were so far off and well hidden then, that those active tell-tales, sound and sight, could play no part in this alarm. but the sentinel nerves of smell fled back from their post on the frontier, with the cry of "man!" and the beast of the wilderness thinks only of flight. powerful for defense against the rest of the animal creation, he is coward on the instant before its king. away he goes, right into the teeth of the wind, which he knows will tell him of any other foes ahead. lumber along, old fellow, in your ponderous gallop,--the reader and i are on your path. our saddle girths have been tightly drawn, the holster pistols are nestled snug at hand, in their cases on either side of the saddle-horn, while across its front lies the light henry carbine, with a shoulder-strap attaching it to our person, should we drop the gun for the pistol. thus we ride with twenty-four shots before reloading, at the service of our trigger-finger; the carbine carries twelve, the pistols each a half-dozen. how warm we have become. our hearts are as high up as they can get, bumping away at the throat-valves, as if they wished to get out and see what it is that has called their reserves into action. there is a muskish taint in the air, from the game ahead. put in your spurs, comrade; don't spare. get up beside him quickly as possible. once there, the horses will easily stick. a stern chase disheartens the pursuer, encourages the pursued. look out for that creek! see how the buffalo takes its steep bank--a plunge headlong, which sends the dust up in clouds. now, as we check and turn into a ford, he is going up the opposite side. another hundred yards, and we are close beside him. the long tongue is hung out, and his head lies low down, as he plunges steadily forward, diverging ever so little as we press up opposite his fore-shoulders. that was a bad shot, my friend, barely missing your horse's head. shooting at full gallop is like drawing straight lines while being shaken. some of our bullets are telling; you can hear them crack on his hide. there is a red spot now, not bigger than the point of one's finger, opposite a lung, and drops of blood trickle, with the saliva, from his jaws. half a score of balls have been pelted into his big body, and he is bleeding internally. now the blood comes thicker, and little clots of it drop down. he slows up--there is danger; look well to your seat! that was a narrow escape, comrade. the bull suddenly whirled on his forefeet for a pivot, and your horse's chest, which was brushing his hind-quarters, grazed the black horns as they dipped for a plunge. the pony's swerve barely saved you both. now he stands sullen, glaring at us. the wounds look like little points of red paint, put deftly on his shaggy hide. they bleed inwardly, just crimsoning the brown hair at their mouths. the large eyes roll and swell with pain and fury. he is measuring our distance. see him blow the blood from his nostrils. the drops scatter like red-hot shot around him, seeming to hiss in globules of fury, as they spatter upon the dry grass. bladder-like bubbles sputter in ebb and flow, from the red holes over his lungs. tiny doors, for death's messengers to have entered in at. what a marvel of size and ferocity he looks. only our horse's legs stand between us and disembowelment. down drops the head into battery again, and his rush would knock us over like nine-pins, did we stay to receive it. but bison charges are short ones. our animals spring away, and he stops. signs of grogginess are coming on him. how he hates to feel his knees shake, straightening them out with a jerk, as we thought he was just going down. but at last gradually and gracefully he sinks, doubling his legs under him, and resting on his belly. there is still no flurry, or motion of any kind denoting pain. unconquerable to the death, he suddenly falls on his side, the limbs stiffen, and he is dead. twine your hands in the long beard, and in the mane. how he shames the lion, for whom he could furnish coats half a dozen times over. what switches of hair those black fetlocks would make. was there ever another so big a bison? wondering over this, we lie down on the prostrate bulk, and wait for the wagon. chapter xxi. "creasing" wild horses--muggs disappointed--a feat for fiction--horse and monkey--hoof wisdom for turfmen--prospective climatic changes on the plains--the question of spontaneous generation--wanton slaughter of buffalo--amount of robes and meat annually wasted--a strange habit of the bison--numerous bills--the "sneak thief" of the plains. while we were at breakfast one morning, the guide ran in to say that the herd of wild horses which we had seen on silver creek, were feeding toward us, a mile away. i left the table to obtain a view of them, and by abe's advice carried my rifle, as he suggested that we might "crease" one of them. this feat consists in hitting the upper edge of the bones of the neck with a bullet, the blow striking so high up that it will momentarily paralyze, without fracturing. we had read of it often in tales of western daring, where the hero mounted the prostrate steed, and, upon its return to consciousness, escaped on its back from numberless difficulties and hosts of indians. a short distance out from camp, we turned and saw muggs following us with a saddle and bridle on his arm. he had suffered grievous wrong at the heels of his mule, and was bent on possessing himself of one of our creased horses. after creeping, with almost infinite caution, within seventy-five yards, we succeeded in placing our bullets exactly where we intended, thereby knocking down two victims, who at once became insensible--and no wonder, for their bones were as effectually fractured as if they had been struck with a sledge-hammer. muggs' faith in the theory of creasing, however, was unbounded. up he ran and buckled on the saddle, and got one foot in the stirrup, ready to swing himself into the seat, when the animal rose. after waiting about ten minutes, our briton concluded that a dead horse was poor riding, and left us with a very emphatic statement that, in his opinion, capturing a mount with a rifle was "another blarsted hamerican lie, you know!" i afterward conversed with several plainsmen about the merits of "creasing," and found that their attempts had invariably ended in the same way as ours had done. the feat may have been possible with smooth-bore rifles, in the hands of those remarkable hunters of old, who were able to shoot away the breath of a pigeon, and hit the eye of a flying hawk; but with breech-loaders i unhesitatingly pronounce creasing an utter impossibility. the achievement sounds well in theory, but, like much else of popular western lore is somewhat impracticable when fairly tested. i have an idea that the principal market value of "creased" horses in the future, as in the past, will be derived from furnishing creatures of romance with fearful rides. for this purpose, a cracked skeleton would be as apt as a sound one, to carry the rider into many of the scenes with which these tales are wont to harrow our souls. while crawling up on the herd, we took its census very carefully. i was a little surprised to find there were but twenty-five horses, all told. they were apparently a little larger than the wild ones of texas, and had bushy manes and tails, and their step was remarkably firm and elastic. they were exceedingly timid creatures, raising their heads constantly, to gaze around. one very interesting circumstance connected with the herd was that among these wild horses we noticed two strangers; one, a feeble old buffalo bull, expelled from his tribe, and seeking their aid against the wolves, and the other, the black pacing stallion. when we fired, the survivors were off on the instant, and the manner in which their clean hoofs struck the earth, and spurned it, was truly worth seeing. no heaves either, it was plain to see, had ever troubled those full chests. we caught sight of the herd awhile after, on a ridge four miles away, and they were still running at full speed. these were the only wild horses we saw on our trip. in fact, but two or three small droves are believed to exist on the plains, as the great mass of the shaggy-maned thousands, children of those old spanish castaways, swarm nearer the pacific. so timid and fleet are these horses that none of them have ever been captured except during the early spring. they are then poor, and, by hard spurring, can be ridden down. at other times their bottom, and the advantage of having no weight to carry, insure their safety. it is quite probable, however, that a systematic pursuit, of the kind practiced in texas, might prove successful at any season of the year. i gazed at our two victims with less satisfaction than at any thing i had ever killed. shooting horses, dear reader, is a good deal like shooting monkeys. they are both too intimately associated with man to be made food for his powder. one is a very true and faithful servant, and the other, if we may believe mr. darwin, was once his ancestor. in examining the two handsome bodies lying there, i noticed one fact to which i should have liked to draw the attention of the whole learned fraternity of blacksmiths, who mutilate horses, the world over. the hoofs were as solid and as sound as ivory, without a crack or wrong growth of any sort. and why? turning them up, the secret lay exposed; for there, filling the cavity within--a sponge of life-giving oil--was the frog entire, just as nature made and kept it. its business was to feed and moisten the hoof, and this it had done perfectly. no blacksmith had ever gouged it out with his knife, and robbed it anew at every shoeing. it is noticeable that the equine race, in its wild state, has none of the ills of the species domesticated. the sorrows of horse-flesh are the fruits of civilization. by the study and imitation of nature's methods, we could greatly increase the usefulness of these valuable servants, and remove temptation from the paths of many men who lead blameless lives, except in the single matter of horse-trades. it may well be queried, perhaps, whether even the patient man of uz, had he been laid up by a runaway colt instead of boils, could have resisted the temptation to trade it off upon bildad the shuhite, when that individual came to condole with him. as we journeyed onward, we found the soil ever the same, in depth and strength equal to an illinois prairie. the old cretaceous ocean, and the great lakes, certainly left it rich in deposits. when its surface shall have been broken by the plow, and the water-fall absorbed instead of shed off, the plains will resemble, in appearance and products, any other prairie country. the amount of moisture annually passing over them, in storm-clouds that burst further east, is abundantly sufficient to make the tract very fertile. it is a well established fact in relation to climatic influences, that moisture attracts moisture; and in this region the dry ground, with its few shallow streams, has now no claim upon the summer clouds. the tough buffalo grass has put a lock-jaw on the plain. it can drink nothing from the floods of the rainy season. but pry open the hungry mouth with the plowshare, and the earth will drink greedily. the moisture then absorbed, given up through the agency of capillary attraction, will draw the showers of summer, as they are passing over. already a marked change has taken place over a portion of the plains, and crops have been grown as far west as fort wallace. the subject of spontaneous generation, i may remark in this connection, became a very interesting one to our party. wherever the soil has been disturbed, wild sun-flowers spring suddenly into existence. the "grading camps" of the railroads were followed by belts of these self-asserting annuals. the first garden-patch cultivated at fort wallace had weeds and insects similar to those that infest gardens elsewhere. in some cases hundreds of miles of barren plain intervened between the spots where the seeds germinated, and the nearest points where other plants of the same variety grew. neither birds or wind could have carried the seeds in such quantities. is the theory true that germs fall down to us from other planets? or, do not the plains offer a strong argument on behalf of spontaneous generation? another matter on which the plains appealed to us strongly, pertained to the wanton destruction of its wild cattle. during the year , about fifty thousand buffalo were killed on the plains of kansas and colorado alone. of this number, it will be correct to estimate that about one-third were shot for their robes, as many more for meat, and sixteen thousand or so for sport. each buffalo could probably have furnished five hundred pounds of meat and tallow, the quantity of the latter being small. when killed for food, only the hind quarters and a small portion of the loin are saved, in all perhaps two hundred pounds. the hides of these are sacrificed, the skin being cut with the quarters, and left on them for their protection. the profits of this great slaughter would, therefore, be about , robes and , , pounds of meat; the waste over , robes, and probably not less than , , pounds of meat. in this computation, the vast herds which range further north are not included. there, however, the waste is comparatively small, as the red man is in the habit of saving the greater portion of the flesh and robes. of the above twenty million pounds of meat left to rot in the sun, and taint the air of the plains, the greater proportion would furnish sweeter and more nourishing food to the poor classes of our cities than the beef which they are able to obtain. let this slaughter continue for ten years, and the bison of the american continent will become extinct. the number of valuable robes and pounds of meat which would thus be lost to us and posterity, will run too far into the millions to be easily calculated. all over the plains, lying in disgusting masses of putrefaction along valley and hill, are strewn immense carcasses of wantonly slain buffalo. they line the kansas pacific railroad for two hundred miles. following ordinary sporting parties for an hour after they have commenced smiting the borders of a herd, stop by a few of the monsters that they leave behind, in pools of blood, upon the grass; draw your hunting-knife across the fat hind-quarters, and see how the cuts reveal depths of sweet, nourishing meat, sufficient to supply two hundred starving wretches with an abundant dinner; then if your humanity does not tempt to a shot at the worse than pot-hunters in front, god's bounties have indeed been thrown away upon you. by law, as stringent in its provisions as possible, no man should be suffered to pull trigger on a buffalo, unless he will make practical use of the robe and the meat. what would be thought of a hunter, in any of the western states, who shot quails and chickens and left them where they fell? every citizen, whether sportsman or not, would join in outcry against him. another matter which the law should regulate relates to the protection of the buffalo cows until after the season when they have brought forth their young. the calf will thrive, though weaned by necessity at a very early age, and the season for shooting cows, although short, would be amply long enough to comport with the chances of future increase. probably the most cruel of all bison-shooting pastime, is that of firing from the cars. during certain periods in the spring and fall, when the large herds are crossing the kansas pacific railroad, the trains run for a hundred miles or more among countless thousands of the shaggy monarchs of the plains. the bison has a strange and entirely unaccountable instinct or habit which leads it to attempt crossing in front of any moving object near it. it frequently happened, in the time of the old stages, that the driver had to rein up his horses until the herd which he had startled had crossed the road ahead of him. to accomplish this feat, if the object of their fright was moving rapidly, the animals would often run for miles. when the iron-horse comes rushing into their solitudes, and snorting out his fierce alarms, the herds, though perhaps a mile away from his path, will lift their heads and gaze intently for a few moments toward the object thus approaching them with a roar which causes the earth to tremble, and enveloped in a white cloud that streams further and higher than the dust of the old stage-coach ever did; and then, having determined its course, instead of fleeing back to the distant valleys, away they go, charging across the ridge over which the iron rails lie, apparently determined to cross in front of the locomotive at all hazards. the rate per mile of passenger trains is slow upon the plains, and hence it often happens that the cars and buffalo will be side by side for a mile or two, the brutes abandoning the effort to cross only when their foe has merged entirely ahead. during these races the car-windows are opened, and numerous breech-loaders fling hundreds of bullets among the densely crowded and flying masses. many of the poor animals fall, and more go off to die in the ravines. the train speeds on, and the scene is repeated every few miles until buffalo land is passed. another method of wanton slaughter is the stalking of the herds by men carrying needle-guns. these throw a ball double the weight of the ordinary carbine, and the shot is effective at six hundred yards. concealed in ravines, the hunter causes terrible havoc with such weapons before the herd takes flight. we were never guilty of ambushing after those two days on the saline, and of those occasions we were heartily ashamed ever afterward. [illustration: _bureau of illustration buffalo_ one specialty of the plains that deserves mention, and quite as remarkable as its brutes and plants, though of rather more modern origin, is its numerous bills. of these, we became acquainted, before our trip was ended, with the following distinct specimens: wild bill, buffalo bill, california bill, rattlesnake bill, and tiger bill, the last named being, as one of our men who had played with him remarked, the "dangererest on 'em all." we also heard of a camanche bill and an apache bill, but these celebrities it was not our fortune to meet. five pictures for the consideration of uncle samuel, suggestive of a game law to protect his comb-horns, buttons, tallow, dried beef, tongues, robes, ivory-black, bone-dust, hair, hides, etc.] i can not dismiss the peculiar characters of the plains without again paying tribute to that unapproachable thief, the cayote. let no party of travelers leave any thing exposed in camp lighter than an anvil. we lost, in one night, at the hands--or rather the jaws--of these slinking sneak-thieves of the plains, a boot, a pair of leather breeches, and a half-quarter of buffalo calf, besides some smaller articles. chapter xxii. a live town and its grave-yard--honest rombeaux in trouble--judge lynch holds court--marie and the vine-covered cottage--the terrible floods--death in camp and in the dug-out--was it the water which did it?--discovery of a huge fossil--the mosasaurus of the cretaceous sea--a glimpse of the reptilian age--reminiscences of alligator-shooting--they suggest a theory. our fourth day's travel from silver creek brought us to sheridan, our secondary base of operations, so to speak, and only fourteen miles east of the colorado border. we found the town a very lively one, notwithstanding that the grave-yard, beautifully located in a commanding position overlooking the principal street, was patronized to a remarkable extent. the place had built itself up as simply the temporary terminus of the pacific railroad. soon after our visit it moved westward, and at last accounts but one house remained to mark its former site. the shades of night had just settled over the town upon the evening of our arrival, when abe, our hostler-guide, came running to us with information that "honest rombeaux," another of our hostlers, was being hung by some of the citizens. the locality which had been selected for this little diversion was a railroad trestle a short distance below the town. we were already acquainted with the penchant our sheridanites had for hanging people. thirty or more graves on the neighboring hill had been pointed out before sundown, as those of persons who had fallen under sentence from judge lynch. in the expressive language of the citizen who volunteered the information, there had been "thirty funerals, and not one nateral death." now that judge lynch had opened court at our own door, we proposed to raise the question of jurisdiction. armed, at once, we set off for a rescue, and, stumbling through the darkness, had gone only a hundred yards or so, when we met the lynchers returning. at their head, with a very dirty piece of rope around his neck, walked our hostler, trembling all over, and chattering broken english rapidly, in mingled fright and anger. the leader of the party told us that the evidence not being quite sufficient for hanging, an extra session of court had been called to be held immediately, and as having some interest in the case, we were invited to seats on the jury. the trial, we were further informed, was to be held in rombeaux's own house. this last was a new surprise, for reasons to be explained presently. rombeaux had been with us ever since leaving hays, and had gained his title of "honest" from a particularly faithful discharge of duty. to him had been intrusted the supplies for hired men and horses. three of the mexicans he had severally thrashed for stealing. once, in the night, on silver creek, we had heard a rattling at the medicine-chest, and trembling for our limited stock of spirits, stole forth to catch the culprit. on his knees by the open box was rombeaux, replacing the brandy-bottle, and we feared that he, too, had become a thief. but just then, on the still air, came words of thanks to the virgin mary, for having enabled him to awake in time to frighten away the robber. nor was this all; in the fierceness of his indignation, we beheld him sally forth immediately afterward, and kick a sleeping mexican out of his blankets, on suspicion. thereupon, we went back to bed with implicit faith in rombeaux, which had followed us ever since. had he not told us, moreover, of a vine-covered cottage in france, where pretty marie watched and waited until her lover could earn dowry sufficient to match hers? it was the old story. a maiden fair tarried in europe, while a true knight ransacked foreign lands for fame and fortune; and long since had all of us, save sachem, exhausted our stock of spare change to hasten the reunion. passing some of the lowest and most flashy-looking saloons in the place, we entered a ravine, and soon stopped before a "dug-out." so much was it the work of excavation, that the dirt roof was level with the earth above, and the door seemed to open directly into the bank. we knocked, and were answered promptly by a fat, gayly dressed french woman. this was rombeaux's wife, and here was rombeaux's house. what a marie and vine-clad cottage these! without delay the trial commenced, the frenchman and his wife occupying places in the center, and the court seated on boxes, barrels, and the bed. the evidence taken that night in the cabin was substantially the following: two years before jules pigget, a native of france, accompanied by his young wife, appeared on the railroad below, and solicited work. they both found ready employment, and lived below hays, in a dug-out, happy and prosperous. within a year came another frenchman, our present honest rombeaux. across the water, he and jules had been rival suitors for marie's hand; yet strangely enough, the newcomer was welcomed by the young couple, and took up his abode with them. matters prospered with all three, and soon jules was to be appointed tank-tender on the road. that year came the great rain-storm, when so many families in western kansas and texas were drowned. hundreds of people were living in dug-outs, rude excavations in the banks of streams, with the roof on a level with the bank above, but the room itself entirely below high-water mark--a style of dwelling which, as no great rise had occurred in years, had become quite popular among new-comers. on the night of the great flood people went to bed as usual. the streams had risen but little. at midnight the rain fell heavily; the firm surface of the plains shed the waters like a roof; streams rose ten feet in an hour, and the foaming currents, roaring like cataracts, came down with the force of mighty tidal waves. many dwellers in the dug-outs sprang from their beds into water, to find egress by the doors impossible, and were fortunate if they succeeded in escaping through the chimneys or roofs. whole families were drowned. fort hays, at the fork of big creek, and supposed to be above high-water, was inundated, six or eight soldiers being swept away, while the remainder were obliged to seek safety on the roofs of the stone barracks. large numbers of mules, picketed on the adjacent bottoms, were drowned. their picket-pins fast in the earth, the animals were swept from their feet by the rising waters, and towed under by the firmly-held lariats. emigrants encamped on the bottom heard the roar of the flood; with no time to harness, they seized the tongues of their wagons themselves, but the rising tide gained on them too rapidly, and they were glad to save life at the expense of oxen and goods. the horrors of that night are indescribable, and, to crown all, they took place amid a darkness that was total. above, was the roar of waters descending; below, the answering roar of the floods, as they rolled madly onward, carrying in their strong arms the wreck of farms, and corpses by the score. on that night jules, the husband, perished. honest rombeaux and marie, however, were rescued from the roof of their dwelling at daylight; and afterward, when the flood had subsided, the body of jules was taken from the wash in the fire-place. and now came suspicion, and pointed over the shoulders of the throng gathered around; for there was an ugly wound half hidden in the dead husband's hair, and his fingers were bruised. some men did not hesitate to say boldly that when rombeaux escaped through the chimney, jules stayed behind to assist his wife out, and that when he tried to follow, he was struck on the head by his quondam rival, and, still clinging to the chimney's edge, his fingers were pounded until their hold was loosed, and the victim sucked under the roof, against which the waters were already beating. the man and woman, however, claimed that it was the whirl of the waters against pegs and logs which had disfigured the corpse. three weeks afterward they were married. "and now, gentlemen," said our foreman, rising from his barrel, when the evidence was all in, "the question for the jury to decide is, was it the water that did it?" a doubt existing in the case, we gave the prisoner its benefit; but there was murder in the air, and rombeaux knew it. before morning he had departed--marie said for la belle france, but, as the citizens generally believed, really for texas. the next twenty-four hours constituted a regular field-day for the professor, being distinguished by an event which, from a scientific stand-point, was among the most important of our entire expedition. this was the discovery of a large fossil saurian, which we came upon while exploring quite in sight of sheridan, and not more than half a mile from its eastern outskirts. descending the side of a deep, desolate rift in the earth, we found ourselves among unmistakable traces of violent volcanic action. the ground was strewn with black sand, and with yellow pebble-like masses, apparently impure sulphur. there were numerous round cones also, looking like diminutive craters, with edges and surface composed of bubble-like lava, the material having evidently hardened while still distended by the struggling gases. the appearance, to use a homely comparison, was somewhat that of several low pots, over the edges of which boiling molasses had poured, and then burned by the heat of the fire. some scattered objects, which at first we took for stumps of huge trees, upon examination we found to be pillars of mud and rock, upheavals, apparently, from volcanic action, and not the work of the floods, which, in those primeval times, we knew, must have poured down the valley. they would have answered, without much difficulty, for druidical altars, had we only been in the land once inhabited by those long-bearded, blood-thirsty priests of old. two or three poisoned cayotes and a dead raven were lying near some bleached buffalo skulls, on which, as we presently discovered, daubs of lard mixed with strychnine had been placed, and licked off by the victims; and straightway, as genius of the scene, an unshaven, woolen-shirted little man appeared in view, busily engaged in skinning a wolf. we saluted him, and the response in french-english told us his nationality at once. we found his name to be louis, and his proper occupation that of watchmaker. but as the pinchbeck time-pieces of the frontier did not furnish enough repairing to take up his entire time, he had many spare hours, and these he devoted to securing pelts. as buffalo were not now in the vicinity, he larded their bones, with the success of which we were eye-witnesses. louis was a wiry little gaul, very positive in his ideas about every thing. an animated conversation sprang up at once between him and the professor, and it soon became amusingly evident that his geological ideas did not entirely accord with those of the philosopher. a sudden turn in the colloquy developed a fact of keen interest to even the most unscientific member of our party. pointing to the other side of the valley, louis told us that there lay the bones of an immense snake, all turned to stone. this sudden voice from the past ages sounded in the professor's ears like the blare of a trumpet to a warrior. he hurried us forward in the direction indicated, and, locking arms with the bloody-shirted little frenchman, strode on in advance. i wish his class could have seen him thus traversing the desolate bed where that old sunken volcano went to sleep. we were glad that the latter was still asleep, and had never acquired the habit of snorting into wakefulness, and pelting explorers with hot rocks. what mysteries, i have often thought, might we not discover, on looking down the throat of a healthy volcano, if some wise alchemist could only brew a dose sufficiently powerful to stop the fiery fellow's foaming at the mouth! or, better still, if it could reach the bowels of the earth, and keep the whole system quiet, while we, puny mortals, like trichina mites, swarmed down the interior, and bored scientifically back to the crust again. earth's veins run golden blood, and we might be gorged with that, perhaps, ere making exit into the sunshine again. a shout from the further edge of the ravine cut short our speculations, and called our attention to the professor. he stood waving his slouched hat for an instant, and then bent close over the ground, in earnest scrutiny. a few moments later, and we all stood beside the huge fossil. it lay exposed, upon a bed of slate, looking very much like a seventy-foot serpent, carved in stone. part of the remains had been taken up to the town, and spread over the bench, in the shop of louis. from what was left, the jaws appeared to have been originally over six feet long, the sharp hooked and cone-shaped teeth being still very perfect. a few broad fragments of ribs showed that, in circumference, the animal's body had been about the size of a puncheon. we felt confident that the specimen was a very rare one, as muggs had never seen any thing like it, even in england. it now rests in the museum at cambridge, massachusetts. "this fossil, gentlemen," said the professor, "is that of a _mosasaurus_, a huge reptile which existed in the cretaceous sea. this appears to be one of the largest members of the family yet discovered, its length, as you will perceive, being over fifty feet. the species to which it belonged swarmed in immense numbers, but were surrounded by monsters even more remarkable than they. the deep which they inhabited must have been constantly lashed and torn with their fierce conflicts; for it was an age of war, and the powers of offense and defense, which the monsters of that period possessed, were terrible. winged reptiles filled the air, in appearance more hideous than any creation of the imagination. following close upon the reptilian came the mammalian age, and i hold that with the largest of the mammals came man, rude in tastes and uncouth in form, but even then ruling as king of the animal creation. wielded by a strength equal to that of a gorilla, his club would dash in the skull of any beast which dare dispute dominion with him." the text thus suggested him, the professor then diverged into an argument on his pet theory of man's early existence. a trivial circumstance connected with our discovery arrested my attention, and, from a sportsman's stand-point, suggested a little theory of my own. the head of the saurian rested on the basin's edge, its jaws touching, with their stony tips, the prairie, while down into the valley below stretched the body and tail. this little fact dove-tailed itself into some incidents of the past, and gave rise to quite a train of speculation. some years ago i hunted alligators in mississippi. sitting on the bank of a sluggish bayou, i would watch the surface of the water, close under which were visible the noses of countless buffalo fish, floating as one sees minnows do in glass jars. under the hot sun all nature seemed asleep. soon, however, a black knot, an ugly dark wart, not larger than one's two fists, would make its appearance, floating, like some charred fragment, slowly along. to a stranger, the only suspicious circumstance would have been, that where there was no current whatever, it still continued its motion, the same as before. the experienced eye recognized this object as the nose of an alligator, behind which, and just at the surface, as it got opposite, the ugly eyes would become visible, looking out for hogs or dogs, as they came to drink under the bank. i never had the patience to wait for the _finale_ of the scene; but had i done so, i should have beheld the knot float closer in, and, just after passing the victim, a tail would have come out of the water, and, with a curving blow forward, knocked the prize out from shore, and in front of the devourer's jaws. it was my good fortune, frequently, to send a ballard rifle-ball into the pirate's eyes. in such cases there was usually a tremendous commotion in the water, accompanied by a strong smell of musk, and the wounded reptile would then make straight for shore, and run his head upon it. under such circumstances, the creature always sought at least that much of dry land to die upon, seeming as anxious as man that its lamp of life should not be extinguished under water. this monster whose remains we were now exhuming was allied to the alligator, as one of the great family of lizards, and had died in the same manner--his head on the shores of the basin, his tail in its depths. perhaps in the convulsion of nature which opened a path for the waters to the ocean, and drained this inland sea, the fissure in which we stood had gaped, and exhaled poisonous gases through the whirlpool its suction created. the saurian monster of that strange age felt the hungry vortex swallowing him, which meanwhile enveloped him in deadly secretions, killing before devouring. with a last lurch through the cauldron's ebbing tide, the lizard threw himself upon its edge, and died. of the countless millions of saurians then existing, capricious nature had seized upon this one, to transmute it into an imperishable monument of that extinct race. in those ages of roaring waters and hissing fires, she had clothed the bones in stone, that they might withstand the gnawing tooth of time, and thus handed them down to the wondering eyes of the nineteenth century. many of the pieces, it should be said, were cracked and scarred, evidently by the action of fierce heat. constantly the earth is giving up these marvelous creations of the past, in comparison with which the animals of the present are tame enough. while we doubt a modern sea-serpent as impossible, we dig up fossilized marine monsters, which could easily have swallowed the biggest snake that credible sea-captain ever ran foul of. [illustration: dug-out.] chapter xxiii. from sheridan to the rocky mountains--the colorado portion of the plains--the giant pines--attempt to photograph a buffalo--things get mixed--the leviathan at home--a chat with professor cope--twenty-six inch oysters--reptiles and fishes of the cretaceous sea. at sheridan, we were very near the colorado portion of the plain, which stretched on for some hundreds of miles further westward, its further line lapping the base of the rocky mountains. into this territory we passed, and spent a considerable period of time in its examination, but while our experience was to us full of interest, any thing more extended than a brief summary would occupy too much space here. for the first one hundred miles, the soil deteriorated in quality, and the sage-bush made its appearance, as did also the "adam's needle" or "spanish bayonet." the latter makes an excellent substitute for soup, but a wretched cushion to alight upon when thrown from your horse. (i make the latter statement on the authority of doctor pythagoras.) brackish water was found at intervals, and white saline crystallizations were seen along some of the streams. although the soil was more sandy than further east, the buffalo grass was abundant and nutritious, so that at no time had we any difficulty in finding grazing for our cattle, and the antelope that we killed were invariably in good condition. this belt of eastern colorado proved particularly rich in fossil wealth, to the description of which we shall devote most of this chapter, and the whole of that following. in the vicinity of the big sandy, we found numerous lakes of clear water, surrounded by rich pasturage. about one hundred miles west of the kansas line, the country began gradually improving, and continued to do so until we reached the mountains. the bijou basin, through which we passed, afforded excellent range, and contained good streams. the country swarmed with antelopes, and once we saw a herd running rapidly, which was four minutes in crossing the road. we had fine views of pike's peak, at a distance of one hundred and fifty miles, the atmosphere there being remarkably pure and transparent. emigrants have often been deceived when, as their wagons crawled over the crest which we named first view, the fine old peak burst upon their sight, and in their enthusiasm resolved to get an early start next day and reach it before another night-fall. our guide told us that when he first crossed the plains, by the platte route, his party camped for the night near monument rock. after supper, two of the men and a woman set out to cut their names in the stone, supposing it to be only a mile or so distant, but when an hour's traveling brought the rock apparently no nearer, they became discouraged and returned. next day monument rock was found to be twelve miles distant from their camping-place. when within a day's journey of the mountains, we came in sight of several tall objects standing out in bold relief upon the plain. these proved to be giant pines, thrown out, like sentinels, from the forests still far beyond and invisible. we could not resist the impulse to give the first one we came to a hearty hug; for, after so many weeks upon the treeless plain, these suggestions of mighty forests, with their mingled sheen and shadow, were indeed welcome. the mountains of colorado, with their beautiful parks and wonderful young cities, have been so often described that our notes would prove a useless addition to a somewhat worn history, and hence we forbear taxing the reader's patience by transcribing them here. after studying the principles of mining and irrigation, we spent in the neighborhood of one calendar month in getting views of sunrise and sunset, from all the known peaks, to the end that no future tourist might feel called upon to extend to us his kind commiseration for having lost some particular outlook, where he had been, and which he considered the best of all. to accomplish this thoroughly, we hewed paths up hitherto inaccessible mountains, and at the end of the month made a close calculation, and decided that we were a match for all such tourists for at least five years to come. we then retraced our steps to buffalo land, again entering the fossil belt near fort wallace. one incident of our trip into colorado deserves especial mention from having been the first, as it will probably prove the last, attempt to photograph the buffalo in his native wildness, at close quarters. the idea was suggested in a letter which the professor received from his eastern friends, who thought that actual photographs of the animals inhabiting the plains would be a valuable addition to the ordinary facilities for the study of natural history. as good fortune would have it, there happened to be at sheridan an artist, just arrived from hays, then prospecting for a location, and him we promptly engaged. the second day out, two old buffaloes, near our road, were selected as good subjects for first views. one of these was soon killed, the other making his escape up a ravine near by. although we had good reason to suspect that the latter had been wounded, we did not pursue him, since it was now near noon, and our artist, moreover, being of a somewhat timid disposition, had expressly stipulated that we should keep near him, not so much, he repeatedly assured us, as a body-guard for himself, as for the protection of his new camera and outfit. the dead bull we propped into position with our guns and other supports, and while the artist carefully adjusted his instrument, shamus began to make preparations for lunch, and mr. colon and semi set out for a few minutes' pastime in catching bugs. they had been gone a full half hour, and we were just remarking their prolonged absence somewhat impatiently, when a loud cry from the nearer bank of the ravine fell on our ears, and looking around we beheld colon senior, and ditto junior, making toward us at a tremendous rate of speed. "buffalo!" was all that we could catch of semi's wild shouts, as he led the chase directly toward us, his father having lost several seconds in securing one of his specimen-cases, and on the instant the old bull that we had wounded an hour before hove in sight, in full charge upon the flying entomologists. as buffalo charges are short ones, he would have stopped, no doubt, in a moment or so, had not muggs and i, the only members of our party who happened to have their guns at hand, opened fire on him, and planted another bullet between his ribs. the effect was to infuriate the old fellow tenfold, and down he came careering toward us, with what i then thought the most vicious expression of countenance i had ever seen on a buffalo's physiognomy. the attack was so sudden, and the surprise so complete, that we were most ingloriously stampeded, and fell back in hot haste upon our reserves, the guide and teamsters, who, we knew, would be provided with weapons and in good shape to cover our retreat. the sitting for which we had made such elaborate preparations was abruptly terminated in the manner shown in the accompanying engraving. fortunately for the artist, the blow originally intended for him was delivered upon the legs of the instrument. his assailant being at length dispatched, the poor fellow proceeded to pick out of the ruins of his property what remained that might again be useful. he stated that his stock, as well as the subject of buffalo photographing, was "rather mixed," and that, if we would pay him for the damage done, he would return. next morning he left us, and thus it was that science lost the projected series of valuable photographic views. [illustration: taking and being taken.] exploration gives us a past history of the plains which is interesting in the extreme. our party spent some weeks in exploring for fossils beyond sheridan, and were richly rewarded. in the great ocean which once covered the land, the wonderful reptiles of the cretaceous age swarmed in prodigious numbers, and their fierce struggles upon and under its surface made "the deep to boil like a pot." the mysterious leviathan, described in the forty-first chapter of job, had its prototype in more than one of the monsters of that period: "who can open the doors of his face? his teeth are terrible round about. "out of his mouth go burning lamps, and sparks of fire leap out. "out of his nostrils goeth smoke, as out of a seething pot or caldron. "his breath kindleth coals, and a flame goeth out of his mouth. "the flakes of his flesh are joined together: they are firm in themselves; they can not be moved. "he esteemeth iron as straw, and brass as rotten wood. "he maketh a path to shine after him; one would think the deep to be hoary." the fossil remains of these reptiles are numerous, constituting a rich mine of scientific wealth, which has been but very lightly worked. enough fossils can be obtained by future exploration to fill to overflowing all the museums of the land. we have no means of computing how long the cretaceous sea existed, but we know that it passed away and was replaced by large fresh-water lakes, those of the plains being bounded on the west by the rocky mountains. then succeeded an age of which we can catch but occasional glimpses, and our longing becomes intense that we could know more. we see a land fertile as the garden of eden, surrounding beautiful lakes. the climate is delightful, and earth, air, and water, are full of life. grand forests and flower-covered prairies nod and blossom under the kind caresses of nature. water fowls numberless plunge under and skim over the surface, and the songsters of the air warble forth their hymns of praise. over the pastures and through the forests roam an animal multitude of which we can have but faint conception, but among the number we recognize the lion with his royal mane, and the tiger with his spots; and there also are the elephant, the mastodon, the rhinoceros, the wild horse, and the great elk. after our return, the eminent naturalist, prof. edward d. cope, a. m., visited the plains, and spent some time in careful exploration there. as he had previously received several fossils from us for examination, i communicated with him not long since, asking a record of his trip. this he very kindly consented to furnish, and, did space permit, i would gladly publish entire the matter which he has placed at my disposal. no apology can be necessary, however, for yielding to the temptation of devoting two or three chapters to a chat by prof. cope with my readers. the manuscript, as it lies before me, is entitled: "on the geology and vertebrate palæontology of the cretaceous strata of kansas." let us begin with "part i--a general sketch of the ancient life." * * * * * that vast level tract of our territory lying between missouri and the rocky mountains represents a condition of the earth's surface which has preceded, in most instances, the mountainous or hilly type so prevalent elsewhere, and may be called, in so far, incompletely developed. it does not present the variety of conditions, either of surface for the support of a very varied life, or of opportunities for access to its interior treasures, so beneficial to a high civilization. it is, in fact, the old bed of seas and lakes, which has been so gradually elevated as to have suffered little disturbance. consistently with its level surface, its soils have not been carried away by rain and flood, but rather cover it with a deep and widespread mantle. this is the great source of its wealth in nature's creations of vegetable and animal life, and from it will be drawn the wealth of its future inhabitants. on this account its products have a character of uniformity; but viewed from the stand-point of the political philosopher, so long as peace and steam bind the natural sections of our country together, so long will the plains be an important element in a varied economy of continental extent. but they are not entirely uninterrupted. the natural drainage has worn channels, and the streams flow below the general level. the ancient sea and lake deposits have neither been pressed into very hard rock beneath piles of later sediment, nor have they been roasted and crystallized by internal heat. although limestone rock, they easily yield to the action of water, and so the side drainage into the creeks and rivers has removed their high banks to from many rods to many miles from their original positions. in many cases these banks or bluffs have retained their original steepness, and have increased in elevation as the breaking-down of the rock encroached on higher land. in other cases the rain-channels have cut in without removing the intervening rocks at once, and formed deep gorges or canyons, which sometimes extend to great distances. they frequently communicate in every direction, forming curious labyrinths, and when the intervening masses are cut away at various levels, or left standing like monuments, we have the characteristic peculiarities of "bad lands" or _mauvaises terres_. in portions of kansas tracts of this kind are scattered over the country along the margins of the river and creek valleys and ravines. the upper stratum of the rock is a yellow chalk; the lower, bluish, and the brilliancy of the color increases the picturesque effect. from elevated points the plains appear to be dotted with ruined villages and towns, whose avenues are lined with painted walls of fortifications, churches, and towers, while side alleys pass beneath natural bridges or expand into small pockets and caverns, smoothed by the action of the wind, carrying hard mineral particles. but this is the least interesting of the peculiarities presented by these rocks. on the level surfaces, denuded of soil, lie huge oyster-shells, some opened and others with both valves together, like remnants of a half-finished meal of some titanic race, who had been frightened from the board, never to return. these shells are not thickened like most of those of past periods, but contained an animal which would have served as a meal for a large party of men. one of them measured twenty-six inches across. if the explorer searches the bottoms of the rain-washes and ravines, he will doubtless come upon the fragment of a tooth or jaw, and will generally find a line of such pieces leading to an elevated position on the bank or bluff, where lies the skeleton of some monster of the ancient sea. he may find the vertebral column running far into the limestone that locks him in his last prison; or a paddle extended on the slope, as though entreating aid; or a pair of jaws lined with horrid teeth which grin despair on enemies they are helpless to resist. or he may find a conic mound, on whose apex glisten in the sun the bleached bones of one whose last office has been to preserve from destruction the friendly soil on which he reposed. sometimes a pile of huge remains will be discovered, which the dissolution of the rock has deposited on the lower level, the force of rain and wash having been insufficient to carry them away. but the reader inquires, what is the nature of these creatures thus left stranded a thousand miles from either ocean? how came they in the limestones of kansas, and were they denizens of land or sea? it may be replied that our knowledge of this chapter of ancient history is only about five years old, and has been brought to light by geological explorations set on foot by dr. turner, prof. mudge, prof. marsh, w. e. webb, and the writer. careful examinations of the remains discovered show that they are all to be referred to the reptiles and fishes. we find that they lived in the period called cretaceous, at the time when the chalk of england and the green sand marl of new jersey were being deposited, and when many other huge reptiles and fishes peopled both sea and land in those quarters of the globe. the twenty-six species of reptiles found in kansas, up to the present time, varied from ten to eighty feet in length, and represented six orders, the same that occur in the other regions mentioned. two only of the number were terrestrial in their habits, and three were flyers; the remainder were inhabitants of the salt ocean. when they swam over what are now the plains, the coast-line extended from arkansas to near fort riley, on the kansas river, and, passing a little eastward, traversed minnesota to the british possessions, near the head of lake superior. the extent of sea to the westward was vast, and geology has not yet laid down its boundary; it was probably a shore now submerged beneath the waters of the north pacific ocean. far out on its expanse might have been seen in those ancient days, a huge snake-like form which rose above the surface and stood erect, with tapering throat and arrow-shaped head; or swayed about, describing a circle of twenty feet radius above the water. then it would dive into the depths, and naught would be visible but the foam caused by the disappearing mass of life. should several have appeared together, we can easily imagine tall twining forms, rising to the height of the masts of a fishing fleet, or like snakes twisting and knotting themselves together. this extraordinary neck, for such it was, rose from a body of elephantine proportions; and a tail of the serpent pattern balanced it behind. the limbs were probably two pairs of paddles, like those of _plesiosaurus_, from which this diver chiefly differed in the arrangement of the bones of the breast. in the best known species, twenty-two feet represent the neck, in a total length of fifty feet. this is the _elasmosaurus platyurus_ (cope), a carnivorous sea reptile, no doubt adapted for deeper waters than many of the others. like the snake-bird of florida, it probably often swam many feet below the surface, raising the head to the distant air for a breath, then withdrawing it and exploring the depths forty feet below, without altering the position of its body. from the localities in which the bones have been found in kansas, it must have wandered far from land, and that many kinds of fishes formed its food, is shown by the teeth and scales found in the position of its stomach. a second species, of somewhat similar character and habits, differed very much in some points of structure. the neck was drawn out to a wonderful degree of attenuation, while the tail was relatively very stout, more so, indeed, than in the _elasmosaurus_, as though to balance the anterior regions while occupied in various actions, _e. g._, while capturing its food. this was a powerful swimmer, its paddles measuring four feet in length, with an expanse, therefore, of about eleven feet. it is known as _polycotylus latipinnis_ (cope). the two species just described formed a small representation, in our great interior sea, of an order which swarmed at the same time, or near it, over the gulfs and bays of old europe. there they abounded twenty to one. perhaps one reason for this was the almost entire absence of the real rulers of the waters of ancient america, viz: the _pythonomorphs_. these sea-serpents, for such they were, embrace more than half the species found in the limestone rocks in kansas, and abound in those of new jersey and alabama. only four have been seen as yet in europe. researches into their structure have shown that they were of wonderful elongation of form, especially of tail; that their heads were large, flat, and conic, with eyes directed partly upwards; that they were furnished with two pairs of paddles like the flippers of a whale, but with short or no portion representing the arm. with these flippers and the eel-like strokes of their flattened tail they swam--some with less, others with greater speed. they were furnished, like snakes, with four rows of formidable teeth on the roof of the mouth. though these were not designed for mastication, and without paws for grasping could have been little used for cutting, as weapons for seizing their prey they were very formidable. and here we have to consider a peculiarity of these creatures in which they are unique among animals. swallowing their prey entire, like snakes, they were without that wonderful expansibility of throat, due in the latter to an arrangement of levers supporting the lower jaw. instead of this each half of that jaw was articulated or jointed at a point nearly midway between the ear and the chin. this was of the ball and socket type, and enabled the jaw to make an angle outward, and so widen, by much, the space inclosed between it and its fellow. the arrangement may be easily imitated by directing the arms forward, with the elbows turned outward and the hands placed near together. the ends of these bones were in the pythonomorphs as independent as in the serpents, being only bound by flexible ligaments. by turning the elbows outward, and bending them, the space between the arms becomes diamond-shaped, and represents exactly the expansion seen in these reptiles, to permit the passage of a large fish or other body. the arms, too, will represent the size of jaws attained by some of the smaller species. the outward movement of the basal half of the jaw necessarily twists in the same direction the column-like bone to which it is suspended. the peculiar shape of the joint by which the last bone is attached to the skull, depends on the degree of twist to be permitted, and, therefore, to the degree of expansion of which the jaws were capable. as this differs much in the different species, they are readily distinguished by the column or "quadrate" bone when found. there are some curious consequences of this structure, and they are here explained as an instance of the mode of reconstruction of extinct animals from slight materials. the habit of swallowing large bodies between the branches of the under-jaw necessitates the prolongation forward of the mouth of the gullet; hence the throat in the pythonomorphs must have been loose and almost as baggy as a pelican's. next, the same habit must have compelled the forward position of the glottis or opening of the windpipe, which is always in front of the gullet. hence these creatures must have uttered no other sound than a hiss, as do animals of the present day which have a similar structure, as for instance, the snakes. thirdly, the tongue must have been long and forked and for this reason: its position was still anterior to the glottis, so that there was no space for it except it were inclosed in a sheath beneath the windpipe when at rest, or thrown out beyond the jaws when in motion. such is the arrangement in the nearest living forms, and it is always, in these cases, cylindric and forked. the flying saurians of the cretaceous sea of kansas, though not numerous in species, were of remarkable size. though their remains are generally flattened by the pressure of the overlying rocks, two species have left a complete record of their form and dimensions. one of them (_ornithochirus tarpyia_) spread eighteen feet between the tips of the wings, while the _o. umbrosus_ covered nearly twenty-five feet with his expanse. these strange creatures flapped their leathery wings over the waves, and, often plunging, drew many a fish from its companions of the shoal; or, soaring at a safe distance, viewed the sports and combats of the more powerful saurians of the sea; or, trooping to the shore at nightfall, suspended themselves to the cliffs by the claw-bearing fingers of their wing-limbs. [illustration: developing--one of the first families.] in connection with the subject of the old lakes and their fertile shores, where human beings, it might reasonably be expected, once lived so comfortably, the editor of this volume begs to lay before the reader (in a sort of parenthesis, for which professor cope is in no way responsible) an effort of sachem's. he dedicated it to darwin, and was pleased to call it, notwithstanding it smells more of the fossil-bone caves than the fields, the primeval man's pastoral. my grandfather jock was an ape, his grandfather twist was a worm; each age has developed in shape, and ours has got rid of the squirm; if the law of selection will work in our case, we'll develop, in time, to a wonderful race. my sweetheart has claws, and her face is covered with bristles and hair; she's feline in nature and grace, she's apt to get out on a tear, she's cursed with a passion to sing after night; but these she'll evolve, and develop all right. one race has evolved in the sea, and partly got rid of their scales; though cousin by faces to me, they're cousin to fishes by tails; but they'll ever remain simply mer-men and women, for selection won't work, in the world that they swim in. 't is said that gorilla the great, who rules as the chief of our clan, has found in the annals of fate, we're soon to evolve into man; furthermore, that our children will doubt whence they came, till a fellow named darwin shall put them to shame. chapter xxiv. continued by cope--the giants of the seas--taking out fossils in a gale--interesting discoveries--the geology of the plains. the giants of the pythonomorphs of kansas have been called _liodon proriger_ (cope) and _liodon dyspelor_ (cope). the first must have been abundant, and its length could not have been far from sixty feet, certainly not less. its physiognomy was rendered peculiar by a long projecting muzzle, reminding one of that of the blunt-nosed sturgeon of our coast, but the resemblance was destroyed by the correspondingly massive end of the branches of the lower jaw. though clumsy in appearance, such an arrangement must have been effective as a ram, and dangerous to his enemies in case of collision. the writer once found the wreck of an individual of this species strewn around a sunny knoll beside a bluff, and his conic snout, pointing to the heavens, formed a fitting monument, as at once his favorite weapon, and the mark distinguishing all his race. very different was the _liodon dyspelor_, a still larger animal than the last, with a formidable armature. it was indeed the longest of known reptiles, and probably equal to the great finner whale of modern oceans. the circumstances attending the discovery of one of these, will always be a pleasant recollection to the writer. a part of the face, with teeth, was observed projecting from the side of a bluff by a companion in exploration, (lieut. jas. h. whitten, u. s. a.), and we at once proceeded to follow up the indication with knives and picks. soon the lower jaws were uncovered, with their glistening teeth, and then the vertebræ and ribs. our delight was at its height when the bones of the pelvis and part of the hind limb were laid bare, for they had never been seen before in the species and scarcely in the order. while lying on the bottom of the cretaceous sea, the carcass had been dragged hither and thither by the sharks and other rapacious animals, and the parts of the skeleton were displaced and gathered into a small area. the massive tail stretched away into the bluff, and after much laborious excavation we left a portion of it to more persevering explorers. the species of _clidastes_ did not reach such a size as some of the _liodons_, and were of elegant and flexible build. to prevent their habits of coiling from dislocating the vertebral column, these had an additional pair of articulations at each end, while their muscular strength is attested by the elegant striæ and other sculptures which appear on all their bones. three species of this genus occur in the kansas strata, the largest (_clidastes cineriarum_, cope) reaching forty feet in length. the discovery of a related species (_holcodus coryphæus_, cope) was made by the writer under circumstances of difficulty peculiar to the plains. after examining the bluffs for half a day without result, a few bone fragments were found in a wash above their base. others led the way to a ledge forty or fifty feet from both summit and foot, where, stretched along in the yellow chalk, lay the projecting portions of the whole monster. a considerable number of vertebræ were found preserved by the protective embrace of the roots of a small bush, and, when they were secured, the pick and knife were brought into requisition to remove the remainder. about this time one of the gales, so common in that region, sprang up, and, striking the bluff fairly, reflected itself upwards. so soon as the pick pulverized the rock, the limestone dust was carried into eyes, nose, and every available opening in the clothing. i was speedily blinded, and my aid disappeared into the canyon, and was seen no more while the work lasted. only the enthusiasm of the student could have endured the discomfort, but to him it appeared a most unnecessary "conversion of force" that a geologist should be driven from the field by his own dust. a handkerchief tied over the face, and pierced by minute holes opposite the eyes, kept me from total blindness, though dirt in abundance penetrated the mask. but a fine relic of creative genius was extricated from its ancient bed, and one that leads its genus in size and explains its structure. on another occasion, riding along a spur of a yellow chalk bluff, some vertebræ lying at its foot met my eye. an examination showed that the series entered the rock, and, on passing round to the opposite side the jaws and muzzle were seen projecting from it, as though laid bare for the convenience of the geologist. the spur was small and of soft material, and we speedily removed it in blocks, to the level of the reptile, and took out the remains, as they laid across the base from side to side. a genus related to the last is _edestosaurus_. a species of thirty feet in length, and of elegant proportions has been called _e. tortor_ (cope.) its slenderness of body was remarkable, and the large head was long and lance-shaped. its flippers tapered elegantly, and the whole animal was more of a serpent than any other of its tribe. its lithe movements brought many a fish to its knife-shaped teeth, which are more efficient and numerous than in any of its relatives. it was found coiled up beneath a ledge of rock, with its skull lying undisturbed in the center. a species distinguished for its small size and elegance is _clidastes pumilus_ (marsh). this little fellow was only twelve feet in length, and was probably unable to avoid occasionally furnishing a meal for some of the rapacious fishes which abounded in the same ocean. tortoises were the boatmen of the cretaceous waters of the eastern coast, but none had been known from the deposits of kansas until very recently. one species now on record (_protostega gigas_, cope), is of large size, and strange enough to excite the attention of naturalists. it is well known that the house or boat of the tortoise or turtle is formed by the expansion of the usual bones of the skeleton till they meet and unite, and thus become continuous. thus the lower shell is formed of united ribs of the breast and breast-bone, with bone deposited in the skin. in the same way the roof is formed by the union of the ribs with bone deposited in the skin. in the very young tortoise the ribs are separate as in other animals; as they grow older they begin to expand at the upper side of the upper end, and, with increased age, the expansion extends throughout the length. the ribs first come in contact where the process commences, and in the land-tortoise they are united to the end. in the sea-turtle, the union ceases a little above the ends. the fragments of the _protostega_ were seen by one of the men projecting from a ledge of a low bluff. their thinness and the distance to which they were traced excited my curiosity, and i straightway attacked the bank with the pick. after several square feet of rock had been removed, we cleared up one floor, and found ourselves well repaid. many long slender pieces, of two inches in width, lay upon the ledge. they were evidently ribs, with the usual heads, but behind each head was a plate like the flattened bowl of a huge spoon placed crosswise. beneath these stretched two broad plates two feet in width, and no thicker than binders' board. the edges were fingered, and the surface hard and smooth. all this was quite new among fully grown animals, and we at once determined that more ground must be explored, for further light. after picking away the bank and carving the soft rock, new masses of strange bones were disclosed. some bones of a large paddle were recognized, and a leg bone. the shoulder-blade of a huge tortoise came next, and further examination showed that we had stumbled on the burial-place of one of the largest species of sea-turtle yet known. the single bones of the paddle were eight inches long, giving the spread of the expanded flippers as considerably over twenty feet. but the ribs were those of an ordinary turtle just born, and the great plates represented the bony deposit in the skin, which, commencing independently in modern turtles, united with the expanded ribs below, at an early day. but it was incredible that the largest of known turtles should be but just hatched, and for this and other reasons it has been concluded that this "ancient mariner" is one of those forms not uncommon in old days, whose incompleteness in some respects points to the truth of the belief, that animals have assumed their modern perfection, by a process of growth from more simple beginnings. the cretaceous ocean of the west was no less remarkable for its fishes than for its reptiles. sharks do not seem to have been so common as in the old atlantic, but it swarmed with large predaceous forms related to the salmon and saury. [illustration: the sea which once covered the plains. elasmosaurus platyurus. . liodon proriger. , , . ornithochirus umbrosus. . ornithochirus harpyia. . protostega. . polycotylus latipinnis.] vertebræ and other fragments of these species project from the worn limestone in many places. i will call attention to, perhaps, the most formidable, as well as the most abundant of these. it is the one whose bones most frequently crowned knobs of shale, which had been left standing amid surrounding destruction. the density and hardness of the bones shed the rain off on either side, so that the radiating gutters and ravines finally isolated the rock mass from that surrounding. the head was some inches longer than that of a fully grown grizzly bear, and the jaws were deeper in proportion to their length. the muzzle was shorter and deeper than that of a bull-dog. the teeth were all sharp cylindric fangs, smooth and glistening, and of irregular size. at certain distances in each jaw they projected three inches above the gum, and were sunk one inch into the bony support, being thus as long as the fangs of a tiger, but more slender. two such fangs crossed each other on each side of the middle of the front. this fish is known as _portheus molossus_ (cope). besides the smaller fishes, the reptiles no doubt supplied the demands of his appetite. the ocean in which flourished this abundant and vigorous life, was at last completely inclosed on the west, by elevation of sea-bottom, so that it only communicated with the atlantic and pacific at the gulf of mexico and the arctic sea. the continued elevation of both eastern and western shores contracted its area, and when ridges of the sea-bottom reached the surface, forming long low bars, parts of the water area were inclosed and connection with salt water prevented. thus were the living beings imprisoned and subjected to many new risks to life. the stronger could more readily capture the weaker, while the fishes would gradually perish through the constant freshening of the water. with the death of any considerable class the balance of food supply would be lost, and many larger species would disappear from the scene. the most omnivorous and enduring would longest resist the approach of starvation, but would finally yield to inexorable fate; the last one caught by the rising bottom among shallow pools from which his exhausted energies could not extricate him. part ii--geology. the geology of this region has been very partially explored, but appears to be quite simple. the following description of the section along the line of the kansas pacific railroad, will probably apply to similar sections north and south of it. the formations referable to the cretaceous period on this line, are those called by messrs. meek and hayden the dakota, benton, and niobrara groups, as nos. , and . according to leconte,[ ] at salina, one hundred and eighty-five miles west of the state line of missouri, the rocks of the dakota group constitute the bluffs, and continue to do so as far as fort harker, thirty-three miles farther west. they are a "coarse brown sand-stone, containing irregular concretions of oxide of iron," and numerous molluscs of marine origin. near fort harker, certain strata contain large quantities of the remains (leaves chiefly) of dicotyledonous and other forms of land vegetation. near this point, according to the same authority, the sand-stone beds are covered with clay and limestone. these he does not identify, but portions of it from bunker hill, thirty-four miles west, have been identified by dr. hayden, as belonging to the benton or second group. the specimen consisted of a block of dark, bluish-gray clay rock, which bore the remains of the fish _apsopelix sauriformis_ (cope). that the eastern boundary of this bed is very sinuous is rendered probable by its occurrence at brookville, eighteen miles to the eastward of fort harker, on the railroad. in sinking a well at this point, the same soft, bluish clay rock was traversed, and at a depth of about thirty feet a skeleton of a saurian of the crocodilian order was encountered, the _hyposaurus vebbii_ (cope). [ ] notes on the geology of the survey for the extension of the union pacific road e. d. from the smoky hill to the rio grande, by john l. leconte, m. d. philadelphia, . the boundary line, or first appearance of the beds of the niobrara division, has not been pointed out, but at fort hays, seventy miles west of fort harker, its rocks form the bluffs and outcrops every-where. from fort hays to fort wallace, near the western boundary of the state, one hundred and thirty-four miles beyond, the strata present a tolerably uniform appearance. they consist of two portions; a lower, of dark-bluish calcareo-argillaceous character, often thin-bedded; and a superior, of yellow and whitish chalk, much more heavily bedded. near fort hays the best section may be seen, at a point eighteen miles north, on the saline river. here the bluffs rise to a height of two hundred feet, the yellow strata constituting the upper half. no fossils were observed in the blue bed, but some moderate-sized _ostreæ_, frequently broken, were not rare in the yellow. half-way between this point and the fort, my friend, n. daniels, of hays, guided me to a denuded tract, covered with the remains of huge oysters, some of which measured twenty-seven inches in diameter. they exhibited concentric obtuse ridges on the interior side, and a large basin-shaped area behind the hinge. fragments of fish vertebræ of _anogmius_ type were also found here by dr. janeway. these were exposed in the yellow bed. several miles east of the post, dr. j. h. janeway, post surgeon, pointed out to me an immense accumulation of _inoceramus problematicus_ in the blue stratum. this species also occurred in abundance in the bluffs west of the fort, which were composed of the blue bed, capped by a thinner layer of the yellow. large globular or compound globular argillaceous concretions, coated with gypsum, were abundant at this point. along the smoky hill river, thirty miles east of fort wallace, the south bank descends gradually, while the north bank is bluffy. this, with other indications, points to a gentle dip of the strata to the north-west. the yellow bed is thin or wanting on the north bank of the smoky, and is not observable on the north fork of that river for twenty miles northward or to beyond sheridan station, on the kansas pacific railroad. two isolated hills, "the twin buttes," at the latter point are composed of the blue bed, here very shaly to their summits. this is the general character of the rock along and north of the railroad between this point and fort wallace. south of the river the yellow strata are more distinctly developed. butte creek valley, fifteen to eighteen miles to the south, is margined by bluffs of from twenty to one hundred and fifty feet in height on its southern side, while the northern rises gradually into the prairie. these bluffs are of yellow chalk, except from ten to forty feet of blue rock at the base, although many of the canyons are excavated in the yellow rock exclusively. the bluffs of the upper portion of butte creek, fox, and fossil spring (five miles south) canyons, are of yellow chalk, and reports of several persons stated that those of beaver creek, eight miles south of fossil spring, are exclusively of this material. those near the mouth of beaver creek, on the smoky, are of considerable height, and appear at a distance to be of the same yellow chalk. i found these two strata to be about equally fossilliferous, and i am unable to establish any palæontological difference between them. they pass into each other by gradations in some places, and occasionally present slight laminar alternations at their line of junction. i have specimens of _cimolichthys semianceps_ (cope), from both the blue and yellow beds, and vertebrae of the _liodon glandiferus_ (cope) were found in both. the large fossil of _liodon dyspelor_ (cope) was found at the junction of the bed, and the caudal portion was excavated from the blue stratum exclusively. portions of it were brought east in blocks of this material, and these have become yellow and yellowish on many of the exposed surfaces. the matrix adherent to all the bones has become yellow. a second incomplete specimen, undistinguishable from this species, was taken from the yellow bed. as to mineral contents, the yellow stratum is remarkably uniform in its character. the blue shale, on the contrary, frequently contains numerous concretions, and great abundance of thin layers of gypsum and crystals of the same. near sheridan concretions and septaria are abundant. in some places the latter are of great size and, being embedded in the stratum, have suffered denudation of their contents, and, the septa standing out, form a huge honey-comb. this region and the neighborhood of eagle tail, colorado, are noted for the beauty of their gypsum-crystals, the first abundantly found in the cretaceous formation. these are hexagonal-radiate, each division being a pinnate or feather-shaped lamina of twin rows of crystals. the clearness of the mineral, and the regular leaf and feather forms of the crystals give them much beauty. the bones of vertebrate fossils preserved in this bed are often much injured by the gypsum formation which covers their surface and often penetrates them in every direction. the yellow bed of the niobrara group disappears to the south-west, west, and north-west of fort wallace, beneath a sandy conglomerate of uncertain age. its color is light, sometimes white, and the component pebbles are small and mostly of white quartz. the rock wears irregularly into holes and fissures, and the soil covering it generally thin and poor. it is readily detached in large masses, which roll down the bluffs. no traces of life were observed in it, but it is probably the eastern margin of the southern extension of the white river miocene tertiary stratum. this is at least indicated by dr. hayden, in his geological preface to leidy's extinct mammals of dakota and nebraska. commercially, the beds of the niobrara formation possess little value, except when burned for manure. the yellow chalk is too soft in many places for buildings of large size, but will answer well for those of moderate size. it is rather harder at fort hays, as i had occasion to observe at their quarry. that quarried at fort wallace does not appear to harden by exposure; the walls of the hospital, noted by leconte on his visit, remained in as soft as they were in . a few worthless beds of bituminous shale were observed in eastern colorado. the only traces of glacial action in the line explored were seen near topeka. south of the town are several large, erratic masses of pink and bloody quartz, whose surfaces are so polished as to appear as though vitrified. they were transported, perhaps, from the azoic area near lake superior. chapter xxv. a savage outbreak--the battle of the forty scouts--the surprise--pack-mules stampeded--death on the arickeree--the medicine man--a dismal night--messengers sent to wallace--morning attack--whose funeral?--relief at last--the old scouts' devotion to the blue. on our return to sheridan we were deeply pained to hear of the sad death of doctor moore and lieutenant beecher, whose acquaintance we had formed at fort hays, and the former of whom we had learned to esteem most highly as a personal friend. a scouting party, not long before, had left the post just named, under the command of general forsythe, of sheridan's staff, and composed principally of those citizens who had seen frontier service. dr. moore accompanied it as surgeon, and lieut. beecher--a nephew of henry ward beecher, and an officer of the regular army--held the position of chief of scouts, which he had filled for some time previously with much credit. the savages of the plains being again upon the war-path, that brave and well-organized little party of fifty were dispatched to pursue a band of indians, which had appeared before sheridan and run off a lot of stock. some of the scouts were now in the town, and from one of them we obtained an account of the expedition. fresh from the mouth of that sandy hell in the river's head, which had sucked out the life-blood of so many of his companions, i wish my readers could have heard the story told with the rude eloquence in which he clothed it. as it is, how nearly they will come to doing so, must perforce depend on how nearly i can remember his language. "you see, captain," he began (it is considered impolite among this class ever to address one without using some title), "we had the nicest little forty lot o' scouts that ever followed the plains fur a living, and trails fur an injun. thar wur ingineers, doctors, counter-jumpers, and a few deadbeats, but every one of 'em had lots of fight, and not the least bit of scare. ther talents run ter fightin', an' ther bodies never run away from it. "it wur kinder curious, though, to see the chaps that wur not bred ter ther business git along. they wur the profession folks. some had a little compass, not much bigger 'n a button, that they carried on the sly. good scouts don't need no such fixin's. these uns 'ud reach inter ther pockets, as if they was going ter take a chaw o' terbaccer, and gettin' a sly wink at ther needle, would cry out ter ther neighbors, 'i say, hoss, we 're goin' a little too much east of north!' or, 'i tell yer what, fel, we 're at least two p'ints off our course.' and all ther time they couldn't have told south from west, without them needles. but ther warn't a coward in the whole pack. every one had a back as stiff fur a fight as a cat. "we struck a large injun trail the fourth day out, and kept it till evenin', but no other sign showed itself over ther wide reach that would have told a livin' bein' had ever bin thar before us. next mornin', early, ther was a sudden fuss among our horses, and a cry from the guard, and, afore we knew it, eight pack-mules had been stampeded, and driven off. it wur a narrow call fur ther whole herd. "the fellers had come down a ravine until they got close enough, and, then suddenly rushin' along in the grayness, set the mules inter a crazy run, and gathered 'em up, out of gun-shot. you may lick a pack-mule along all day, and be afraid he 'll drop down dead, and yet give him a fair chance to stampede, and he 'll outrun an elk, and grow fat on it. "stock and injuns was both out of sight in a jiffy, and the order was given to saddle, and recapture. we were just raisin' inter ther stirrups, when some of the boys called out, and we saw the whole valley ahead of us filled with injuns comin' down. ther warn't no mules lost just then, and we kinder fell back onto a sort of high-water island in the arickeree. that, yer know, is the dry fork of the republican. bein' low water then, as it is most of the time thar, nothin' but a dry bed of sand was on each side. "it seemed as if the whole injun nation was coming down on us. such a crowd o' lank ponies, and painted heathen astride, yer never see. i expected seein' of 'em would prevent _my_ ever seein' of my family agin. 'jim,' says i to my chum, and 'bill,' says he to me, and then we didn't say nothin' more, but as the heathen come a chargin', we both put a hand in our pockets, just as if the brains had been in one head, and then both of us took a chaw o' terbaccer. "for the next few hours ther wur an awful scrimmage, and a shootin', and a hollerin', and a whizzin' of bullets, which made that the hottest little island ever stranded on sand. the boys had all dug out, with their hands, sort o' little rifle-pits, and fit behind 'em. we had good spencers, with a few henrys, and the way those patents spit lead at the devils' hearts wur a caution. the first charge, they cum close up to us, and for a hull minnit, that stretched out awfully, we were afraid they'd ride us down. it was reg'lar coffee-mill work then, grindin' away at the levers, and we flung bullets among 'em astonishin'. as fast as one injun keeled, another'd pick him up, and nary dead was left on the field. "they follered up the charge game by a siege one, and peppered away at us from the neighborin' ravines and hills. ther number wur about eight hundred, and some had carbines, and others old rifles and pistols. a few would sneak along in the bottom grass, and get behind trees, and then thur would be a flash, and a crack, and the ball would come tearin' in among us, sometimes burrowin' in a human skull, or elsewise knockin' down a horse. and all around, on the ridges, the squaws were a dancin' and shoutin', and the braves, whenever any of 'em got tired of shootin', would join their ugly she's, and help 'em in kickin' up a hullabaloo. "i reckon, arter they'd killed the last hoss, they must ha' had a separate scalp-dance fur each one on us. plain sailin' then, ther red fellows thought--less than fifty white men down in the sand, and most a thousan' injuns roun' 'em, and more 'n a hundred miles to the nearest fort; the weaker party bein' afoot, too, and the other mounted. "but we soon made 'em pitch another tune, beside ther juberlatin' one. we had took notice of a big injun, with lots o' fixins on him, cavortin' all round ther island, and a spurrin' up the braves. we made certain it wur the medicine man, and found out arterward that he'd been tellin' on 'em ther pale-faces' bullets would melt before reachin' an injun. six on us got our rifles together, and as ther old copper-colored pillgarlic cum dancin' round, we let fly. if injun carcasses go along with ther spirits, i reckon ther bullets we put into the old sinner, got melted, sure enough. and what a howlin' thur was, as his pony scampered in among the squaws, empty saddled! "it wur an awful sight to look roun' among our little sand-works--twenty killed and wounded men, covered with blood and grit. our leader, col. forsythe, was shot in both legs, a ball passin' through the thigh part of one, and a second breakin' the bones of the other below the knee. he wur a knowin' and cool officer. "lieut. beecher, a nephew of the big preacher, was shot through the small o' the back, and lay thar beggin' us to kill him. he too wur a brave man, and didn't flinch, never, from duty nor danger. they say that his two sisters were drowned from a sailboat on the hudson, two years ago, and that the old parents are left now all alone. doc. moore was shot through the head, and sat thar noddin', and not knowin' no one. i spoke to him once, and he kinder started back, as if he see the injun which shot him, still thar. he wur a good surgeon, and all the boys liked him. i hev got his gun down at my tent, all full o' sand, whar it got tramped arter he fell.[ ] [ ] i obtained the weapon that i had loaned our friend, and have carefully kept it since, as a memento. "culver lay dead on one side of our little island, shot by an injun that crawled up in the grass. lots o' others was wounded, and our chances looked as dark as ther night which wur coming down on us. but we was glad ter see daylight burn out, as it kinder gin us a chance to rest and think. "that night was awful dismal. the little spot o' sand, down thar in the river's bed, seemed ther only piece o' earth friendly to us, and we were clingin' to it like sailors ter a raft at sea. the darkness all around was a gapin' ter swaller us, and a hidin' its blood-hounds, to set 'em on with ther sun. night, without any thin' in it more 'n grave-stones, is terrifyin' to most people, but just you fill it full of pantin's for blood in front, and death sittin' behind, among the corpses, and watchin' the wounded, and a feller's blood falls right down to january. it kinder thickens, like water freezin' round the edges, and your hands and feet get powerful cold, and you feel as if you wouldn't ever be thawed out, this side of the very place you don't want ter go to. "toward midnight, stillwell and trudell crawled out o' camp, to go for relief. they were to creep and sneak through the injun lines, and get beyond 'em by daylight. then they would lay by, and push on ag'in, when dark cum, toward wallace. that little spot of barracks, a hundred and twenty-five miles off, kept up our hope mightily. it was our light-house, like. we were shipwrecked among savages, and had sent a couple of yawls off, to tell the keeper thar of danger. we knew if the news reached, blue coats would flash out to us, like spots of light, and our foes go before 'em as mist. "but footin' it nights, and layin' by days, fur over a hundred miles, through injun country, is slow work, and we didn't, most on us, expect much; and our hearts follered the little black spots, showin' us our two companions a creepin' off into darkness, like a couple of wolves. it took good men, too, from our little party, and fur awhile i was faint-hearted. in our shipwreck, it seemed like takin' bottles which might ha' helped to hold out, and flingin' 'em into ther waves, with messages tellin' how and whar we went down. "about two o'clock lieut. beecher died, havin' for some time begged the men to end his sufferin's by shootin' of him. "we all kept perfect quiet that night--no fire, nor wur ther a sound heard, from our little island, by the heathen on the bluffs. an just that quietness gave 'em the worst foolin' they ever had. it seems the road down river had been left open by 'em, hopin' we would steal out and run for it durin' the night. we bein' all on foot, they could overtake us in the mornin', and worry on us out easy. durin' the dark we waited quiet, and watched, and passed water to our wounded, and sprinkled it over some of 'em who couldn't drink. "it wer just kinder palin' like way up in the sky, and we could see that off down east, somewhar, ther mornin' was commencin' ter climb, when jim nudged me, and says, 'chum, what's that?' we both stuck our ears right up, like two jackass-rabbits, and listened. it wur all dark near the ground, but we could hear a steady, gallopin' sound, comin' in toward us from up the ravines, and over the hills. it wur like a beatin' of ther earth with flails by threshers you couldn't see. "the sound came a creepin' along the sod so quick we soon knew it wur the injuns, on ther ponies, comin' down ter pick up the trail. and now we could see 'em a bobbin' along toward us in ther gloom, the rows er ugly heads goin' up and down, like jumpin'-jacks. it just seemed as ther side er ther night had been painted all full o' gapin' red devils, and ther sun wur jest revealin' on 'em. 'lay still!' wer the word, and each man hugged his sand bank, just a skinnin' one eye, like a lizard over a log. they 'd no idee we were thar, not bein' able to understand the grit of that little forty, and they cum gallopin' along, careless-like, happy as so many ghosts goin' ter a fun'ral. but it warn't _our_ fun'ral just then. when they 'd got so close we could smell 'em, colonel guv the word ter fire, and we let 'em have it. stranger, you ain't no idee what a gettin' up bluffs, and general absentin' of 'emselves ther wur. arter the fust crack, yer couldn't see an injun at all, but jest a lot er ponies, diggin' it on ther back track, and you knowed painted cusses wer glued ter ther opposite side on 'em. "we had fightin' until night ag'in, but no men were killed arter the fust day. the savages were cautious-like, and took long range fur it. we now commenced cuttin' off the hind quarters of our dead hosses, and boilin' small pieces in a empty pickle-jar belongin' ter ther colonel. burke, he 'd dug a shallow well, too, which gave us plenty of water. hoss meat isn't relishin' at fust. one kin eat it, but, as ther feller said about crow, he don't hanker arter it. ther gases had got all through ther carcasses, and we had ter sprinkle lots o' gunpowder inter the pot, to kill the taste. "the fust hoss cut up was my old sorrel. he didn't go well while livin', and couldn't be expected to when dead. instead of takin' a straight course, and givin' some satisfaction, he jumped across all the turns inside o' me, and brought up bump agin my hide, as if he wer comin' through. he had that same trick o' cuttin' corners when livin', and i perceded ter give him up as a uncontrollable piece of hoss flesh. "when night come on agin, pliley and whitney attempted ter get through ther injun lines and make fur wallace, but were driven back. fur ther next few days we kept eatin' hoss flesh, and fightin' occasionally. the third night pliley and donovan succeeded in gettin' away. "on the fourth day, doctor moore died. after the fifth, no injuns was visible, and we gathered prickly pears and eat 'em, boilin' some down inter syrup. our mouths were all full of ther little needles, and it wer mighty hard keepin' a stiff upper lip. we were eatin' away on our forty-eight horses, and watchin' and hopin'. we couldn't move, and leave our wounded, or the injuns would be on 'em right off. the poor fellows had no surgeon, and were sufferin' terrible as 't was. "ther mornin' of ther ninth day broke with a cry of 'injuns!' now, human natur' can't stand fitin' allers. to carry out my shipwreck idee, fellers on a raft kin cling an' swaller water fur awhile, but they can't fight a hull grist o' hurricanes. hoss meat an' prickly pears ain't jest ther thing, either, to slap grit inter a man. ther were a big crowd comin', sure enough, way off on ther hills. we were kinder beginnin' ter despond, when a familiar sort o' motion on the fur dark line spelt in air the word, 'friend!' it wer the advanced guard o' relief, approachin' on ther jump. why, boy"--and the old scout seized hold of semi, and shook him in excitement--"talk of lucknow and ther camels a comin', they warn't nowhar. the blessed old blue cloth! if yer want ter love a color, jest get saved by it once. when i get holed in ther earth, i 'll take back ter dust on a blue blanket, an' if i get married afore, gal an' i'll wear blue, an' the preacher'll hev ter swar a blue streak in jinin' us!" we afterward met others of the scouts--intelligent, clear-headed fellows, with much more of cultivation than our rough friend possessed--and they corroborated his story in every particular. i have let him tell it in his own way, not only because vastly more graphic than any words of mine could be, but also to the end that the reader might become acquainted with a genuine frontiersman--one of that class which is wheeling into line with the immense multitudes of indians and buffalo that time and civilization are bearing swiftly onward to hide among the memories of the past. that the savages suffered very severely in their several attacks upon that little band of heroes on the arickeree, was evident from the number of bodies found by the relief, as it hastened forward from fort wallace. the corpses were resting on hastily-constructed scaffolds, and some had evidently been placed there while dying, as the ground underneath was yet wet with blood. chapter xxvi. the stage drivers of the plains--old bob--"jamaica and ginger"--an old acquaintance--beads of the past--robbing the dead--a leaf from the lost history of the mound builders--indian traditions--speculations--adobe houses in a rain--cheap living--watch towers. the stage drivers of the plains are rapidly becoming another inheritance of the past, pushed out of existence by the locomotive, whose cow-catcher is continually tossing them from their high seats into the arms of history. what a rare set they are, though! no two that i ever saw were nearly alike, and they resemble not one distinctive class, but a number. the jehus who crack their whips over the buffalo grass region, and turn their leaders artistically around sharp corners in rude towns, are made up on a variety of patterns. some are loquacious and others silent, and while a portion are given to profanity, another though smaller number are men of very proper grammar. some with whom i have ridden would discount truth for the mere love of the exercise, while others i have found so particular that they could not be induced to lie, except when it was for their interest to do so. in a village on the shores of lake champlain, in the frozen regions of northern new york, where mercury becomes solid in november, and remains so until may, i got on intimate terms, when a boy, with a stage driver. during the long winters the coaches were placed on sleds, and well do i remember the style in which "old bob," as he was universally called, would come dashing into the town on frosty mornings, winding uncertain tunes out of a brass horn, given him years before by a general somebody, of the state militia. in front of the long-porched tavern, the leaders would push out to the left, in order to give due magnificence to the right hand circle, which deposited the coach at the bar room door. bearish in fur, and sour in face, bob would then roll from the seat, rush up to the bar, and for the first time open his mouth, to ejaculate, "jamaica and ginger!" the fiery draught would thaw out his tongue, as hot water does a pump, and after that it was easy work to pump him dry of any and all news on the line above. that was many years ago, and in a spot half a continent away. one morning, while at sheridan, i heard the blast of a horn up the street, whose notes awakened echoes which had long lain dead and buried in boyhood's memory. a moment more, and out from an avenue of saloons the overland stage rattled, and on its box sat the friend of my childhood, "old bob." he had the identical horn, and it was the identical tune, which i had so often heard in the by-gone years, the only difference being that both were cracked, and the lungs behind the mouth-piece, touched by the winters of sixty-odd, wheezed a little. as the coach came to the door, i jumped up by the "boot," and grasping the old fellow's hand, introduced myself. old bob rubbed his eyes, which were weak and watery, and scanned me closely. "well, well, lad," he said, "your face takes me now, sure enough. i mind your father and mother well, and you're the little rascal that stole my whip once, when i was thawing out with jamaica and ginger. did you tell me by the old tune? you did, eh? well, truth is, lad, the horn won't blow any other. it's got to running in that groove, and when i try to coax any thing new out, it sets off so that it frightens the horses." the coach was now ready for starting, and, as he gathered up the reins, my friend of auld lang syne called out to me, "when you get back to york state, if you see any rouse's point people that ask for old bob, tell them he doesn't take any jamaica and ginger now. tell them he's out on the plains, tryin' to get back some of the life the cussed stuff burnt out of him." and away the stage coach rattled, and soon was out of hearing. next day's down stage brought intelligence that bob's coach had been attacked by indians, but the old fellow had handled his lines right skillfully, and brought mails and passengers through in safety. our last day at sheridan, for the professor, was marked by two important events, namely: a communication from the living present, and another from the dead past. the first came, as the postmark showed, by way of lindsey, on the solomon river. the professor said it was simply an answer to some scientific inquiries, but, to our intense amusement, he blushed like a school-girl when sachem bluntly remarked that the handwriting was feminine, and that the scientific information in question must certainly be contraband, as it was not offered for our benefit at all. a geologist in love is a phenomenon. the dusty museum is no place for cupid. in his flights, the mischievous boy is apt to hit his head against fossil lizards, and his darts are intercepted by skulls which were petrified before he ever wandered through paradise and tried his first barb on poor adam. the atmosphere which inwraps the geologist comes from an unlovable age, in which monstrosities existed only by virtue of their expertness in devouring other monstrosities. no stray spark of love-light flickered, even for an instant, over that waste of waters and gigantic ferns. it was apparent that science would suffer, unless the solomon river was included in our homeward route. we had examined the heart of buffalo land, having traversed its center from east to west, and our party was disposed to oblige the professor by returning along the northern border. southward two hundred miles was the arkansas, flowing near the southern limit of the buffalo region. while there were some reasons why we desired to visit it, and though it was, perhaps, equally rich in game, it promised nothing of greater interest, upon the whole, than the district we now proposed traversing. but of this more in the next chapter. toward evening came our introduction to what we were pleased to imagine was a beauty of the past, which happened thus: as we were wandering among the mexican teamsters loafing around the depot, an urchin, with half a shirt and very crooked legs, ran up to us, and exclaimed, over a half masticated morsel of cheese, "mister, there's a bufferler!" his crumby fingers pointed in a direction midway between the horizon and a mexican donkey, which its owner was trying to drag across the valley, and there, true enough, on the side of a brown ridge, not a mile off, we saw the game, feeding as usual. here was a chance for horseback hunting again, which we had not attempted for several days. and what a splendid opportunity of showing the natives how well we could do the thing! our wagons had groaned under the burden of pelts and meats with which we had loaded them, and we were suffering just then from that dangerous confidence which first success is so apt to inspire. half the pleasure of hunting, if sportsmen would but confess it, consists in showing one's trophies to others. it was not at all surprising, therefore, that the send-off found two-thirds of our force in the field. the day was warm, and, though the hunters ran far and fast, the bison went still further and faster, and escaped. he led us, however, to greater spoil than his own tough carcass; for underneath the sod which his hoofs spurned, lay a treasure which glittered as temptingly to geological eyes as gold to the miner, when first struck by his prospecting pick. the professor trotted out of town with becoming dignity, following the hunters merely to avail himself of their protection, while examining the ridges around. a mile out, the heat and his rough-paced nag proved too much for him, and he threw himself upon the ground for a rest. lying there, watching idly the little insects wandering about, his attention was attracted to a colony of burrowing ants, who, with a hole in the earth half an inch in diameter, were continually coming up, rolling before them small grains of sand and pebbles, the latter obtained far below, and a small mound of them already showing the extent of their patient labors. the professor began to mark more closely the tiny builders, imagining that he could distinguish one of the citizens going down, and recognize him again as he came up again with his burden from below. occasionally, it seemed to the observant savan, something blue was brought out, which glittered more than sand. looking closer, he discovered that the shining particles were beads of some bright substance, and resembling exactly those worn by the indians of to-day. it thrilled him, as if he had been brought face to face with the far-off ages, when the world was young. beneath, evidently, lay the dead of some forgotten tribe, and horse and man were resting upon a place of sepulcher. there was no mound to mark the spot, and if any ever existed, the seasons of ages had obliterated it. the savage races which now roam the plains never bury their dead, but lay the bodies on scaffolds, or hang them in trees. and so these little ants, robbing the graves far beneath us, were bringing to our gaze, on a bright summer day in the nineteenth century, the mysteries of ages already hoary with antiquity when columbus first saw our shores. we found ourselves wondering to what race the hidden dead belonged, and whether the unpictured maidens of those days were pleasant to look upon, or true ancestors of the hideous and unromantic creatures who, with their savage lords, now roam the plains. thinking of the tribes of the past brought those of the present to mind, and, not wishing to have our hair presented as tribute to some maiden wooed by treacherous cheyenne, we turned our horses' heads homeward, bringing the beads with us, safely deposited in one of our entomologist's pocket-cases. they remain among the trophies of our expedition, and mr. colon has lately written me that he will have an excavation made, during the present year, at the spot where they were found. these beads, i can not but think, form one link in a chain connecting an ancient people, perhaps the mound-builders, with the savage tribes of the present. there is a tradition among some of the western indians that, centuries ago, a people, different in language and form from the red men, came from over the seas to trade beads for ponies. the buffaloes were then larger, and the climate warmer, than now. dissensions finally arose, in which the strangers were killed. is there not reason to believe that this tradition gives us a glimpse of the time when some of the large mammals still existed on the plains, and the genial sun looked down upon pastures clothed in rich vegetation--a time and region, probably, of perennial summer? once, during our stay in kansas, we were directed by a hunter to a spot where he had seen portions of an immense skeleton, and there found one vertebra only remaining of a mastodon. it afterward transpired that, shortly before our trip, some indians had passed fort dodge with the large bones lashed on their ponies, taking them to a medicine-lodge on the arkansas, to be ground up into good medicine. they stated that the bones belonged to one of the big buffaloes which roamed over the plains during the times of their fathers. at that period, the happy hunting ground was on earth, but was afterward removed beyond the clouds by the great spirit, to punish his children for bad conduct. many reasons, besides dim traditions, exist for the belief that those mysterious nations whose paths we have been able to trace from the atlantic west, and from the pacific east, pushed inward until they met in the middle of the continent. the numerous mounds in the western states, with the curious weapons and vessels which they contain, show that the nations then existing, and migrating toward the interior, were not only powerful but essentially unlike our modern indians. to instance but one illustration of this, there are near titusville, pa., ancient oil wells, which bear unmistakable evidences of having been dug and worked by the mound-builders. thus they speculated in oil, which of itself is a token of high civilization. coming east from the pacific coast, we find existing on the very edge of the desolate interior extensive ruins of ancient cities, of whose builders even tradition gives no account. by these and other remains which the gnawing tooth of time has still spared to us, the people of those days tell us that they were full of commercial energy; and who knows but they may have been as determined as our nation has ever been, to push trade across from ocean to ocean? it is highly probable also that the indians of the interior were then far superior to the present tribes, as seems very fairly determined by many of the traditions and customs which obtain among the latter. in view of the foregoing considerations, it is not remarkable that the beads, denoting, as they did, a place and manner of burial unlike that of the savages of the plains, interested us so much. it was a leaf, we could not but think, from the lost history of the mound-builders. a noticeable feature of life on the plains is the sod-house, there called an adobe, from some resemblance to the mexican structures of sun-dried brick. the walls of these primitive habitations are composed of squares of buffalo-grass sod, laid tier upon tier, roots uppermost. a few poles give support for a roof, and on these some hay or small brush is laid. then comes a foot of earth, and the covering is complete. when well-constructed, these houses are water-proof, very warm in winter, and cool in summer; but when the eaves have been made too short to protect the walls, the latter are liable to dissolve under a heavy shower. during a sudden rain at sheridan, being obliged to turn out early one morning to protect some goods, we discovered that the neighboring habitation had resolved itself into a mound of dirt, resembling somewhat a tropical ant-hill. we were still gazing at the ruins, when the owner, clad in the brief garment of night-wear, came spluttering through the roof, like a very dirty gnome discharged by a mud-volcano. while he stood there in the rain, letting the falling flood cleanse him off, he remarked, in a manner that for such an occasion was certainly rather dry--"lucky that houses are dirt-cheap here, stranger, for i reckon this one 's sort o' washed!" a person of small capital, as may readily be inferred, can live very comfortably on the plains. his house may be built without nail or board, and his meat may be obtained at no other expense than the trouble of shooting it. we saw many wooden buildings at the different stage stations, which had subterranean communications with little sod watch-towers, rising a couple of feet above the ground, at a distance of forty or fifty yards from the main building. loop-holes through their walls afforded opportunities for firing, and if the wooden stations were burned, the occupants could find a secure retreat. we heard of but one occasion in which the tower was ever used, but then it was most effectively, the savages, gathered close around the main building, being surprised and put to sudden flight, by the murderous fire which seemed to spring out of the ground at their rear. chapter xxvii. our programme concluded--from sheridan to the solomon--fierce winds--a terrific storm--shamus' bloody apparition and indian witch--a reconnoissance--an indian burial grove--a contractor's daring and its penalty--more vagabondizing--jose at the long bow--the "wild huntress'" counterpart--shamus treats us to "chile"--the result. "gentlemen," said the professor, next morning, at breakfast, "we have well-nigh exhausted buffalo land. north of us some twenty miles, the upper waters of the solomon may be reached. i believe that district to be rich in fossils; it is also interesting as the path over which the red men have so often swept on their missions of murder. the valley winds eastward and southward during its course, and will discharge us at solomon city, a point well back on our homeward journey. there our expedition may fitly disband. should it be considered desirable, during the coming year, to explore the wild territories of the north-west, we can meet at such place as may be designated. what say you?" our response was a unanimous vote in favor of accepting the programme thus sketched out. some of us desired the trip, and all knew that the professor would go at any rate. our path lay over the same undulating plain that we had been traversing for many weeks, the wind blowing fiercely in our teeth. the violent movement of the air over this vast surface is often unpleasant, and during a severe winter is more dangerous than the intense cold of the far north, as it penetrates through the thickest clothing. the winter of - , when numbers of hunters and herders were frozen to death, illustrated this to a painful degree. the months of december and january are usually mild, and no precautions were taken. on the morning of the most fatal day, it was raining; in the afternoon, the wind veered and blew cold from the north, the rain changing to sleet, and this, in turn, to snow so blinding that objects became invisible at the distance of a few feet. after the storm, near hays city, five men belonging to a wood-train were found frozen to death. they had unloaded a portion of their wood, and endeavored to keep up a fire, but the fierce wind blew the flames out, snatching the coals from the logs, and flinging them into darkness. the men seized their stores of bacon and piled them upon fresh kindling, but even the inflammable fat was quenched almost instantly. one of another party, who finally escaped the same sad fate, by finding a deserted dugout, said it seemed as if invisible spirits seized the tongues of flame and carried them, like torches, out into the awful blackness. thousands of texas cattle perished during that storm. one herder, in order to save his life, cut open a dying ox, and, after removing the entrails, took his place inside the warm carcass. we noted a curious incident, relative to the wind's fantastic freaks on the plains, while at sheridan. one day, during the prevalence of a north wind, we observed all the old papers, cards, and other light rubbish which ornament a frontier town, moving off to the south like flocks of birds. two days afterward, the wind changed, and the refuse all came flying back again, and passed on to the northward. on the first evening of our homeward journey from sheridan, we encamped on what appeared to be a small tributary of the upper solomon. while the tents were being pitched, and the necessary provisions unloaded, shamus strolled toward a clump of trees half a mile off, in hopes of securing a wild turkey to add to his stores. he soon came running back in a great fright, to tell us that, as he was passing among the trees, the black pacer of the plains, with its bloody master in the saddle, had started out of a bottom meadow just beyond, and fled away into the gloom. this was a sufficiently ghostly tale in itself, but it was not all; shamus further averred that as he turned to fly, he saw a hideous indian witch swinging to and fro in a tree directly before him. the spot was unwholesome, he assured us, and he urged instant removal. it seemed evident that our cook had some foundation for his fears, as his terror was too great and his account too circumstantial for the matter to be simply one of an excited imagination. if there were indians close by, it was necessary that we should know it at once, and avoid the danger of an attack at dawn. we organized a reconnoissance immediately, and, six men strong, moved toward the timber. scattering as much as possible, that concealed savages might not have the advantage of a bunch-shot, we cautiously reached the border of the trees, and entered their shadows. we breathed more freely; if tree-fighting was to be indulged in, we now had an equal chance. it is a trying experience, reader, to advance within range of a supposed ambuscade, and the moment when one reaches the cover unharmed is a blessed one. the logs and stumps which seemed so hideous, when death was thought to be crouching behind, suddenly glow with friendship, and one is glad to know that he can hug such friends, should danger glare out from the bushes ahead. as we walked forward, shamus' witch suddenly appeared before us. it was the body of a papoose, fastened in a tree. the spot was evidently an indian burying-ground. the corpse had been loosened by the wind, and now rocked back and forth, staring at us. it was dried by the air into a shriveled deformity, rendered doubly grotesque by the beads and other articles with which it had been decked when laid away. we had neither time nor inclination to explore the grove for other bodies, preferring our supper and our blankets. as shamus stoutly held to the story of the phantom pacer, we were forced to conclude that some stray indian, from motives of either curiosity or reverence, had been visiting the grove when frightened out of it by our cook. in the gathering gloom, a red shirt or blanket would have answered very well for bloody garments. these burial spots are held in high reverence by the indians, and their hatred of the white man receives fresh fuel whenever the latter chops down the sacred trees for cord-wood. on one occasion, a contractor destroyed a burial grove, a few miles above fort wallace, to supply the post with fuel. the first blow of the axe had scarcely fallen upon the tree, when some indians who chanced to be in the neighborhood sent word that the desecrator would be killed unless he desisted. messages from the wild tribes, coming in out of the waste, telling that they were watching, ought to have been warning sufficient. but he was reckless enough to disregard them, and continued his work. the trees were felled and cut up, and the wood delivered. the contractor went to the post for his pay, and as he took it, spoke in a jocose vein of the threat which had come to naught. soon afterward, he set out for camp. midway there, he heard the rush of trampling hoofs, and looking up, his horrified gaze beheld a band of painted savages sweeping down upon him from out the west. five minutes later, he lay upon the plain a mutilated corpse, and every pocket rifled. the indians had fulfilled their threats. the trees which to them answered the same purpose that the marble monuments which we erect over our dead do among us, had been broken up by a stranger, and sold. they acted very much as white men would have done under similar circumstances, except that the purloined greenbacks were probably scattered on the ground, or fastened, for the sake of the pictures, on wigwam walls, instead of being put out at interest. our little adventure gave rise to another evening of "vagabondizing." each one of our men, including the mexicans, had some indian tale of thrilling interest to relate, in which he had been the hero. josé, a cross-eyed child of our sister republic, spun the principal yarns of the occasion. he had commenced outwitting death while yet an infant, being content to remain quiet under a baker's dozen of murdered relations, that he might be rescued after the paternal hacienda had taken fire, by somebody who survived. after a careful analysis of several thousand remarkable stories which were told to us first and last during our journey, i have deemed it wise to repeat only those which we were able to corroborate afterward. among the latter is a narrative that was given us by the guide on this occasion, having for its text a side remark to the effect that crazy ann, the wild huntress whom we met above hays, was not the first lunatic who had been seen wandering upon the plains. about the close of , a small body of kiowas appeared in the vicinity of wilson's station, a few miles above ellsworth, being first discovered by a young man from salina, who was herding cattle there. they rushed suddenly upon him, and he fled on his pony toward the station, a mile away. the chief's horse alone gained on him, and the savage was just poising his spear to strike him down, when the young man turned quickly in his saddle, and discharged a pistol full at his pursuer's breast, killing him instantly. meanwhile, the half-dozen negro soldiers at the station had been alarmed, and now ran out and commenced firing. the indians fled in dismay, without stopping to secure their dead chieftain, who was at once scalped by the station men, and left where he fell. next morning the soldiers revisited the place, and found that the band had returned in the night, and removed the corpse. the negroes followed the trail for a mile or more, in order to discover the place of burial, and shortly found the chief's body lying exposed on the bank of the smoky. it had apparently been abandoned immediately upon the discovery that the scalp had been taken, from the belief, probably, which all indians entertain, that a warrior thus mutilated can not enter the happy hunting ground. now for the apparition in question. as the soldiers approached the spot, a white woman, in a wretched blanket, fled away. in vain they called out to her that they were friends; she neither ceased her running, nor gave them any answer. the men pursued, but the fugitive eluded them among the trees, and disappeared. a few days after, she was again seen, but once more succeeding in escaping. it afterward transpired that, a year or so before, a white girl had been stolen from texas, and passed into possession of one of the tribes. she lost her reason before long, and, like all the unfortunate creatures of this class among the indians, became an object of superstition at once. one morning she was missed by her captors, and a few days later a mexican teamster reported having seen a strange woman, near his camp, who fled when he approached her. his description left no doubt of her identity with the missing captive. i have since conversed with some of the soldiers, then stationed at wilson, and they assured me that the white girl was plainly visible to them on both occasions. as she was never afterward seen in the vicinity of civilization, the poor creature is believed to have perished from exposure. possibly she was making her way to the settlements, when frightened back by the negroes, who may have resembled her late tormentors too closely to be recognized as friends. after one has been for months passing over a country stained every-where by savage outrage, it is easy to understand how the man whose wife or sister has met the terrible fate of an indian captive, can spend his life upon their trail, committing murder. for murder it is, when revenge, not justice, prompts the blow, and the innocent must suffer alike with the guilty. while breakfast was preparing next morning, some fiend suggested to one of our mexican teamsters that the americans might like a taste of mexico's standard dish, "chile," of which, the fellow said, he had a good supply in his wagon-chest. shamus was consulted, and assented at once, seeming delighted with the prospects of astonishing our palates with a new sensation. know, o reader, of an inquiring mind, that chile consists of red pepper, served as a boiling hot sauce, or stew. it is believed to have been invented by the evil one, and immediately adopted in mexico. shamus succeeded admirably in his design of concocting a sensation for us. our alderman was _ex-officio_ the epicure of the party, half of his duties as a new york city father having been to study carefully all known flavors. he always tasted new dishes, and on our behalf accepted or rejected them. when, therefore, the savory stew came before us, he experimented with a mouthful. immediately thereafter a commotion arose in camp, and shamus fled before the righteous wrath of sachem. chapter xxviii. the block-house on the solomon--how the old man died--waconda da--legend of wa-bog-aha and hewgaw--sabbath morning--sachem's poetical epitaph--an alarm--battle between an emigrant and the indians--was it the sydneys?--to the rescue--an elk hunt--rocky mountain sheep--novel mode of hunting turkeys--in camp on the solomon--a warm welcome. on the second day we reached the solomon, and directed our course down its valley. shamus' face was as bright as if he was about to blow up an english prison, which, for so pronounced a fenian, indicated a happiness of the very highest degree. it was evident that irish mary had hold of the other end of our cook's heart-strings, and was twitching them merrily. cupid had indeed found us in the solitude, and, as sachem expressed it, was "whanging away" at two of our number, at least, most remorselessly. two days' ride brought us to the forks of the river, where a block-house had been built a year or two before, and in which we expected to find a resident. since its abandonment by the troops, it had been occupied by an elderly man, known as doctor rose, who, solitary and alone, was holding this frontier post, that, when civilization came, he might possess it as a farm. we were disappointed. the barricade was deserted, and every thing about it as silent as the grave. no curling smoke uprose among the trees, and the everlasting hills and dusky prairies stretched away on all sides in weird, wild desolation. we shook the door, and called, but found no answer. it was fastened upon the inside, and as we had no right to force it, we passed on, and encamped by the "waconda da," or great spirit salt spring, a few miles below. we did not suppose that the old man we had sought was so near us. up on a high ridge only a short distance off, his body was lying, another victim of indian murder. savages had been raiding through the settlements below, and thinking himself exposed, he had contrived to fasten the door of the block-house from the outside, and attempted to escape in the night. no one but the red murderers saw the old man die, and how and when they met him will never be known; but his body was found near the roadside, where the path wound over a high ridge, and within sight of the waconda, and there it was afterward laid in its lonely sepulcher by his sorrowing family. down on a creek below, the savages, on the previous evening, had been sweeping off the thin line of settlements, as a broom sweeps spiders' houses from the wall. perhaps some dark demon eye, glancing up from the crimson trail, saw the old man, bending under the weight of years, feebly trying to save the few remaining days left him, and turned pitilessly aside to hurl him into that grave which, at best, could not be far off. no struggle was visible where he fell, and it is probable that they approached him with a treacherous "how, how?" and a hand-shake, and, as he gave the grasp of friendship, struck him down, and launched him into eternity. waconda da, great spirit salt spring, is among the most remarkable natural curiosities of the west, and is held in great reverence by the native tribes. it presents the appearance of a large conical mass of rock, about forty feet high, shaped like an inverted bowl, and smooth as mason-work. in the center of its upper surface, is the spring, shallow at the rim, and in the middle having a well-like opening, about twenty feet in depth. into this pool the indians cast their offerings, ranging from old blankets to stolen watches, thereby to appease the great spirit. (from his location, sachem thought the latter must be an old salt.) we fished with a hooked stick for some time, and were rewarded by bringing up a ragged blanket and a shattered gunstock. all around the rim of the opening were incrustations of salt, and the brackish water trickled over, and ran in little rivulets down the huge sides. at the base of the rock, a dead buffalo was fast in the mud, having died where he mired, while licking the great spirit's brackish altar. [illustration: waconda da--great spirit salt spring.] as no remarkable spot in indian land should ever be brought before the public without an accompanying legend, i shall present one, selected out of several such, which has attached itself to this. to make tourists fully appreciate a high bluff or picturesquely dangerous spot, it is absolutely essential that some fond lovers should have jumped down it, hand-in-hand, in sight of the cruel parents, who struggle up the incline, only to be rewarded by the heart-rending _finale_. this, then, is the legend of waconda. many moons ago--no orthodox indian story ever commenced without this expression--a red maiden, named hewgaw, fell in love. (and i may here be permitted to quote a theory of alderman sachem's, to the effect that eve's daughters generally fall into every thing, including hysterics, mistakes, and the fashions.) hewgaw was a chief's daughter, and encouraged a savage to sue for her hand who, having scalped but a dozen women and children, was only high private or "big soldier." chief and lover were quickly by the ears, and the fiat went forth that wa-bog-aha must bring four more scalps, before aspiring to the position of son-in-law. this seemed as impossible as jason's task of old. war had existed for some time, and, as there was no chance for surprises, scalp-gathering was a harvest of danger. there seemed no alternative but to run for it, and so, gathering her bundle, hewgaw sallied out from the first and only story of the paternal abode, as modern young ladies, in similar emergencies, do from the third or fourth. through the tangled masses of the forest, the red lovers departed, and just at dawn were passing by the waconda spring, into whose waters all good indians throw an offering. wa-bog-aha either forgot or did not wish to do so. instantly the spring commenced bubbling wrathfully. so far, the great spirit had guided the lovers; now, he frowned. an immense column of salt water shot out of waconda high into air, and its brackish spray dashed furiously into the faces of wa-bog-aha and hewgaw, and drove them back. the saltish torrent deluged the surrounding plains--putting every thing into a pretty pickle, as may well be imagined. the ground was so soaked that the salt marshes of western kansas still remain to tell of it, and, a portion of the flood draining off, formed the famous "salt plains." along the arkansas and in the indian territory, the incrustations are yet found, covering thousands of acres. the kansas river, for hours, was as brackish as the ocean, its strangely seasoned waters pouring into the missouri, and from thence into the mississippi. it was this, according to tradition, which caused such a violent retching by the father of waters, in . the current flowed backward, and vessels were rocked violently--phenomena then ascribed by the materialistic white man to an earthquake. too late the luckless pair saw their mistake, and started for the summit of waconda, just as the angry father put in his very unwelcome appearance. had they avoided looking toward the spring, all, perchance, might yet have been well. without exception, the medicine men had written it in their annals that no eye but their own must ever gaze back at waconda, after once passing it. tradition explains that this was to avoid semblance of regret for gifts there offered the great spirit. sachem, however, is of the opinion that in giving these orders the medicine men had the gifts in their eye, and simply wished time to put them in their pockets. hewgaw could not resist the temptation to peep. immediately around the rock all was quiet, while without the narrow circle the descending torrents were dashed fiercely by the winds. the beasts of the plains, in countless numbers, came rushing in toward the waconda, their forms white with coatings of salt, and probably representing the largest amount of corned meat ever gathered in one place. all the brute eyes--knightly elk, kingly bison, and currish wolves--were turned toward the top where wa-bog-aha and hewgaw stood, casting their valuables, as appeasing morsels, into the hissing spring. it refused to be quieted. suddenly, the lovers were nowhere visible, and the salt storm ceased. nothing could be found by the afflicted father, except a tress of his daughter's hair--perhaps her chignon. the old chief declared that, just as the end was approaching, the clouds were full of beautiful colors, and the air glittered with diamonds. the white man's science, however, coldly assumes that these appearances were only the rainbows and their reflections, playing amidst the crystal salt shower. * * * * * sabbath morning dawned upon our camp, and according to our usual custom, we lay by for the day. at ten o'clock, the professor read the morning service. it must have been a strange scene that we presented, while uncouth teamsters and all--our family-pew the wide valley, with its seats of stones, and logs--sat listening to the beautiful language that told how the faith of which christianity was born was cradled in a land as primitive and desolate as that which we were traversing. there, the wild arab hordes hovered over the deserts; here, america's savage tribes do the same over the plains. our priest stood near one of nature's grandest altar pieces, "waconda da." reverence from the most irreverent is secured among such scenes and solitudes. away from his fellows, man's soul instinctively looks upward, and yearns for some power mightier than himself to which to cling. the brittle straw of atheism snaps when called upon for support under these circumstances, and the blasphemy which was bold and loud among the haunts of men, here is hushed into silence, or even awed into reverential fear. the professor improved the opportunity to deliver an excellent discourse upon the wonderful evidences of god's power which geology is daily revealing. his peroration was quite flowery, and in a strain very much as follows: "science is yet in its infancy, and many things which seem dark to us will be clear to our descendants. future generations will doubtless wonder at our boiler explosions, and our railroad accidents. lightning expresses will be used only for freight, while machines navigating the air, at one hundred miles an hour, will carry the passengers. steam, electricity, and the magnetic needle have all been open to man's appropriative genius ever since the world offered him a home, and yet he has only just now comprehended them. the future will see instruments boring thousands of feet into the earth in a day, and developing measures and mysteries which the world is not now ripe for understanding. perhaps, the telescopes of another century may bring our descendants face to face with the life of the heavenly bodies, and give us glimpses of the inhabitants at their daily avocations. who knows but that the beings who people other worlds in the infinite ocean of space around us, compared with which worlds our little planet is insignificant indeed, are able, by the use of more powerful instruments than any with which we are acquainted, to hold us in constant review? our battles they may look upon as we would the conflicts of ants, and they wonder, perchance, why so quarrelsome a world is permitted to exist at all." next morning sachem was up at daybreak, examining the spot where hewgaw and wa-bog-aha met their fate, and underwent their iridescent annihilation. his offering to their memory we found after breakfast, tacked up in a prominent position beside the spring. the inscription, evidently intended as a sort of epitaph, was written on the cover of a cracker-box, and struck me as so peculiar that i was at the pains of transcribing it among our notes. i give it to the reader for the purpose, principally, of showing the unconquerable antipathies of an alderman. in memoriam. lot's wife, you remember, looked back, (what woman could ever refrain?) and instantly stood in her track a pillar of salt on the plain. if all were thus cursed for the fault, who peep when forbidden to look, the feminine pillars of salt could never be written in book. hewgaw was an indian belle which no one could ring--she was fickle; some scores of her lovers there fell (where she did at last) in a pickle. thus salt is the only thing known entirely certain of keeping flesh of our flesh, bone of our bone, out of the habit of peeping. unless the tradition has lied, our maiden may claim, with good reason, that she is a well-preserved bride, and certainly bride of a season. wa-bog-aha big was a brave-- the great spirit salted him down: braves seldom get corned in the grave, they 're oftener corned in the town. my rhyming, you find, is saline, quite brackish its toning and end; the moral--far better to pine than wed and get "salted," my friend. soon after sunrise we took our way down the river, intending to reach the sydney farm on the following day, and there spend the necessary time in preparing our specimens for immediate shipment when we should arrive at solomon city. the professor made desperate efforts to appear entirely wrapped up in science, and his devotion to geology was something wonderful. hitherto he had been inclined to urge us forward, but now he made a show of holding us back. did he do so with a knowledge that our necessities for food and forage would be sufficient spur, and was he simply shielding his weak side from sachem's attacks? we had proceeded but a few miles on our journey, when the guide rode back, and reported fresh pony tracks across the road ahead of us. this was an unquestionable indian sign, but as the trail seemed to be leading north, we took no precaution; our route was over a high divide, where ambushing was impossible. approaching limestone creek, the road wound down the face of a precipitous bluff, into the valley below. we had just commenced the descent, when the now familiar cry of "injuns!" came back from the men in front, and following closely on the cry we heard the echoing report of firearms. we looked in the direction of the sound, and saw close to the trees an emigrant wagon, while beyond it, but at fully one hundred yards' distance, four or five indians were riding back and forth in semi-circles, and firing pistols. the emigrant stood beside his oxen, with rifle in readiness, but apparently reserving his fire. "that man knows his biz!" exclaimed our guide, as he urged the teams forward, that we might afford rescue. "injuns never bump up agin a loaded gun." a gleam of calico was visible in the wagon, and another rifle barrel, held by female hands, seemed peering out in front. the general aspect of the assailed outfit reminded us strongly of the sydney family, and suspicion was strengthened by a very unscientific yell from the professor, as he started off at break-neck speed down the bluff for a rescue, with no other weapon whatever in his hand than a small hammer he had just been using for breaking stones. mr. colon seemed equally demented, following close upon paleozoic's heels with a bug-net. shamus, at the moment, happened to be astride his donkey, and giving an irish war-whoop which reached even to the scene of combat, straightway charged over the limestone ledges in a cloud of white dust. our appearance upon the scene was a surprise to lo. the indians stood not upon the order of their going, but "lit out on the double-quick," as our guide expressed it, and were soon out of sight. we found that the emigrants were named burns, the family comprising the parents and their two children. the man stated that he had no fear of the savages. he had been twice across the plains, and made it a rule never to throw a shot away. "if they can draw your fire," said he, "the fellows will charge. but they don't want to look into a loaded gun." mrs. burns had come to her husband's rescue with an expedient worthy the wife of a frontiersman. having no gun, she pointed from under the canvass the handle of a broom. this, being woman's favorite weapon, was handled so skillfully that the savages imagined it another rifle. in our log-book she was chronicled at once as fully the equal of that revolutionary hero, who one evening made prisoner of a british officer, by crooking an american sausage into the semblance of a pistol, and presenting it at the englishman's breast. there were two of our party who did not rejoice as they should have done, after rendering such timely aid to the burns family. how romantic had the rescued party only proved to be the one which was at first suspected! where this little scene occurred, there are homesteads now, which will soon develop into thrifty farms. the blessing of a railroad can not be long deferred. a year, a month, even a week sometimes, makes wonderful changes in buffalo land, when the tide of immigration is rolling forward upon it. before the present year is ended, the beautiful valley of limestone creek will be teeming with civilized life, and the savage red man, there is good reason to believe, has departed from it forever. after bidding the burns family good-bye, we traveled without further adventure until near noon, when the guide rode back, and directed our attention to some elk, which he pointed out, some distance ahead. the bodies of the herd were hidden by a ridge, but above its brown line we could plainly see their great antlers, looking like the branches of trees, moving slowly along. there was but one method of getting near the game, and that was immediately adopted. up the side of the sloping ridge we carefully crawled, and, reaching the summit, peeped over. half a dozen big antlered fellows, and as many does, were feeding along the slope below. only one of them, a splendid male, was within shooting distance at all, and even for it the range was long. the guide and muggs fired together, breaking the poor creature's shoulder. what a startled stare the noble animals flashed back at the crack of the rifles, and how quickly they disappeared. their trot was perfectly grand--great, firm strokes which seemed to fairly fling the bodies onward. we had hardly time to realize having fired, when their tails bade us distant adieu. it is said that no horse can keep up with the trot of the elk. if charged upon suddenly, however, from close quarters, he is frightened into an awkward gallop, and may then be overtaken easily. our wounded game looked formidable, and we approached cautiously. he made several efforts to run, but each time fell forward, in plunging slides, on his nose and side, rubbing the hair from the latter, and daubing the ground with blood from his nostrils. muggs felt free to confess that even the pampered stags of england, when perilously roused from their well-kept glens, by over-fed hunters in killing coats and boots, never presented such a picture of wild beauty and agony, colored just the least bit with danger. at this "kill" we lost our black hound. tempted to incaution by the sight of the noble elk standing wounded and at bay, or else excited by its blood, the dog sprang forward. a chance blow of the massive horns knocked him over, and in an instant more the beast had stamped him to death. we finished the elk by a united volley, and added him to our trophies. the horns, resting upon their tips, gave space for one of our mexicans, five feet two in stature, to pass beneath them erect. elk hairs are remarkably elastic. single ones obtained from this specimen stretched by trial with the fingers, and detached from the skin so easily that the latter seemed worthless. during the day we found and secured the remains of two saurians--one about eight and the other ten feet in length, and also the tooth of a fossil horse, quite a number of curious bubble-shaped pieces of iron pyrites, and some fine petrifactions, in the way of butternuts and fragments of trees. the soft, white limestone, mentioned more than once before in this record of our expedition, appeared along our paths in fine outcrops, and contained very perfect fossil shells. abe, our guide, told us that a year or two previous, during a winter of unusual severity, he had found a flock of rocky mountain sheep feeding near the solomon. this was the only instance which came to our knowledge of that animal having been seen upon the plains. we had an amusing experience, before night, with turkeys, hunting them in novel style. the birds were wild from recent pursuit, and, the instant they saw us, would leave the narrow fringe of timber, and run off into the ravines. then would commence a ludicrous chase, each rider plying spurs, and pursuing. there went sachem, on his long-legged purchase, the beast staggering and stumbling through ravines; and semi also, upon cynocephalus, whose abbreviated tail was hoisted straight in air, while at the other extremity his nose stretched well out and took in air under asthmatic protests. rearward was the mexican donkey, arguing the point with dobeen whether or not to enter the race. ahead of all went the wild turkeys, running like ostriches. the bird is a heavy one, and its short flights and runs, therefore, though rapid, can not be long continued. seeing the pursuit gaining, it would turn to the woods again for protection. other riders would there head it off, and soon, completely exhausted and only able to stagger along, it was easily taken. in this manner, we obtained over twenty turkeys while passing along the river. [illustration: more of our specimens--photographed by j. lee knight, topeka, kans. prairie chickens. head of an elk. wild turkey. beaver.] that evening we reached the little settlement on the solomon, which was the canaan of all our wanderings to certain members of our party, and went into camp among the sydneys and their neighbors. our welcome was a warm one, and it took shamus but a few moments to find our friend's kitchen, where he at once installed himself in the dual capacity of lover and assistant cook, discharging the duties of each position to the entire satisfaction of all concerned. our supper with the sydney family seemed like civilization again, notwithstanding that we were still on the uttermost bounds of civilized manners and customs. the professor, sitting next to miss flora, was the very picture of happiness, and "all went merry as a marriage bell." even sachem ceased to sulk before the meal was ended. at dusk, as we were assuring ourselves by personal inspection that the camp was in proper order, a familiar form came stalking toward us in the gathering gloom. "tenacious gripe!" cried the professor; and so it was. our friend's ribs had been repaired, and he was now on a mission along the solomon river, holding railroad meetings in the different counties. the progressive westerner, when he has nothing else to do, is in the habit of starting out on a tour for the purpose of inducing the dear people to vote county bonds for a new railroad, and such a westerner was gripe. chapter xxix. our last night together--the remarkable shed-tail dog--he rescues his mistress, and breaks up a meeting--a sketch of territorial times by gripe--montgomery's expedition for the rescue of john brown's companions--scalped, and carving his own epitaph--an irish jacob--"survival of the fittest"--sachem's poetical letter--popping the question on the run--the professor's letter. supper over, we made an engagement with our hospitable friends for their presence at a sort of "state dinner" we proposed giving the next day, and then returned to our own camp. a number of the settlers soon came strolling in, and among them one bringing a most remarkable dog, of the "shed-tail" variety. the animal was well known to fame in that section, for having attacked some indians who had taken his mistress captive and were endeavoring to place her upon one of their ponies, and so delaying them that the neighbors were able to arrive and give rescue. it was claimed that thirty shots were fired at him without effect, which, if true, proved that either those indians were exceedingly bad marksmen, or that the small fraction of caudal appendage which the beast possessed acted as a protective talisman. we had often seen dogs without tails, but previous to this had always supposed that a depraved human taste, not nature, was at the root of it. tail-wagging we had considered as much the born prerogative of a dog as a laugh is that of man. it is true some men do not laugh, but the child did. a dog's tail embodies his laughing faculty, or rather one might call it a canine thermometer. it rises and falls with his feelings, in moments of depression going down to zero between his legs, and again rising when the canine temperature becomes more even. "that thar dorg, stranger, is of the shed-tail variety," said its owner, when we solicited information. "whole litter had nothin' but stumps. killed most on 'em off, 'cause, havin' nothin' to wag, visitin' people couldn't tell whether they was goin' to bite, or be pleased. some time ago, a travelin' school-teacher giv' him a plaguy latin name, but we call him shed, for short. he knows, just as well as you and i, that he 's in the wrong, latterly, and as soon as you look at him, or touch where the tail ought ter be, he hides and howls. he 's sensitive as a human." saying this, our new acquaintance leaned over the dog, which was lying asleep, and gave the animal what he called a "latterly touch." although it was but the gentle contact of a finger tip, the poor creature jumped up, uttered a dismal howl, and fled off among the wagons. "that dorg," continued the owner, "would be one of the best critters out, if it wasn't for his short cut. he 'll fight injuns, or wild cats, and take any amount of blows on his head, if they 'll only avoid his misfortin.'" we remarked that he seemed to have been shot in the side, some time. "yes, got a whole charge of quail shot slapped inter him. you see the way it was, wer this. most every section has one or two scraggy, rattle-brained fellers, allers loungin' round, takin' free drinks, and starvin' ther families. whar we come from was one of this sort, never of no account to no one. we had a temperance meetin' one day, and this hib, as they called him, wer opposed to it. he was afraid they 'd shut up old bung's whisky shed. well, we was all a gathered, listenin' to the serpent and its poisoned sting, and that sort o' thing, and had about concluded to go for old bung, when that contrairy, ornery hib broke us up. he goes and gets a fresh coon skin, and sneaks all round the school-house, draggin' it arter him, and makin' a sort o' scented circle. then he goes and gets shed tail there, who was powerful on coons, and sets him on that thar track. shed give just one sniff, and opened right out. the way he shied round that school-house wer a sin. in five minutes, all the dogs of the village were at his heels, and goin' round that circle like the spokes in a wheel. "it was just a round ring of the loudest yelling you ever heard. every dog thought the one just ahead of him had the coon. all the meetin' folks come a pourin' out, with sticks and chairs, and what with beatin' and coaxin' they got all off the trail but old shed. half the people went to chasin' that dorg, while the balance held onto the others. but shed just stuck to that coon track, like all possessed, dodgin' atween our legs, or sheerin' off, and catchin' ther trail agin just beyond. he finally upset old squire bundy's wife, and the squire got mad, and slapped some no. into his ribs." the shed-tail's owner, waxing more and more eloquent with his subject, had just commenced the narrative of another indian battle in which his favorite had figured, when we became interested in a wordy political combat between tenacious gripe and a genuine specimen of the "reconstructed," the first and only one of that genus that we saw in kansas. his clothes had the famous butternut dye, and his shirt bosom was mapped into numerous creeks and rivers by the brown stains of tobacco overflows. the dispute waxed warm, and grew more and more prolific of eloquence. at length, the reconstructed beat a retreat, and our orator was left in triumphant possession of the field. drawing fresh inspiration from his success, gripe devoted another hour to an account of the early struggles in kansas against these "mean whites." he gave us many vivid descriptions of the time when men died that their children might live. among other relations was that of the expedition under montgomery, to rescue the two companions of old john brown from the prison at charlestown, virginia, a short time after the stern hero himself had there been hung. the dozen of brave kansas men interested in the enterprise reached harrisburg, with their rifles taken apart and packed in a chest, and sent scouts into virginia and maryland. it was the middle of winter, and deep snow covered the ground. they intended, when passing among the mountains, to bear the character of a hunting party. every member of that little band was willing to push on to charlestown, notwithstanding the whole state of virginia was on the alert, and pickets were thrown out as far even as hagerstown, maryland. the plan was, by a bold dash to capture the jail, and then, with the rescued men, make rapidly for the seaboard. although the expedition failed, it gave the world a glimpse of that heroic western spirit which was not only willing to do battle upon its own soil, but content to turn back and meet death half-way when comrades were in danger. gripe did not accompany the expedition. yet he grew so eloquent over the deep snow that stretched drearily before the little band, the gloomy mountains which frowned down defiance, and the people, far more inhospitable than either, who stood behind the natural barriers, filled to fanaticism with suspicion, fear, and hate, that we were sorry he had not been of the party. a man of such congressional qualifications as were his, might have been able to steal even the prisoners. on other matters of kansas history, gripe could speak from personal experience. he had twice entered the territory during the period when the free state and pro-slavery forces were doing battle for it. in one instance, the journey had been overland through missouri, and in the other, up the missouri river. on the first occasion, he had suffered numberless indignities at the hands of border ruffians, and would have been killed, had there been any thing in the least degree stronger than suspicion for them to act upon. on the other trip, the steamboat was stopped at lexington, and a pro-slavery mob boarded the vessel, and searched for arms. the whole fabric of kansas material which gripe wove for us that evening was figured all over with battles, and murders, and tar-and-feather diversions. had we been writing a history of the state, we might have accumulated a fair share of the material then and there. another subject this evening discussed around our camp-fire was the future of the vast plains which we had been traversing. two or three of the settlers were ranchemen, who had lived in this region for many years. they were very enthusiastic about the section of their adoption, and affirmed stoutly that within fifteen years the whole tract would be under cultivation. i can answer for our whole party that, beyond a doubt, the climate is healthy and the soil rich. for the first one hundred miles, after reaching the eastern boundary of the plains, springs and pure streams abound. further west, the water supply is not so plentiful. on only one occasion, however, did we suffer any inconvenience from this, and that was upon the very headwaters of the saline. going into camp late, coffee was hastily prepared, and the quality of the water not noticed. it proved to be quite salty, and as we drank liberally of the coffee, and were unable afterward to find a spring, our sufferings before morning amounted to positive torture. each one of the party found that his lungs were benefited by our sojourn on the plains. i believe that a consumptive could find decidedly more relief in buffalo land than among the mountains further west. during the evening, we added considerably to our already very full notes concerning the wild tribes of the western plains. so many are the "true tales of the border" which one can hear in a few months of such journeyings as ours, that the recital of even a tithe of the number would become tiresome. the red-bearded owner of "shed-tail" added to our store, by relating an adventure which he claimed had occurred to himself and buffalo bill, when they were teamsters together in an overland train. it was to the effect that while riding ahead of the wagons, to find a crossing over the sandy, they discovered the skeleton of a man lying at the foot of a cottonwood tree. as they dismounted for the purpose of finding some means, if possible, of identifying the remains, their attention was caught by letters cut in the bark. these they deciphered sufficiently to see that it had been an attempt by some weak hand to carve a name. a broken knife, lying near the bones, told plainly enough who the worker at the epitaph had been, and other signs revealed to the frontiersmen the whole death history. the man had been assailed by savages, scalped, and left as dead. the work of the knife showed that he must have recovered sufficiently to crawl to the tree, and there make a faint effort to leave some record of his name and fate. the straggling gashes indicated that he had continued the task even while death was blinding his eyes. a few more drops of blood, and perhaps the mystery of years, now shrouding the history of some family hearth-stone, would have been cleared away. we had no opportunity of verifying this story of red beard's, but as no occasion existed for telling a lie, and the neighbors of the narrator there present seemed much interested in the account, we accepted it as truth. it was apparently no attempt to impose upon the strangers. but i would here state, as a specimen feature of the frontier experience of all travelers, that whenever, at any of our camps, surrounding ranchemen or hunters discovered any member of our party taking notes, there were straightway spun out the toughest yarns which ever hung a tale and throttled truth. of one fact our journey thoroughly convinced us. lo's forte has no connection with the fort of the pale-faces. an unguarded hunter, or a defenseless emigrant wagon, or unarmed railroad laborer, gratifies sufficiently his most warlike ambition. the savages of the plains, in their attacks upon the whites, have been like bees, stinging whenever opportunity offers, and immediately disappearing in space. their excuses for the murders they commit have been as various as their moods. at one time it is a broken treaty, at another the killing of their buffalo, and trespassing upon the hunting-grounds, and again it is some other grievance. it may be some gratification for them to know that it is estimated that, until within the last three years, a white man's scalp atoned for each buffalo killed by his race. in our various wars with the indians, it is worthy of remark the bison have been like supply posts at convenient distances, to the hostile bands. traveling without any supplies whatever, and therefore rapidly, a few moments suffice to kill a buffalo near the camping spot, and roast his flesh over the chips. the pony, meanwhile, makes a hearty meal on the grass. on the other hand, our troops, in pursuit of these bands, have had to encumber themselves with baggage wagons, or pack-mules, bearing food and forage. among our notes, i find recorded many incidents illustrative of the aptitude which the savage mind possesses for dissimulation. for instance, in our council at hays city, white wolf could apparently understand only our sign language; yet when the interpreter advised the professor, in good english, not to accept the little mexican _burro_, unless content to return its weight in something much more valuable than jackass meat, the chief could not refrain from smiling. as indians are not given to facial revelations, the colloquy must have struck him as very apropos and very amusing. we concluded then and there, that it was unsafe to talk indian sign with the savages for effect, and meanwhile express our real sentiments to each other in english; and upon this opinion we habitually acted thereafter. this was our last night together as a party. the professor had signified his intention of remaining a few days longer upon the solomon, for the purpose of studying the surrounding country. shamus had asked a discharge, in order to engage as farm hand for mr. sydney--an irish jacob taking to agriculture as a means of obtaining his rachel. we received numerous invitations to divide our party for the night among the settlers, and, glad to enjoy again the luxury of a roof, sachem and i gratefully accepted the hospitabilities of a neighboring log-cabin among the trees. the next day was busily occupied in separating from our loads such things as the professor and shamus required for their further sojourn in the solomon valley. the morning following, we bade them both good-bye, and have seen neither leader or servant since. with but one mishap, the remainder of our party reached safely the more familiar haunts of civilization. doctor pythagoras was the victim of our exceptional misfortune. while attempting to mount his transformed prize-fighter, the metamorphosed bully struck out from the shoulder, and the doctor was floored. we found it necessary to carry him upon a rude stretcher to solomon city, and provide him with a section on a sleeping car for transit to the east. as we shook his hand at parting, and bade him a last good-bye, he exclaimed, "my young friends, i can not die yet. i shall recover and outlive you all. i believe in the theory of the 'survival of the fittest.'" ever since our return, the tide of emigration, pouring onward from the atlantic, has lapped further and further out upon the surface of the plains; and still, as truly now as when good old bishop berkeley first wrote the line, "the star of empire westward takes its way." * * * * * while i was preparing these notes for the press, i received the following characteristic letter from sachem, dated at his haunt in new york. it was at first a puzzle, but i found the key in a note inclosed by him, which he had lately received from the professor. sachem's letter. to crack a head and break a heart, are known as paddy's forte; in kitchen, jail, or low-back cart-- no matter where--he 'll court. to don a rig, and dance a jig, attend a wake or wedding, he 'll sell his own or neighbor's pig and only rag of bedding. he lives a happy, careless life, hand to mouth, and heart in hand; ready for either love or strife, building castles on the sand. with peck of trouble ever full, good measure, running over, he deals in stock--the irish bull, and with it, lives in clover. love's labor is the only taste that paddy's mind inherits: he thinks, where maidens run to waste, the harem has its merits. and so dobeen, upon his course, love's gallop quick began; the gal up on the other horse, he courted, as they ran. the bows around the maid were more than suited to her mind; cupid and shamus rode before, the savage rode behind. they each pursued the maiden coy, two wooed her _a la_ bow; the arrow tips of one were joy, the other's tips were woe. 't is said that shamus won the race, and saved his hair and bacon: if mary loved his wooing pace, his heart may stop its achin'. and this was the professor's letter, which had evidently set the aldermanic machine to grinding doggerel again: "on the solomon, } lindsey, ottawa county, kansas. } ... "i have run down here after my mail. am progressing finely with my studies. shamus had an adventure yesterday. mary and he rode over on horseback to a neighbor's, a mile away, and on the return were pursued by an indian. hard riding brought them in safely. mary tells her mistress that, during the terrors of the chase, shamus would not refrain from courting. he lashed her horse, and spurred his, and popped the question, alternately. "i shall probably remain here a month or so longer, as i am much interested in the _flora_ of the solomon valley." the italicized word in the last sentence is underscored, and its initial letter bears evidence of having been maliciously transformed into a capital by sachem. the end. appendix. preliminary to the appendix. the officials of the new states and territories are constantly overwhelmed with letters of inquiry from all parts of our own country and the canadas, and even from europe. some of the writers wish particulars concerning the opportunities that exist for obtaining homes; others seek information as to the best points for hunting; while what to bring with them, in the way of household goods, and farming implements, or guns, dogs, etc., is the common question of nearly all. while engaged in preparing "buffalo land" for the press, i published in a newspaper at topeka a brief summary of the information then at my command upon the subjects above named. the result was the receipt of a large number of letters, asking for all sorts of details, many of which i found it impossible to answer through the mail. this fact, added to the requests of various public officers, whom i take pleasure in thus obliging, has induced me to attach an appendix to the present volume, containing a condensed statement of such matters (not elsewhere described in this work) as will assist parties westward bound, whether emigrants, sportsmen, or tourists. the appendix which follows is divided into three chapters. the first of these embodies information of especial interest to the immense army of home-seekers who, from every quarter, are turning their eyes eagerly and hopefully toward the free and boundless west. the second chapter is designed for the use of the sportsman, and the third furnishes very valuable and instructive details concerning the topography, resources, climate, etc., of the plains, and, more particularly, a description of the larger streams, with their contiguous valleys, which drain the vast area included within the limits of buffalo land. w. e. w. appendix. chapter first. further information for the home-seeker. appendix. contents of chapter first. page come to the great west, should there not be compulsory emigration, "get a good ready," homestead laws and regulations, the state of kansas, the cost of a farm, a few more practical suggestions, appendix. chapter first. _further information for the home-seeker._ come to the great west! the western states and territories afford unexampled inducements to the surplus energy and capital of the east and europe; and the field which they spread out so invitingly to the emigrant's choice is as wide as it is magnificent. hundreds of millions of acres of rich land--embracing bottom and prairie, timber and running water--are open for settlement. counties are to be populated, and towns built, all over the new states and territories. each of these latter is an empire in itself. great britain could be set down within the borders of any one of them, and yet leave room for some of the german principalities. the records of the agricultural bureau at washington show that, wherever the new soil has been cultivated, both the yield per acre and the quality of the crops produced are better than in the older states. the balance of power is moving westward, and the capital of the nation, it can scarcely be doubted, must eventually come also. there is no reason why people should starve in the great cities of this broad and heaven-favored land of ours. business men, so often besieged and worried with applications for positions in their stores and counting-rooms, might with advantage tack up a copy of the homestead law by their desk, and keep a further supply on hand for distribution. every few months some poet sings of the ill-paid seamstress in the crowded town, or some hideous murder brings to light the heroine of the garret-stitched shirt. yet, meanwhile, at denver city, house-girls have been getting from six to ten dollars per week, and thousands could find comfortable homes throughout kansas, nebraska, and colorado, with remunerative wages. abroad, men toil, and women work in the fields, and in one year pay out from the scanty earnings which they wring from a stingy soil more than enough to purchase one hundred and sixty acres of good land in the great and growing west. should there not be compulsory emigration? except in the case of the very decrepit, or totally disabled, there can be no excuse for begging, in a country which offers every pauper a quarter-section of as rich land as the sun shines upon. i suppose the millennium will commence when laws compel the cities to drive from them the idle and vicious, and make them tillers of the soil in the wilds. instead of brooding in the dark alleys, and breeding vice to be flung out at regular intervals upon the civilized thoroughfares, these germinators of disease and crime would be dragged forth from their purlieus and hiding-places, and disinfected in the pure atmosphere of the large prairies and grand forests. granting that it might be a heavy burden upon their shoulders at the outset, the present generation of reformers would have the satisfaction of knowing that the sores were cleansed, and that moral and physical disease was not being propagated to suffocate their children; and even although some of the present multitude of evil-doers might not be reclaimed, most of their children certainly would be. it is more profitable to raise farmers than convicts. instead of building jails to hold men in life-long mildew, our artisans might be building steamers and cars, to carry their products to the seaboard. "get a good ready." of the immense and almost boundless tracts of western land that invite the emigrant's choice, the larger part can be homesteaded and pre-empted, and the remainder purchased on favorable terms from the different railroads. the competition among the latter for immigration has induced low prices and superior facilities for examination. where a number of families are coming together, the best way, as a rule, is to select commissioners from the number, to go in advance, and spy out the land, which can be done at comparatively trifling expense. on giving satisfactory proof of their mission, such representatives are nearly always able to secure low rates of fare and freight. in this way, two or three reliable agents can select a district in which a colony may settle, and make all the necessary arrangements for its transportation, and each family save a number of dollars, which will give back compound interest in the new home. "get a good ready" before starting, and have your route plainly mapped out; otherwise, you will buy experience at the sacrifice of many a useful dollar. and pray that your flight be not in the winter. come at such season as will enable you to provide at least some shelter and supplies before the inclement months come on. furniture and provisions can be purchased at very reasonable rates at the west, and no necessity exists, therefore, for bringing one or two car loads of broken chairs, and partially filled flour barrels. good stock will repay transportation, but common breeds are abundant and cheap on the ground. texas yearlings can be purchased for about six dollars per head in kansas. homestead laws and regulations. the following is an epitome, by a former register of a united states land office, of such laws and regulations as pertain to the securing of government land: the pre-emption act of september , , provides, that "every person, being the head of the family, or widow, or single man over the age of twenty-one years, and being a citizen of the united states, or having filed a declaration of intention to become a citizen, as required by the naturalization laws," is authorized to enter at the land office one hundred and sixty acres of unappropriated government land by complying with the requirements of said act. it has been decided that an unmarried or single woman over the age of twenty-one years, not the head of the family, but able to meet all the requirements of the pre-emption law, has the right to claim its benefits. where the tract is "offered," the party must file his declaratory statements within thirty days from the date of his settlement, and within one year from the date of said settlement, must appear before the register and receiver, and make proof of his actual residence and cultivation of the tract, and pay for the same with cash or military land warrants. when the tract has been surveyed but not offered at public sale, the claimant must file within three months from the date of settlement, and make proof and payment before the day designated in the president's proclamation offering the land at public sale. should the settler, in either of the above class of cases, die before establishing his claim within the period limited by law, the title may be perfected by the executor or administrator, by making the requisite proof of settlement and cultivation, and paying the government price; the entry to be made in the name of "the heirs" of the deceased settler. when a person has filed his declaratory statements for one tract of land, it is not lawful for the same individual to file a second declaratory statement for another tract of land, unless the first filing was invalid in consequence of the land applied for, not being open to pre-emption, or by determination of the land against him, in case of contest, or from any other similar cause which would have prevented him from consummating a pre-emption under his declaratory statements. each qualified pre-empter is permitted to enter one hundred and sixty acres of either minimum or double minimum lands, subject to pre-emption, by paying the government price, $ . per acre for the former class of lands, and $ . for the latter class. where a person has filed his declaratory statement for land which at the time was rated at $ . per acre, and the price has subsequently been reduced to $ . per acre, before he proves up and makes payment, he will be allowed to enter the land embraced in his declaratory statement at the last-named price, viz.: $ . per acre. final proof and payment can not be made until the party has actually resided upon the land for a period of at least six months, and made the necessary cultivation and improvements to show his good faith as an actual settler. this proof can be made by one witness. the party who makes the first settlement in person upon a tract of public land is entitled to the right of pre-emption, provided he subsequently complies with all the requirements of the law--his right to the land commences from the date he performed the first work on the land. when a person has filed his declaratory statement for a tract of land, and afterward relinquishes it to the government, he forfeits his right to file again for another tract of land. the assignment of a pre-emption right is null and void. title to public land is not perfected until the issuance of the patent from the general land office, and all sales and transfers prior to the date of the patents are in violation of law. the act of march , , protects the right of settlers on sections along the lines of railroads, when settlement was made prior to the withdrawal of the lands, and in such case allows the lands to be pre-empted and paid for at $ . per acre, by furnishing proof of inhabitancy and cultivation, as required under the act of september , . the homestead act of may , , provides "that any person who is the head of a family, or who has arrived at the age of twenty-one years, and is a citizen of the united states, or who shall have filed his declaration of intention to become such, as required by the naturalization laws of the united states, and who has never borne arms against the united states government, or given aid or comfort to its enemies, shall be entitled to enter one quarter section or less quantity of unappropriated public land." under this act, one hundred and sixty acres of land subject to pre-emption at $ . per acre, or eighty acres at $ . per acre, can be entered upon application, by making affidavit "that he or she is the head of a family, or is twenty-one years of age, or shall have performed service in the army and navy of the united states, and that such application is made for his or her exclusive use or benefit, and that said entry is made for the purpose of actual settlement and cultivation, and not, either directly or indirectly, for the use and benefit of any other person or persons whomsoever." on filing said affidavit, and payment of fees and commissions, the entry will be permitted. soldiers and sailors who have served ninety days can, however, take one hundred and sixty acres of the $ . , or double minimum lands. in all other respects they are subject to the usual homestead laws and regulations. no certificate will be given, or patent issued, until the expiration of five years from the date of said entry; and if, at the expiration of such time, or at any time within two years thereafter, the person making such entry--or if he be dead, his widow; or in case of her death, his heirs or devisee; or in case of a widow making such entry, her heirs or devisee, in case of her death--shall prove by two credible witnesses that he or she has resided upon and cultivated the same for the term of five years immediately succeeding the date of filing the above affidavit, and shall make affidavit that no part of said land has been alienated, and that he has borne true allegiance to the government of the united states; then he or she, if at that time a citizen of the united states, shall be entitled to a patent. in case of the death of both father and mother, leaving an infant child or children under twenty-one years of age, the right and fee shall inure to the benefit of said infant or children; and the executor, administrator, or guardian may, at any time after the death of the surviving parent, and in accordance with the law of the state in which such children for the time being have their domicil, sell said land for the benefit of said infants, but for no other purpose; and the purchaser shall acquire the absolute title from the government and be entitled to a patent. when a homestead settler has failed to commence his residence upon land so as to enable him to make a continuous residence of five years within the time (seven years) limited by law, he will be permitted, upon filing an affidavit showing a sufficient reason for his neglect to date his residence at the time he commenced such inhabitancy, and will be required to live upon the land for five years from said date, provided no adverse claim has attached to said land, and the affidavit of a settler is supported by the testimony of disinterested witnesses. in the second section of the act of may , , it is stipulated in regard to settlers, that in the case of the death of both father and mother, leaving an infant child, or children, under twenty-one years of age, the right and fee shall inure to the benefit of the infant child or children; and that the executor, administrator, or guardian, may sell the land for the benefit of the infant heirs, at any time within two years after the death of the surviving parent, in accordance with the law of the state. the commissioner rules that instead of selling the land as above provided, their heirs may, if they so select, continue residence and cultivation on the land for the period required by law, and at the expiration of the time provided, a patent will be issued in their names. in the case of the death of a homestead settler who leaves a widow and children, should the widow again marry and continue her residence and cultivation upon the land entered in the name of her first husband for the period required by law, she will be permitted to make final proof as the widow of the deceased settler, and the patent will be issued in the name of "his heirs." when a widow, or single woman, has made a homestead entry, and thereafter marries a person who has also made a similar entry on a tract, it is ruled that the parties may select which tract they will retain for permanent residence, and will be allowed to enter the remaining tract under the eighth section of the act of may , , on proof of inhabitance and cultivation up to date of marriage. in the case of the death of a homestead settler, his heirs will be allowed to enter the land under the eighth section of the homestead act, by making proof of inhabitancy and cultivation in the same manner as provided by the second section of the act of march , , in regard to deceased pre-emptors. when at the date of application the land is $ . per acre, and the settler is limited to an entry of eighty acres, should the price subsequently be reduced to $ . per acre, the settler will not be allowed to take additional land to make up the deficiency. the sale of a homestead claim by the settler to another is not recognized, and vests no titles or equities in the purchaser, and would be _prima facie_ evidence of abandonment, and sufficient cause for cancellation of the entry. the law allows but one homestead privilege. a settler who relinquished or abandoned his claim can not hereafter make a second entry. when a party has made a settlement on a surveyed tract of land, and filed his pre-emption declaration thereof, he may change his filing into a homestead. if a homestead settler does not wish to remain five years on his tract, the law permits him to pay for it with cash or military warrants, upon making proof of residence and cultivation as required in pre-emption cases. the proof is made by the affidavit of the party and the testimony of _two_ credible witnesses. there is another class of homesteads, designated as "adjoining farm homesteads." in these cases, the law allows an applicant _owning_ and _residing_ on an original farm, to enter other land contiguous thereto, which shall not, with such farm, exceed in the aggregate acres. for example, a party owning or occupying acres, may enter additional of $ . , or acres of $ . land. or, if the applicant owns acres, he may enter at $ . , or at $ . per acre, if both classes of land should be found contiguous to his original farm. in entries of "adjoining farms," the settler must describe in his affidavit the tract he owns and lives upon, as his original farm. actual residence on the tract entered as an "adjoining farm" is not required, but _bona fide_ improvement and cultivation of it must be shown for five years. the right to a tract of land under the homestead act, commences from the date of entry in the land office, and not from date of personal settlement, as in case of the pre-emption. when a party makes an entry under the homestead act, and thereafter, before the expiration of five years, makes satisfactory proof of habitancy and cultivation, and pays for the tract under the th section of said act, it is held to be a consummation of his homestead right as the act allows, and not a pre-emption, and will be no bar to the same party acquiring a pre-emption right, provided he can legally show his right in virtue of actual settlement and cultivation on another tract, at a period subsequent to his proof and payment under the th section of the homestead act. the d section of the act of may , , declares that after making proof of settlement, cultivation, etc., "then, if the party is at that time a citizen of the united states, he shall be entitled to a patent." this, then, requires that all settlers shall be "citizens of the united states" at the time of making final proof, and they must file in the land office the proper evidence of that fact before a final certificate will be issued. a party who has proved up and paid for a tract of land under the pre-emption act, can subsequently enter another tract of land under the homestead act. or, a party who has consummated his right to a tract of land under the homestead act will afterward be permitted to pre-empt another tract. a settler who desires to "relinquish his homestead must surrender his duplicate receipt, his relinquishment to the united states" being endorsed thereon; if he has lost his receipt, that fact must be stated in his relinquishment, to be signed by the settler, attested by two witnesses, and acknowledged before the register or receiver, or clerk or notary public using a seal. when a homestead entry is contested and application is made for cancellation, the party so applying must file an affidavit setting forth the facts on which his allegations are grounded, describing the tract and giving the name of the settler. a day will then be set for hearing the evidence, giving all parties due notice of the time and place of trial. it requires the testimony of two witnesses to establish the abandonment of a homestead entry. the notice to a settler that his claim is contested must be served by a disinterested party, and in all cases when practicable, personal service must be made upon the settler. another entry of the land will not be made in case of relinquishment or contest, until the cancellation is ordered by the commissioner of the general land office. when a party has made a mistake in the description of the land he desires to enter as a homestead, and desires to amend his application, he will be permitted to do so upon furnishing the testimony of two witnesses to the facts, and proving that he has made no improvements on the land described in his application, but has made valuable improvements on the land he first intended and now applies to enter. it is important to settlers to bear in mind that it requires two witnesses to make final proof under the homestead act, who can testify that the settler has resided upon and cultivated the tract for five years from the date of his entry. patents are not issued for lands until from one to two years after date of location in the district office. no patent will be delivered until the surrender of the duplicate receipt, unless such receipt should be lost, in which case an affidavit of the fact must be filed in the register's office, showing how said loss occurred, also that said certificate has never been assigned, and that the holder is the _bona fide_ owner of the land, and entitled to said patent. by a careful examination of the foregoing requirements, settlers will be enabled to learn without a visit to the land office the manner in which they can secure and perfect title to public lands under the pre-emption act of september , , and homestead act of may , . the state of kansas. our sojourn on the plains impressed our party with a strong belief that kansas, at no distant day, will be one of the richest garden spots on the continent. i have more particularly described the central portion of the state, but both northern and southern kansas are equally as fertile and desirable. the united states land offices in kansas are located at the following places: topeka, humboldt, augusta, salina, and concordia. the rapidity with which kansas is being settled may readily be inferred from the fact that , , acres of its land were sold during one year, . in our note-book, i find the outline of a speech delivered by the professor in topeka, and i quote a single paragraph as fitly expressing the common sentiment of our entire number: "gentlemen, great as your state now is in extent of territory and natural resources, she will soon have a corresponding greatness in the means of development, and in a self-supporting population. holds in her lap and fondles the infant; will shake hands with the giant. the whole surface of your land, gentlemen, is one wild sea of beauty, ready to toss into the lap of every venturer upon it, a farm. the genius which rewards honest industry stands on the threshold of your state, with countless herds and golden sheaves, smiling ready welcome to all new-comers, of whatever creed or clime." what a farm will cost. the emigrant has already been told what it will cost him to obtain government land. if this adjoins railroad tracts, he can secure what is desired of the latter at from two to ten dollars per acre. the expense of fencing material might be fairly estimated at from twenty to thirty dollars per thousand feet for boards, and ten to fifteen dollars per hundred for posts. this is supposing that all the material is purchased. if fortunate enough to have timber on his claim, the emigrant, of course, can inclose the farm at the cost of his own labor. i have seen many new-comers protect their fields by simply digging around them a narrow, deep trench, and throwing the earth on the inside line so as to raise an embankment along that side two feet in height. one single wire stretched along this, and secured at proper intervals by small stakes, appears to answer quite well as a cattle guard. osage orange grows rapidly, and is cheap, and a permanent fence can be made with it, at small expense, in the course of three or four years. the usual cost of breaking prairie is from two to four dollars per acre. with a yoke or two of good oxen, however, this item can also be saved. the second year the farmer can set out with safety his trees and vines, and the third or fourth year he may be considered fairly on the road to prosperity. laborers' wages are from twenty to thirty dollars per month and board. i estimate that a fair statement of the prices for stock would be about as follows: work oxen, seventy-five to one hundred dollars per yoke; cows, twenty to fifty dollars each; horses, seventy-five to one hundred and fifty dollars. a few more practical suggestions. i would say to the emigrant, do not be influenced to select any one particular state or locality until you have more authority for the step than a single publication. examine carefully, make up your mind deliberately, and then move with determination. it will require no very great exertion to secure a half dozen glowing advertisements from as many new western states and territories. it will need but little more effort to obtain from five to fifty "rosy" circulars from as many different districts in each of the separate "garden spots." after examining these until ready to sing,-- "how happy could i be with either were t' other dear charmer away," take down your map, and let the railroads and streams assist your choice. you have then secured yourself against one danger of the journey--that of having these same circulars flung into your lap _en route_, and being diverted by them into dubious ways and needless expenditures. but be careful, reader, that you select not as accurate beyond the possibility of a mistake the maps accompanying the circulars; otherwise, you may find yourself unable to choose between several thousand railroad centers from which broad gauges radiate like the spokes in a wheel, and your ignorance of modern geography may be brought painfully home by discovering navigable rivers where you had supposed only creeks existed. in these matters, as in every thing else connected with your "new departure," consult _all_ the various sources of information within your reach. appendix. chapter second. further information for the sportsman. appendix. contents of chapter second. page hunting the buffalo, antelope hunting, elk hunting, turkey hunting, general remarks, what to do if lost on the plains, the new field for sportsmen, chapter second. _further information for the sportsman._ hunting the buffalo. the first matter to be determined, in planning any sporting trip, is the best point at which to seek for game. if the object of pursuit be buffalo, i should say, deposit yourself as soon as possible on the plains of western kansas.[ ] take the kansas pacific railway at the state line, and you can readily find out from the conductors at what point the buffalo chance then to be most numerous. there are a dozen stations after passing ellsworth equally good. one month, the bison may be numerous along the eastern portion of the plains; a month later, the herds will be found perhaps sixty or eighty miles further west. as one has at least a day's ride, after entering kansas, before penetrating into the solitude of buffalo land, there is ample time to decide upon a stopping place. russell as an eastern, and buffalo station as a western point, will be found good basis for operations. in the former, some hotel accommodations exist; in the latter, there are several dug-outs, and hunters who can be obtained for guides. [ ] during the present year, the a. t. & santa fe r. r. will probably be finished to the big bend of the arkansas, which will place the sportsman in one of the finest game regions of the continent. those who can spend a week or more on the grounds, and wish to enjoy the sport in its only legitimate way, namely, horseback hunting, should stop at the point where they may best procure mounts, even if it necessitate a journey in the saddle of twenty miles. ellsworth, russell, and hays city are the places where such outfits may generally be obtained. for shooting bison, the hunter should come prepared with some other weapon than a squirrel rifle or double barreled shot gun. i have known several instances in which persons appeared on the ground armed with ancient smooth-bores or fowling-pieces; and in one of these cases the object of attack, after receiving a bombardment of several minutes' duration, tossed the squirrel hunter and injured him severely. a breech-loading rifle, with a magazine holding several cartridges, is by far the best weapon. in my own experience i became very fond of a carbine combining the henry and king patents. it weighed but seven and one-half pounds, and could be fired rapidly twelve times without replenishing the magazine. hung by a strap to the shoulder, this weapon can be dropped across the saddle in front, and held there very firmly by a slight pressure of the body. the rider may then draw his holster revolvers in succession, and after using them, have left a carbine reserve for any emergency. twenty-four shots can thus be exhausted before reloading, and, with a little practice, the magazine of the gun may be refilled without checking the horse. so light is this henry and king weapon that i have often held it out with one hand like a pistol, and fired. when a herd of buffalo is discovered, the direction of the wind should be carefully ascertained. the taint of the hunter is detected at a long distance, and the bison accepts the evidence of his nose more readily than even that of his eyes. this delicacy of smell, however, is becoming either more blunted or less heeded than formerly, owing probably to the passage over the plains of the crowded passenger cars, which keep the air constantly impregnated for long distances. having satisfied himself in regard to the wind, the sportsman should take advantage of the ravines and slight depressions, which every-where abound on the plains, and approach as near the herd as possible. if mounted, let him gain every obtainable inch before making the charge. it is an egregious blunder to go dashing over the prairie for half a mile or so, in full view of the game, and thus give it the advantage of a long start. when this is done, unless your animal is a superior one, he will be winded and left behind. in most cases, careful planning will place one within a couple of hundred yards of the bison. be sure that every weapon is ready for the hand, and then charge. put your horse to full speed as soon as practicable. place him beside the buffalo, and he can easily keep there; whereas, if you nurse his pace at the first, and make it a stern chase, both your animal and yourself, should you have the rare luck of catching up at all, will be jaded completely before doing so. in shooting from the saddle, be very careful between shots, and keep the muzzle of the weapon in some other direction than your horse or your feet. a sudden jolt, or a nervous finger, often causes a premature discharge. in taking aim, draw your bead well forward on the buffalo--if possible, a little behind the fore-shoulder. the vital organs being situated there, a ranging shot will hit some of them, on one side or the other. back of the ribs, the buffalo will receive a dozen balls without being checked. a discharge of bullets into the hind-quarters, is worse than useless. while trying in the most enjoyable and practical manner to kill the game, it is very necessary to escape, if possible, any injury to yourself or horse. the frenchman's remark on tiger hunting is very apropos. "ven ze frenchman hunt ze tiger, it fine sport; but ven ze tiger hunt ze frenchman, it is not so." care should be taken to have the horse perfectly under control, when the bison stands at bay. unless experienced in bull fighting, he does not appreciate the danger, and a sudden charge has often resulted in disembowelment. never dismount to approach the buffalo, unless certain that he is crippled so as to prevent rising. one that is apparently wounded unto death will often get upon his feet nimbly, and prove an ugly customer. i knew a soldier killed at hays city in this manner--thrown several feet into the air, and fearfully torn. recently near cayote station, on the kansas pacific railway, a buffalo was shot from the train, and the cars were stopped to secure the meat, and gratify the passengers. one of the latter, a stout englishman, ran ahead of his fellows, and shook his fist in the face of the prostrate bison. the american bull did not brook such an insult from the english one, and johnny received a terrible blow while attempting to escape. he was badly injured, and, when i saw him some time afterward, could only move on crutches. should the hunter on foot ever have to stand a charge, let him fire at what is visible of the back, above the lowered head, or, should he be able to catch a glimpse of the fore-shoulder, let him direct his bullet there. the bone seems to be broken readily by a ball. against the frontal bone of the bison's skull, the lead falls harmless. to test this fully, with california bill as a companion, i once approached a buffalo which stood wounded in a ravine. we took position upon the hill-side, knowing that he could not readily charge up it, at a distance of only fifteen yards. i fired three shots from the henry weapon full against the forehead, causing no other result than some angry head-shaking. i then took bill's spencer carbine, and fired twice with it. at each shot the bull sank partly to his knees, but immediately recovered again. i afterward examined the skull, and could detect no fracture. a person dismounted by accident or imprudence, and charged upon, can avoid the blow by waiting until the horns are within a few feet of him, and then jumping quickly on one side. after the buffalo has passed, let the brief period of time before he has checked his rush, be employed in traversing as much prairie, on the back track, as possible, and the chances are that no pursuit will be made. should a foot trip, or a fall from the horse give no time for such tactics, then let the hunter hug mother earth as tight as may be. the probabilities are that the bull can not pick the body up with his horns. i have known a hunter to escape by throwing himself in the slight hollow of a trail, and thus baffling all attempts to hook him. accidents are rare in bison hunting, however, and the reader should not be deterred from noble sport by the mere possibility of mishaps. i have given the above advice, feeling that i shall be well repaid if it saves the life or limbs of one man out of the thousands who may be exposed. a glimpse of surgeon's instruments should not make the soldier a coward. comparatively few people are killed by electricity, and yet lightning-rods are very popular. the hunter who has no love for the saddle, and prefers stalking, should provide himself with some breech-loading rifle or carbine, carrying a heavy ball--the heavier the better. the most effective weapon is the needle-gun used in the army, having a bore the size of the old springfield musket, and a ball to correspond. a bullet from this weapon usually proves fatal. but there is little genuine sport in such practice. stalking holds the same relation to horseback hunting that "hand line" fishing does to that with the rod and reel, the fly and the spoon, or that killing birds on the ground does to wing-shooting. in selecting from the herd a single individual for attack, the hunter should do so with some reference to the intended use of the game. for furnishing trophies of the chase, such as horns and robe, the bull will do well; but if the meat is for use, it will be advisable to sacrifice some sport, and obtain a cow or calf. i have known many an ancient bison, with scarcely enough meat on his bones to hold the bullets, killed by amateurs, and the leather-like quarters shipped to eastern friends as rare delicacies! antelope hunting. antelope hunting is a sport requiring more strategy and caution than the one we have described. the creature is timid and swift, and inclined to feed on ridges or level lands, where stalking is difficult. its eyes and ears are wonderfully quick in detecting danger, and the animal at once seeks points which command the surroundings. if unable to keep in view the object of alarm, immediate flight results. the modes of hunting this game are two. if no possibility of stalking exists, a red flag may be attached to a small stick, and planted in front of the ravine or other place of concealment. the antelope at once becomes curious, and begins circling toward it, each moment approaching a little nearer, until finally within shooting distance. the other method is by careful stalking. if the animal is on a high ridge, the sides of which round upward a little, the hunter may crawl on his hands and knees until he sees, just visible above the grass, the tips of the horns or ears. then let him rise on one knee, with gun to shoulder, and take quick aim well forward, as the body comes into view. the approach can not be too cautious, as the antelope stops feeding every minute or so, to lift its head high, and gaze around. thus the incautious hunter may be brought, on the instant, into full relief, and the quick bound which follows discovery, rob him of the fruit of long crawling. rare enjoyment might be obtained by any one who would take with him, to the plains, a good greyhound. mounted on a reliable horse, the sportsman could follow the dog in its pursuit of antelope, and be in at the death. elk hunting. elk must be hunted by stalking, as he speedily distances any horse. the animal is found in abundance along the upper waters of the republican, solomon, and saline. i prefer its meat to that of either the buffalo or antelope. the horns of a fine male form a pleasing trophy to look at, when the hunter's joints have been stiffened by rheumatism or age. turkey hunting. wild turkeys exist in great numbers along the creeks, over the whole western half of kansas, and, where they have never been hunted, are so tame as to afford but little sport. cunning is their natural instinct, however, and at once comes to the rescue, when needed. after a few have been shot, the remainder will leave the narrow skirt of creek timber instantly, and escape among the ravines by fast running, defying any pursuit except in the saddle. even then if they can get out of sight for a moment, they will often escape. while the rider is pressing forward in the direction a tired turkey was last seen, the bird will hide and let him pass; or, turning the instant it is hidden by the brow of the ravine, it will take a backward course, passing, if necessary, close to the horse. as another illustration of the wily habits of the turkey, let the hunter select a creek along which there has been no previous shooting done, and kill turkeys at early morning on roosts, and the next night the gangs will remain out among the "breaks." for this shooting, a shot-gun is, of course, the best, although i have had fine sport among the birds with the rifle. when using shot at one on the wing, the hunter must not conclude his aim was bad, if no immediate effect is observed. the flying turkey will not shrink, as the prairie-chicken does, when receiving and carrying off lead. i have frequently heard shot rattle upon a gobbler's stout feathers without any apparent effect, and found him afterward, fluttering helpless, a mile away. general remarks. the western field open to sportsmen is a grand one. kansas, colorado, nebraska, dakota, and wyoming, are all overflowing with game. the climate of each is very healthy, and especially favorable for those affected with pulmonary complaints. a year or two passed in their pure air, with the excitement of exploration or adventure superadded, would put more fresh blood into feeble bodies than all the watering-places in existence. let the dyspeptic seek his hunting camp at evening, and, my word for it, he will find the sweet savor of his boyhood's appetite resting over all the dishes. after the meal, with his feet to the fire, he can have diversion in the way of either comedy or tragedy, or both, by listening to frontier tales. when bed-time comes, he will barely have time to roll under the blankets, before sweet sleep closes his eyes, and the twinkling stars look down upon a being over whom the angel of health is again hovering. no extensive preparation for a western sporting trip is needed, as an outfit can be obtained at any of the larger towns, in either kansas, nebraska, or colorado. of the three districts just named, i decidedly prefer the former for the pursuit of such game as i have endeavored to describe in buffalo land. the eastern half of kansas furnishes chicken and quail shooting. the birds have increased rapidly during late years, and at any point fifty miles west of the eastern line, the sportsman will find plenty of work for a dog and gun. the ground lies well for good shooting, being a gently rolling prairie, with plenty of watering-places. the cover is excellent, and with a good dog there is little trouble, between august and november, in flushing the chickens singly, and getting an excellent record out of any covey. wild fowl shooting is poor, there being no lakes or feeding-grounds. the best sport of that kind i ever had was in wisconsin and minnesota. what to do, if lost on the plains. there have been several instances in which gentlemen, led away from their party in the excitement of the chase, when wishing to return, suddenly found themselves lost. judge corwin, of urbana, ohio, separated in this manner from his party, wandered for two days on the plains south of hays city, subsisting on a little corn which had been dropped by some passing wagon. he was found, utterly exhausted, by california bill, just as a severe snow-storm had set in. persons thus lost should remember that buffalo trails run north and south, and the pacific railroads east and west. it will be easy to call to mind on which side it was that the party left the road in starting out, and it then becomes a simple matter to regain the rails, and follow them to the first station. the new field for sportsmen. south of kansas is the indian territory, which probably has within it a larger amount of game than any spot of similar size on our continent. it fairly swarms with wild beasts and birds. at sunset one may see hundreds of turkeys gathering to their roosts. buffalo, elk, antelope, and deer of several varieties, may be found and hunted to the heart's content. within the next two years this territory will be the paradise of all sportsmen. it can now be reached by wagoning fifty miles or so beyond the terminus of the a. t. & santa fe railroad. but the savage, hostile and treacherous, stands at the entrance of this fair land and forbids further advance. while there is good hunting, there is also a disagreeable probability of being hunted. many of the tribes which formerly roamed all over the plains are now gathered in the indian territory. jealous of their rights, they are apt to repay intrusion upon them with death. the white kills for sport alone the game which is the entire support of the savage. i have often stood among the rotting carcasses of hundreds of buffaloes, and seen the beautiful skins decaying, and tons of richest meat feeding flies and maggots; and, standing there, i have felt but little surprise that the savage should consider such wanton destruction worthy of death. in the states, game is protected at least during the breeding season; but no period of the year is sacred from the spirit of slaughter which holds high revel in buffalo land. it is manifest, however, that over the indian territory history will soon repeat itself. railroads are pushing steadily forward; is already seeing the beginning of the end. the savage must flee still further westward, and the valleys and prairies which he is now jealously protecting will be invaded first by the sportsman, and then by the farmer. perhaps, before that time, congress may have taken the matter in hand, and passed laws which will have saved the noblest of our game from at least immediate extinction. appendix. chapter third. additional facts concerning the natural features, resources, etc., of the great plains and contiguous territory. appendix. contents of chapter third. page "by the mouth of two or three witnesses," the great west, fall of the rivers, the principal rivers and valleys of buffalo land, the valley of the platte, the solomon and smoky hill rivers, the arkansas river and its tributaries, stock raising in the great west, the cattle hive of north america, the climate of the plains, climatic changes on the plains, the trees and future forests of the plains, the supply of fuel, districts contiguous to the plains, the valleys of the white earth and niobrara, new mexico--its soil, climate, resources, etc., the disappearing bison, the fish with legs, the mountain supply of lumber for the plains, chapter iii. _additional facts concerning the natural features of the great plains; their principal rivers and valleys; their climate, etc., etc._ "by the mouth of two or three witnesses." in my endeavors to place buffalo land before the public in its true light, i have felt a desire, as earnest as it is natural, that my readers should feel that the subject has been justly treated. the opinions of any one individual are liable to be formed too hastily, and the country which before one traveler stretches away bright and beautiful, may appear full of gloomy features to another, who views it under different circumstances. a late dinner and a sour stomach, before now, have had more to do with an unfavorable opinion concerning a new town or country than any actual demerits. no two pairs of spectacles have precisely the same power, and defects ofttimes exist in the glass, rather than the vision. these considerations have been brought to my mind with especial force when, after giving an account of our own expedition, i have searched through the records of others. a portion of the descriptions which i have been able to find are the mature productions of travelers who, perched upon the top of a stage-coach, or snugly nestled inside, have undertaken to write a history of the country while rattling through it at the best rate of speed ever attained by the "overland mail." what the writers of this class lack in proper acquaintance with their subject they usually make up by an air of profoundness, and positiveness in expression, and the result has more than once been the foisting upon the public of a species of exaggeration and absurdity which baron munchausen himself could scarcely excel. as a rather curious illustration of the numerous absurdities which have obtained currency concerning the plains, may be mentioned the statement published more than once during the winter of - , to the effect that the snow of that region is different in character from that which falls elsewhere. in support of this assumption, the fact is adduced that snow-plows sometimes have but little effect upon it, on account of its peculiar hardness, being pushed upon it, instead of through it. a little more careful examination, however, would have discovered that the snow itself is essentially similar to that which descends elsewhere, but that the wind which drives it into the "cuts" and ravines also carries with it a large amount of sand and surface dirt; and this, packing with the snow, causes the firmness in question. the valuable surveys being made from time to time under the auspices of the government, in charge of persons of experience and sagacity, are doing much to replace this superficial knowledge with a more correct comprehension of what the plains really are; and, altogether, we may well hope that the time is not far distant when this whole wonderful region will be as well understood as any portion of the national domain. as the object of this work is to place before its readers all the essential information now obtainable concerning the great plains, no apology will be necessary for adding some of the observations and opinions of other competent writers upon the same subject. by far the most valuable source which i have found to draw from in this connection, is the comprehensive report published by government, and bearing the title of "united states geological survey of wyoming and contiguous territory, . hayden." the great west. prof. thomas informs us, in his report (embodied in hayden's survey), that, lying east of the divide, "the broad belt of country situated between the th and th meridians, and reaching from the big horn mountains on the north to the llano estacado on the south, contains one hundred and fifty thousand square miles. if but one-fifth of it could be brought under culture and made productive, this alone, when fully improved, would add $ , , to the aggregate value of the lands of the nation. and, taking the lowest estimate of the cash value of the crops of per acre, it would give an addition of more than $ , , per annum to the aggregate value of our products. "one single view from a slightly elevated point often embraces a territory equal to one of the smaller states, taking in at one sweep millions of acres. eastern colorado and eastern wyoming each contains as much land sufficiently level for cultivation as the entire cultivated area of egypt." fall of the rivers. the fall of the principal rivers traversing the region above named is about as follows: arkansas, to the th meridian, eleven to fifteen feet to the mile; the canadian, the same; the south platte, from denver to north platte, ten feet to the mile; the north platte, to fort fetterman, seven feet to the mile. the descent of the country from denver junction to fort hays is nine feet to the mile. thus it will be seen that abundant fall is obtainable to irrigate all the lands adjacent. the principal rivers and valleys of buffalo land. the platte (or nebraska), the solomon, the smoky hill, and the arkansas, are the four largest rivers of buffalo land proper, and form natural avenues to the eastward from the mountains which shut it in upon the west. the valley of the platte. describing this, hayden says: "west of the mouth of the elk horn river, the valley of the platte expands widely. the hills on either side are quite low, rounded, and clothed with a thick carpet of grass. but we shall look in vain for any large natural groves of forest trees, there being only a very narrow fringe of willows or cottonwoods along the little streams. the elk horn rises far to the north-west in the prairie near the niobrara, and flows for a distance of nearly two hundred miles through some of the most fertile and beautiful lands in nebraska. each of its more important branches, as maple, pebble, and logan creeks, has carved out for itself broad, finely-rounded valleys, so that every acre may be brought under the highest state of cultivation. "the great need here will be timber for fuel and other economical purposes, and also rock material for building. still the resources of this region are so vast that the enterprising settler will devise plans to remedy all these deficiencies. he will plant trees, and thus raise his own forests and improve his lands in accordance with his wants and necessities. "these valleys have always been the favorite places of abode for numerous tribes of indians from time immemorial, and the sites of their old villages are still to be seen in many localities. the buffalo, deer, elk, antelope, and other kinds of wild game, swarmed here in the greatest numbers, and, as they recede farther to the westward into the more arid and barren plains beyond the reach of civilization, the wild nomadic indian is obliged to follow. one may travel for days in this region and not find a stone large enough to toss at a bird, and very seldom a bush sufficient in size to furnish a cane." the solomon and smoky hill rivers. the solomon and smoky hill rivers, while possessing some of the general characteristics of the platte, have more timber, and the entire surrounding country is uniformly rolling. the smoky hill is a visible stream only after reaching the vicinity of pond creek, near fort wallace. above that point a desolate bed of sand hides the water flowing beneath. we have spoken fully of these sections elsewhere. the arkansas river and its tributaries. the arkansas, passing through the southern portion of the plains, has wide, rich bottoms, with a more sandy soil than is found on the streams north. its small tributaries have considerable timber. all these valleys are being settled rapidly. again consulting prof. thomas' report, we find that "the arkansas river, rising a little north-west of south park, runs south-east to poncho pass, where, turning a little more toward the east, it passes through a canyon for about forty miles, emerging upon the open country at canyon city. from this point to the eastern boundary of the territory it runs almost directly east. "the mountain valley has an elevation of between seven and eight thousand feet above the sea, while that of the plain country lying east of the range varies from six thousand near the base of the mountains to about three thousand five hundred feet at the eastern boundary of the territory. from denver to fort hays, a distance of three hundred and forty-seven miles, the fall is three thousand two hundred and seven feet, or a little over nine feet to the mile. "the arkansas river, from the mouth of the apishpa to the mouth of the pawnee, a distance of two hundred and six miles, has the remarkable fall of two thousand four hundred and eight feet, or more than eleven feet to the mile. "the headwaters of the arkansas are in an oval park, situated directly west of the south park. the altitude of this basin is probably between eight and nine thousand feet above the level of the sea; the length is about fifty miles from north to south, and twenty or thirty miles in width at the middle or widest point. at the lower or southern end an attempt has been made to cultivate the soil, which bids fair to prove a success. around the twin lakes, at the extreme point, oats, wheat, barley, potatoes, and turnips have been raised, yielding very fair crops. below this basin the river, for twenty miles, passes through a narrow canyon, along which, with considerable difficulty, a road has been made. emerging from this, it enters the 'upper arkansas valley' proper, which is a widening of the bottom lands from two to six or eight miles. this valley is some forty or fifty miles in length, and very fertile. "the principal tributaries of the arkansas that flow in from the south, east of the mountains, are hardscrabble and greenhorn creeks (the st. charles is a branch of the latter), huerbano river, which has a large tributary named cuchara; apishpa river, timpas creek, and purgatory river. on the north side, fountain gui bouille river and squirrel creek are the principal streams affording water. "this entire district affords broad and extensive grazing fields for cattle and sheep, and quite a number of herders and stock-raisers are beginning already to spread out their flocks and herds over these broad areas of rich and nutritious grasses. one of the finest meadows, of moderate extent, that i saw in the territory, was on the divide near the head of monument creek, and near by was a large pond of cool, clear water. the temperature of this section is somewhat similar to that of northern missouri, and all the products grown there can be raised here, some with a heavier yield and of a finer quality, as wheat, oats, etc., while others, as corn, yield less, and are inferior in quality." as we descend the arkansas, the valley becomes broader, and it is often difficult to tell where the bottom ceases and the prairie commences. this stream attracted such a large portion of the immigration of that it is already settled upon for some distance above fort zarah. the soil is very rich, the climate pleasant and healthy, and good success attends both stock and crop-raising. stock-raising in the great west. mr. w. n. byers, who has lived for many years in colorado, lately contributed the following valuable article to the _rocky mountain news_, treating more particularly of the western half of the plains: "after the mining interest, which must always take rank as the first productive industry in the mountain territories of the west, stock-raising will doubtless continue next in importance. the peculiarities of climate and soil adapt the grass-covered country west of the ninety-eighth degree of longitude especially to the growth and highest perfection of horses, cattle, and sheep. the earliest civilized explorers found the plains densely populated with buffalo, elk, deer, and antelope, their numbers exceeding computation. great nations of indians subsisted almost entirely by the fruits of the chase, but, with the rude weapons used, were incapable of diminishing their numbers. with the advent of the white man and the introduction of fire-arms, and to supply the demands of commerce, these wild cattle have been slaughtered by the million, until their range, once six hundred miles wide from east to west, and extending more than two thousand miles north and south, over which they moved in solid columns, darkening the plains, has been diminished to an irregular belt, a hundred and fifty miles wide, in which only scattering herds can be found, and they seldom numbering ten thousand animals. "there is no reason why domestic cattle may not take their place. the climate, soil, and vegetation are as well adapted to the tame as to the wild. the latter lived and thrived the year round all the way up to latitude fifty degrees north. twenty years' experience proves that the former do equally well upon the same range, and with the same lack of care. time, the settlement of the country, the growing wants of agriculture, the encroachment of tilled fields, will gradually narrow the range, as did semi-civilization that of the buffalo--first from the mississippi valley westward, where that process is already seen, and then from the rocky mountains toward the east; but as yet the range is practically unlimited, and for many years to come there will be room to fatten beeves to feed the world. "this great pasture land covers western texas, indian territory, kansas, nebraska, and dakota, eastern new mexico, colorado, wyoming, and montana, and extends far into british america. the southerly and south-easterly portions produce the largest growth of grass, but it lacks the nutritious qualities of that covering the higher and drier lands farther north and west. rank-growing and bottom-land grasses contain mostly water: they remain green until killed by frost, when their substance flows back to the root, or is destroyed by the action of the elements. the dwarf grass of the higher plains makes but a small growth, but makes that very quickly in the early spring, and then, as the rains diminish and the summer heat increases, it dies and cures into hay where it stands; the seed even, in which it is very prolific, remains upon the stalk, and, though very minute, is exceedingly nutritious. "in so far as the relative advantages of different portions of this wide region may be thought by many to preponderate over one another, we do not appreciate them at all, but would as soon risk a herd in the valley of the upper missouri, the yellowstone, or the saskachewan, as along the arkansas, the canadian, or red river. if any difference, the grass is better north than south. one year the winter may be more severe in the extreme north; the next it may be equally so in the south; and the third it may be most inclement midway between the two extremes; or, what is more common, the severe storms and heavy snows may follow irregular streaks across the country at various points. there are local causes and effects to be considered, such as permanently affect certain localities favorably or the contrary. for instance, nearer the western border of the plains there is less high wind, because the lofty mountain ranges form a shelter or wind breaker. of local advantages, detached ranges of mountains, hills, or broken land, timber, brush, and deep ravines or stream-beds are the most important in furnishing shelter, and, as a general thing, better and always more varied pasture ground. "there is never rain upon the middle and northern plains during the winter months. when snow comes it is always dry, and never freezes to stock. the reverse is the case in the northern and middle states, where winter storms often begin with rain, which is followed by snow, and conclude with piercing wind and exceeding cold. stock men can readily appreciate the effect of such weather upon stock exposed to its influence. "the soil of the plains is very much the same every-where. to a casual observer it looks sterile and unpromising, but, when turned by the plow or spade, is found very fertile. near the mountains it is filled with coarse rock particles, and under the action of the elements these become disproportionately prominent on the surface. receding from the mountains, it becomes gradually finer, until gravel and bits of broken stone are no longer seen. being made up from the wash and wearing away of the mountains, alkaline earths enter largely into its composition, supplying inexhaustible quantities of those properties which the eastern farmer can secure only by the application of plaster, lime, and like manures. these make the rich, nutritious grasses upon which cattle thrive so remarkably, and to the constant wonder of new-comers, who can not reconcile the idea of such comparatively bare and barren-looking plains with the fat cattle that roam over them. "besides the plains, there is a vast extent of pasture-lands in the mountains. wherever there is soil enough to support vegetation, grass is found in abundance, to a line far above the limit of timber growth, and almost to the crest of the snowy range. these high pastures, however, are suitable only for summer and autumn range; but in portions of the great parks and large valleys, most parts of which lie below eight thousand feet altitude above the sea, cattle, horses, and sheep live and thrive the year round. the cost of raising a steer to the age of five years, when he is at a prime age for market, is believed to be about seven dollars and a half, or one dollar and a half per year. a number of estimates given us by stock men, running through several years, place the average at about that figure. that contemplates a herd of four hundred or more. smaller lots of cattle will generally cost relatively more. the items of expense are herding, branding, and salt--nothing for feed." the cattle-hive of north america. in this connection we may very properly quote from the same writer the following paragraph in regard to the source from whence all the cattle are now brought--that great natural breeding ground, the prairie land of texas. "texas is truly the cattle-hive of north america. while new york, with her , , inhabitants, and her settlements two and a half centuries old, has , oxen and stock cattle; while pennsylvania, with more than , , people, has , cattle; while ohio, with , , people, has , cattle; while illinois, with , , people, has , cattle; and while iowa, with , , people, has , cattle; texas, forty years of age, and with her , people, had , , head of oxen and other cattle, exclusive of cows, in , as shown by the returns of the county assessors. "in , allowing for the difference between the actual number of cattle owned and the number returned for taxation, there must be fully , , head of beeves and stock cattle. this is exclusive of cows, which, at the same time, are reported at , head. in they must number , --making a grand total of , , head of cattle in texas. one-fourth of these are beeves, one-fourth are cows, and the other two-fourths are yearlings and two-year olds. "there would, therefore, be , beeves, , cows, and , , young cattle. there are annually raised and branded , calves. these cattle are raised on the great plains of texas, which contain , , acres. in the vast regions watered by the rio grande, nueces, guadalupe, san antonio, colorado, leon, brazos, trinity, sabine, and red rivers, these millions of cattle graze upon almost tropical growths of vegetation. they are owned by the ranchmen, who own from , to , head each." as specimen ranches, may be named the following: santa catrutos ranch belongs to richard king. amount of land, , acres. the stock consists of , cattle, , horses, , sheep, , goats. three hundred mexicans are employed, and , saddle horses, on the place. o'connor's ranch, near goliad, is an estate possessing about , cattle. the robideaux ranch, on the gulf, belonging to mr. kennedy, contains , acres of land, and has , beef cattle in addition to other stock. the climate of the plains. mr. r. s. elliott, who has studied this matter carefully, says: "the plains have been so often described as a rainless region that great misconception in regard to the climate has prevailed. the absolute precipitation is much greater than has been in past years supposed, and is due to other causes. meteorologists who have described the rain-fall of the plains as derived only or principally from the remaining moisture of winds from the pacific, after the passage of the nevada and rocky mountain ranges, have been greatly in error, and the better conclusion now is, with all authorities who have given any special attention to the subject, that the moisture which fertilizes the mississippi valley, including the broad, grassy plains, is derived from the gulf of mexico. "at fort riley about sixty-nine per cent, of the annual precipitation is in spring and summer; at fort kearney, eighty-one; and at fort laramie, seventy-two per cent. from observations at forts harker, hays, and wallace, on the line of this road, the same rule seems to hold good. records have not been long enough continued at these three posts to give a long average, but the mean appears to be between seventeen and nineteen inches at hays and wallace, and possibly rather more at harker. the actual average for and at hays is . inches, and for the first six months of the record is . inches. at wallace the record for was over seventeen inches, and in , up to october , about the same amount had fallen. "without records there can be only conjecture; and i can only remark that there does not seem to be much diminution in the annual rain-fall until we get as far west as the one hundred and third meridian. thence to the base of the mountains (except perhaps in the timbered portions of the great divide south of the line of this railway) the annual average may be possibly two or three inches less than in the midst of the plains--a peculiarity explained, hypothetically, by the fact that the region 'lies to the westward of the general course of the moisture currents of air flowing northward from the gulf of mexico, and is so near the mountains as to lose much of the precipitation that localities in the plains east and north-east are favored with. the mountains seem to exercise an influence--electrical and magnetical--in attracting moisture, which is condensed in the cooler regions of their summits, while the plains at their feet may be parched and heated to excess.' this explanation may be fanciful, but the fact remains that near the mountains the rains seem to decrease north of the great divide; fortunately, however, this occurs in a region where irrigation may be applied extensively and where there is sufficient moisture to nourish bountiful crops of grass. "the vegetation of the plains along wagon tracks and rail road embankments shows a capability of production scarcely suggested by the surface where undisturbed: wherever the earth is broken up, the wild sunflower (_helianthus_), and others of the taller-growing plants, though previously unknown in the vicinity, at once spring up. "i have been on the plains all the time since early in may till this date ( d of september). there has been much dry weather, but i have not seen one cloudless day--no day on which the sun would rise clear and roll along a canopy of brass to the west. there has always been humidity enough to form clouds at the proper height; and on many days they would be seen defining, by their flat bottoms, the exact line where condensation became sufficient to render the vapor visible. i conclude, from all this, that abundant moisture has floated over the plains to have given us a great deal more rain than would be desirable if it had been precipitated. "sometimes a storm would be seen to gather near the horizon, and we could see the rain pending from the clouds like a fringe, hanging apparently in mid-air, unable to reach the expectant earth. the rain stage of condensation had been reached above, but the descending shower was re-vaporized apparently, and thus arrested. "these hot winds are not, so far as i have observed, apt to be constant in one place for any considerable length of time; they strike your face suddenly, and perhaps in a minute are gone. they seem to run along in streaks or _ovenfulls_ with the winds of ordinary (but rather high) temperature. they do not begin, i believe, till in july, as a general rule, and are over by september , or perhaps by august . their origin i take to be, of course, in heated regions south or southwest of us; but their peculiar occurrence, so capricious and often so brief, i can not explain to myself satisfactorily. "i may remark that this season, since about the th of july, in these distant plains, has given us rain enough to make beautifully verdant the spots in the prairie burnt off during the 'heated' term in july. from kit carson eastward, the rains have been, i think, exceptionally abundant. all through the summer we have had _dew_ occasionally, and it has been remarked that buffalo meat has been more difficult of preservation than heretofore--facts indicative of humidity in the atmosphere, even where but little rain-fall was witnessed. turnips sown in august would have made a crop in this vicinity--four hundred and twenty-two miles west of the state line of missouri," climatic changes on the plains. "facts such as these," continues the same writer, "seem to sustain the popular persuasion that a _climatic change_ is taking place, promoted by the spread of settlements westwardly, breaking up portions of the prairie soil, covering the earth with plants that shade the ground more than the short grasses; thus checking or modifying the reflection of heat from the earth's surface, etc. the fact is also noted that even where the prairie soil is not disturbed, the short buffalo grass disappears as the 'frontier' extends westward, and its place is taken by grasses and other herbage of taller growth. that this change of the clothing of the plains, if sufficiently extensive, might have a modifying influence on the climate, i do not doubt; but whether the change has been already spread over a large enough area, and whether our apparently or really wetter seasons may not be part of a cycle, are unsettled questions. "the civil engineers of the railways believe that the rains and humidity of the plains have increased during the extension of railroads and telegraphs across them. if this is the case, it may be that the mysterious electrical influence in which they seem to have faith, but do not profess to explain, has exercised a beneficial influence. what effect, if any, the digging and grading, the iron rails, the tension of steam in locomotives, the friction of metallic surfaces, the poles and wires, the action of batteries, etc., could possibly or probably have on the electrical conditions, as connected with the phenomena of precipitation, i do not, of course, undertake to say. it may be that wet seasons have merely happened to coincide with railroads and telegraphs. it is to be observed that the poles of the telegraph are quite frequently destroyed by lightning; and it is probable that the lightning thus strikes in many places where before the erection of the telegraph it was not apt to strike, and perhaps would not reach the earth at all. "it is certain that rains have increased; this increase has coincided with the extension of settlements, railroads, and telegraphs. if influenced by these, the change of climate will go on; if by extra mundane influences, the change may be permanent, progressive, or retrograde. i think there are good grounds to believe it will be progressive. within the last fifteen years, in western missouri and iowa, and in eastern kansas and nebraska, a very large aggregate surface has been broken up, and holds more of the rains than formerly. during the same period modifying influences have been put in motion in montana, utah, and colorado. very small areas of timbered land west of the missouri have been cleared--not equal, perhaps, to the area of forest, orchard, and vineyards planted. hence it may be said that all the acts of man in this vast region have tended to produce conditions on the earth's surface ameliorative of the climate. with extended settlements on the arkansas, canadian, and red river of the south, as well as on the arkansas, on the river system of the kaw valley, and on the platte, the ameliorating conditions will be extended in like degree; and it partakes more of sober reason than wild fancy to suppose that a permanent and beneficial change of climate may be experienced. the appalling deterioration of large portions of the earth's surface, through the acts of man in destroying the forests, justifies the trust that the culture of taller herbage and trees in a region heretofore covered mainly by short grasses may have a converse effect. indeed, in central kansas nature seems to almost precede settlements by the taller grasses and herbage." the trees and future forests of the plains. mr. elliott continues his article as follows: "the principal native trees on the plains west of ninety-seventh meridian are: cottonwood, walnut, elm, ash, box-elder, hackberry, plum, red cedar. to these may be added willow and grape-vines, and also the locust and wild cherry mentioned by abert as occurring on the purgatory. the black walnut extends to the one-hundredth meridian. the elm and ash are of similar, perhaps greater range. hackberry has been observed west of one hundred and first meridian. cottonwood, elder, red cedar, plum, and willow are persistent to the base of the mountains. the extensive pine forest on the 'great divide' south of denver, although stretching seventy to eighty miles east from the mountains, is not taken into view as belonging to the plains proper. its existence, however, suggests the use of its seeds in artificial plantations in that region. the fossil wood imbedded in the cretaceous strata in many parts of the plains is left out of consideration, as belonging to a previous, though recent, geological age; but the single specimens of trees found growing at wide intervals are silent witnesses to the _possibility_ of extended forest growth. "were it possible to break up the surface to a depth of two feet, from the ninety-seventh meridian to the mountains, and from the thirty-fifth to the forty-fifth parallel, we should have in a single season a growth of taller herbage over the entire area, less reflection of the sun's heat, more humidity in the atmosphere, more constancy in springs, pools, and streams, more frequent showers, fewer violent storms, and less caprice and fury in the winds. a single year would witness a changed vegetation and a new climate. in three years (fires kept out) there would be young trees in numerous places, and in twenty years there would be fair young forests. the description of the 'broad, grassy plains,' given in the foregoing pages, attests their capacity to sustain animal life. for cattle, sheep, horses, and mules, they are a natural pasture in summer, with (in many parts) hay cured standing for winter. the famed pampas, with their great extremes of wet and drought, can not bear comparison with our western plains. for grazing purposes, the habitable character of our vast traditional 'desert' is generally conceded, and hence it need not be enlarged on here." the supply of fuel. of the question of fuel for the future dwellers upon the face of buffalo land, hayden, in his report, speaks as follows: "the question often arises in the minds of visitors to this region, how the law of compensation supplies the want of fuel in the absence of trees for that use. many persons have taken the position that the creator never made such a vast country, with a soil of such wonderful fertility, and rendered it so suitable for the abode of man, without storing in the earth beds of carbon for his needs. if this idea could be shown to be true in any case, we would ask why are the immense beds of coal stored away in the mountains of pennsylvania and virginia, while at the same time the surface is covered with dense forests of timber. we now know that this law does not apply to the natural world; and, if it did, this western country would be a remarkable exception. the state of nebraska seems to be located on the western rim of the great coal basin of the west, and only thin seams of poor coal will probably ever be found; but in the vicinity of the rocky mountains, in wyoming, and colorado, coal in immense quantities has been hidden away for ages, and the union pacific railroad has now brought it near the door of every man's dwelling. "these rocky mountain coal-beds will one day supply an abundance of fuel for more than one hundred thousand square miles along the missouri river of the most fertile agricultural land in the world." of this coal area, persifor frazier, jr., says: "those beds which occur on the east flank of the rocky mountains have been followed for five hundred miles and more, north and south; and if it be true that these are 'fragments of one great basin, interrupted here and there by the upheaval of mountain chains, or concealed by the deposition of newer formations,' then their extension east and west, or from the eastern range of the rocky mountains or black hills to weber canyon, where an excellent coal is mined, will fall but little short of five hundred miles. throughout this extent these beds of coal are found between the upper cretaceous and lower tertiary (or in the transition beds of hayden), wherever these transition beds occur, whether on the extreme flanks or in the valleys and parks between the numerous mountain ranges. assuming that the eroding agencies together have cut off one-half of the coal from this area, and taking one-half of the remainder as their average longitudinal extent, we have over fifty thousand square miles of coal lands, accounting the latitudinal extent as only five hundred miles; whereas we have no reason to believe that it terminates within these bounds, but, on the contrary, good reason for supposing that it extends northward far into canada, and southward with the cordilleras. all this territory has been omitted in the estimate of the extent of our coal fields." districts contiguous to the plains. the reader has now had the salient features of the great plains placed before him in succession. the more interesting districts immediately adjoining will well repay the reader for a brief consideration. the north platte district. a late writer, who has studied the country of which he speaks very closely,[ ] thus describes the north platte district: [ ] dr. h. latham, under date june th, , in the omaha daily herald. "the distance from the mouth of the north platte, where it joins the south platte on the union pacific railroad, to its sources in the great sierra madre, whose lofty sides form the north park, in which this stream takes its rise, is more than eight hundred miles. its extreme southern tributaries head in the gorges of the mountains one hundred miles south of the railroad, and receive their water from the melting snows of these snow-capped ranges. its extreme western tributaries rise in the wahsatch and wind river ranges, sharing the honor of conveying the crystal snow waters from the continental divide with the columbia and colorado of the pacific. its northern tributaries start oceanward from the big horn mountains, three hundred miles north of the starting-point of its southern sources. "it drains a country larger than all new england and new york together. east of the alleghany mountains there is no river comparable to this clear, swift mountain stream in its length or in the extent of country it drains. "the main valley of the north platte, two hundred miles from its mouth to where it debouches through the black hills out on to the great plains, is an average of ten miles wide. nearly all this area--two thousand square miles--is covered with a dense growth of grass, yielding thousands of tons of hay. the bluffs bordering these intervals are rounded and grass-grown, gradually smoothing out into great grassy plains, extending north and south as far as the eye can see. "of the country, alexander majors says, in a letter to the writer of this article: 'the favorite wintering ground of my herders for the past twenty years has been from the caché a la poudre on the south to fort fetterman on the north, embracing all the country along the eastern base of the black hills.' it was of this country that mr. seth e. ward spoke, when he says: 'i am satisfied that no country in the same latitude, or even far south of it, is comparable to it as a grazing and stock-raising country. cattle and stock generally are healthy, and require no feeding the year round, the rich 'bunch' and 'gramma' grasses of the plains and mountains keeping them, ordinarily, fat enough for beef during the entire winter,' "all this region east of the black hills is at an elevation less than five thousand feet. the climate, as reported from fort laramie for a period of twenty years, is ° fahrenheit. the mean temperature for the spring months is °, for the summer months °, for autumn °, for winter °. the annual rain-fall is about eighteen inches--distributed as follows: spring, . inches; summer, . inches; autumn, . inches. the snow fall is eighteen inches. "there is in the north platte basin, east of the black hills divide, at least eight million acres of pasturage, with the finest and most lasting streams, and good shelter in the bluffs and canyons. as i have said before, we can only judge of the extent and resources of such a single region by comparison. ohio has six million sheep, yielding eighteen million pounds of wool, bringing herd farmers an aggregate of four and one-half million dollars. this eight million acres of pasture would at least feed eight million sheep, yielding twenty-four million pounds of wool, and, at the same price as ohio wool, six million dollars. now, this money, instead of going to build up ranches, stock-farms, store-houses, woolen mills, and all the components of a great and thrifty settlement, is sent by our wool-growers and woollen manufacturers to buenos ayres, to africa, and australia, to enrich other people and other lands, while our wool-growing resources remain undeveloped. "as you follow the north platte up through the black hill canyon, you come out upon the great laramie plains, which lie between the black hills on the east and the snowy range on the west. these plains are ninety miles north and south, and sixty miles east and west. they are watered by the big and little laramie rivers, deer creek, rock creek, medicine bow river, cooper creek, and other tributaries of the north platte. it is on the extreme northern portion of these plains, in the valley of deer creek, that general reynolds wintered during the winter of , and of which he remarks, on pages seventy-four and seventy-five of his 'explorations of the yellowstone," as follows: "throughout the whole season's march the subsistence of our animals had been obtained by grazing after we had reached our camp in the afternoon, and for an hour or two between the dawn of day and our time of starting. the consequence was that, when we reached our winter quarters there were but few animals in the train that were in a condition to have continued the march without a generous grain diet. poorer and more broken-down creatures it would be difficult to find. in the spring they were in as fine condition for commencing another season's work as could be desired. a greater change in their appearance could not have been produced even if they had been grain-fed and stable-housed all winter. only one was lost, the furious storm of december coming on before it had gained sufficient strength to endure it. the fact that seventy exhausted animals, turned out to winter on the plains the first of november, came out in the spring in the best condition, and with the loss of but one of their number, is the most forcible commentary i can make on the quality of the grass and the character of the winter.' "these plains have been favorite herding grounds of the buffalo away back in the pre-historic age of this country. their bones lie bleaching in all directions, and their paths, deeply worn, cover the whole plain like a net-work. their 'wallows,' where these shaggy lords of animal creation tore deep pits into the surface of the ground, are still to be seen. elk, antelope, and deer still feed here, and the mountain sheep are found on the mountain sides and in the more secluded valleys of the sierra madre range--all proving conclusively that this has afforded winter pasturage from time immemorial. since many herds of work-oxen, belonging to emigrants, freighters, and ranchmen, have grazed here each winter. "south of the laramie plains is the north park, one of three great parks of the rocky mountains, so fully described by richardson, bross, and bowles. this north park is formed by the great snowy range. it is a valley from six to eight thousand feet high, ninety miles long, and forty miles wide, surrounded by snowy mountains from thirteen to fifteen thousand feet high. these mountain tops and sides are completely covered with dense growths of forests; the lower hill-sides and this great valley are covered with grasses. the forests and mountains afford ample shelter from sweeping winds. here, as well as on the laramie plains, the buffalo grazed in great herds; and here the ute hunters, from some hidden canyons, dashed down among them on their trained and fleet ponies, shooting their arrows with unerring aim on all sides, and having such glorious sport as kings might court and envy. the indians are now gone from this valley, and the buffalo nearly so. on the two million acres in this valley not twenty head of cattle graze. "this great park, splendidly watered by the three forks of the platte, and by a hundred small streams that drain these lofty mountains of their snows and rains--rich in all kinds of nutritious grasses, plentifully supplied with timber; on the tertiary coal fields, with iron, copper, lead, and gold--has not one real settler. there are a few miners, but where there should be flocks and herds of sheep and cattle without number, there is only the wild game--the elk, antelope, and deer." the valleys of the white earth and niobrara. these streams are branches of the missouri--the one mainly in dakota territory, and the other in nebraska. the following graphic paragraphs concerning them are from hayden again: "i have spent many days exploring this region (the white earth valley) when the thermometer was ° in the shade, and there was no water suitable for drinking purposes within fifteen miles. but it is only to the geologist that this place can have any permanent attraction. he can wind his way through the wonderful canyons among some of the grandest ruins in the world. indeed, it resembles a gigantic city fallen to decay. domes, towers, minarets and spires may be seen on every side, which assume a great variety of shapes when viewed in the distance. not unfrequently the rising or the setting sun will light up these grand old ruins with a wild, strange beauty, reminding one of a city illuminated in the night, when seen from some high point. the harder layers project from the sides of the valley or canyon with such regularity that they appear like seats, one above the other, of some vast amphitheater. "it is at the foot of these apparent architectural remains that the curious fossil treasures are found. in the oldest beds we find the teeth and jaws of a hyopotamus, a river-horse much like the hippopotamus, which must have sported in his pride in the marshes that bordered this lake. so, too, the titanotherum, a gigantic pachyderm, was associated with a species of hornless rhinoceros. these huge rhinoceroid animals appear at first to have monopolized this entire region, and the plastic, sticky clay of the lowest bed of this basin, in which the remains were found, seems to have formed a suitable bottom of the lake in which these thick-skinned monsters could wallow at pleasure." of the _fauna_ of the niobrara and loup fork valleys, he speaks as follows: "in the later fauna were the remains of a number of species of extinct camels, one of which was of the size of the arabian camel, a second about two-thirds as large. not less interesting are the remains of a great variety of forms of the horse family, one of which was about as large as the ordinary domestic animal, and the smallest not more than two or two and a half feet in height, with every intermediate grade in size." new mexico--its soil, climate, resources, etc. bordering on what might be called the south-western corner of the plains, or perhaps more properly forming, over its eastern half, part of them, lies new mexico. i find the following valuable description of the soil, climate, and productions of this section in the report of prof. cyrus thomas: "the best estimate i can make of the arable area of the territory is about as follows: in the rio grande district, one twentieth, or about two thousand eight hundred square miles; in the strip along the western border, one-fiftieth, or about six hundred square miles; in the north-eastern triangle, watered by the canadian river, one-fifteenth, or about one thousand four hundred square miles. this calculation excludes the 'staked plains,' and amounts in the aggregate to four thousand eight hundred square miles, or nearly two million nine hundred thousand acres. this, i am aware, is larger than any previous estimate that i have seen; but when the country is penetrated by one or two railroads, and a more enterprising agricultural population is introduced, the fact will soon be developed that many portions now considered beyond the reach of irrigation will be reclaimed. i do not found this estimate wholly upon the observations made in the small portions i have visited, but, in addition thereto, i have carefully examined the various reports made upon special sections, and have obtained all the information i could from intelligent persons who have resided in the territory for a number of years. "as the territory includes in its bounds some portions of the rocky mountain range on which snow remains for a great part of the year, and also a semi-tropical region along its southern boundary, there is, of necessity, a wide difference in the extremes of temperature. but, with the exception of the cold seasons of the higher lands at the north, it is temperate and regular. the summer days in the lower valleys are quite warm, but, as the dry atmosphere rapidly absorbs the perspiration of the body, it prevents the debilitating effect experienced where the air is heavier and more saturated with moisture. the nights are cool and refreshing. the winters, except in the mountainous portions at the north, are moderate, but the difference between the northern and southern sections during this season is greater than during the summer. the amount of snow that falls is light, and seldom remains on the ground longer than a few hours. the rains principally fall during the months of july, august, and september, but the annual amount is small, seldom exceeding a few inches. when there are heavy snows in the mountains during the winter, there will be good crops the following summer, the supply of water being more abundant, and the quantity of sediment carried down greater, than when the snows are light. good crops appear to come in cycles--three or four following in succession; then one or two inferior ones. "during the autumn months the wind is disagreeable in some places, especially near the openings between high ridges, and at the termini of or passes through mountain ranges. there is, perhaps, no healthier section of country to be found in the united states than that embraced in the boundaries of colorado and new mexico; in fact, i think i am justified in saying that this area includes the healthiest portion of the union. perhaps it is not improper for me to say that i have no personal ends to serve in making this statement, not having one dollar invested in either of these territories in any way whatever; i make it simply because i believe it to be true. nor would i wish to be understood as contrasting with other sections of the rocky mountain region, only so far as these territories have the advantage in temperature. it is possible arizona should be included, but, as i have not visited it, i can not speak of it. "there is no better place of resort for those suffering with pulmonary complaints than here. it is time for the health-seekers of our country to learn and appreciate the fact that within our own bounds are to be found all the elements of health that can possibly be obtained by a tour to the eastern continent, or any other part of the world; and that, in addition to the invigorating air, is scenery as wild, grand, and varied as any found amid the alpine heights of switzerland. and here, too, from middle park to los vegas, is a succession of mineral and hot springs of almost every character. "the productions of new mexico, as might be inferred from the variety of its climate, are varied, but the staples will evidently be cattle, sheep, wool, and wine, for which it seems to be peculiarly adapted. the table-lands and mountain valleys are covered throughout with the nutritious gramma and other grasses, which, on account of the dryness of the soil, cure upon the ground, and afford an inexhaustible supply of food for flocks and herds both summer and winter. the ease and comparatively small cost with which they can be kept, the rapidity with which they increase, and exemption from epidemic diseases, added to the fact that winter-feeding is not required, must make the raising of stock and wool-growing a prominent business of the country--the only serious drawback at present being the fear of the hostile indian tribes. but, as these remarks apply equally well to all these districts, i will speak farther in regard to this matter when i take up the subject of grazing in this division. "the cattle and sheep of this territory are small, because no care seems to be taken to improve the breed. san miguel county appears to be the great pasturing ground for sheep, large numbers being driven here from other counties to graze. don romaldo baca estimates that between five hundred thousand and eight hundred thousand are annually pastured here--about two-thirds of which are driven in from other sections. his own flocks number between thirty thousand and forty thousand head; those of his nephew twenty-five thousand to thirty thousand; mr. mariano trissarry, of bernalillo county, owns about fifty-five thousand; and mr. gallegos, of santa fé, nearly seventy thousand head. "don romaldo baca stated to me that his flocks yielded him an annual average of about one and a half pounds of washed wool to the sheep; that the average price of sheep was not more than two dollars per head; that the wool paid all expenses, and left the increase, which is from fifty to seventy-five per cent. per annum, as his profit. from these figures some estimate may be formed of what improved sheep would yield. "wheat and oats grow throughout the territory, but the former does not yield as heavily in the southern as in the northern part. if any method of watering the higher plateau is ever discovered, i think that it will produce heavier crops of wheat than the valley of the rio grande. "corn is raised from the vermijo, on the east of the mountains, around to the culebra, on the inside; in fact, it is the principal crop of san miguel county, but the quality and yield is inferior to that which can be produced in the rio grande valley and along the rio bonito. the southern portion of the rio pecos valley and the canadian bottoms are probably the best portions of the territory for this cereal. "apples will grow from the taos valley south, but peaches can not be raised to any advantage north of bernalillo, in the central section; but it is likely they would do well along some of the tributaries and main valley of the canadian river. they also appear to grow well and produce fruit without irrigation in the zuñi country; and the valley of the mimbres is also adapted to their culture. apricots and plums grow wherever apples or peaches can be raised. i neglected to obtain any information in regard to pears, but, judging from the similarity of soil and climate here to that of utah and california, where this fruit grows to perfection, i suppose that in the central and southern portions it would do well. "the grape will probably be the chief, or at least the most profitable, product of the soil. the soil and climate appear to be peculiarly adapted for its growth, and the probability is that, as a grape-growing and wine-producing section, it will be second only to california. from col. mcclure i learned that the amount of wine made in was about forty thousand gallons, and that the crop of would probably reach one hundred thousand gallons. i have not been informed since whether his estimate was verified or not. a good many vineyards were planted in --at least double the number of . several americans, anticipating the building of a railroad through that section, have engaged in this branch of agriculture. the wine that is made here is said to be of an excellent quality. "beets here, as in colorado, grow to an enormous size, and it is quite likely that the sugar beet would not only yield heavy crops, but also contain a large per cent. of saccharine matter. i am rather inclined to believe that soil which is impregnated with alkaline matter will favor the production of the saccharine principle. i base this opinion wholly on observations made in utah in regard to its effect on fruit; therefore experiments may prove that i am wholly mistaken. it is possible the experiment has been tried; if so, i am not aware of it. "the irish potatoes are inferior to those raised further north. cabbages grow large and fine. onions from the raton mountains south have the finest flavor of any i ever tasted, and therefore i am not surprised that lieut. emory found the dishes at bernalillo 'all dressed with the everlasting onion.' but, as to the 'chili,' or pepper, which is so extensively raised and used in new mexico, i beg to be excused, unless i can have my throat lined with something less sensitive than nature's coating. sweet potatoes have been successfully tried in the vicinity of fort sumner and along the head-waters of the rio bonito. melons, pumpkins, frijoles, etc., are raised in profusion in the lower valleys; and i understand cotton was formerly grown in limited quantities. "as a general thing, the mountains afford an abundance of pine for the supply of lumber and fuel to those sufficiently near to them. some of the valleys have a limited amount of cottonwood growing along them. in addition to pine, spruce and cottonwood, the stunted cedar and mesquit, which is found over a large area, may be used for fuel. the best timbered portion of the rio grande valley is between socorro and doña aña. the east side of the guadalupe range has an abundant supply of pine of large size. around the head-waters of the pecos is some excellent timber. walnut and oak are found in a few spots south, but in limited quantities, and of too small a size to be of much value." the disappearing bison. in connection with this general review of buffalo land, it is interesting to note that while civilization, advancing from the east, pushes our bison west, another tide of human beings, creeping out from the mountains eastward, presses the buffalo back before it. the brute multitude is thus between two advancing lines, which will soon crush it. in confirmation of this, i find the following in hayden's notes of the country along the base of the laramie mountains: "these broad, grassy plains are not yet entirely destitute of their former inhabitants; flocks of antelope still feed on the rich, nutritious grasses; but the buffalo, which once roamed here by thousands, have disappeared forever. no trace of them is now left but the old trails, which pass across the country in every direction, and the bleached skulls which are scattered here and there over the ground. these traces are fast passing away. the skulls are decaying rapidly, and this once peculiar feature of the landscape in the west will be lost. two years ago i collected a large quantity of these bleached skulls and distributed them to several of our museums, in order to insure their preservation. "there is also a singular ethnological fact connected with these skulls. we shall observe that the greater part of them have the forehead broken in for a space of three or four inches in diameter. whenever an indian kills a buffalo, he fractures the skull with his tomahawk and extracts the brains, which he devours in a raw state. "indians or old trappers traveling through the enemy's country always fear to build a fire, lest the smoke attract the notice of the foe. the consequence is that they have contracted the habit of eating certain parts of an animal in an uncooked condition. i have estimated that six men may make a full meal from a buffalo without lighting a fire. the ribs on one side are taken out with a knife, and the concavity serves as a dish. the brains are taken out of the skull, and the marrow from the leg-bones, and the two are chopped together in the rib-dish. the liver and lungs are eaten with a keen relish; also certain portions of the intestines; and the blood supplies an excellent and nutritious drink. "both indian and buffalo have probably disappeared forever from these plains. elk, black-tailed deer, red deer, mountain sheep, wolves, and the smaller animals, are still quite abundant, especially in the valleys of the small streams, where they flow down through the mountains. elk mountain and sheephead mountain have always been noted localities for these animals." the fish with legs. but while the buffalo has become extinct in that locality, an inhabitant of the water may be preparing (query: in support of the theory of development?) to take its place. i quote again from hayden: "there are other attractions here, of which the traveler will be informed long before he reaches the locality. the 'fish with legs' are the only inhabitants of the lake, and numbers of persons make it a business to catch and sell them to travelers. during the summer season they congregate in great numbers in the shallow water among the weeds and grass near the shore, and can be easily caught; but in cold weather they retire to the deeper portions of the lake, and are not seen again until spring. these little animals are possessed of gills, and, were it not for the legs, would most nearly resemble a miniature cat-fish. but when warm weather comes, a form closely resembling them, but entirely destitute of gills, may be seen in the water swimming, or creeping clumsily about on land. sometimes they travel long distances, and are found in towns, near springs or wet places, usually one at a time, while those with gills are never seen except in the alkaline lakes which are so common all over the west." the mountain supply of lumber for the plains. in connection with this (the western) border of the plains, it is interesting to note what the same writer says, of a future supply of lumber: "not only in the more lofty ranges, but also in the lower mountains, are large forests of pine timber, which will eventually become of great value to this country. vast quantities of this pine, in the form of railroad ties, are floated down the various streams to the union pacific railroad. one gentleman alone contracted for five hundred and fifty thousand ties, all of which he floated down the stream from the mountains along the southern side of the laramie plains. the big and little laramie, rock creek, and medicine bow river, with their branches, were here literally filled with ties at one time; and i was informed that, in the season of high water, they can be taken to the railroad from the mountains, after being cut and placed in the water, at the rate of from one to three cents each. these are important facts, inasmuch as they show the ease with which these vast bodies of timber may be brought to the plains below and converted into lumber, should future settlement of the country demand it." * * * * * "on the summits of these lofty mountains are some most beautiful, open spots, without a tree, and covered with grass and flowers. after passing through dense pine forests for nearly ten miles, we suddenly emerged into one of these park-like areas. just in the edge of the forest which skirted it were banks of snow six feet deep, compact like a glacier, and within a few feet were multitudes of flowers--and even the common strawberry seemed to flourish. these mountains are full of little streams of the purest water, and for six months of the year good pasturage for stock could be found." the end. transcriber's note: variations in spelling and hyphenation have been retained. obvious printer errors have been silently corrected. page : "what is the nature of these creatures thus left stranded..." the word "is" was supplied by the transcriber. subspeciation in pocket gophers of kansas by bernardo villa-r. and e. raymond hall university of kansas publications museum of natural history volume , no. , pp. - november , university of kansas lawrence university of kansas publications, museum of natural history editors: e. raymond hall, chairman, h. h. lane, and edward h. taylor volume , no. , pp. - published november , university of kansas lawrence, kansas printed by fred voiland, jr., state printer topeka, kansas - subspeciation in pocket gophers of kansas by bernardo villa-r. and e. raymond hall several full species of the genus _geomys_ have been recorded from kansas. the purpose of the study now reported upon was to determine the present taxonomic status of these animals and the distribution of each within the boundaries of kansas. no pocket gopher of any kind has been reported from the southeastern part of the state; in all other parts _geomys_ is locally common. history the first published reference that we have found to pocket gophers of kansas is prof. spencer f. baird's ( : , ) mention of two specimens from fort riley. one he identified as _geomys bursarius_ (p. ) and the other (p. ) he doubtfully referred to _geomys breviceps_. both specimens were obtained by dr. w. a. hammond. j. a. allen ( : ) reported pocket gophers from kansas under the generic name "geomys?". professor m. v. b. knox ( : ) published a list of kansas mammals in which he used the names _geomys bursarius_ shaw and _geomys breviceps_ baird, the last one for the specimen taken by dr. hammond, at fort riley. baker ( : ) employed the name _geomys bursarius_ rich. for the gopher "found along the hundredth meridian, between n latitude ° ' and ° '." he reported this animal as common in western kansas. merriam ( : ) recorded _g. bursarius_ and _g. lutescens_ from kansas. allen ( : ) recorded five specimens of _geomys lutescens_ collected between september and october at long island, phillips county, kansas, by w. w. granger. since that time several papers, some of them dealing mostly with habits of pocket gophers, have been published in which reference is made to _geomys_ in kansas. hibbard ( : ) recognized three species: _g. bursarius_, _g. lutescens_, and _g. breviceps llanensis_. in ( - ) he recorded _cratogeomys_ from meade county, on the basis of two skulls dug out of the ground, and he recognized the same three full species of the genus _geomys_ that he did in , along with two additional subspecies. specimens to the total number of from kansas have been available for the present study of the five subspecies recognized. the reason for arranging all of the named kinds as subspecies of a single species is that intergradation has been found to occur between every pair of kinds having contiguous geographic ranges. the characters previously thought by some writers constantly to differentiate, say, _geomys lutescens_ of western kansas from _geomys bursarius_ of eastern kansas, prove not to do so; instead, in areas geographically intermediate between the geographic ranges of the two kinds, the pocket gophers are intermediate in morphological characters and therefore are regarded as intergrades. intergradation of this kind here is accepted as the criterion of subspecies, and lack of such intergradation as the criterion of species. search for structural characters, distinctive of the different kinds, additional to those characters noted by other writers, has resulted in the finding of a few such characters but they too are subject to intergradation. therefore the several kinds are arranged as subspecies of a single species which takes the name _geomys bursarius_ because it is the oldest available name. detailed comment on specimens showing intergradation are to be found in the accounts of _g. b. bursarius_ and _g. b. major_. methods and acknowledgements the series with the largest number of individuals from one restricted locality was selected for initial study. these individuals were segregated by sex, and specimens of each sex were arranged from oldest to youngest. each series was divided into age-groups, and within a given age-group of one sex from one locality of what was considered as one species, estimation was made of the amount of individual variation. thus, it was possible when comparing different kinds of pocket gophers to use only one age class of one season of one sex. age was estimated to some extent by size of animal and nature of its pelage. the immature pelage is grayer and the hair is more crinkled than in adults. a more certain guide to age, however, is furnished by the skull. with increasing age some sutures disappear, the rostrum increases in length and the ridges marking the limits of the temporal muscles come to fuse and eventually, in males, form a high sagittal crest. cranial measurements were taken as follows: basilar length.--from the anteriormost inferior border of the foramen magnum to a line connecting the posteriormost margins of the alveoli of the first upper incisors. length of the nasals.--the greatest length of the nasals. zygomatic breadth.--the greatest distance across the zygomatic arches. mastoid breadth.--the greatest distance across the mastoids. breadth of rostrum.--width, perpendicular to long axis of the skull. interorbital constriction.--the least distance between the orbits. maxillary tooth row.--the greatest length of the upper molariform tooth row at the alveolar border. extension of premaxillae posterior to nasals.--from the posteriormost border of the nasals to the posterior end of the extension of a premaxilla. depth of skull.--from the median suture of the frontals, on the dorsal surface of the skull to the median suture of the palatines at the level of the first molar (not premolar). length of rostrum.--from the anterior border of the nasal to the maxilla at the lateral end of the hamulus of the lacrimal. in the list of specimens examined, localities are arranged by counties from west to east, beginning at the northwestern corner of the state; specimens in each county are arranged from north to south. if several localities are in the same latitude, the westernmost is listed first. capitalized color terms are after ridgway, color standards and color nomenclature, washington, d. c., . [illustration: fig. . map showing the geographic distribution of the five subspecies of the mississippi valley pocket gopher, _geomys bursarius_, in kansas, with insert showing range of the species.] in connection with this study each of the authors acknowledges assistance from the john simon guggenheim memorial foundation and one of us (villa) is grateful for assistance also to drs. isaac ochoterena and roberto llamas of the biological institute of mexico. for the loan of specimens we are grateful to dr. william b. davis, of the agricultural and mechanical college of texas; dr. g. c. rinker, of hamilton, kansas; and mr. a. j. kirn, of somerset, texas. unless otherwise indicated, specimens are in the university of kansas museum of natural history. accounts of subspecies =geomys bursarius lutescens=, merriam _geomys bursarius lutescens_ merriam, north amer. fauna, : , october , ; scheffer, technical bull., u. s. dept. agric., : , january, . _geomys lutescens_ merriam, north amer. fauna, : - , january , ; lantz, trans. kansas acad. sci., : , ; lantz, kansas state agric. college bull., : , april, ; hibbard, trans. kansas acad. sci., : , ; black, th bienn. rept. kansas state board agric., : , ; swenk, missouri valley fauna, : , february , ; allen, kansas state teachers college, emporia, bull. inf. in educ., (no. ): , may, ; hooper, occas. papers mus. zoöl., univ. michigan, : , june , . _geomys lutescens lutescens_, hibbard, trans. kansas acad. sci., : , . _type locality._--sandhills on birdwood creek, lincoln county, western nebraska. _distribution in kansas._--northwestern kansas, eastward certainly to ellis county, southward certainly to scott county. _description._--animals with total length averaging no more than mm.; length of vertebrae of tail averaging no more than ; hind foot averaging no more than . color: in autumn pelage, upper parts light ochraceous-buff becoming buckthorn brown in middorsal region and there forming a faint longitudinal band; sides pale yellow orange. in summer, buckthorn brown on upper parts with a dorsal band, especially distinct on specimens from ellis and trego counties; specimens from farther west lack the distinct dorsal band. underparts gray drab and sometimes whitish, usually whitish in young specimens; basal color of pelage deep neutral gray; fore and hind feet whitish. skull: zygomatic arch broadly and squarely spreading anteriorly; temporal impressions uniting to form a low sagittal crest in adult males, but in adult females and in young males the impressions usually remain apart; shape of interparietal varying from subquadrate in young specimens to subtriangular or triangular in adults; in some young specimens the interparietal is reduced to a minute, ovoid bone. _comparisons._--see comparisons in the accounts of other subspecies occurring in kansas. _remarks._--in his monographic revision of the pocket gophers, merriam ( : ) recorded "typical or nearly typical" specimens from trego county, and "non typical" specimens as follows: garden plain, sedgwick county, ; belle plain, sumner county, ; cairo, pratt county, ; kiowa, barber county, ; and ellis, ellis county, . a detailed discussion of merriam's account of the distribution of _geomys lutescens_ in kansas is given by swenk ( : - ). judging by specimens in the university of kansas museum of natural history, _g. bursarius lutescens_ in kansas is restricted to the northwestern part of the state, reaching southward certainly to scott county and eastward certainly to ellis county; precise limits of distribution of this subspecies are unknown. additional collecting is necessary to determine where the range of _lutescens_ meets the ranges of the other subspecies. the specimens studied are remarkably uniform. one specimen obtained in october, in trego county, is slightly lighter colored than any other from kansas. in other characteristics it agrees with specimens from northwestern kansas and from the type locality. _specimens examined._--total number , as follows: _cheyenne county_: mi. (by road) nw st. francis, . _rawlins county_: mi. ne ludell, . _logan county_: mi. w elkader, ; no locality more precise than county, . _trego county_: wakeeney, ; mi. s collyer, perrington ranch, ; no locality more precise than county, . _scott county_: mi. s scott city, . _ellis county_: hays state college campus, hays, . =geomys bursarius majusculus= swenk _geomys bursarius majusculus_ swenk, missouri valley fauna, : , december , ; hibbard, trans. kansas acad. sci., : , . _geomys bursarius_, baird, expls. and surveys for a railroad route from the mississippi river to the pacific ocean, pt. , mammals, , ; merriam, north amer. fauna, : , january, ; lantz, trans. kansas acad. sci., : , ; lantz, kansas state agric. college bull., : , april, ; scheffer, kansas state agric. college ento. and zoöl. dept. bull., : , september, ; hibbard, trans. kansas acad. sci., : , ; allen, kansas state teachers college emporia bull. inf. stud. in educ., (no. ): , may, . _geomys bursarius bursarius_, black, th bienn. rept. kansas state board agric., : , . _geomys breviceps_, baird, expls. and surveys for a railroad route from the mississippi river to the pacific ocean, pt. , mammals, , . _type locality._--lincoln, lancaster county, nebraska. _distribution in kansas._--northeastern kansas, westward certainly to clay and marion counties and southward certainly to greenwood county. _description._--color: upper parts mummy brown in fresh appearing pelage of february but in more worn pelage of march more reddish being near ( ') prout's brown; top of head and sometimes back darker than rest of upper parts; underparts usually with some whitish anteriorly; fore and hind feet and approximately distal half of tail white. size: large, total length averaging more than mm. in males and in females; hind foot averaging mm. or more in males. skull: large; rostrum averaging more than twice as long as wide; sagittal crest high in males and barely present in females; occiput vertical when skull is laid top down; least width of braincase less than distance from alveolus of upper incisor to middle of lateral border of p^ at alveolar border. _comparisons._--from _geomys bursarius lutescens_, _majusculus_ differs as follows: color darker, mummy brown to prout's brown instead of buckthorn brown. in both sexes: head and body a fifth to a sixth longer; hind foot to per cent longer; skull averaging larger in all parts measured except that premaxillae (in each subspecies) extend equally far posteriorly to nasals; diastema longer in relation to basilar length; rostrum longer relative to its width; sagittal crest higher; rostrum often more depressed distally; angle of suture between maxilla and jugal more obtuse. from _g. b. bursarius_, according to swenk ( : ), _majusculus_ differs in larger size. from _g. b. illinoensis_, _majusculus_, according to komarek and spencer ( : ), differs in brownish instead of slate-gray coloration and in two cranial characters as follows: nasals straight-sided instead of shaped like an hour-glass, and superficial canals on palatine extending anteriorly beyond first molar, and from there anteriorly more or less separated. the first of these characters does not always hold; occasional individuals of _majusculus_, for example some from douglas county, have the nasals shaped like an hour-glass. from _g. breviceps dutcheri_, _majusculus_ differs in larger size (hind foot more than mm. in males, and in females; basilar length more than mm. in males and in females); dorsal exposure of jugal longer than width of rostrum measured between ventral margins of infraorbital foramina. from _g. bursarius major_ of southcentral kansas (for example harvey county), _majusculus_ differs in slightly darker color, being mummy brown instead of prout's brown; size larger (in males total length more than mm., hind foot or more, basilar length of skull more than , and in females total length or more, hind foot averaging or more, and basilar length or more). skull: averaging larger in all parts measured, except that premaxillae do not extend so far posteriorly to nasals in either males or females; interorbital constriction slightly narrower in adult females; temporal ridges forming a more prominent sagittal crest in adult males (sagittal crest barely present in some adult males of _major_ from harper county). _remarks._--in employing the subspecific name _majusculus_ we are following swenk ( : ) who on the basis of larger size differentiated the animals from southeastern south dakota, the eastern parts of nebraska and kansas, and the western and southern parts of iowa, from _g. bursarius bursarius_ to which he assigned a more northern geographic range. in the absence of comparative materials of the northern subspecies we cannot make an independent decision on the validity of _majusculus_ and recognize that if it is inseparable from _g. b. bursarius_ the latter name will apply to specimens from northeastern kansas. we are the more uncertain about applying the name _majusculus_ to specimens from eastern kansas because they average smaller than topotypes. only at the northeasternmost locality in kansas ( mi. n cummings, atchison county) do specimens average as large as topotypes of _majusculus_. farther southward they become progressively smaller in eastern kansas, and we interpret this as intergradation with the still smaller subspecies _major_, to the southwest. the average external measurements of two adult males from atchison county are: - - . thirty-six miles farther south, in douglas county, adult males average - - . from hamilton, greenwood county, miles farther southwest, nine adult males average - - . the maximum total length recorded at these three localities is: atchison county, ( of specimens), douglas county, ( of specimens), greenwood county, (in coll. of dr. glenn c. rinker and of males of all ages involved). it will be seen, therefore, that although there is a trend to smaller average size toward the southward, the maximum of millimeters total length at hamilton exceeds the maximum of millimeters recorded by swenk ( : ) among males at lincoln where the recorded average is largest. four specimens from salina (debold farm) are intermediate structurally, as they are also geographically, between _g. b. majusculus_ on the one hand and _geomys bursarius lutescens_ and _geomys bursarius major_ on the other hand. in color they agree with _majusculus_, as they do also in width of nasals posteriorly, in more obtuse angle of the rostrum and maxillary arm of the zygomatic arch. they agree with _g. b. lutescens_ in having the occiput inclined anterodorsally, and are intermediate between _majusculus_ and _lutescens_, but nearer the latter in size of skull and in length of the rostrum relative to its width. _specimens examined._--total number, , as follows: _clay county_: mi. sw clay center, . _jackson county_: - / mi. wsw holton, ; no locality more precise than county, . _atchison county_: mi. n cummings, . _jefferson county_: oskaloosa, . _leavenworth county_: fort leavenworth (government hill, ; engineer hill, ), ; no locality more precise than county, . _saline county_: salina, debold farm, (coll. of a. j. kirn). _morris county_: - / mi. n council grove, . _douglas county_: mi. nw midland, ; mi. n lawrence, ; - / mi. w lawrence, ; mi. w k. u. campus, ; mi. w lawrence, ; / mi. w lawrence, ; "w k. u. campus," ; k. u. campus, ; lawrence, ; south lawrence, ; / mi. sw k. u. campus, ; southwest k. u. campus, ; haskell institute, ; - / mi. s lawrence, ; mi. sw lawrence, ; - / mi. sw lawrence, ; mi. sw lawrence, ; mi. s lawrence, ; mi. sw lawrence, ; no locality more precise than county, . _marion county_: - / mi. ne lincolnville, ; mi. se lincolnville, ; mi. s lincolnville, . _greenwood county_: hamilton, ; / mi. s hamilton, ; mi. s hamilton, ; mi. s and mi. w hamilton, ; mi. sw toronto, ; - / mi. sw toronto, ; no locality more precise than county, . =geomys bursarius jugossicularis= hooper _geomys lutescens jugossicularis_ hooper, occas. papers mus. zoöl., univ. michigan, no. : , june , ; hibbard, trans. kansas acad. sci., vol. , p. , . _type locality._--lamar, prowers county, colorado. _distribution in kansas._--extreme southwestern part of state, northward certainly to hamilton county and south certainly to morton and seward counties. _description._--a yellowish-cinnamon colored animal, with body of medium size, zygomatic plate of maxilla deep and mastoid process small. _comparisons._--differs from _geomys bursarius industrius_ in slightly lighter color; occiput not strongly inclined anterodorsally. from _g. b. lutescens_, _jugossicularis_ differs in less buffy coloration and deeper zygomatic plate of maxilla. _remarks._--_g. bursarius jugossicularis_ and _g. bursarius industrius_ intergrade in the southern part of meade county. some specimens from this area show a coloration resembling that of _g. b. jugossicularis_; nevertheless, one specimen from morton county has the occiput anterodorsally inclined as in _g. b. industrius_. specimens examined from hamilton county correspond closely to _g. b. jugossicularis_; they agree with it both in color and in cranial characters. _specimens examined._--total number, , distributed as follows: _hamilton county_: mi. e coolidge, conard farm, . _morton county_: mi. ne elkhart, ; cimarron river, mi. n elkhart, ; no locality more precise than county, . _seward county_: mi. e arkalon, . =geomys bursarius industrius=, new subspecies _geomys lutescens_ merriam, north amer. fauna, : , january , . _geomys breviceps llanensis_, hibbard, trans. kansas acad. sci., : , ; black, th bienn. rept. kansas state board agric., : . . _geomys lutescens jugossicularis_ hooper, occas. papers mus. zoöl., univ. michigan, : , june , . _type._--male, adult, skin and skull, no. museum of natural history, university of kansas; from - / miles north of fowler, meade county, kansas; obtained december , , by h. h. hildebrand, original number . _distribution in kansas._--southwestern kansas from meade county eastward certainly to pratt and clark counties; from pawnee county southward probably to the oklahoma boundary. _diagnosis._--size of body medium; color of upper parts cinnamon brown; skull with occiput strongly inclined anterodorsally in males. [illustration: fig. . three views of the skull of the type specimen of _geomys bursarius industrius_. a. lateral view; b. dorsal view; c. ventral view. all natural size.] _description._--color: upper parts cinnamon brown, slightly reddish, but in some specimens collected in september, in pawnee county, near ( ´ _i_) ochraceous-tawny; underparts usually wood brown, somewhat whitish anteriorly; forefeet white; hind feet and approximately distal half of tail whitish. size: medium (see measurements), total length averaging not more than mm. in males and in females; hind foot averaging not more than mm. in males and less than in females. skull: in males, least width of braincase equal to distance from alveolus of incisor to anterior border of alveolus of first upper molar, occiput strongly inclined anterodorsally, temporal impressions usually united in a low sagittal crest, zygomatic arch heavy and curved at level of jugal bone. in adult females least width of braincase approximately equal to distance from alveolus of incisor to anterior border of alveolus of first upper molar (not premolar); occiput less inclined anterodorsally than in males; temporal ridges not forming a sagittal crest. in young females the width of the braincase is more than the distance between the alveoli of the incisor and first molar. _comparisons._--_g. lutescens industrius_ differs from _g. lutescens lutescens_ in: color darker; least width of braincase not equal to (usually more than) the distance from the alveolus of incisor to the anterior border of the alveolus of the first upper molar. _g. lutescens industrius_ differs from _g. lutescens jugossicularis_ in: color slightly darker, the former being cinnamon brown instead of vinaceous cinnamon, with hairs basally deep neutral gray in upper parts and underparts. skull: jugular part of zygomatic arch more curved (convex dorsally) and occiput far more inclined anterodorsally; lower part of mastoidal ridge more prominent. for comparison with _g. l. major_, see account of that subspecies. _remarks._--judging from the known specimens of this subspecies, it has the smallest geographic range of any of the subspecies in kansas, but additional collecting in hodgeman county and counties to the north and west of it may extend the known range in those directions; collecting in comanche county and in adjoining parts of oklahoma may extend the known range to the southward. the anterodorsal inclination of the occiput in males is the one cranial character in which _industrius_ differs from all of the subspecies with adjoining geographic ranges. the existence of this unique (among adjoining subspecies) cranial character is the principal reason for according subspecific status to this animal. although it has other characters which are fairly uniform over a considerable geographic area, these other characters, namely, cinnamon brown color of the upper parts and medium size of the body, after all, are conditions intermediate between those in _jugossicularis_ to the west and those in the darker and larger animals assigned to _major_ to the eastward. considering the intermediate geographic position of _industrius_, the color and size are approximately what a person would predict by study of only the animals to the west and those to the east. therefore, the color and size probably are indicative of intergradation between _jugossicularis_ and _major_. still, there is the anterodorsally inclined occiput in males--a character of a unique sort--and this influences us to give subspecific status to this animal with full recognition of the fact that it is a "weak" subspecies as compared with any one of the adjoining subspecies. hooper ( : ) in naming as new _geomys lutescens jugossicularis_ referred to his new subspecies a skin-only from meade county state park. our more abundant material from there shows the cranial conformation to be that of _industrius_ to which we accordingly assign the specimens. however, with only a skin available, we, too, would have used the name _jugossicularis_ because the color is paler than in other specimens of _industrius_ and this paleness indicates intergradation between the two named subspecies. specimens from pratt county are slightly darker than _industrius_ thereby indicating intergradation between _industrius_ and _major_. _specimens examined._--total number, , distributed as follows: _pawnee county_: jct. pawnee and arkansas rivers, larned, ; mi. s and mi. e larned, . _edwards county_: mi. w and - / mi. s kinsley, . _kiowa county_: rezeau ranch, mi. n belvidere, . _pratt county_: pratt, ; no locality more precise than county, . _meade county_: - / mi. ne fowler, ; mi. n fowler, ; - / mi. n fowler, ; - / mi. n and / mi. e fowler, ; mi. n meade, cudahy ash pit, ; mi. sw meade, ; state lake, ; state park, . _clark county_: mi. sw kingsdown, e. a. stephenson ranch, ; mi. s kingsdown, . =geomys bursarius major= davis _geomys lutescens major_ davis, texas agric. exp. st., bull. no. : , august, ; hibbard, trans. kansas acad. sci., : , . _geomys lutescens_ merriam, n. amer. fauna, : , january , . _geomys breviceps llanensis_, lantz, trans. kansas acad. sci., (pt. ): , ; hibbard, trans. kansas acad. sci., : , ; black, th bienn. rept. kansas state board agric., : , ; swenk, missouri valley fauna, : , february , . _type locality._--eight miles west of clarendon, donley county, texas. _distribution in kansas._--southcentral kansas, northward certainly to ellsworth county, westward certainly to stafford and barber counties and eastward to cowley county. _description._--color: upper parts varying from brussels brown in some specimens to nearly prout's brown, especially in specimens from central part of state. top of head, and sometimes back, darker than rest of upper parts, but no well defined black stripe; underparts varying from whitish to nearly buffy brown; fore and hind feet and approximately distal half of tail white. size: large (see measurements). skull: sagittal crest absent in females and barely present in males; least width of braincase more than distance from alveolus of incisor to middle of lateral border of p^ at alveolar border. length of auditory bulla (from anteroventral edge of paroccipital process of exoccipital to hamulus of peterygoid), in each sex, more than mm.; occiput usually vertical when skull is laid top down; zygomatic arch broadly and squarely spreading, divergent anteriorly; rostrum averaging less than twice as long as wide. _comparisons._--from _g. bursarius lutescens_, _major_ differs in color darker, premaxillae extending slightly farther posteriorly; temporal impressions usually forming a more well-marked sagittal crest in males; ventral side of zygomatic arch, at level of jugal bone, more curved. from _g. bursarius majusculus_, _major_ differs in slightly lighter color, smaller size of body; in males, total length less than mm.; hind foot or less; basilar length of skull less than ; in females total length less than , hind foot no more than , and basilar length less than . from _g. bursarius industrius_, _major_ differs in color, being prout's brown, instead of cinnamon brown (less fuscous); body averaging per cent longer; total length in males from to . per cent longer, hind foot . per cent longer on the average; skull averaging larger in all parts measured. occiput less inclined anterodorsally; top nearly flat, less arched than that of _g. b. industrius_; auditory bulla averaging slightly larger and less inflated. _remarks._--specimens of this subspecies from norman, cleveland county, oklahoma, and canton, dewey county, oklahoma, and most of those from kansas, are more fuscous than topotypes and tend toward _g. bursarius majusculus_. specimens from mcpherson county have a darker dorsal stripe resembling that of _g. bursarius majusculus_. one adult from little salt marsh, stafford county, is pale, closely resembling topotypes. most of the cranial characters, nevertheless, are constant in all available specimens, except that in specimens of each sex from the type locality the basilar length averages to per cent shorter. in the constancy of size of the relatively large auditory bullae and in the nearly flat dorsal profile of the cranial part of the skull, the specimens from kansas agree with the specimens from the type locality. specimens from harper county have the occiput slightly inclined anterodorsally and thus are reminiscent of _industrius_ which has an even greater inclination of the occiput. probably the appearance in dilute fashion of this character in harper county is properly to be interpreted as intergradation with _industrius_. if so, the actual intergradation may be to the northwest _via_ pratt county since specimens from barber county, immediately west of harper and lying between harper county and the range of _industrius_, do not have the occiput so inclined. of a pair of adults from eight miles west of rosalia, butler county, the female is indistinguishable in color from adults of _g. b. industrius_ from northern meade county and from two specimens from eleven miles west of clarendon, donley county, texas, near the type locality of _g. b. major_. the male from eight miles west of rosalia is darker as compared either with _g. b. industrius_ or _g. b. major_ and the coloration of the upper parts resembles those in _g. b._ _majusculus_; the underparts are only slightly paler than the upper parts as in _majusculus_. measurements of the skulls are intermediate between the averages for _g. b. majusculus_ and those for _g. b. major_. these specimens from eight miles west of rosalia are intermediate structurally, and since they are intermediate geographically between _g. b. majusculus_ and _g. b. major_, they suggest intergradation of the two subspecies. the specimens in question are referred to _major_ because the size is nearer that of _major_. it is mainly the intermediate nature of these two specimens from butler county, and the intermediate nature of the specimens from mcpherson county, kansas, that have caused us to treat _g. b. majusculus_ as only subspecifically distinct from the more western subspecies, _major_. _specimens examined._--total number, , as follows: _ellsworth county_: mi. s ellsworth, . _mcpherson county_: smoky hill river, mi. s and / mi. w lindsborg, ; / mi. e mcpherson, . _stafford county_: little salt marsh, ; no locality more precise than county, . _reno county_: mi. n and mi. e haven, . _harvey county_: mi. e and / mi. n halstead, ; halstead, . _butler county_: mi. w rosalia, . _barber county_: near south bridge, sun city, ; mi. s sun city, ; wells ranch, aetna, ; " mi. w aetna," ; near south bridge, aetna, ; near bridge, mi. s aetna, . _harper county_: - / mi. ne danville, ; mi. n harper, ; mi. s harper, . _cowley county_: mi. sw arkansas city, ; mi. se arkansas city, ; mi. s arkansas city, . measurements of adult males of geomys (in millimeters) key for table headings in table on this page. n: number of individuals averaged or catalogue number l: total length t: length of tail h: length of hind foot b: basilar length na: length of nasals z: zygomatic breadth m: mastoid breadth rb: breadth of rostrum i: interorbital constriction a: alveolar length of maxillary tooth row e: extension of premaxilla posterior to nasals s: depth of skull rl: length of rostrum ======+===+====+====+====+====+====+====+====+===+===+===+====+===== n |l | t | h | b | na | z | m | rb | i | a | e | s | rl ------+---+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+---+---+---+----+----- _g. b. lutescens_; topotypes ave.| | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . min.| | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . max.| | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . mi. ne ludell, rawlins co., kansas | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . _g. b. majusculus_; douglas co., kansas | | | | | |[a] | | | | | | | ave. | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . min. | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . max. | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . _g. b. jugossicularis_; morton co., kansas ave.| | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . min.| | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . max.| | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . _g. b. industrius_; meade co., kansas ave.| | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . min.| | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . max.| | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . _g. b. major_; wells ranch, aetna, barber co., kansas | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . mi. w aetna, barber co., kansas | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . mi. se arkansas city, cowley co., kansas | | | | |[e] | | | | | | | | | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . mi. sw arkansas city, cowley co., kansas | | . | . | . | . |....| . | . | . | . | . | . | . ------+---+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+---+---+---+----+----- measurements of adult females of geomys (in millimeters) key for table headings in table on this page. n: number of individuals averaged or catalogue number l: total length t: length of tail h: length of hind foot b: basilar length na: length of nasals z: zygomatic breadth m: mastoid breadth rb: breadth of rostrum i: interorbital constriction a: alveolar length of maxillary tooth row e: extension of premaxilla posterior to nasals s: depth of skull rl: length of rostrum ======+===+====+====+====+====+====+====+====+===+===+===+====+===== n | l | t | h | b | na | z | m | rb | i | a | e | s | rl ------+---+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+---+---+---+----+----- _g. b. lutescens_; topotypes ave.| | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . min.| | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . max.| | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . mi. ne ludell, rawlins co., kansas | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . _g. b. majusculus_; douglas co., kansas | | | |[b] |[b] |[a] | | | | | | | ave. | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . min. | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . max. | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . _g. b. jugossicularis_; morton co., kansas | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . _g. b. industrius_; meade co., kansas | |[c] | |[d] | | |[d] | ave. | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . min. | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . max. | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . _g. b. major_; mi. s aetna, barber co., kansas | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . aetna, barber co., kansas | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . wells ranch, aetna, barber co., kansas | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . mi. s.sun city, barber co., kansas | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . mi. sw arkansas city, cowley co., kansas | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . mi. se arkansas city, cowley co., kansas | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . ------+---+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+---+---+---+----+----- [a] averaged. [b] averaged. [c] averaged. [d] averaged. [e] approximate. subspecies of the species geomys bursarius if _geomys lutescens major_ davis is correctly judged to intergrade with _geomys bursarius majusculus_ swenk, the name for the full species will be _geomys bursarius_ because _bursarius_ is the oldest name among those available. some new combinations of names are required. according to our present understanding, the eleven kinds of pocket gophers named below are properly to be arranged as subspecies of the species _geomys bursarius_: _geomys bursarius bursarius_ (shaw). type from unknown locality in upper mississippi valley. _geomys bursarius majusculus_ swenk. type from lincoln, lancaster county, nebraska. _geomys bursarius hylaeus_ blossom. type from mi. s chadron, dawes county, nebraska. _geomys bursarius levisagittalis_ swenk. type from spencer, boyd county, nebraska. _geomys bursarius vinaceus_ swenk. type from scottsbluff, scotts bluff county, nebraska. _geomys bursarius lutescens_ merriam. type from sandhills on birdwood creek, lincoln county, nebraska. _geomys bursarius illinoensis_ komarek and spencer. type from mi. s momence, kankakee county, illinois. _geomys bursarius jugossicularis_ hooper. type from lamar, prowers county, colorado. _geomys bursarius industrius_ new subspecies. type from - / mi. n fowler, meade county, kansas. _geomys bursarius major_ davis. type from mi. w clarendon, donley county, texas. _geomys bursarius llanensis_ bailey. type from llano, llano county, texas. literature cited allen, j. a. . notes on the mammals of portions of kansas, colorado, wyoming and utah. part i. on the mammals of middle and western kansas. bull. essex inst., (no. ): - . february, . . list of mammals collected in the black hills region of south dakota and in western kansas by mr. walter w. granger with field notes by the collector. bull. amer. mus. nat. hist., : - . august , . allen, p. . kansas mammals. kansas state teachers college, emporia, bull. inf. stud. in educ., number (no. ):l- . may, . baker, a. b. . mammals of western kansas. trans. kansas acad. sci., : - (for - ). baird, s. f. . explorations and surveys for a railroad route from the mississippi river to the pacific ocean. war department. mammals, part i, xxxii + , pls. - , figs. in text, . black, j. d. . mammals of kansas. thirtieth bienn. rept. kansas state board of agric., : - . davis, w. b. . distribution and variation of pocket gophers (genus geomys) in the southwestern united states. texas agric. exp. station, bull., : - , figs. in text. october , . hibbard, c. w. . a revised check list of kansas mammals. trans. kansas acad. sci., : - . . a checklist of kansas mammals, . trans. kansas acad. sci., : - . hooper, e. t. . a new race of pocket gopher of the species geomys lutescens from colorado. occas. papers, mus. zoöl., univ. michigan, : - . june , . knox, m. v. b. . kansas mammalia. trans. kansas acad. sci., : - . komarek, e. v. , and spencer, d. a. . a new pocket gopher from illinois and indiana. journ. mamm., : - , pl., fig. in text. november , . lantz, d. e. . kansas mammals in their relations to agriculture. kansas state agric. college bull., : - . april, . . a list of kansas mammals. trans. kansas acad. sci., : - . . additions and corrections to the list of kansas mammals. trans. kansas acad. sci., (pt. ): - . merriam, c. h. . descriptions of twenty-six new species of north american mammals. n. amer. fauna, : v + , pls., figs. in text. october , . . monographic revision of the pocket gopher family geomyidae.... n. amer. fauna, : - , pls. and frontispiece, figs. in text, maps. january , . scheffer, t. h. . the pocket gopher. kansas state agric. coll. ent. and zoöl. dept., bull., : - , illustrated. september, . . habits and economic status of the pocket gophers. u. s. dept. agric., tech. bull., : - , pls., figs. in text. january, . swenk, m. h. . a study of local size variations in the prairie pocket gopher (geomys bursarius), with description of a new subspecies from nebraska. missouri valley fauna, : - . december , . . a study of subspecific variation in the yellow pocket gopher (geomys lutescens) in nebraska, and the geographical and ecological distribution of the variants. missouri valley fauna, : - . february , . _transmitted may , ._ printed by fred voiland, jr., state printer topeka, kansas - transcriber notes: minor typographical errors were corrected without notice. italic words and phrases are marked _like this_. bold words and phrases are marked =like this=. small caps are converted to all upper case, like this. superscripts in text are indicated by use of the caret, like this ^ . address to the people of the united states, together with the proceedings and resolutions of the pro-slavery convention of missouri, held at lexington, july, . st. louis, mo. printed at the republican office. . address. to the people of the united states. we have been appointed by a convention of citizens of missouri, mainly representing that portion of the state lying contiguous to the territory of kansas, to lay before you some suggestions, upon a topic which vitally concerns our state, and which, it is believed, may to a serious extent affect the general welfare of our country. we propose to discharge this duty by a concise and candid exposition of facts, touching our condition, and its bearing upon kansas, accompanied with such reflections as the facts naturally suggest. that portion of missouri which borders on kansas contains, as nearly as can now be ascertained, a population of fifty thousand slaves, and their estimated value, at the prices prevailing here, is about twenty-five millions of dollars. as the whole state contains but about one hundred thousand slaves, it will be seen that one-half of the entire slave population of missouri is located in the eighteen counties bordering on kansas, the greater portion of which is separated from that territory by no natural boundary, and is within a day's ride of the line. this part of our state is distinguished by an uniform fertility of soil, a temperate and healthful climate, and a population progressing rapidly in all the elements that constitute a prosperous community. agriculture is in a most flourishing condition, and the towns and villages which have sprung up, indicate a steady progress towards wealth, refinement and commercial importance. nor have the higher interests of education, religion and science, been neglected; but common schools, and respectable institutions of a higher grade, and churches of every christian denomination, are found in every county. the great staple of this district is hemp, although tobacco, and corn, and wheat are also largely produced. the culture of hemp has been found profitable,--more so than cotton in the south; and this fact, with the additional ones, that almost every foot of land within the counties alluded to, is wonderfully adapted by nature to its production, in greater quantities, and finer qualities, and at smaller cost, than in any other state in the union, and that the climate is such as to permit the growers of this article to reside on their estates, will readily explain and account for the unexampled growth of the country. already it constitutes the most densely populated portion of our state, and its remarkable fertility of soil, and general salubrity of climate, with the facilities for outlet furnished by a noble river, running through its midst, and two great railroads, destined soon to traverse its upper and lower border, will render it at no distant period, if left undisturbed, as desirable and flourishing a district as can be found in the mississippi valley. an idea has to some extent prevailed abroad, that missouri contained but a very small slave population, and that the permanence of this institution here was threatened by the existence of at least a respectable minority of her citizens, ready and anxious to abolish it, and that only a slight external pressure was necessary to accomplish this purpose. we regret that this opinion has to some extent received countenance from the publication and patronage of journals in our commercial metropolis, evidently aiming at such a result. without, however, going into any explanation of political parties here, which would be entirely foreign to our purpose, we think it proper to state, that the idea above alluded to is unfounded; and that no respectable party can be found in this state, outside of st. louis, prepared to embark in any such schemes. in that city, constituting the great outlet of our commerce, as well as that of several other states and territories, it will not seem surprising that its heterogeneous population should furnish a foothold for the wildest and most visionary projects. st. louis was, however, represented in our convention, and it is not thought unwarrantable to assume that the resolutions adopted by this body have received the cordial approbation of a large and influential portion of her citizens. other counties, besides st. louis, outside of the district to which our observations have been principally directed, were also represented by delegates; and had not the season of the year, the short notice of its intended session, and the locality where the convention was held--remote from the centre of the state--prevented, we doubt not that delegates from every county in the state would have been in attendance. indeed, a portion of the upper mississippi and lower mississippi counties are as deeply, though less directly interested in this question, as any part of this state; and their citizens are known to accord most heartily in the sentiments and actions of western missouri. even in the south-west part of our state, from the osage to the borders of arkansas, where there are but few slaves, the proceedings of public meetings indicate the entire and active sympathy of their people. from the general tone of the public press throughout the state, a similar inference is deducible, and, we feel warranted in asserting, a very general, if not unanimous concurrence in the principles adopted by the lexington convention. those principles are embodied in a series of resolutions appended to this address, and which, we are happy to say, were adopted with entire unanimity, by a body representing every shade of political opinion to be found in the interior of our state. these facts are conclusive of the condition of public sentiment in missouri. the probabilities of changes here in reference to the question of slavery, are not essentially different from what they are in tennessee, or virginia, or kentucky. in relation to numbers, a reference to the census shows that missouri contains double the number of arkansas, nearly double the number of texas, and about an equal number with maryland. these facts are stated with a view to a proper understanding of our position in reference to the settlement of kansas, and the legitimate and necessary interest felt in the progress and character of that settlement. previous to the repeal of the congressional restriction of , by which missouri was thrown into an isolated position in reference to the question of slavery, and made a solitary exception to a general rule, her condition in regard to the territory west of her border, and yet north of the geographical line which congress had fixed as the terminus of southern institutions, was truly unenviable. with two states on her northern and eastern border, in many portions of which the constitution of the united states, and the fugitive slave law, passed in pursuance thereof, were known to be as inefficacious for the protection of our rights as they would have been in london or canada, it was left to the will of congress, by enforcing the restriction of , to cut missouri off almost entirely from all territorial connexion with states having institutions congenial to her own, and with populations ready and willing to protect and defend them. no alternative was left to that body but to repeal the restriction, and thus leave to the constitution and the laws of nature, the settlement of our territories, or, by retaining the restriction, indirectly to abolish slavery in missouri. if the latter alternative had to be selected, it would have been an act of charity and mercy to the slaveholders of missouri, to warn them in time of the necessity of abandoning their homes, or manumitting or selling their slaves--to give them ample time to determine between the sacrifice of fifty millions of slave property, or seventy millions of landed estate. direct legislation would have been preferable to indirect legislation, leading to the same result, and the enforcement of the restriction in the settlement of kansas was virtually the abolition of slavery in missouri. but congress acted more wisely, as we think, and with greater fidelity to the constitution and the union. the history of the kansas-nebraska bill is known to the country. it abolished the geographical line of deg. min., by which the limits of slavery were restricted, and substituted a constitutional and just principle, which left to the settlers of the territories to adopt such domestic institutions as suited themselves. if ever there was a principle calculated to commend itself to all reasonable men, and reconcile all conflicting interests, this would seem to have been the one. it was the principle of popular sovereignty--the basis upon which our independence had been achieved--and it was therefore supposed to be justly dear to all americans, of every latitude and every creed. but fanaticism was not satisfied. the abolitionists and their allies moved heaven and earth to accomplish its defeat, and although unsuccessful, they did not therefore despair. out-voted in congress, receiving no countenance from the executive, they retired to another theatre of action, and, strange to say, they prostituted an ancient and respectable commonwealth--one of the old thirteen--to commence, in her sovereign capacity as a state, with the means and imposing attitude incident to such a position, a crusade against slavery, novel in its character, more alarming in its features, and likely to be more fatal in its consequences, than all the fanatical movements hitherto attempted, since the appearance of abolitionism as a political party in . they originated and matured a scheme, never before heard of or thought of in this country, the object and effect of which was to evade the principle of the kansas-nebraska bill, and in lieu of _non-intervention by congress_, to substitute _active intervention by the states_. an act of incorporation was passed; a company with a capital of five millions was chartered; and this company was authorized to enlist an army of mercenary fanatics, and transport them to kansas. recruiting officers were stationed in places most likely to furnish the proper material; premiums were offered for recruits; the public mind was stimulated by glowing and false descriptions of the country proposed to be occupied, and a _hessian_ band of mercenaries was thus prepared and forwarded, to commence and carry on a war of extermination against slavery. to call these people _emigrants_, is a sheer perversion of language. they are not sent to cultivate the soil, to better their social condition, to add to their individual comforts, or the aggregate wealth of the nation. they do not move from choice or taste, or from any motive affecting, or supposed to affect, themselves or their families. they have none of the marks of the old pioneers, who cut down the forests of kentucky, ohio and indiana, or levelled the cane brakes of tennessee and mississippi, or broke up the plains of illinois and missouri. they are mostly ignorant of agriculture; picked up in cities or villages, they of course have no experience as farmers, and if left to their unaided resources--if not clothed and fed by the same power which has effected their transportation--they would starve or freeze. they are _hirelings_--an army of hirelings--recruited and shipped indirectly by a sovereign state of this union, to make war upon an institution _now_ existing in the territory to which they are transplanted, and thence to inflict a fatal blow upon the resources, the prosperity and the peace of a neighboring state. they are _military_ colonies, planted by a state government, to subdue a territory opened to settlement by congress, and take exclusive possession thereof. in addition to that _esprit du corps_, which of necessity pervades such an organization, they have in common a reckless and desperate fanaticism, which teaches them that slavery is a sin, and that they are doing god's service in hastening its destruction. they have been picked and culled from the ignorant masses, which old england and new england negro philanthropy has stirred up and aroused to madness on this topic, and have been selected with reference to their views on this topic alone. they are men with a single idea; and to carry out this, they have been instructed and taught to disregard the laws of god and man; to consider bloodshed and arson, insurrection, destruction of property, or servile war, as the merest trifles, compared with the glory and honor of seducing a single slave from his master, or harboring and protecting the thief who has carried him off! that such a population would be fatal to the peace and security of the neighboring state of missouri, and immediate destruction of such owners of slaves as had already moved to the territory of kansas, is too clear to admit of argument. a horde of our western savages, with avowed purposes of destruction to the white race, would be less formidable neighbors. the colonization of kansas with a population of this character was a circumstance which aroused attention, and excited alarm among our citizens here, and those who had already emigrated to kansas. could any other result have been expected? did sensible men at the north--did the abolitionists themselves, expect any other? missouri contained, as we have seen, one hundred thousand slaves, and their value amounted to fifty millions of dollars. had these fanatics who pronounced slavery an individual sin, and a national curse, ever yet pointed out any decently plausible scheme by which it could be removed? the entire revenue of our state, for ordinary fiscal purposes, scarcely reaches five hundred thousand dollars, and the abolition of slavery here would involve the destruction of productive capital estimated at fifty millions of dollars, or a taxation upon the people of five millions of dollars annually, which is the legalized interest upon this amount of capital, besides the additional tax which would be necessary to raise a sinking fund to pay off the debt created. the constitution of missouri prohibits the legislature from passing laws emancipating slaves, without a full compensation to their owners; and it is therefore apparent, that ten-fold the entire revenue of the state would be barely sufficient to pay the interest upon a sum equivalent to the actual moneyed value of the slaves, without providing any means to extinguish the principal which such a debt would create. we omit altogether, in this calculation, the impracticability and impolicy and cruelty to both races, of liberating the slaves here, with no provision for their removal, and the additional debt which such removal would create, equal, in all probability, to that occasioned by their mere emancipation. it would seem then, that the merest glance at the statistical tables of our state, showing its population and revenue, must have satisfied the most sanguine abolitionist of the futility of his schemes. if the investigation was pursued further, and our estimate was made to embrace the three millions and a half of slaves now in the southern and south-western states, and the billions to which our computation must ascend in order to ascertain their value in money, this anti-slavery crusade, which presents itself in a form of open aggression against the white race, without the semblance or pretext of good to that race for which the abolitionist professes so much regard, and which stands so much higher in his affections than his own, is seen to be one of mere folly and wickedness, or, what is perhaps worse, a selfish and sectional struggle for political power. it is a singular fact, and one worthy of notice in this connexion, that in the history of african slavery up to this time, no government has ever yet been known to abolish it, which fairly represented the interests and opinions of the governed. great britain, it is true, abolished slavery in jamaica, but the planters of jamaica had no potential voice in the british parliament. the abolition of slavery in new england, and in the middle states, can hardly be cited as an exception, since that abrogation was not so much the result of positive legislation, as it was of natural causes--the unfitness of climate and productions to slave labor. it is well known to those familiar with the jurisprudence of this country, and of england, that slavery has been in no instance created by positive statutory enactment, nor has it been thus abolished in any country, when the popular will was paramount in legislative action. its existence and non-existence appears to depend entirely upon causes beyond the reach of governmental action, and this fact should teach some dependence upon the will of an overruling providence, which works out its ends in a mode, and at a time, not always apparent to finite mortals. the history of some of our slaveholding states, in relation to efforts of this character, it would seem, ought to be conclusive, at least, against those who have no actual interests involved, and whom a proper sense of self-respect, if not of constitutional obligation, should restrain from impertinent interference. virginia in , and kentucky more recently, were agitated from centre to circumference by a bold and unrestricted discussion of the subject of emancipation. upon the hustings and in legislative assemblies, the subject was thoroughly examined, and every project which genius or philanthropy could suggest, was investigated. brought forward in the old dominion, under the sanction of names venerated and respected throughout the limits of the commonwealth--well known to have been a cherished project of her most distinguished statesmen--favored by the happening of a then recent servile disturbance, and patronized by some of the most patriotic and enlightened citizens, the scheme nevertheless failed, without a show of strength or a step in advance towards the object contemplated. the magnitude of the difficulties to be overcome was so great, and so obvious, as to strike alike the emancipationists and their adversaries. the result has been, both in virginia and kentucky, that slavery, to use the language of one of kentucky's eloquent and distinguished sons, and one, too, of the foremost in the work of emancipation, "has been accepted as a permanent part of their social system." can it be that there is a destitution of honesty--of intelligence--of patriotism and piety in slaveholding states, and that these qualities are alone to be found in great britain and the northern free states? if not, the conclusion must be, that the difficulties in the way of such an enterprise exceed all the calculations of statesmanship and philosophy; and their removal must await the will of that being, whose prerogative it is to make crooked paths straight, and justify the ways of god to man. we have no thought of discussing the subject of slavery. viewed in its social, moral or economical aspects, it is regarded, as the resolutions of the convention declare, as solely and exclusively a matter of state jurisdiction, and therefore, one which does not concern the federal government, or the states where it does not exist. we have merely adverted to the fact, in connexion with the recent abolition movements upon kansas, that amidst all their fierce denunciations of slavery for twenty years past, these fanatics have never yet been able to suggest a plan for its removal, consistent with the safety of the white race--saying nothing of constitutional guarantees, federal and state. the colonization scheme of massachusetts, as we have said, excited alarm in missouri. its obvious design was to operate further than the mere prevention of the natural expansion of slavery. it was intended to narrow its existing limits,--to destroy all equilibrium of power between the north and the south, and leave the slaveholder at the will of a majority, ready to disregard constitutional obligations, and carry out to their bitter end the mandates of ignorance, prejudice and bigotry. its success manifestly involved a radical change in our federal government, or its total overthrow. if kansas could be thus abolitionized, every additional part of the present public domain hereafter opened to settlement, and every future accession of territory, would be the subject of similar experiments, and an exploded wilmot proviso thus virtually enforced throughout an extended domain still claimed as _national_, and still bearing on its military ensigns the stars and stripes of the union. if the plan was constitutional and legal, it must be conceded that it was skillfully contrived, and admirably adapted to its ends. it was also eminently practicable, if no resistance was encountered, since the states adopting it contained a surplus population which could be bought up and shipped, whilst the south, which had an interest in resisting, had no such people among her white population. the kansas-nebraska law, too, which was so extremely hateful to the fanatics, and has constituted the principal theme of their recent denunciations, would be a dead letter, both as it regarded the two territories for which it was particularly framed, and as a precedent to congress for the opening of other districts to settlement. the old missouri restriction could have done no more, and the whole purpose of the anti-slavery agitators, both in and out of congress, was quietly accomplished. but the scheme failed--as it deserved to fail; and as the peace, prosperity, and union of our country required it should fail. it was a scheme totally at variance with the genius of our government, both state and federal, and with the social institutions which these governments were designed to protect, and its success would have been as fatal to those who contrived it, as it could have been to those intended to be its victims. the circumstance of novelty is entitled to its weight in politics as well as law. the abolition irruption upon kansas is without precedent in our history. seventy-nine years of our national life have rolled by; territory after territory has been annexed, or settled, and added to the galaxy of states, until from thirteen we have increased to thirty-two; yet it never before entered into the head of any statesman, north or south, to devise a plan of acquiring exclusive occupation of a territory by state colonization. to massachusetts belongs the honor of its invention, and we trust she will survive its defeat. but, she is not the massachusetts, we must do justice to her past history to say, that she was in the times of her adams', her hancocks, and her warrens; nor yet is she where she stood in more recent times, when her websters, and choates, and winthrops, led the van of her statesmen. her legislative halls are filled with ruthless fanatics, dead to the past and reckless to the future; her statute books are polluted with enactments purporting to annul the laws of congress, passed in pursuance, and by reason of the special requirements of the constitution; and her senatorial chairs at washington are filled by a rhetorician and a bigot, one of whom studies to disguise in the drapery of a classic elocution, the most hideous and treasonable forms of fanaticism; whilst his colleague is pleased to harangue a city rabble with open and unadulterated disunionism, associated with the oracles of abolitionism and infidelity--a melancholy spectacle to the descendants of the compatriots of benjamin franklin! no southern or slaveholding state has ever attempted to colonize a territory. our public lands have been left to the occupancy of such settlers as soil and climate invited. the south has sent no armies to force slave labor upon those who preferred free labor. kentucky sprung from virginia, as did tennessee from north carolina, and kansas will from missouri--from contiguity of territory, and similarity of climate. emigration has followed the parallels of latitude and will continue to do so, unless diverted by such organizations as emigrant aid societies and kansas leagues. it has been said that the citizens of massachusetts have an undoubted right to emigrate to kansas; that this right may be exercised individually, or in families, or in larger private associations; and that associated enterprise, under the sanction of legislative enactments, is but another and equally justifiable form of emigration. political actions, like those of individuals, must be judged by their motives and effects. unquestionably, emigration, both individual and collective, from the free states to the south, and, _vice versa_, from the slave states to the north, has been progressing from the foundation of our government to the present day, without comment and without objection. it is not pretended that such emigration, even if fostered by state patronage, would be illegal, or in any respect objectionable. the wide expanse of the fertile west, and the deserted wastes of the sunny south, invite occupation; and no man, from the southern extremity of florida to the northern boundary of missouri, has ever objected to an emigrant simply because he was from the north, and preferred free labor to that of slaves. upon this subject he is allowed to consult his own taste, convenience, and conscience; and it is expected that he will permit his neighbors to exercise the same privilege. but, no one can fail to distinguish between an honest, _bona fide_ emigration, prompted by choice or necessity, and an organized colonization with offensive purposes upon the institutions of the country proposed to be settled. nor can there be any doubt in which class to place the movements of massachusetts emigrant aid societies and kansas leagues. their motives have been candidly avowed, and their objects boldly proclaimed throughout the length and breadth of the land. were this not the case, it would still be impossible to mistake them. why, we might well enquire, if simple emigration was in view, are these extraordinary efforts confined to the territory of kansas? is nebraska, which was opened to settlement by the same law, less desirable, less inviting to northern adventurers, than kansas? are iowa, and washington, and oregon, and minnesota, and illinois and michigan, filled up with population--their lands all occupied, and furnishing no room for massachusetts emigrants? is massachusetts herself overrun with population--obliged to rid herself of paupers whom she cannot feed at home? or, is kansas, as eastern orators have insinuated, a newly discovered paradise--a modern el dorado, where gold and precious stones can be gathered at pleasure; or an arcadia, where nature is so bountiful as not to need the aid of man, and fruits and vegetables of every desirable description spontaneously spring up? there can be but one answer to these questions, and that answer shows conclusively the spirit and intent of this miscalled and pretended emigration. _it is an anti-slavery movement._ as such it was organized and put in motion by an anti-slavery legislature; as such, the organized army was equipped in massachusetts, and transported to kansas; and, as such, it was met there and defeated. if further illustration was needed of the illegality of these movements upon kansas, we might extend our observations to the probable reception of similar movements upon a state. if the massachusetts legislature, or that of any other state, have the right to send an army of abolitionists into kansas, they have the same right to transport them to missouri. we are not apprised of any provisions in the constitutions or laws of the states, which in this respect distinguishes their condition from that of a territory. we have no laws, and we presume no slaveholding state has, which forbids the emigration of non-slaveholders. such laws, if passed, would clearly conflict with the federal constitution. the southern and south-western slaveholding states are as open to emigration from non-slaveholding states as kansas. they differ only in the price of land and the density of population. let us suppose, then, that massachusetts should turn her attention to texas, and should ascertain that the population of that state was nearly divided between those who favored and those who opposed slavery, and that one thousand votes would turn the scale in favor of emancipation, and, acting in accordance with her world-wide philanthropy, she should resolve to transport the thousand voters necessary to abolish slavery in texas, how would such a movement be received there? or, to reverse the proposition, let it be supposed that south carolina, with her large slaveholding population, should undertake to transport a thousand slaveholders to delaware, with a view to turn the scale in that state, now understood to be rapidly passing over to the list of free states, would the gallant sons of that ancient state, small as she is territorially, submit to such interference? now, the institutions of kansas are as much fixed and as solemnly guaranteed by statute, as those of delaware or texas. the laws of kansas territory may be abrogated by succeeding legislatures; but, so also may the laws, and even the constitutions, of texas and delaware. kansas only differs from their condition in her limited resources, her small population, and her large amount of marketable lands. there is no difference in principle between the cases supposed; if justifiable and legal in the one, it is equally so in the other. they differ only in point of practicability and expediency; the one would be an outrage, easily perceived, promptly met, and speedily repelled; the other is disguised under the forms of emigration, and meets with no populous and organized community to resent it. we are apprised that it is said, that the kansas legislature was elected by fraud, and constitute no fair representation of the opinions of the people of the territory. this is evidently the excuse of the losing party, to stimulate renewed efforts among their friends at home; but even this is refuted by the record. the territorial governor of kansas, a gentleman not suspected of, or charged with partiality to slavery or to its advocates, has solemnly certified under his official seal, that the statement is false; that a large majority of the legislature were duly and legally elected. even in the districts where governor reeder set aside the elections for illegality, the subsequent returns of the special elections ordered by him, produced the same result, except in a single district. there is, then, no pretext left, and it is apparent, that to send an army of abolitionists to kansas to destroy slavery existing there, and recognized by her laws, is no more to be justified on the part of the massachusetts legislature, than it would be to send a like force to missouri, with the like purposes. the object might be more easily and safely accomplished in the one case than in the other, but in both cases it is equally repugnant to every principle of international comity, and likely to prove equally fatal to the harmony and peace of the union. we conclude, then, that this irruption upon kansas by emigrant aid societies and kansas leagues, under the patronage of the massachusetts legislature, is to be regarded in no other light than a new phase of abolitionism, more practical in its aims, and therefore more dangerous than any form it has yet assumed. we have shown it to be at variance with the true intent of the act of congress, by which the territory was opened to settlement; at variance with the spirit of the constitution of the united states, and with the institutions of the territory, already recognized by law; totally destructive of that fellowship and good feeling which should exist among citizens of confederated states; ruinous to the security, peace and prosperity of a neighboring state; unprecedented in our political annals up to this date, and pregnant with the most disastrous consequences to the harmony and stability of the union. thus far its purposes have been defeated; but renewed efforts are threatened. political conventions at the north and north-west have declared for the repeal of the kansas-nebraska law, and, anticipating a failure in this direction, are stimulating the anti-slavery sentiment to fresh exertions, for abolitionizing kansas after the massachusetts fashion. we have discharged our duty in declaring the light in which such demonstrations are viewed here, and our firm belief of the spirit by which they will be met. if civil war and ultimate disunion are desired, a renewal of these efforts will be admirably adapted to such purposes. missouri has taken her position in the resolutions adopted by the lexington convention, and from that position she will not be likely to recede. it is based upon the constitution--upon justice, and equality of rights among the states. what she has done, and what she is still prepared to do, is in self-defence and for self-preservation; and from these duties she will hardly be expected to shrink. with her, everything is at stake; the security of a large slave property, the prosperity of her citizens, and their exemption from perpetual agitation and border feuds; whilst the emissaries of abolition are pursuing a phantom--an abstraction, which, if realized, could add nothing to their possessions or happiness, and would be productive of decided injury to the race for whose benefit they profess to labor. if slavery is an evil, and it is conceded that congress cannot interfere with it in the states, it is most manifest that its diffusion through a new territory, where land is valueless and labor productive, tends greatly to ameliorate the condition of the slaves. opposition to the extension of slavery is not, then, founded upon any philanthropic views, or upon any love for the slave. it is a mere grasp for political power, beyond what the constitution of the united states concedes; and it is so understood by the leaders of the movement. and this additional power is not desired for constitutional purposes--for the advancement of the general welfare, or the national reputation. for such purposes the majority in the north is already sufficient, and no future events are likely to diminish it. the slaveholding states are in a minority, but so far, a minority which has commanded respect in the national councils. it has answered, and we hope will continue to subserve the purposes of self-protection. conservative men from other quarters have come up to the rescue, when the rights of the south have been seriously threatened. but it is essential to the purposes of self-preservation, that this minority should not be materially weakened; it is essential to the preservation of our present form of government, that the slave states should retain sufficient power to make effectual resistance against outward aggression upon an institution peculiar to them alone. parchment guarantees, as all history shows, avail nothing against an overwhelming public clamor. the fate of the fugitive slave law affords an instructive warning on the subject, and shows that the most solemn constitutional obligations will be evaded or scorned, where popular prejudice resists their execution. the south must rely on herself for protection, and to this end her strength in the federal government cannot be safely diminished. if indeed it be true, as public men at the north have declared, and political assemblages have endorsed, that a determination has been reached in that quarter to refuse admission to any more slave states, there is an end to all argument on the subject. to reject kansas, or any other territory from the union, simply and solely because slavery is recognized within her limits, would be regarded here, and, we presume, throughout the south and south-west, as an open repudiation of the constitution--a distinct and unequivocal step towards a dissolution of the union. we presume it would be so regarded everywhere, north and south. taken in connexion with the abrogation of that provision of the constitution which enforces the rights of the owners of slaves in all the states of the union, into which they might escape, which has been effected _practically_ throughout nearly all the free states, and more formally by solemn legislative enactments in a portion of them, the rejection of kansas on account of slavery would be disunion in a form of grossest insult to the sixteen slave states now comprehended in the nation. it would be a declaration that slavery was incompatible with republican government, in the face of at least _two formal recognitions_ of its legality, _in terms_, by the federal constitution. we trust that such counsels have not the remotest prospect of prevailing in our national legislature, and will not dwell upon the consequence of their adoption. we prefer to anticipate a returning fidelity to national obligations--a faithful adherance to the constitutional guarantees, and the consequent prospect--cheering to the patriot of this and other lands--of a continued and _perpetual_ union. wm. b. napton, _chairman_. sterling price, m. oliver, s. h. woodson. proceedings of the pro-slavery convention, held at lexington, mo. the convention was called to order by judge thompson, of clay county, and on his motion samuel h. woodson, esq., of jackson county, was called to the chair; and on motion of e. c. mccarty, esq., col. sam. a. lowe, of pettis county, was appointed secretary. on motion of col. young, of boone county, resolved, that a committee of one delegate from each county represented in the convention be raised, to select and report permanent officers for the convention, and to select a committee who shall prepare resolutions and other business for the action of the convention. in accordance with the above resolution, the following gentlemen were appointed said committee: j. w. torbert, of cooper county, major morin, of platte " w. m. jackson, of howard " s. barker, of carroll " a. g. davis, of caldwell " j. s. williams, of linn " e. c. mccarty, of jackson " austin a. king, of ray " edwin toole, of andrew " d. h. chism, of morgan " a. m. forbes, of pettis " a. g. blakey, of benton " thomas e. birch, of clinton " g. h. c. melody, of boone " sam. l. sawyer, of lafayette " c. f. jackson, of saline " wm. hudgins, of livingston " c. f. chamblin, of johnson " w. h. russell, of cass " john dougherty, of clay " joseph davis, of henry " capt. head, of randolph " john a. leppard, of daviess " wm. h. buffington, of cole " on motion of mr. russell, of cass county, resolved, that the delegations from the different counties furnish the secretary of this convention with a list of delegates from their counties. on further motion of mr. russell, of cass county, permission was given to the committee on resolutions, &c., to retire and draft resolutions, to report as soon as practicable. on motion of mr. field, of lafayette, a committee, consisting of messrs. field, of lafayette, bayless, of platte, and boyce, of ray, was appointed to wait upon messrs. d. r. atchison and a. w. doniphan, and invite them to address the convention. mr. moss, of clay, offered the following resolution: resolved, that all persons who are present from the different counties, although not appointed as delegates by their several counties, be considered as delegates to this convention. mr. peabody, of boone county, moved to amend so as to read, that all persons from the different counties of the state, friendly to the object of this convention, be considered as delegates. pending which question, on leave granted, mr. field, of lafayette county, from the committee appointed to wait on messrs. d. r. atchison and a. w. doniphan, made their report, stating that those gentlemen declined addressing the convention at the present time. on motion of mr. bryant, of saline, the convention adjourned. to meet at o'clock, p. m. evening session. the convention was called to order by the president, when, on motion of mr. slack, of livingston, the resolution offered by mr. moss, of clay, together with the amendment offered by mr. peabody, which was pending when the convention adjourned, was laid on the table. on motion of mr. field, of lafayette, major m. oliver was requested to address the convention, and to give his views on the different subjects now agitating this country, and which would be brought before this convention; which he was proceeding to do, when the committee on resolutions, &c., asked leave to make their report, which was granted. the committee then, through their chairman, hon. a. a. king, submitted the following report: the committee to whom was assigned the duty of designating permanent officers for this convention, beg leave to report the following: for president, hon. w. g. wood, of lafayette county. for vice presidents, hon. j. t. v. thompson, of clay co. hon. john j. lowry, of howard " secretaries, hon. samuel a. lowe, of pettis county, l. a. wisely, of platte " for committee on resolutions, major bradley, of cooper county, dr. bayless, of platte " b. f. willis, of clinton " s. a. young, of boone " wade m. jackson, of howard " martin slaughter, of lafayette " stephen stafford, of carroll " w. b. napton, of saline " w. s. pollard, of caldwell " w. y. slack, of livingston " j. s. williams, of linn " g. d. hansbrough, of cass " sam. h. woodson, of jackson " james h. moss, of clay " m. oliver, of ray " d. c. stone, of henry " robert wilson, of andrew " b. w. grover, of johnson " john s. jones, of pettis " john a. leppard, of daviess " a. g. blakey, of benton " john head, of randolph " w. h. buffington, of cole " the committee also offered the following resolution, which was adopted by the convention: resolved, that to ascertain the sense of this convention on all propositions submitted for its action, each county represented shall be permitted to cast the same number of votes that it is entitled to cast in the lower house of the general assembly of this state. on motion of col. young, of boone, a committee, consisting of messrs. young, of boone, napton, of saline, and russell, of cass, was appointed to wait on the president, hon. w. t. wood, and escort him to the chair. on motion of dr. mccabe, of cooper, the convention took a recess for one hour. the convention was again called to order by the president, hon. w. t. wood, when the following gentlemen appeared as delegates, and took their seats: _andrew co._--robert wilson and edwin toole. _benton co._--a. g. blakey. _boone co._--saml. a. young, dr. peabody, dr. thomas, col. g. h. c. melody, sterling price, jr., and james shannon. _caldwell co._--w. s. pollard, david thomson, wm. griffey, albert g. davis. _carroll co._--s. barker, s. stafford, w. j. poindexter, r. h. courts, c. haskins, h. wilcoxen, judge thomas, hyram willson. _cass co._--wm. palmer, j. f. callaway, f. r. martin, j. g. martin, t. railey, j. t. thornton, c. t. worley, w. h. russell, s. r. crockett, t. f. freeman, c. vanhoy, g. d. hansbrough, s. g. allen, h. d. russell, j. t. martin. _clay co._--j. t. v. thompson, john dougherty, a. w. doniphan, j. g. price, d. j. adkins, w. e. price, w. mcnealy, j. h. moss, j. h. adams, g. w. withers, t. mccarty, e. p. moore, j. m. jones, l. a. talbott, r. j. lamb, j. lincoln, w. d. hubble, t. m. dawson, h. l. rout, r. h. miller, j. a. poague, l. w. burris, s. r. shrader, g. elgin, h. corwine. _cooper co._--j. w. torbert, j. k. ragland, wm. bradly, h. e. moore, geo. s. cockrell, thomas s. cockrell, horace w. ferguson, r. ellis, j. k. mccabe, jacob alstadt, h. tracy. _clinton co._--john reed, b. f. williss, c. c. birch, m. summers, t. e. birch, j. t. hughes. _cole co._--w. h. buffington, r. r. jefferson, j. c. rogers, c. eckler. _chariton co._--w. s. hyde, s. j. cortes, l. salisbury. _daviess co._--b. weldon, j. a. leppard. _howard co._--j. j. lowry, s. graves, w. payne, r. basket, m. taylor, b. w. lewis, h. cooper, j. b. clark, r. patterson. _henry co._--d. a. gillespie, jo. davis, d. c. stone, r. t. lindsay, h. lewis. _jackson co._--s. h. woodson, w. m. f. magraw, w. f. robinson, w. easley, e. c. mccarty, n. r. mcmurry, j. a. winn, t. m. adams, n. m. miller, w. ellis, e. mcclanahan, john mccarty, j. m. ridge, j. r. henry, col. j. m. cogswell, jno. hambright. _johnson co._--hy. ousley, s. craig, n. w. perry, w. marr, w. l. wood, w. l. barksdale, c. f. chamblin, j. m. fulkerson, reuben fulkerson, w. p. tucker, p. manion, w. kirkpatrick, b. w. grover. _lafayette co._--f. c. sharp, w. k. trigg, o. anderson, s. l. sawyer, a. jones, r. n. smith, w. t. field, w. m. smallwood, dr. g. a. rucker, (a committee to cast the vote.) _livingston co._--a. t. kirtly, a. craig, w. hudgins, w. y. slack, w. f. miller, w. o. jennings, j. d. hoy. _linn co._--j. s. williams. _morgan co._--d. h. chism. _pettis co._--j. s. jones, saml. a. lowe, a. m. forbes, g. w. rothwell, geo. anderson, t. e. staples. _platte co._--d. r. atchison, jo. walker, g. w. bayless, t. beaumont, d. p. wallingford, hy. coleman, e. p. duncan, jesse morin, p. ellington, sr., jesse summers, a. b. stoddard, thomas h. starnes, j. c. hughes, jno. h. dorriss, f. p. davidson, l. a. wisely, h. b. ladd. _randolph co._--judge head. _ray co._----a. a. king, b. j. brown, col. bohannan, m. oliver, major boyce, judge branstetter, dr. chew, w. warriner, d. p. whitmer, dr. woodward, s. a. richardson, major shaw, dr. garner, a. oliphant, t. a. h. smith, g. j. wasson, judge carter, j. e. couch, g. l. benton, j. p. quisenberry, s. j. brown, j. s. shoop, j. s. hughes, d. d. bullock, dr. stone, judge price, w. hughes, c. t. brown, o. taylor, m. c. nuckolls, j. h. taylor, r. winsett, j. p. taylor, d. harbison, dr. buchanan, w. m. jacobs, wm. murry, col. smith. _saline co._--w. b. sappington, c. f. jackson, o. b. pearson, t. r. e. harvey, j. h. irvine, l. b. harwood, v. marmaduke, m. marmaduke, j. h. grove, robert grove, a. m. davison, w. b. napton, j. w. bryant, t. w. b. crews, f. a. combs, m. w. o'banon, jas. coombs, h. c. simmons. mr. withers, of clay, offered a series of resolutions, which he asked might be read and acted on by the convention. mr. jackson, of saline, objected to the reading and moved their reference to the committee on resolutions. previous to the vote on said motion, mr. withers withdrew the resolutions, and then, by leave of the convention, the resolutions were handed over to the committee. the president being notified of the presence of gov. sterling price, in the house, on motion of dr. lowry, of howard, appointed messrs. lowry, of howard, and shewalter, of lafayette, a committee to wait upon him and invite him to a seat within the bar. mr. c. t. worley offered the following resolutions: resolved, that it is the sense of this convention, that no valuable purpose whatever will be subserved by debate, but on the other hand, will most certainly lead to heated and unprofitable excitement; therefore, resolved, that from henceforward, we will proceed on all propositions submitted to a direct vote. mr. jackson, of saline, moved to lay the resolutions on the table, which motion was carried. on motion of mr. king, of ray, the convention adjourned till to-morrow morning at eight o'clock. second day. friday morning, o'clock. the convention met, and was called to order by the president. owing to the absence of mr. lowe, one of the secretaries, on motion of col. s. a. young, of boone, l. j. sharp, of lafayette, was appointed to act in his place. on motion of j. w. bryant, of saline, the proceedings of yesterday were ordered to be read. it being announced that other delegates had arrived from different counties, the following named gentlemen appeared and took their seats in convention: f. walker, of howard, dr. e. c. moss, of pettis, p. t. able, esq. of platte, and george t. wood, of henry. messrs. j. loughborough and george f. hill also appeared and took their seats as delegates from st. louis county. dr. lowry, of howard, moved that the president appoint a committee to wait on president shannon, of boone, and invite him to address the convention on the subject of slavery. a motion was then made to lay dr. lowry's motion on the table, which, being voted upon by counties, resulted as follows: yeas--cass, daviess, henry, johnson, ray, cole, clay. noes--andrew, boone, caldwell, carroll, cooper, jackson, lafayette, livingston, linn, morgan, pettis, platte, randolph, chariton, st. louis, saline. dr. lowry's motion was then put to the convention, and on motion of c. f. jackson, of saline, the rule to vote by counties was suspended. dr. lowry's motion was then adopted by the convention: whereupon the president appointed dr. lowry, of howard, and major morin, of platte, said committee. s. l. sawyer, of lafayette, announced that the committee on resolutions was ready to report. the report being called for, the committee proceeded to report, through their chairman, judge napton, of saline, the following preamble and resolutions: whereas, this convention have observed a deliberate and apparently systematic effort, on the part of several states of this union, to wage a war of extermination upon the institution of slavery as it exists under the constitution of the united states, and of the several states, by legislative enactments annulling acts of congress passed in pursuance of the constitution, and incorporating large moneyed associations to abolitionize kansas, and through kansas to operate upon the contiguous states of missouri, arkansas and texas; this convention, representing that portion of missouri more immediately affected by these movements, deem it proper to make known their opinions and purposes, and what they believe to be the opinions and purposes of the whole state, and to this end have agreed to the following resolutions: . that we regard the institution of african slavery, whether relating to its social, moral, political or economical aspect, solely and exclusively a question of state jurisdiction, and any agitation of this question in the congress of the united states, or in states where it has no existence, with a view to affect its condition, or bring about its destruction, is a direct and dangerous attack upon the reserved rights of the several slaveholding states, and is an impertinent interference in matters nowise concerning the agitators, and, if persisted in, must sooner or later destroy all harmony and good feeling between the states and the citizens thereof, and will finally result in a dissolution of the union. . that the resolution on the part of several of the northern and western non-slaveholding states, never to admit another slaveholding state into this union, is substantially a declaration of hostility to our federal constitution, and avows a purpose to disregard its compromises; and implies a threat of continued aggression upon, and ultimate destruction of slavery, under whatever sanctions it may exist. . that the diffusion of slavery over a wider surface tends greatly to ameliorate the condition of the slave, whilst it advances the prosperity of his owner; and the admission of new slaveholding states into the union, by maintaining to some extent an equilibrium between the conflicting influences which now control the federal government, is the only reliable guarantee which the slaveholding minority have for the protection of their property against unconstitutional and oppressive legislation by the non-slaveholding majority, now and hereafter destined to be in the ascendancy. . that we cordially approve the recent act of congress, for the settlement of kansas and nebraska, and the act of , popularly known as the fugitive slave law. . that the incorporation of moneyed associations, under the patronage of sovereign states of this union, for the avowed purpose of recruiting and colonizing large armies of abolitionists upon the territory of kansas, and for the avowed purpose of destroying the value and existence of slave property now in that territory, in despite of the wishes of the bona fide independent settlers thereof, and for the purpose, equally plain and obvious whether avowed or not, of ultimately abolishing slavery in missouri, is a species of legislation and a mode of emigration unprecedented in our history, and is an attempt, by state legislation, indirectly to thwart the purposes of a constitutional and equitable enactment of congress, by which the domestic institutions of the territories were designed to be left to the exclusive management and control of the bona fide settlers thereof. . that these organized bands of colonists, shipped from massachusetts and other quarters under state patronage, and resembling in their essential features the military colonies planted by the roman emperors upon their conquered provinces, rather than the pioneers who have hitherto levelled the forests and broke up the plains of the west, authorize apprehension of an intent of _exclusive_ occupancy, and will necessarily lead to organized resistance on the part of those who, under the constitution and laws of the united states, have equal rights to possession; and whilst we earnestly deprecate such results, we are justified in advance in placing their entire responsibility upon those who have commenced the system, and are the aggressors. . that we disclaim all right and any intent to interfere with the bona fide independent settlers in the territory of kansas, from whatever quarter they may come, or whatever opinions they may entertain; but we maintain the right to protect ourselves and our property against all unjust and unconstitutional aggression, present or prospective, immediate or threatened; and we do not hold it necessary or expedient to wait until the torch is applied to our dwellings, or the knife to our throats, before we take measures for our security and the security of our firesides. . that the eighteen counties of missouri, lying on or near the border of kansas, with only an imaginary boundary intervening, contain a population of about fifty thousand slaves, worth, at present prices, twenty-five millions of dollars; and this large amount of property, one half of the entire slave property of the state, is not merely unsafe, but valueless, if kansas is made the abode of an army of hired fanatics, recruited, transported, armed and paid for the special and sole purpose of abolitionizing kansas and missouri. . that this convention and the people they represent, and the state government of missouri, and the entire people thereof, should take such measures as to them appear suitable and just and constitutional, to prevent such disastrous consequences to their security and prosperity and peace; and confidently relying upon the sympathy and support of the entire south and south-west, whose ultimate fate must inevitably be the same with theirs, and confidently relying also upon the conservative portion of the north, they respectfully appeal to the good sense and patriotism of the entire north, to put down such fanatical aggressions as have hitherto characterized the movements of emigrant aid societies, and leave the settlement of kansas and the regulation of its domestic institutions to be controlled as the settlement and institutions of our other territories have been, by those impulses of self-interest and congeniality of feeling on the part of settlers, which, by the natural laws of climate and soil, will, if undisturbed, invariably determine the ultimate condition of the territory. . that a committee of five be appointed to draw up and publish an address to the people of the united states, setting forth the history of this kansas excitement, with the views and action of our people thereon, in conformity with the principles and positions of the foregoing resolutions; and that printed copies of the same, with a copy of these resolutions appended, be forwarded by the secretary of this convention to the executive of each state in the union. after the reading of which, judge napton proceeded to address the convention in support of the resolutions. judge napton then read the following resolution, as recommended by the committee, to the convention: resolved, that in view of the acts of the legislature of the state of massachusetts, and other northern and western states, practically nullifying the constitution of the united states, and the laws of congress relating to the rendition of fugitive slaves, and in vindication of the constitution, and for the purpose of preserving the integrity of the american union, we recommend to the general assembly of missouri to pass such retaliatory measures, discriminating against the sale of the productions or manufactures, or material of commerce, whether of importation by them or of the production of said states, within this state, as they may deem proper for that purpose, and that such measures shall be made operative as long as the offensive legislation above referred to continues on the statute books of those states. mr. withers, of clay, moved the adoption of the resolutions as reported by the committee, and the vote being taken by counties, resulted in their unanimous adoption. on motion of c. f. jackson, of saline, the vote upon said resolutions was then taken by the house, standing, which resulted in their unanimous adoption. a motion was then made to adopt the resolution recommended by the committee to the convention. mr. torbert, of cooper, offered the following amendment: "insert after the word 'manufactures,' the words, or materials of commerce, whether of importation by them or of their production;" pending which the convention adjourned till o'clock, p. m. evening session. the convention met and was called to order by the president. major morin, of platte, from the committee appointed to wait on president shannon, reported that president shannon would address the convention at any time, at the pleasure of the convention. mr. torbert, of cooper, withdrew the amendment offered by him this morning to the resolution recommended by the committee, and offered the following substitute: resolved, that in view of the acts of the state of massachusetts, and other northern and north-western states, practically nullifying the constitution of the united states, and the laws of congress relating to the rendition of fugitive slaves, and in vindication of the constitution, and for the purpose of preserving the integrity of the american union, we recommend to the general assembly of the state of missouri to pass such retaliatory measures as may not be inconsistent with the constitution of the united states, or the state of missouri, discriminating against the sale of the productions, manufactures, or goods and merchandise of any description whatever, of said states, within this state, as may be deemed proper for that purpose, and that such retaliatory measures shall be made operative as long as the offensive legislation above referred to continues on the statute books of those states. col. j. b. brown, of ray, moved to recommit the original resolution, together with the substitute, to the committee on resolutions. the previous question was called for and sustained by the convention. on this, the president decided, the effect was to require a direct vote on the adoption of the substitute as offered by mr. torbert. from this decision an appeal was taken by gov. king, of ray, and the decision of the chair was sustained by the vote of the convention. the vote then being taken on the substitute, it was adopted. mr. withers, of clay, offered a set of resolutions to the convention for adoption; whereupon a discussion arose, pending which mr. withers withdrew his resolutions. col. t. m. ewing, of lafayette, presented to the convention a letter from gov. metcalf, of kentucky, which being read, on motion of j. b. clark, of howard, was entered upon the record, and made a part of the proceedings of this convention. forest retreat, ky., july, . _gentlemen of the committee_: allow me to acknowledge the receipt of your kind favor of the st ult., inviting me to meet in convention at lexington, mo., on the th inst. your letter having been addressed to me at carlisle, instead of forest retreat, kentucky, delayed its reception a few days, in consequence of which this reply may not reach you in due time for your meeting. it would indeed afford me great pleasure to meet you on that patriotic occasion. but, the delicacy of my health at present, although it has not cut off all hope of ultimate recovery, is such as to forbid me from attempting the journey to lexington. if i am not ungraciously and unfairly treated by my friends of the louisville journal, a _second_ letter of mine must by this time be published in that paper, intended as a reply to their editorial commentary upon the _first_--the one referred to in your postscript. my first letter that appeared in the journal, had been elicited by one previously received from a friend in that place, whose pleasure it was to hand it over for publication, to the editor of that paper; and it was published accordingly, with a long editorial commentary, in which, although kind and even generous enough in a _personal_ point of view, they did not fail, _politically_, to give _old stonehammer_ a right severe pelting with their ingenious and hard-twisted sophisms, intended to cast _great blame and all sorts of dishonor_ upon the southern section, for having supported the nebraska bill, &c. believing myself, that the north had redeemed itself from the disgrace--the dishonor of having disregarded its constitutional obligations in refusing to admit missouri as a state, except upon the condition of _restriction_, _north of_ ° ', and not then, except by a few votes from that section--the most of whom were condemned and prostrated by their constituents respectively, who at that time denied that the few truant votes of the north constituted a bargain on their part, or placed that section under any legal or moral obligation to abide by it, i was induced in my feeble way to vindicate the voters, north and south, who supported the nebraska bill. it is true, that in the southern section yielded to the glaring imposition of restriction, rather than keep missouri any longer out of her constitutional right of admission, that being the only alternative presented by the north for the time being. but, did not all the parties know full well that no power was lodged in that congress to repeal, alter or modify any one of the constitutional rights of succeeding generations? was it not well understood by all, that the federal convention alone had the right to fix upon the line of ° ', or upon any other line? and just as well known that the union would never have been formed if such an alternative had been presented to our illustrious forefathers of that convention? if in congress had the power to legislate upon the subject at all, by what means has the same body been deprived of the right of legislation upon the same subject in ? to put any other construction than this upon the intention or designs of the congress of , would, to my mind, amount to an imputation of great arrogance on the part of that body, in the assumption of power not conferred upon it. admit the right of a subsequent congress to alter or obliterate the line of ° ', and let this latter _compromise_ be sustained, together with the fugitive slave law, and all will be well for the future. repeal these acts, and we shall soon hear of retaliation in other forms than described by mr. calhoun, which god forbid. but, pardon my brevity, and allow me to refer you to my forthcoming letter, expected in the louisville journal, for my further views touching this question. with many sincere thanks for your kind invitation, allow me respectfully to subscribe myself your honored and ob't servant, thos. metcalf. messrs. t. m. ewing, wm. shields, wm. t. wood, f. a. kownslar. p. s.--it is my intention to visit missouri, if i can once more recover my health so as to justify the undertaking; and in that event will certainly call on my lexington friends of the committee. t. m. mr. f. a. kownslar, of lafayette, offered the following resolution, which was adopted: resolved, that the peace, quiet, and welfare of this and every other slaveholding state, as also a regard for the integrity of the union, require the passage, by the respective state legislatures, of effective laws, suppressing within said states the circulation of abolition or freesoil publications, and the promulgation of freesoil or abolition opinions. mr. graves, of howard, moved that the convention take a recess of fifteen minutes, and then re-assemble to hear the address of president shannon. motion sustained, and convention took a recess. the convention re-assembled. president shannon came forward and delivered his address, after which col. anderson, of lafayette, moved that the president appoint a committee to wait on president shannon, and request a copy of his address for publication. col. s. a. young moved to amend said motion by the following: that a committee be appointed to wait on president shannon, and request a copy of his address for publication, and that the speech be published in connexion with, and as a part of the proceedings of this convention. pending which motion, the convention adjourned till o'clock, to-night. night session. the convention met, and was called to order by the president. col. anderson explained his motion made previous to adjournment, and col. young withdrew his amendment; whereupon a discussion followed, when f. c. sharp, esq., of lafayette, offered the following resolutions: st. resolved, that the thanks of this convention are hereby tendered to president shannon, for his able and patriotic address delivered before us. d. that president shannon is hereby requested to furnish a copy of his address to this convention for publication; and the convention hereby expresses the desire that he will deliver his address in as many counties in this state, as his duties will allow. pending the discussion of these resolutions, mr. sharp withdrew his resolutions and offered the following: resolved, that the thanks of this convention are hereby tendered to president shannon, for his address delivered before us, and he is hereby requested to furnish a copy of the same for publication. and the vote being taken by counties, the resolution was adopted by the following vote: yeas--boone, carroll, cooper, howard, jackson, johnson, lafayette, livingston, pettis, platte, st. louis, ray. noes--cass, clay, clinton, daviess, saline. two other counties voting in the negative. (the minutes of the clerk upon taking this vote being imperfect, the vote by counties cannot be given with certainty.) mr. cook appeared as a delegate from st. louis, and took his seat in the convention. on motion, the convention adjourned till o'clock, to-morrow morning. third day. saturday morning, o'clock. the convention met, and was called to order by the president. the president announced the following named gentlemen, to compose the committee to draw up and publish an address, as required by the tenth resolution: hon. w. b. napton, of saline county, (chairman;) hon. m. oliver, of ray county; gov. sterling price, col. sam. h. woodson, of jackson county, and hon. a. a. king, of ray county. the president also announced the following committee, to procure and superintend the printing, under the action of this convention, as required by the resolution of mr. peabody: wm. shields, edward winsor, and charles patterson. it is also made the duty of said last mentioned committee, to call on president shannon, and obtain a copy of his speech for publication. col. s. a. young rose and informed the convention, that he had information that a letter had been received by a member of this convention, mr. field, from a distinguished politician, advising and urging him, that unless certain resolutions were adopted by this convention, to secede from the convention and break it up in a row; and he wished this matter investigated, and the facts properly brought out. mr. field required of col. young to give the name of the distinguished politician who had written the letter, and whether he referred to him. objection was made to the convention hearing anything further of the matter complained of by col. young. the president decided that col. young was out of order, there being no proposition before the convention. mr. moss, of clay, moved that the convention proceed to inquire into, and investigate the matters charged by col. young. gen. clark moved to lay the motion of mr. moss on the table. mr. field desired to make an explanation. he had called for the name of the author of the letter; did not get it; could not get him to say he was the member of the convention alluded to, as having received the letter, but, from rumor, supposed he was the field alluded to, and maj. j. s. rollins the alleged author of the supposed letter. he had a private letter from maj. rollins, which, amongst other things, spoke of this convention and its objects, but in terms of approval--giving his opinions and views in strict accordance with the platform of, and principles adopted by, this convention, and denied that there was one word of truth in the charge that maj. rollins advised a secession from the convention, or to break it up in a row in any contingency. he said the letter of maj. rollins was at his office, and, although a private letter, any gentleman who desired could see it; that he had intended, if the investigation proceeded, to show it in convention, and appealed to a number of members of the convention who had seen the letter, to say whether he had not given a true statement as to its contents. col. doniphan, mr. sawyer, mr. grover, and mr. moss, who had seen the letter, confirmed the statement of mr. field, as to the contents of the letter. col. young acknowledged himself satisfied, and expressed his gratification that the rumors on the street to maj. rollins' prejudice were so fully proven to be false and groundless, and said his object in bringing this matter up was to do but an act of justice to his friend and neighbor, maj. rollins. the motions to lay on the table and for investigation were withdrawn. on motion, the thanks of the convention were tendered to the president and other officers of the convention, for the faithful manner in which they had discharged their duties. on motion of maj. morin, of platte, a vote of thanks was tendered to the citizens of lafayette, for their kind hospitality. on motion, it was resolved, that the proceedings of this convention, together with the address to be prepared by the committee appointed for that purpose, be published in pamphlet form; that a committee of three be appointed by the chair, to superintend their publication, and that a contribution be made by the delegates to this convention and others present, to defray the expenses of said publication. resolved, that ten thousand copies of said proceedings and address be published, and that they be distributed to every part of the state, by the publishing committee, in such manner as may be practicable and advisable. on motion of mr. staples, of pettis, the convention adjourned _sine die_. wm. t. wood, _president_. l. a. wisely, } _secretaries_. l. j. sharp, } transcriber notes: passages in italics were indicated by _underscores_. small caps were replaced with all caps. on page , "manumiting" was replaced with "manumitting". on page , "statesmanshp" was replaced with "statesmanship". on page , "he ways" was replaced with "the ways". on page , "resolved, that" was replaced with "resolved, that". on page , "johnson county" was replaced with two quotation marks. on page , "davis" was replaced with "daviess". on page , "cass county" was replaced with "cass county". on page , "w y. slack" was replaced with "w. y. slack". on page , "h. d. russell" was replaced with "h. d. russell". on page , "clinton co" was replaced with "clinton co.". on page , "jackson, co." was replaced with "jackson co.". on page , "j. m," was replaced with "j. m.". on page , "manion." was replaced with "manion,". on page , "ray co" was replaced with "ray co.". on page , the comma was removed after "mr. c. t. worley". on page , "upon t" was replaced with "upon it". university of kansas publications museum of natural history volume , no. , pp. - , figs. may , the breeding birds of kansas by richard f. johnston university of kansas lawrence university of kansas publications, museum of natural history editors: e. raymond hall, chairman, henry s. fitch, theodore h. eaton, jr. volume , no. , pp. - , figs. published may , university of kansas lawrence, kansas printed by harry (bud) timberlake, state printer topeka, kansas [union label] - the breeding birds of kansas by richard f. johnston contents page introduction distribution of birds in kansas avian habitats in kansas species reaching distributional limits in kansas breeding seasons introduction variation in breeding seasons zoogeographic categories significance of phylogeny to breeding schedules regulation of breeding schedules accounts of species acknowledgments literature cited introduction the breeding avifauna of kansas has received intermittent attention from zoologists for about years. summary statements, usually concerning all birds of the state, have been published by goss ( ), long ( ), goodrich ( ), tordoff ( ) and johnston ( ). all but the first dealt with the breeding birds chiefly in passing, and none was concerned primarily with habitat distributions and temporal characteristics of kansan birds. the present work treats mainly certain temporal relationships of breeding birds in kansas, but also geographic distribution, habitat preferences, and zoogeographic relationships to the extent necessary for a useful discussion of temporal breeding phenomena. information on breeding of some of the species of birds known to breed in kansas is relatively good, on a few is almost non-existent, and on most is variously incomplete. it is nevertheless possible to make meaningful statements about many aspects of the breeding biology and distribution of most species of kansan birds; we can take stock, as it were, of available information and assess the outstanding avenues of profitable future work. in the accounts of species below, the information given is for the species as it occurs in kansas, unless it is otherwise stated. for the various subsections analyzing biology and distribution, only information taken in kansas is used, and for this reason the analyses are made on about half the species breeding in the state. an enormous amount of observational effort has been expended by several dozen people in order that suitable data about breeding birds of kansas be available; all persons who have contributed in any way are listed in the section on acknowledgments, following the accounts of species. kansas has been described topographically, climatically, and otherwise ecologically many times in the recent past; the reader is referred to the excellent account by cockrum ( ), which treats these matters from the viewpoint of a zoologist. for present purposes it will suffice to mention the following characteristics of kansas as a place lived in by birds. topographically, kansas is an inclined plane having an elevation of about feet in the northwest and about feet in the southeast. west of approximately ° w longitude, the topography is gently rolling, low hills or flat plain; to the east the flint hills extend in a nearly north to south direction, and to the east of these heavily weathered, grassy hills is a lower-lying but more heavily dissected country, hills of which show no great differences in elevation from surrounding flatland. the vegetation of eastern kansas comingles with that of the western edge of the north american deciduous forest; a mosaic of true forest, woodland remnants, and tall-grass prairie occupies this area east of the flint hills. from these hills west the prairie grassland today has riparian woodland along water-courses; the prairie is composed of proportionally more and more short-grass elements to the west and tall-grass elements to the east. climate has a dominating influence on the vegetational elements sketched above. mean annual rainfall is inches or less in western sectors and increases to about inches in the extreme eastern border areas. mean monthly temperatures run from °f. or °f. in winter to °f. or °f. in summer. the northwestern edges of caribbean gulf warm air masses regularly reach northward only to the vicinity of doniphan county, in northeastern kansas, and extend southwestward into west-central oklahoma; these wet frontal systems are usually dissipated along the line indicated by masses of arctic air, sometimes in spectacular fashion. the regular recurrence of warm gulf air is responsible for the characteristically high relative humidity in summer over eastern kansas and it has an ameliorating effect on winter climate in this region. almost immediately to the north in nebraska and to the west in the high plains, summers are dryer and winters are notably more severe. the breeding distributions of some species of birds fairly closely approximate the distribution of these warm air masses; these examples are noted where appropriate below. distribution of birds in kansas birds breeding in kansas are taxonomically, ecologically, and distributionally diverse. such diversity is to be expected, in view of the mid-continental position of the state. characteristics of insularity, owing to barriers to dispersal and movement, tend to be lacking in the makeup of the avifauna here. the state is not, of course, uniformly inhabited by all species (table ) of breeding birds; most species vary in numbers from one place to another, and some are restricted to a fraction of the state. variations in numbers and in absolute occurrence are chiefly a reflection of restriction or absence of certain plant formations, which is to say habitats; the analysis to follow is thus organized mainly around an examination of gross habitat-types and the birds found in them in kansas. table .--the breeding birds of kansas woodland species _elanoides forficatus_ n[a] _p. bicolor_ o _ictinia misisippiensis_ u _sitta carolinensis_ o _accipiter striatus_ u _troglodytes aedon_ n _a. cooperii_ u _thryomanes bewickii_ n _buteo jamaicensis_ o _thryothorus ludovicianus_ n _b. lineatus_ n _mimus polyglottos_ n _b. platypterus_ n _dumetella carolinensis_ n _aquila chrysaëtos_ o _toxostoma rufum_ n _falco sparverius_ u _turdus migratorius_ o _colinus virginianus_ n _hylocichla mustelina_ n _phasianus colchicus_ o _sialia sialis_ o _meleagris gallopavo_ n _bombycilla cedrorum_ n _philohela minor_ u _lanius ludovicianus_ o _zenaidura macroura_ n _sturnus vulgaris_ o _ectopistes migratorius_ n _vireo atricapillus_ n _conuropsis carolinensis_ u _v. griseus_ n _coccyzus americanus_ n _v. bellii_ n _c. erythropthalmus_ n _v. flavifrons_ n _otus asio_ u _v. olivaceus_ n _bubo virginianus_ o _v. gilvus_ n _strix varia_ u _mniotilta varia_ n _asio otus_ u _protonotaria citrea_ n _aegolius acadicus_ u _parula americana_ n _caprimulgus carolinensis_ n _dendroica aestiva_ n _c. vociferus_ u _d. discolor_ n _phalaenoptilus nuttallii_ n _seiurus motacilla_ n _chaetura pelagica_ u _oporornis formosus_ n _archilochus colubris_ n _icteria virens_ n _colaptes auratus_ n _wilsonia citrina_ n _c. cafer_ n _setophaga ruticilla_ n _dryocopus pileatus_ o _passer domesticus_ o _centurus carolinus_ n _icterus spurius_ n _melanerpes erythrocephalus_ n _i. galbula_ n _dendrocopos villosus_ o _i. bullockii_ n _d. pubescens_ o _quiscalus quiscula_ n _tyrannus tyrannus_ s _molothrus ater_ n _t. vociferans_ s _piranga olivacea_ n _muscivora forficata_ s _p. rubra_ n _myiarchus crinitus_ s _richmondena cardinalis_ s _sayornis phoebe_ s _pheucticus melanocephala_ s _empidonax virescens_ s _p. ludoviciana_ s _contopus virens_ s _guiraca caerulea_ s _iridoprocne bicolor_ n _passerina ciris_ s _progne subis_ n _p. cyanea_ s _cyanocitta cristata_ n _p. amoena_ s _pica pica_ o _spinus pinus_ o _corvus brachyrhynchos_ o _s. tristis_ o _c. cryptoleucus_ o _loxia curvirostra_ o _parus atricapillus_ o _pipilo erythrophthalmus_ n _p. carolinensis_ o _chondestes grammacus_ n _spizella passerina_ n limnic species _podilymbus podiceps_ u _butorides virescens_ u _phalacrocorax auritus_ u _florida caerulea_ u _ardea herodias_ u _casmerodius albus_ u _leucophoyx thula_ u _porzana carolina_ u _nycticorax nycticorax_ u _laterallus jamaicensis_ u _nyctanassa violacea_ u _gallinula chloropus_ u _ixobrychus exilis_ u _fulica americana_ u _botaurus lentiginosis_ u _charadrius alexandrinus_ u _plegadis chihi_ u _actitis macularia_ u _branta canadensis_ u _steganopus tricolor_ u _anas platyrhynchos_ u _sterna albifrons_ u _a. acuta_ u _chlidonias niger_ u _a. discors_ u _telmatodytes palustris_ n _a. clypeata_ u _cistothorus platensis_ n _aix sponsa_ u _geothlypis trichas_ n _aythya americana_ u _xanthocephalus xanthocephalus_ n _oxyura jamaicensis_ u _agelaius phoeniceus_ n _rallus elegans_ u _rallus limicola_ u grassland species xeric scrub species _buteo swainsonii_ n _callipepla squamata_ n _b. regalis_ u _geococcyx californianus_ n _circus cyaneus_ o _salpinctes obsoletus_ n _tympanuchus cupido_ n _t. pallidicinctus_ n _pedioecetes phasianellus_ n unanalyzed species _charadrius vociferus_ u _eupoda montana_ u _cathartes aura_ n _numenius americanus_ u _coragyps atratus_ n _bartramia longicauda_ u _falco peregrinus_ u _speotyto cunicularia_ u _columba livia_ o _asio flammeus_ u _tyto alba_ u _sayornis saya_ s _chordeiles minor_ u _eremophila alpestris_ o _megaceryle alcyon_ u _dolichonyx oryzivorus_ n _riparia riparia_ o _sturnella magna_ n _stelgidopteryx ruficollis_ n _s. neglecta_ n _hirundo rustica_ o _spiza americana_ n _petrochelidon pyrrhonota_ u _calamospiza melanocorys_ n _ammodramus savannarum_ n _passerherbulus henslowii_ n _aimophila cassinii_ n _spizella pusilla_ n [a] the letter following each name refers to presumed zoogeographic derivation of the species, modified after mayr ( ). n = north american evolutionary stock; s = south american stock; o = eurasian stock; u = unanalyzed. avian habitats in kansas four major habitat-types can be seen in looking at the distribution of the breeding avifauna of kansas. these are woodland, grassland, limnic, and xeric scrub plant formations. a little more than half the breeding birds of kansas live in woodland habitats, about one-fifth in limnic habitats, about one-eighth in grassland habitats, and less than two per cent in scrub habitats; this leaves some . per cent of the breeding avifauna unanalyzed (table ). table .--analysis of the breeding avifauna of kansas by habitat-types ========================+=============================== | percentage of the avifauna of +--------+-----------+---------- habitat-type | | north | stated | kansas | america | habitat ------------------------+--------+-----------+---------- woodland: species | | . | . limnic: species[b] | | . | . grassland: species | | . | . xeric scrub: species | | . | . unanalyzed: species | | . | . +--------+-----------+---------- totals: species | | . | . ------------------------+--------+-----------+---------- [b] does not include the canvasback (_aythya valisineria_), the forster tern (_sterna forsteri_), and the black tern (_chlidonias niger_), all recently added to the breeding avifauna of kansas. _woodland habitats_ one hundred one species of kansan birds are woodland species (tables and ). the analysis of udvardy ( ) showed woodland birds to be the largest single avifaunal element in north america, with per cent of north american birds relegated to it. it is likewise the largest element in the kansan avifauna, representing per cent of kansan birds. although woodland makes up a relatively small fraction of the vegetational complexes in kansas, a large number of habitats exist in what woodland is present. an even larger number of possible woodland habitats is clearly missing, however, because the kansan species actually represent but per cent of all woodland birds in north america, according to udvardy's analysis. broad-leaved, deciduous woodlands in kansas are of restricted horizontal and vertical stratification. more complex deciduous forest associations and all coniferous forest associations are absent from the state. using mayr's ( ) breakdown of geographical origin of the north american bird fauna, about per cent of the woodland passerine birds in kansas are of "north american" origin, per cent are of "eurasian" origin, and per cent are of "south american" origin (table ). these figures for kansas are commensurate with those found for other geographic districts at the same latitude in north america (mayr, : ). other characteristics of woodland birds are summarized in tables and . table .--analysis of ecologic groups of birds by status of residency and area of origin column headings: a: migrant e: n. amer. b: resident f: s. amer. c: pt. migr. g: unanalyzed d: old world ==========================+=====+=====+=====+=====+======+=====+===== | a | b | c | d | e | f | g --------------------------+-----+-----+-----+-----+------+-----+----- woodland species, : % | % | % | % | % | % | % | % limnic species, : % | % | | % | | % | | % grassland species, : % | % | % | % | % | % | % | % xeric scrub species, : % | % | % | | | % | | unanalyzed species, : % | % | % | % | % | % | | % --------------------------+-----+-----+-----+-----+------+-----+----- _limnic habitats_ of kansan birds, species ( per cent) prefer limnic habitats (table ). udvardy found this group to represent per cent of the north american avifauna. kansas is not notably satisfactory for limnic species, and only per cent of the total north american limnic avifauna is present in the state. thirty-one species of limnic birds belong to families that mayr ( ) considered to be unanalyzable as to their geographic origin; of the five remaining species, all seem to be of north american origin. other characteristics of limnic birds are summarized in tables and . _grassland habitats_ twenty-three species of our total can be called grassland species (table ). the subtotal is less than one-fifth of the kansan avifauna, but it represents per cent of the grassland birds of north america; grassland habitats abound in kansas. only . per cent of all north american birds are grassland species (udvardy, ). about per cent of these birds are of north american stocks, nine per cent of eurasian stocks, and three per cent of south american stocks. the percentage of north american species is the greatest for any habitat group here considered. other characteristics of grassland birds are summarized in tables and . table .--analysis by habitat-type and residency status of historic avian stocks in kansas column headings: a: woodland e: unanal. hab. b: limnic f: migrant c: grassland g: resident d: xeric scrub h: partly migrant =======================+=====+=====+=====+=====+=====+=====+=====+===== | a | b | c | d | e | f | g | h -----------------------+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+----- old world element | % | | % | | % | % | % | % : % | | | | | | | | north american element | % | % | % | % | % | % | % | % : % | | | | | | | | south american element | % | | % | | | % | % | : % | | | | | | | | unanalyzed origin | % | % | % | | % | % | % | % : % | | | | | | | | -----------------------+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+----- _xeric-scrub habitats_ three species of kansan birds can be placed in this category (table ). this is less than one per cent of the north american avifauna, two per cent of the kansan avifauna, and ten per cent of the birds of xeric scrub habitats in north america. the three species are considered to be of north american origin. _unanalyzed as to habitat_ eleven species of kansan birds could not be assigned to any of the habitat-types mentioned above. the total represents two per cent of the north american avifauna, six per cent of the birds of kansas, and per cent of the species reckoned by udvardy (_loc. cit._) to be unanalyzable. fifty-five per cent is a large fraction, but only to be expected: species are considered unanalyzable if they show a broad, indiscriminate use of more than one habitat-type, and such birds tend to be widely distributed. table .--analysis by ecologic status and area of origin of migrant and resident birds column headings: a: woodland f: old world b: limnic g: north america c: grassland h: south america d: xeric scrub i: unanalyzed e: unanal. hab. =================+=====+=====+=====+=====+=====+=====+=====+=====+===== | a | b | c | d | e | f | g | h | i -----------------+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+----- migrant species | % | % | % | % | % | % | % | % | % : % | | | | | | | | | resident species | % | | % | % | % | % | % | % | % : % | | | | | | | | | partly migrant | % | % | % | | % | % | % | | % : % | | | | | | | | | -----------------+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+----- species reaching distributional limits in kansas the distributional limits of a species are useful in indicating certain of its adaptive capacities and implying maintenance of or shifts in characteristics of habitats. although it is generally an oversimplification to ignore abundance when treating of distribution, the present remarks of necessity do not pertain to abundance. table .--breeding birds reaching distributional limits in kansas species reaching northern distributional limits _florida caerulea_ _geococcyx californianus_ _leucophoyx thula_ _caprimulgus carolinensis_ _coragyps atratus_ _muscivora forficata_ _elanoides forficatus_ _parus carolinensis_ _ictinia misisippiensis_ _vireo atricapillus_ _tympanuchus pallidicinctus_ _passerina ciris_ _callipepla squamata_ _aimophila cassinii_ species reaching southern distributional limits _aythya americana_ _empidonax minimus_ _parus atricapillus_ _steganopus tricolor_ _bombycilla cedrorum_ _chlidonias niger_ _dolichonyx oryzivorus_ _coccyzus erythropthalmus_ _pedioecetes phasianellus_ species reaching eastern distributional limits _eupoda montana_ _corvus cryptoleucus_ _numenius americanus_ _salpinctes obsoletus_ _phalaenoptilus nuttallii_ _icterus bullockii_ _colaptes cafer_ _pheucticus melanocephalus_ _tyrannus verticalis_ _passerina amoena_ _sayornis saya_ species reaching western distributional limits _aix sponsa_ _vireo griseus_ _buteo platypterus_ _v. flavifrons_ _philohela minor_ _mniotilta varia_ _ectopistes migratorius_ _protonotaria citrea_ _conuropsis carolinensis_ _parula americana_ _chaetura pelagica_ _dendroica discolor_ _archilochus colubris_ _seiurus motacilla_ _dryocopus pileatus_ _oporornis formosus_ _centurus carolinus_ _wilsonia citrina_ _myiarchus crinitus_ _setophaga ruticilla_ _empidonax virescens_ _sturnella magna_ _e. traillii_ _piranga olivacea_ _parus bicolor_ _pheucticus ludovicianus_ _thryothorus ludovicianus_ _pipilo erythrophthalmus_ _cistothorus platensis_ _passerherbulus henslowii_ _hylocichla mustelina_ _western limits reached in kansas_ thirty-one species (tables and ) reach the western limits of their distribution somewhere in kansas. most of these limits are in eastern kansas, and coincide with the gradual disappearance of the eastern deciduous forest formation. twenty-nine species are woodland birds, and few of these seem to find satisfactory conditions in the riparian woods extending out through western kansas. the wood thrush is the one woodland species that has been found nesting in the west (decatur county; wolfe, ). descriptively, therefore, the dominant reason for the existence of distributional limits in at least of these birds is the lack of suitable woodland in western kansas; these are the largest single group reaching distributional limits in the state. many other eastern woodland birds occur in western kansas along riparian woodlands, as is mentioned below. two species showing western limits in kansas are characteristic of grassland habitats; the eastern meadowlark seems to disappear with absence of moist or bottomland prairie grassland and the henslow sparrow may be limited westerly by disappearance of tall-grass prairie. the short-billed marsh wren, a marginal limnic species, reaches its southwesterly mid-continental breeding limits in northeastern kansas. the species breeds in kansas in two or three years of each ten, in summers having unusually high humidity. _northern limits reached in kansas_ fourteen species (tables and ) reach their northern distributional limits in kansas. eight of these are birds of woodland habitats, but of these only the carolina chickadee is a species of the eastern deciduous woodlands; the other seven live in less mesic woodland. three of these species (chuck-will's-widow, scissor-tailed flycatcher and painted bunting) have breeding ranges that suggest the northwesterly occurrences of summer humid warm air masses ("gulf fronts") and this environmental feature perhaps is of major importance for these birds, as it is also for the vegetational substratum in which the birds live. the lesser prairie chicken and the cassin sparrow are the two birds of grasslands that are limited northerly in kansas. xeric, sandy grassland is chiefly limited to the southwestern quarter of kansas, and this limitation is perhaps of major significance to these two species. the scaled quail and roadrunner tend to drop out as the xeric "desert scrub" conditions of the southwest drop out in kansas. table .--analysis by habitat-type of birds reaching distributional limits in kansas ========================+=============================================== | habitat-types directional +----------+-----------+--------+-------+------- limit | | | | xeric | | woodland | grassland | limnic | scrub | total ------------------------+----------+-----------+--------+-------+------- western extent | | | | | northern extent | | | | | eastern extent | | | | | southern extent | | | | | +----------+-----------+--------+-------+------- totals | | | | | | | | | | per cent of the species | | | | | in stated habitat | | | | | ------------------------+----------+-----------+--------+-------+------- _eastern limits reached in kansas_ eleven species (tables and ) reach their eastern distributional limits in kansas. six of these are woodland birds. four of these are members of well-known species-pairs: the red-shafted flicker, bullock oriole, black-headed grosbeak, and lazuli bunting. presence to the east of complementary species has much to do with the absence of these species in eastern kansas. four of the eleven are birds of grasslands, and they drop out as the short-grass prairie is restricted easterly. the rock wren may be considered characteristic of xeric scrub in kansas, and it is not found to the east in the absence of such scrub. _southern limits reached in kansas_ eight species (tables and ) reach their southern distributional limits in kansas. half of these birds are of woodland habitats, and of these four, the black-capped chickadee and cedar waxwing are chiefly of sub-boreal distribution. the black-capped chickadee also finds its niche partly pre-empted in southern kansas by the carolina chickadee. the bobolink and sharp-tailed grouse are grassland species that are seemingly adapted to cooler, dryer grassland than is found in most of kansas. the redhead, wilson phalarope, and black tern are limnic species, perhaps limited southerly by high summer temperatures; the three species are entirely marginal anywhere in kansas. table .--birds of the eastern deciduous forest found in western kansas in riparian woodland _accipiter cooperii_[c] _coccyzus americanus_[c] _centurus carolinus_ _melanerpes erythrocephalus_ _tyrannus tyrannus_ _myiarchus crinitus_ _contopus virens_ _sayornis phoebe_ _cyanocitta cristata_ _dumetella carolinensis_ _toxostoma rufum_ _sialia sialis_ _vireo olivaceus_ _icterus spurius_[c] _icterus galbula_ _quiscula quiscalus_ _piranga rubra_[a] _passerina cyanea_ _richmondena cardinalis_ _pipilo erythrophthalmus_[c] _spizella passerina_[c] [c] breeds farther west in north america in other types of vegetation. _influence of riparian woodland_ although the largest single element of the kansan avifauna that reaches distributional limits in kansas is made up of birds of the eastern deciduous forest, several species of the eastern woodlands are present in kansas along the east-west river drainages in riparian woodland; the species are listed in table . twenty-one kinds are involved if we include the cooper hawk, yellow-billed cuckoo, orchard oriole, summer tanager, rufous-sided towhee, and chipping sparrow, all of which breed farther to the west but are present in western kansas only along river drainages. this leaves species of eastern deciduous woodlands that occur west in kansas along riparian woodland (_versus_ species that drop out chiefly where eastern woodland drops out). these species are about one-third of all woodland birds in western kansas. riparian woodland does not seem to afford first-rate habitat for most of the eastern woodland species that do occur; breeding density seems to be much lower than in well-situated eastern woodland. the importance of these linear woodlands as avenues for gene-flow between eastern and western populations, especially of species-pairs (grosbeaks, flickers, orioles, and buntings), is obviously great. likewise significant is the existence of these alleys for dispersal from the west of certain species (for instance, the black-billed magpie and the scrub jay) into new but potentially suitable areas. breeding seasons introduction an examination of breeding seasons or schedules is properly undertaken at several levels. the fundamental description of variation in breeding schedules must itself be detailed in several ways and beyond this there are causal factors needing examination. the material below is a summary of the information on breeding schedules of birds in kansas, treated descriptively and analytically in ways now thought to be of use. almost any event in actual reproductive activity has been used in the following report; nestbuilding, egg-laying, incubation, brooding of young, feeding of young out of the nest are considered to be of equal status. to any such event days are added or subtracted from the date of observation so as to yield the date when the clutch under consideration was completed. such corrected dates can be used in making histograms that show the time of primary breeding activity, or the "egg-season." all such schedules are generalizations; data are used for a species from any year of observation, whether years ago or less than one year ago. one advantage of such procedure is that averages and modes are thus more nearly representative of the basic temporal adaptations of the species involved, as is explained below. when information on the schedule of a species from one year is lumped with information from another year or other years, two (and ordinarily more than two) frequency distributions are used to make one frequency distribution. the great advantage here is that the frequency distribution composed of two or more frequency distributions is more stable than any one of its components. second, the peak of the season, the mode of egg-laying, is represented more broadly than it would have been for any one year alone. third, the extremes of breeding activity are fairly shown as of minute frequency and thus of limited importance, which would not be true if just one year were graphed. all these considerations combine to support the idea that general schedules in fact represent the basic temporal adaptations of a species much better than schedules for one year only. variation in breeding seasons in the chronology of breeding seasons of birds, there are three basic variables: time at which seasons begin, time at which seasons end, and time in which the major breeding effort occurs. these variables have been examined in one population through time (lack, ; snow, ; johnston, ), in several populations of many species over wide geographic ranges (baker, ; moreau, ; davis, ), and in several populations of one species (lack, _loc. cit._; paynter, ; johnston, ). the analysis below is concerned with breeding of many kinds of birds of an arbitrarily defined area and with the influence of certain ecologic and zoogeographic factors on the breeding seasons for those several species. the influence of seasonal status.--here we are interested in whether a species is broadly resident or migrant in kansas; species are available for analysis. _resident species_ twenty-four species, furnishing records of breeding, are here considered to be resident birds in northeastern kansas. these species are cooper hawk, red-tailed hawk, prairie chicken, bobwhite, rock dove, great horned owl, red-bellied woodpecker, hairy woodpecker, downy woodpecker, horned lark, blue jay, common crow, black-billed magpie, black-capped chickadee, tufted titmouse, carolina wren, bewick wren, mockingbird, eastern bluebird, loggerhead shrike, starling, house sparrow, eastern meadowlark, and cardinal. the distribution of completed clutches (fig. ) runs from mid-january to mid-september, with a modal period in the first third of may. conspicuous breeding activity occurs from mid-april to the first third of june. _migrant species_ forty-six species, furnishing , records of breeding, are considered to be migrant in northeastern kansas. these species are great blue heron, green heron, swainson hawk, american coot, killdeer, upland plover, american avocet, least tern, yellow-billed cuckoo, black-billed cuckoo, burrowing owl, common nighthawk, chimney swift, red-headed woodpecker, eastern kingbird, western kingbird, scissor-tailed flycatcher, great crested flycatcher, eastern phoebe, eastern wood pewee, bank swallow, rough-winged swallow, barn swallow, purple martin, brown thrasher, catbird, house wren, robin, wood thrush, blue-gray gnatcatcher, bell vireo, warbling vireo, prothonotary warbler, yellow warbler, chat, western meadowlark, red-winged blackbird, orchard oriole, baltimore oriole, common grackle, black-headed grosbeak, indigo bunting, dickcissel, lark sparrow, and field sparrow. the distribution of completed clutches runs from mid-march to the first third of september, with a modal period of egg-laying in the first third of june (fig. ). conspicuous breeding activity occurs from the first third of may to the last third of june. the influence of dominant foraging adaptation.--five categories here considered reflect broad foraging adaptation: woodland species, taking invertebrate foods in the breeding season from woody vegetation or the soil within wooded habitats; grassland species, taking invertebrate foods in the breeding season from within grassland situations; limnic species, foraging within marshy or aquatic habitats; aerial species, foraging on aerial arthropods; raptors, feeding on vertebrates or large insects. _raptors_ six species, furnishing records of breeding, are here considered, as follows: cooper hawk, red-tailed hawk, swainson hawk, great horned owl, burrowing owl, and loggerhead shrike. the distribution of clutches (fig. ) runs from mid-january to the first third of july and is bimodal. one period of egg-laying occurs in mid-february and a second in the last third of april. such a distribution indicates that two basically independent groups of birds are being considered. the first peak of laying reflects activities of the large raptors, and the second peak is that of the insectivorous burrowing owl and loggerhead shrike. the peak for these two birds is most nearly coincident with that for grassland species, a category to which the burrowing owl might well be relegated. [illustration: fig. .--histograms representing breeding schedules of ten categories of kansan birds. heights of columns indicate percentage of total of clutches of eggs, and widths indicate ten-day intervals of time, with the th, th, and th of each month as medians. the occurrences of monthly means of temperature and precipitation are indicated at the bottom of the figure.] _limnic species_ six species, the great blue heron, green heron, american coot, american avocet, least tern and red-winged blackbird, furnish records of breeding. the distribution of clutches (fig. ) runs from mid-march to the last third of july and is bimodal. this is another heterogeneous assemblage of birds; the great blue heron is responsible for the first peak, in the first third of april. the other five species, however, show fair consistency and their peak of egg-laying almost coincides with peaks for aerial foragers, woodland species, and migrants, considered elsewhere in this section. _grassland species_ ten species, greater prairie chicken, bobwhite, killdeer, upland plover, horned lark, starling, eastern meadowlark, western meadowlark, common grackle, and dickcissel, furnish records of breeding activity. the distribution of clutches (fig. ) runs from the first of march to mid-september. the peak of egg-laying occurs in the first third of may. this is coincident with the peak for resident species, perhaps a reflection of the fact that half the species in the present category are residents in northeastern kansas. _woodland species_ in this category are included species characteristic of woodland edge. thirty-four species, furnishing , records of breeding, are here treated: yellow-billed cuckoo, black-billed cuckoo, "flicker" (includes birds thought to be relatively pure red-shafted, pure yellow-shafted, as well as clear hybrids), red-bellied woodpecker, red-headed woodpecker, hairy woodpecker, downy woodpecker, blue jay, black-billed magpie, common crow, black-capped chickadee, tufted titmouse, carolina wren, bewick wren, house wren, brown thrasher, catbird, mockingbird, robin, wood thrush, eastern bluebird, blue-gray gnatcatcher, bell vireo, warbling vireo, prothonotary warbler, yellow warbler, chat, orchard oriole, baltimore oriole, cardinal, black-headed grosbeak, indigo bunting, lark sparrow, and field sparrow. the distribution of clutches runs from the first third of march to mid-september (fig. ). the modal period for completed clutches is the first third of june. conspicuous breeding activity occurs from the first third of may to mid-june. the distribution of the season in time is almost identical with that for migrant species, reflecting the large number of migrant species in woodland habitats in kansas. _aerial foragers_ twelve species, common nighthawk, chimney swift, eastern kingbird, western kingbird, scissor-tailed flycatcher, great crested flycatcher, eastern phoebe, eastern wood pewee, bank swallow, rough-winged swallow, barn swallow, and purple martin, furnish records of breeding. the distribution of clutches (fig. ) extends from the last third of march to the first third of august, and the modal date of clutches is in the first third of june. conspicuous breeding activity occurs from the end of may to the end of june. the peak of nesting essentially coincides with that characteristic of migrants. zoogeographic categories three categories of mayr ( ) are of use in analyzing trends in breeding schedules of birds in kansas. these categories of presumed ultimate evolutionary origin are the "old world element," the "north american element," and the "south american element." not always have i agreed with mayr's assignments of species to these categories, and such differences are noted. there is some obvious overlap between these categories and those discussed previously. _old world element_ eighteen species, red-tailed hawk, rock dove, great horned owl, hairy woodpecker, downy woodpecker, black-billed magpie, common crow, black-capped chickadee, tufted titmouse, robin, loggerhead shrike, starling, house sparrow, bank swallow, barn swallow, and blue-gray gnatcatcher, furnish records of breeding (fig. ). species for which i have records but which are not here listed are the blue jay and the wood thrush, both of which i consider to be better placed with the north american element. the distribution of completed clutches runs from mid-january to the first third of august, and shows a tendency toward bimodality. the second, smaller peak is due to the inclusion of relatively large samples of three migrant species (robin, bank swallow, and barn swallow). the timing of the breeding seasons of these three species is in every respect like that of most other migrants; if they are removed from the present sample the bimodality disappears, indicating an increase in homogeneity of the unit. _north american element_ twenty-six species, greater prairie chicken, bobwhite, "flicker," rough-winged swallow, purple martin, blue jay, carolina wren, bewick wren, house wren, mockingbird, catbird, brown thrasher, wood thrush, bell vireo, warbling vireo, prothonotary warbler, yellow warbler, chat, eastern meadowlark, western meadowlark, red-winged blackbird, orchard oriole, baltimore oriole, common grackle, lark sparrow, and field sparrow, furnish , records of breeding (fig. ). the distribution of completed clutches runs from the first third of april to the first third of september. the modal date for completion of clutches is june . _south american element_ twelve species, eastern kingbird, western kingbird, scissor-tailed flycatcher, great crested flycatcher, yellow-bellied flycatcher, traill flycatcher, eastern wood pewee, eastern phoebe, cardinal, black-headed grosbeak, rose-breasted grosbeak, and indigo bunting, furnish records of breeding (fig. ). the curve representing this summary schedule is bimodal, wholly as a result of including the eastern phoebe and the cardinal with this sample. _relationship of schedules to temperature and precipitation_ in outlining the ten categories above, attention has been given to certain similarities and differences in the frequency distributions. a slightly more refined way of comparing the frequency distributions is to relate them to other, seasonally variable phenomena. figure shows the frequency distributions of egg-laying of these ten categories of birds in terms of the regular changes in mean temperature and mean precipitation characteristic of the environments in which these birds live in the breeding season. table shows that there are two basic groups of birds according to peak of egg-laying and incidence of precipitation; raptors, birds of eurasian origin, resident birds, and birds of grassland habitats tend to have their peaks of egg-laying prior to the peak of spring-summer rains, and the other six categories tend to have their peaks of egg-laying occur in the time of spring-summer rains. regarding temperature, there are four categories of birds; these are evident in the table. some of the correspondences deserve comment. residents and grassland species both breed before the rains come and before mean temperatures reach °f., and this correspondence probably results from most of the grassland species being residents. contrariwise, most birds of eurasian stocks are residents, but not all residents are of such stocks; the two groups are discrete when mean temperature at breeding is considered. woodland birds, aerial foragers, and birds of south american evolutionary stocks breed after temperatures surpass °f. on the average. almost all such species are migrants, but many migrants have different temporal characteristics, and the categories thus are shown to be discrete on the basis of temperature at time of breeding. the change through spring and summer of temperature and precipitation delineates the inception and waxing of the growing season of vegetation and of the subsequent arthropod populations, on which most of the birds feed in the breeding season. the temporal characteristics of growing seasons in north america have been treated by hopkins ( ) and have been related to timing of breeding seasons in song sparrows (_passerella melodia_) of the pacific coast of north america (johnston, ). significance of phylogeny to breeding schedules evidence from a variety of sources demonstrates that timing of breeding seasons is either broadly or specifically genetically-determined. for some species in some situations major environmental variables are paramount in regulating timing of breeding, but in others the innate, regulatory "clock" is less closely tied to conspicuous exogenous stimuli. the work by miller ( a, b, ) with several species of _zonotrichia_ strongly indicates that endogenous timing is most important for these birds, and there is ecological evidence for song sparrows that supports the same point (johnston, , ). it is, in any event, possible to treat breeding schedules as species-specific characters, for any one geographic area. in an attempt to relate a breeding schedule to previous ancestral modes, that is by extension to phylogeny, it is necessary to know how often ancestral adaptations can persist in the face of necessity to adapt to present environmental conditions. it is necessary to know how conservative or how immediately plastic breeding schedules can be. the disadvantage of using available information about configurations of breeding seasons (as shown in figs. to ) is that it is extremely difficult to compare visually at one time more than six or eight histograms as to the trenchant similarities and differences regarding times of inception and cessation of breeding, and time of peak egg-laying. it is possible, however, to reduce these three variables to one variable (as described below), which allows the necessary comparisons to be made more easily; this variable may be called the _breeding index_. _calculation of breeding index_ the chronological year is broken roughly into ten-day intervals numbered to . the histogram describing the temporal occurrence of the breeding season of a species in our area usually will lie within intervals to . the modal date for completion of clutches is given a value corresponding to the number of ten-day intervals beyond interval (march - ); this describes the modal variable. the date of completion of per cent of all clutches is given a value corresponding to the number of ten-day intervals it lies from interval (april - ); this describes the per cent variable (and is a measure of the length of the season in terms of its inception). the breeding index can then be calculated as follows: i = x_{m} + x_{sd}, where: i is the breeding index, x_{m} is the modal variable, and x_{sd} is the per cent variable. this is obviously an arbitrary scheme to gain a simple measure of beginning, peak, and end of a breeding season. other schemes could be devised whereby different absolute values would be involved, but the relative nature of the results would be preserved. the values under the present system for species of kansan birds run from - to + ; early modal dates and cessation to breeding give low values, late dates high values. within this framework there are other, presumably subordinate, factors that influence the values of breeding indices, as follows: . migratory habit. any migrant tends to arrive on breeding grounds relatively late, hence migrants ordinarily have higher index values than do residents. . colonial breeding. the strong synchrony of colonially-breeding species tends to move the modal egg-date toward the time of inception of breeding; as a result colonially-breeding species probably have lower index values than they would have if not colonial. . single-broodedness. species having only one brood per season tend to have shorter seasons than double-brooded species, and their index values tend to be lower than those of double-brooded species. migratory habit unquestionably has considerable influence on index values in some species. it is not, however, as important as other matters, such as the condition of the food substratum or sensitivity of the pituitary-gonadal mechanism, in determining timing and mode of breeding activity. the schedule of the purple martin is the extreme example showing that time of spring arrival on breeding grounds is not necessarily related to time of inception of breeding. it should be emphasized that the factors leading to northward migratory movement may be involved in timing of the annual gonadal and reproductive cycle. figure presents a graphic summary of values of breeding indices for many groups of kansan birds. the values for species of a given family have been linked by a horizontal line. the length of this line is proportional to the degree to which the index values for the species concerned resemble one another. note that the plottings for the picidae, corvidae, turdidae, tyrannidae, and icteridae each contain one point that is well-removed from a cluster of points. this can be interpreted as a measure of the frequency of adaptive plasticity versus adaptive conservatism; five of the plottings show a plastic character, a conservative. there are plottings that show temporal consistency, all of which may be taken as evidence of adaptive (or relictual) conservatism of the species in question. [illustration: fig. .--breeding indices for kansan birds. vertical hash-marks indicate the value of breeding index for a given species; horizontal lines show the range of values of breeding index for families and orders.] _conclusion_ such patterns of breeding chronology support the idea that seasonal response to the necessities of breeding is conservative more often than plastic. most students of breeding schedules believe that since these are highly adaptive, they must also be capable of flexibility to meet variable environments within the range of the species. such thinking receives support when different geographic localities are considered for one species (johnston, ), or when specific features of a special environment are considered (see miller, ; johnston, ). yet, if one, relatively restricted locality is considered, as in the present study, evidence of a conservative characteristic in breeding schedules can be detected. this conservatism may result from the historic genetic "burden" of the species; that is to say, previous adaptive peaks may in part be evident in the matrix of contemporary adaptation. adaptive relicts of morphological nature have been many times documented, but characteristics associated with seasonality and timing schedules have not. in any event, genetic relationships are evident in the configuration of breeding seasons of many species here treated. thus, any consideration of variation in breeding schedules must be sensitive to the limits, whether broad or restricting, that the heritage of a species sets on its present chronological adaptation. regulation of breeding schedules regulation of breeding schedules in birds always involves some exogenous, environmental timing or triggering mechanism. broad limits to functional reproductive activity seem to be set by the photoperiod--neuroendocrine system. this basic, predominately extra-equatorial, regulator can be ignored by temperate-zone species only if they possess chronological adaptation to special, aperiodic environmental conditions, as does the red crossbill (_loxia curvirostra_; see mccabe and mccabe, ; h. b. tordoff, ms.), for which the chief consideration seems to be availability of conifer seeds. environmental phonomena otherwise known to trigger breeding activity include rainfall (davis, ; williamson, ), presence of suitable nesting material (marshall and disney, ; lehrman, ), temperature (nice, ), and presence of a mate (lehrman, brody, and wortis, ). such regulators, or environmental oscillators, are the "phasing factors" of the physiologic clock that dictate the temporal occurrence of primary reproductive activity. table .--relationship between environmental factors and timing of breeding in birds of kansas ==================+=================================================== | occurrence of peak of egg-laying +-------------------+------------------------------- | when | when mean | precipitation is: | temperature (f.) is: +---------+---------+-------+-------+-------+------- | light | heavy | < ° | < ° | ± ° | > ° ------------------+---------+---------+-------+-------+-------+------- raptors | x | | x | | | o. w. element | x | | x | | | residents | x | | | x | | grassland species | x | | | x | | marshland species | | x | | | x | n. amer. element | | x | | | x | migrants | | x | | | x | woodland species | | x | | | | x aerial foragers | | x | | | | x s. amer. element | | x | | | | x ------------------+---------+---------+-------+-------+-------+------- none of the regulators mentioned above has been specifically investigated for any kansan bird, but it is reasonable to suppose that, in these temperate-zone species, the photoperiod is the most important general phasing factor in seasonal breeding. although gonadal response and seasonal restriction of breeding are set by the photoperiod, specific temporal relationships are dictated by more immediate environmental variables. table , as already noted, shows the gross relationships between certain groups of birds, certain arbitrary indicators of seasonal temperature-humidity conditions bearing significantly on the growing season, and occurrence in time of peak of egg-laying by the birds involved. some species and groups of kansan birds breed chiefly under cool-dry environmental conditions, and some under warm-wet environmental conditions. within each of these categories some variation occurs. thus, raptors and boreally-adapted species (the eurasian zoogeographic element) breed under cool conditions prior to rains, and residents and grassland species breed under slightly warmer conditions prior to rains; limnic species, species derived from north american evolutionary stocks, and migrants tend to breed in the cooler segment of the warm-wet period, and woodland birds, aerial foragers, and species derived from south american evolutionary stocks tend to breed in the warmer segment of the warm-wet period. so much, then, for relationships between birds and their environments at a descriptive level. it would be useful at this point to examine how environmental variables relate to timing of breeding. certain independent lines of investigation indicate that birds have a well-developed internal timing device; most convincing is the work of schmidt-koenig ( ) and the others who have shown that the endogenous clock of birds can be shifted in its periodicity forward or backward in time. this and much other evidence (see brown, ) indicate that many fundamental periodic regulators are extrinsic to the animal; it is thus permissible for present purposes to consider any expression of variation in timing as dependent on environmental oscillators. it is not hereby meant to ignore the fact that differential responses to dominant environmental variables occur within a species, indicating endogenous control over timing of breeding. the work by miller ( : ) with three populations of the white-crowned sparrow, revealing innately different responses to vernal photoperiodic increase, is especially important in this regard. for the moment, however, we may consider exogenous controls only. any exogenous control, or environmental variable, can be looked on simply as a timing oscillator. such variables show regular or irregular periodic activity, and the independent actions as a whole result in the more-or-less variable annual schedule of breeding for any species at any one place. it would seem that some oscillators are linked to one another, but there is a real question concerning the over-all degree to which linkage is present. it is significant that frequency distributions of breeding activity of various species and groups of birds take on the shape of a skewed normal curve. the more information is added to such distributions, the more nearly they approach being wholly normal, with irregularities tending to disappear. this kind of response itself is evidence that most of the variables influencing the distribution are not mutually linked. this conclusion is warranted if we examine what would happen to frequency distributions if the variables or oscillators regulating timing were linked. the frequency distribution of breeding activity in birds is described by a nonlinear curve (a normal distribution is nonlinear). let us assume that each of the environmental variables is a nonlinear oscillator, as is probable. a set of nonlinear oscillators mutually entrained or coupled and operating with reference to a given phenomenon would result in that phenomenon being described by a frequency distribution much more stable than if it were regulated by any one oscillator alone. however, the frequency distribution of a set of coupled nonlinear oscillators is non-normal (wiener, ). we do not obtain such distributions in describing breeding activity, so we may say that the oscillators regulating such activity are not coupled. present distribution, habitat preference, residency status, foraging adaptation, previous zoogeographic history, and relicts of ancestral adaptation, all bear on the character of the breeding schedule of any bird species. the emphasis above on multiple regulation of breeding schedules conceivably reflects the true picture, but any such emphasis is made at the expense of taking one factor as basic, or reducing the many to one, in order to manufacture simplicity. accounts of species in each account below information is given concerning status, habitat, geographic distribution, seasonal occurrence, schedule of egg-laying, number of eggs laid, and sites of nests, as these pertain to kansas, unless otherwise stated. the ways in which some of these points were elucidated are as follows. .--breeding schedule. frequency distributions of egg-laying in time are calculated on the basis of dates of completed clutches, as described earlier (p. ). any event in the series of actions of nesting--nestbuilding, egg-laying, incubation, brooding, feeding young out of nests--can be manipulated by adding or subtracting days to or from the date of record to yield the probable date of completion of the clutch. the resulting data are grouped into class intervals of ten days. extreme dates here given for egg-laying may be as much as nine days off in accuracy, but the error does not often exceed five days. extreme dates indicated here may be taken as actual or predicted extremes. the raw data used are on file at the museum of natural history and are available for use by any qualified individual. .--dates of occurrence. first and last annual occurrences in the state for migrant species are indicated by both a range of dates and a median date. twenty to dates of first observation in spring are available for most of the common species, and to dates of last observation in autumn are at hand for such species. the median dates, earlier than and subsequent to which an equal number of observations are available, are reliable indicators of the dates on which a species is likely to be seen first in the state in an average year. .--clutch-size. information on number of eggs is given for each species according to the mode, followed by the mean, the range, and the size of the sample. .--distribution in kansas. information on distribution in the breeding season within the borders of kansas is given in accounts below chiefly by reference to one or more counties of the state. location of counties can be made by referring to figure . =pied-billed grebe=: _podilymbus podiceps podiceps_ (linnaeus).--this is a common but local summer resident, in and on ponds, marshes, streams, ditches, and lakes. the species can be seen in the state at any time, but usually arrives in the period march to april (the median is march ), and departs southward in the period october to november (the median is october ). _breeding schedule._--nineteen records of breeding span the period may to june ; the modal date for egg-laying is may . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is to eggs. nests are floating masses of marsh vegetation (cattail, smartweed, duckweed, filamentous green algae, and the like), kept green on top by addition of fresh material, in or at the edge of emergent marsh vegetation. =double-crested cormorant=: _phalacrocorax auritus auritus_ (lesson).--this is a transient, but has been found nesting on one occasion in barton county (tordoff, : ). _breeding schedule._--eggs were laid in july and august in the one known nesting effort. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is to eggs (davie, ). =great blue heron=: _ardea herodias_ linnaeus.--this common summer resident nests in tall trees along rivers, streams, and marshes. the sector of greatest abundance is the flint hills. _a. h. herodias_ linnaeus occurs in extreme northeastern kansas, _a. h. wardi_ ridgway breeds in southeastern kansas, and _a. h. treganzai_ court breeds in western kansas; specimens showing intermediate morphology have been taken from the central part of the state. occurrence in time, exclusive of the few that overwinter in kansas, is shown in table . _breeding schedule._--seventy-seven records of breeding span the period march to april (fig. ); the modal date of egg-laying is april . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed in crotches of sycamore, cottonwood, elm, hackberry, oak, and walnut, from to feet high; the average height is about feet. table .--occurrence in time of summer resident herons in kansas ================+==========================+============================= | arrival | departure species +----------------+---------+------------------+---------- | range | median | range | median ----------------+----------------+---------+------------------+---------- great blue heron| feb. -apr. | mar. | oct. -nov. | oct. green heron | mar. -may | apr. | sept. -oct. | sept. common egret | apr. -may | apr. | sept. -sept. | sept. black-crowned | | | | night heron | mar. -may | apr. | sept. -nov. | sept. yellow-crowned | | | | night heron | apr. -may | apr. | | american bittern| apr. -may | may | oct. -dec. | oct. least bittern | apr. -may | apr. | oct. | ----------------+----------------+---------+------------------+---------- =green heron=: _butorides virescens virescens_ (linnaeus).--this is a common summer resident about streams, lakes, and marshes throughout the state. some characteristics of the temporal occurrence of this species are indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--twenty-eight records of breeding span the period april to june (fig. ); the modal date of completion of clutches is may . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed about feet high (two to feet) in willow, cottonwood, elm, and the like. =little blue heron=: _florida caerulea caerulea_ (linnaeus).--this is chiefly a postbreeding summer visitant, but there is one record of breeding in finney county (tordoff, : ). _breeding schedule._--there is no information on breeding schedule in kansas or in adjacent areas. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is to eggs (davie, ). nests are placed in trees and bushes at various heights above the ground. =common egret=: _casmerodius albus egretta_ (gmelin).--this is a postbreeding summer visitant, but has been found nesting once in cowley county (johnston, : ). occurrence in time is listed in table . _breeding schedule._--there is no information on breeding schedule in kansas. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is to eggs (davie, ). nests are placed in trees, usually above feet in height; the one instance of nesting in the state was within a colony of great blue herons. =snowy egret=: _leucophoyx thula thula_ (molina).--this postbreeding summer visitant has been found nesting once in finney county (tordoff, : ). _breeding schedule._--there is no information on breeding schedule in the state. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is to eggs (davie, ). nests in kansas are placed among those of great blue herons. =black-crowned night heron=: _nycticorax nycticorax hoactli_ (gmelin).--this is a locally common summer resident around marshes and riparian habitats. characteristics of the occurrence of the species in time are given in table . _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid in the period may to august . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are placed at medium elevations in riparian trees, in kansas chiefly cottonwood, or in beds of emergent marsh vegetation. =yellow-crowned night heron=: _nyctanassa violacea violacea_ (linnaeus).--this is a local summer resident in riparian habitats, chiefly in southeastern kansas. specimens taken in the breeding season and records of nesting come from meade, stafford, doniphan, douglas, greenwood, woodson, labette, and cherokee counties. characteristics of occurrence in time in kansas are shown in table . _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid in may and june. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are placed in riparian trees. =least bittern=: _ixobrychus exilis exilis_ (gmelin).--this is a local summer resident in marshland. characteristics of its occurrence in time are indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--eleven records of breeding span the period may to july ; the modal date of egg-laying seems to be in the first week of june. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are placed in dense emergent vegetation a few inches to a foot above the surface of the water. =american bittern=: _botaurus lentiginosus_ (rackett).--this is a local summer resident in marshes and heavy grassland. the species occurs temporally according to characteristics as listed in table . _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid in may and probably in june. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is or eggs. nests are placed on the ground in heavy cover. =white-faced ibis=: _plegadis chihi_ (vieillot).--this is a local summer resident in marshland; actual records of breeding come only from barton county (nossaman, : ; zuvanich, ; m. schwilling, personal communication, july, ). the species has been recorded in the state from april to october . _breeding schedule._--twenty-five breeding records are for june and early july. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed in emergent marsh vegetation near the surface of the water, in barton county in extensive cattail beds harboring also black-crowned night herons. =mallard=: _anas platyrhynchos platyrhynchos_ linnaeus.--this is a local summer resident around marshes. the time of greatest abundance is october to april, but most birds move north for breeding. _breeding schedule._--fifteen records of breeding span the period april to june ; the modal date of egg-laying is in the first ten days of may. _number of eggs._--clutch-size varies widely; first clutches are of about eggs. brood sizes vary from to individuals in kansas. nests are placed on the ground surface, in pasture grasses, marsh grasses, cattail, sedge, and smartweed. =pintail=: _anas acuta_ linnaeus.--this is a local summer resident in marshland. the time of greatest abundance is from september to may, but most birds move north for breeding. _breeding schedule._--eleven records of breeding span the period april to june ; the peak of egg-laying seems to be in the period may to . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is around eggs. brood sizes vary from to individuals in kansas. nests are placed on the ground surface, in cover of marsh grass, cattail, or sedge. =blue-winged teal=: _anas discors discors_ linnaeus.--this summer resident is locally common around marshes and ponds. the species arrives in spring in the period march to april (the median is march ); birds are last seen sometime between october and november (the median is october ). _breeding schedule._--twenty-two records of breeding span the period may to may ; the peak of egg-laying is around may . it is doubtful that the present data indicate the full extent of the egg-season in this duck. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is to eggs. nests are placed on the ground surface, in cover of grasses, cattail and sedges. =shoveler=: _anas clypeata_ linnaeus.--this is an irregular and local summer resident, around marshes. most individuals seen in the state are passage migrants. breeding records are from barton and finney counties. _breeding schedule._--seasonal limits are unknown for the shoveler in kansas. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs (davie, ). nests are placed on the ground surface in cover of marsh vegetation. =wood duck=: _aix sponsa_ (linnaeus).--this is an uncommon summer resident around wooded streams and ponds in eastern kansas. nesting records and specimens taken in the breeding season come from east of stations in pottawatomie, coffey, and woodson counties. most nesting records at present come from the marais des cygnes wildlife refuge, linn county. the species is present in the state from march to december . _breeding schedule._--eleven records of breeding span the period march to may ; the peak of egg-laying is probably in mid-april. the present data are inadequate for showing the full span of the breeding season. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is around eggs, varying from to in the sample at hand. nests are placed in crevices and hollows in trees near water, to feet high. =redhead=: _aythya americana_ (eyton).--this duck nested at cheyenne bottoms, barton county, : eggs found may (m. schwilling); also reported to have nested at cheyenne bottoms about (tordoff, : ). =canvasback=: _aythya valisineria_ (wilson).--this duck nested at cheyenne bottoms, barton county, : eggs found june (m. schwilling). =ruddy duck=: _oxyura jamaicensis rubida_ (wilson).--this is a local summer resident in marshland; numbers seem generally higher in western than in eastern kansas. the season of greatest abundance is march through november, but numbers are conspicuously reduced in midsummer. _breeding schedule._--eggs are known to be laid in may and june. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs (davie, ). nests are placed near the edge of water, either in or on emergent marsh vegetation; nests of other marshland birds, such as coots, are sometimes appropriated (davie, ). =turkey vulture=: _cathartes aura teter_ friedmann.--this summer resident is common throughout kansas. occurrence in time is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--fifteen records of breeding span the period april to june ; earlier records will doubtless be found, to judge from the frequency distribution of the present sample. the peak of egg-laying is perhaps around may . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed in holes and crevices in trees and cliffs, on rocky ledges, and the like. [illustration: fig. .--histograms representing breeding schedules of two herons, the red-tailed hawk, bobwhite, and two shore birds in kansas. see legend to figure for explanation of histograms.] =black vulture=: _coragyps atratus_ (meyer).--this is possibly a summer resident in the southeastern sector of kansas. there is one nesting record, for labette county (goss, : ). _breeding schedule._--there are no data for this species in kansas. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs (davie, ). nests are placed in hollows (logs, stumps, _etc._) on the ground surface. =swallow-tailed kite=: _elanoides forficatus forficatus_ (linnaeus).--this kite was formerly a summer resident in eastern kansas; it no longer occurs as a breeding species. _breeding schedule._--in kansas the season seemed to occur relatively late in the year for a raptor; eggs were laid in may, so far as is known. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs (davie, ). nests are placed in tops of trees. =mississippi kite=: _ictinia misisippiensis_ (wilson).--this is a common summer resident in southern kansas, west to morton county. specimens taken in the breeding season and records of nesting come from south of stations in grant, barton, harvey, and douglas counties; the present center of abundance is in meade, clark, comanche, barber, and harper counties. _breeding schedule._--seven records of breeding span the period april to june ; the peak of egg-laying seems to be in the first week of may. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs. nests are placed about feet high (from to feet) in cottonwood, willow, elm, black locust, and the like. =sharp-shinned hawk=: _accipiter striatus velox_ (wilson).--this rare summer resident apparently occurs only in the eastern part. the two nesting records are from cloud and pottawatomie counties. _breeding schedule._--the information at hand suggests the birds lay in april and may. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs (davie, ). nests are placed or more feet high in coniferous or deciduous trees. =cooper hawk=: _accipiter cooperii_ (bonaparte).--this is an uncommon resident. specimens taken in the breeding season and actual records of nesting come from east of stations in cloud, anderson, and montgomery counties. _breeding schedule._--fourteen records of breeding span the period march to may ; the modal date of egg-laying is april . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed from to feet high, averaging feet in elm, oak, and other trees. =red-tailed hawk=: _buteo jamaicensis borealis_ (gmelin).--this is a common resident east of the th meridian; to the west numbers are reduced, although the species is by no means unusual in western kansas. red-tails probably always were uncommon in western kansas; wolfe ( ) reports that they were "very rare as a nesting species" in decatur county shortly after the turn of the th century. _breeding schedule._--thirty-six records of breeding span the period february to april (fig. ); the modal date of egg-laying is march . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed about feet high, ranging from to feet in cottonwood, honey locust, osage orange, sycamore, and walnut. =red-shouldered hawk=: _buteo lineatus lineatus_ (gmelin).--this is an uncommon summer resident in eastern kansas, in riparian and bottomland timber. nesting records are available from leavenworth, woodson, and linn counties, and red-shoulders probably also nest in doniphan county (linsdale, ). _breeding season._--eggs are laid in march and april. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs (davie, ). nests are placed up to feet high in elms and other streamside trees. table .--occurrence in time of the summer resident vulture and hawks in kansas ===============+===========================+============================ | arrival | departure species +-----------------+---------+------------------+--------- | range | median | range | median ---------------+-----------------+---------+------------------+--------- turkey vulture | mar. -mar. | mar. | sept. -oct. | oct. red-shouldered | | | | hawk | feb. -mar. | feb. | oct.-dec. | broad-winged | | | | hawk | apr. -apr. | apr. | sept. -oct. | swainson hawk | mar. -apr. | apr. | oct. -nov. | oct. ---------------+-----------------+---------+------------------+--------- =broad-winged hawk=: _buteo platypterus platypterus_ (vieillot).--this is an uncommon summer resident in eastern kansas, in swampy woodland. specimens taken in the breeding season and nesting records are from shawnee, douglas, leavenworth, and johnson counties; there are several nesting records from missouri in the bottomlands just across the river from wyandotte county kansas. occurrence in time is listed in table . _breeding schedule._--four records of nesting span the period april to may , but it is likely that the egg-season is longer than this. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are placed high in deciduous trees. =swainson hawk=: _buteo swainsoni_ bonaparte.--this is a common summer resident in prairie grassland with open groves and scattered trees. records of breeding are available from all parts of the state, but are least numerous from the southeastern quarter. occurrence in time is listed in table . _breeding schedule._--sixteen records of breeding span the period april to june ; the modal date for completion of clutches is april . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed about feet high, actually ranging from to feet, in cottonwood, elm, willow, and honey locust. occasionally nests are placed on ledges in cliffs. =ferruginous hawk=: _buteo regalis_ (gray).--this is an uncommon resident in western kansas, in grassland with scattered trees. records of nesting and specimens taken in the breeding season come from wallace, hamilton, gove, logan, and finney counties. _breeding schedule._--five records of breeding span the period march to april . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed on the ground surface on small cliffs or promontories or low (six to feet) in small trees such as osage orange, cottonwood, and mulberry. =marsh hawk=: _circus cyaneus hudsonius_ (linnaeus).--this is a local resident in grassland throughout kansas. most records of breeding come from east of the flint hills, but it is not certain that the few records from the west actually reflect a low density of marsh hawks in that area. _breeding schedule._--sixteen records of breeding span the period april to may ; the modal date for egg-laying is may . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed on the ground surface in grassy cover. =peregrine falcon=: _falco peregrinus anatum_ bonaparte.--this falcon nested, perhaps regularly but clearly in small numbers, in kansas prior to the th century. the best documented breeding occurrence was at neosho falls, woodson county (goss, : ). _breeding schedule._--eggs were recorded as being laid in february and march. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is or eggs (davie, ). nests are placed relatively high on cliffs and in trees; at neosho falls these birds used open cavities to feet high in sycamores. =sparrow hawk=: _falco sparverius sparverius_ linnaeus.--this is a common resident throughout kansas, in parkland and woodland edge. _breeding schedule._--thirteen records of egg-laying span the period march to may ; the modal date of laying is not evident in this sample but it probably falls around april . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed in cavities about feet high, actually to feet, in cottonwood, ash, maple, purple martin "houses," and human dwellings. =greater prairie chicken=: _tympanuchus cupido pinnatus_ (brewster).--this is a locally common resident in eastern kansas, in and about bluestem prairie grassland, and is local in the northwest in undisturbed plains grassland. wolfe ( ) reports that the species was common in decatur county shortly after the turn of the century, but that it became rare by . _breeding schedule._--twenty-one records of breeding span the period may to june (fig. ); the modal date for laying is may . the sample indicates an abrupt inception to laying of eggs, and this may be a reflection of timing characteristic of behavior at leks, or booming grounds. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed on the surface of the ground in bluestem grassland or plains bunchgrass, usually under cover of prairie grasses and forbs. =lesser prairie chicken=: _tympanuchus pallidicinctus_ (ridgway).--this is a local resident in sandy grassland in southwestern kansas. distribution is to the west and south of pawnee county. _breeding schedule._--there is no information on timing of the breeding season in kansas. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is thought to be near that of the greater prairie chicken. vic housholder (ms) observed a hen with ten chicks ten miles south of dodge city, ford county, on june , . =bobwhite=: _colinus virginianus_ (linnaeus).--this is a common resident in the east, but is local in western kansas; occurrence is in broken woodland and other edge habitats. _c. v. virginianus_ (linnaeus) is found northeast of stations in nemaha, douglas, and miami counties, and _c. v. taylori_ lincoln is found in the remainder of the state. _breeding schedule._--twenty-four records of breeding span the period may to september (fig. ); the modal date for first clutches is may . the long period of egg-laying after may probably includes both renesting efforts and true second nestings. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs ( . , - ; ); in the present sample eggs was the most frequent number. nests are placed on the surface of the ground at bases of bunch grasses, saplings, trees, or posts, under cover of prairie grasses, forbs, or small woody plants. =scaled quail=: _callipepla squamata pallida_ brewster.--this is a locally common resident in southwestern kansas, chiefly west of clark county and south of the arkansas river; preferred habitat seems to be in open, sandy prairie. _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid at least in may; the egg-season in kansas is unlikely to be so prolonged as that of the bobwhite; among other factors involved, the scaled quail in kansas is at a northern extreme of its distribution, where suboptimal environmental conditions may occur relatively frequently. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is around to eggs. nests are placed on the ground surface under woody or herbaceous cover. =ring-necked pheasant=: _phasianus colchicus_ linnaeus.--this introduced resident is common in western kansas, is local and uncommon in the east, and is found in agricultural land with scattered woody vegetation. _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid at least in may. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is to eggs. nests are placed on the surface of the ground in woody or herbaceous cover. =wild turkey=: _meleagris gallopavo_ linnaeus.--turkeys formerly occurred as common residents in flood-plain woodland in eastern kansas, and their distribution extended through the west in riparian woodland. present population in eastern and southern sectors are partly the result of introductions of birds from missouri by humans in the s. turkeys in southern kansas are also present owing to natural dispersal along the arkansas and medicine lodge rivers of birds native to and introduced into oklahoma. no specimens of turkeys presently found in kansas are available for examination but these birds probably are referable to _m. g. silvestris_ vieillot, the trinomen applied to turkeys in missouri and northeastern oklahoma. turkeys from southern texas recently have been liberated at several localities in southern nebraska; turkeys seen in extreme northern kansas are thus probably of these stocks. the name _m. g. intermedia_ sennett is applicable to these birds. _breeding schedule._--no information is available on the egg-season in kansas; turkeys have nested in southern kansas within recent years, however. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is perhaps eggs. nests are placed on the surface of the ground, usually well-concealed under woody vegetation. =king rail=: _rallus elegans elegans_ audubon.--this summer resident is locally common in marshlands. nesting records or adults taken in the breeding season are from cheyenne, meade, pratt, stafford, cloud, riley, douglas, anderson, and allen counties. dates of arrival in spring are recorded from april to april ; the median date is april . departure in autumn is possibly as early as september in the north, but four records are in the period october to november . the species occasionally can be found in winter (douglas county, december , ). _breeding schedule._--fourteen records of breeding span the period may to july ; the modal date for egg-laying is june . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs ( to ; records). nests are placed on the surface of the ground, under grassy or woody cover. =virginia rail=: _rallus limicola limicola_ vieillot.--this is an uncommon summer resident, presumably throughout the state. the one breeding record is from morton county (may , ; graber and graber, ). dates of spring arrival are from april to may ; dates of last observation in autumn are within the period september to october . a few birds overwinter in the southern part of the state (meade county, december and january). _breeding season._--eggs are laid probably in may and june. _number of eggs._--six to eggs are laid (davie, ). nests are placed in emergent aquatic plants, near the surface of the water. =sora=: _porzana carolina_ (linnaeus).--this is an uncommon summer resident in marshland. nesting records or specimens taken in the breeding season come from finney, barton, jefferson, douglas, and miami counties. first dates of observation in spring are from april to may (the median is may ); dates when last observed in autumn are from september to november (the median is october ). _breeding schedule._--the one dated record comes from august. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is around eggs (davie, ). nests are on the ground in grassy or herbaceous cover. =black rail=: _laterallus jamaicensis jamaicensis_ (gmelin).--this is an uncommon summer resident in kansas. records of breeding and specimens taken in the breeding season come from finney, meade, riley, and franklin counties. seasonal occurrence is within the period march to september . _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid at least in june. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs ( - ; ). nests are on the ground under cover of marsh plants. =common gallinule=: _gallinula chloropus cachinnans_ bangs.--this is a local summer resident in marshlands. nesting records and specimens taken in the breeding season come from barton, stafford, shawnee, douglas, and coffey counties. occurrence in the state is from april through september. _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid in may and june. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are in marsh grasses and other emergent vegetation, not necessarily over water. =american coot=: _fulica americana americana_ gmelin.--this is an uncommon, local summer resident in wetlands in kansas. coots are at greatest abundance in autumnal and spring migratory movements, but are present all year. nesting has been recorded from barton, stafford, doniphan, and douglas counties. _breeding schedule._--thirty-eight records of breeding span the period may to june ; the mode to laying is may . earlier breeding probably occurs in the state. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are made of marsh vegetation (arrowhead, cattail) and float on water. =snowy plover=: _charadrius alexandrinus tenuirostris_ (lawrence).--this summer resident is fairly common on the saline flats of central and south-central kansas. breeding records are from barton, stafford, meade, clark, and comanche counties. _breeding schedule._--fifteen records show that eggs are laid in the period may to june ; the peak of laying seems to be around june . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs. eggs are deposited on bare sand. =killdeer=: _charadrius vociferus vociferus_ linnaeus.--this summer resident is common throughout the state, in open country frequently near wetlands. a few individuals overwinter in kansas, especially in the southern counties. _breeding schedule._--the records of breeding span the period march to june ; the modal date of laying is may . the distribution of completed clutches (fig. ) suggests that killdeers are here double-brooded. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs. eggs are laid on the surface of the ground, frequently on gravel, field stubble, plowed earth, and pasture. =mountain plover=: _eupoda montana_ (townsend).--this is an uncommon and local summer resident in western short-grass prairie. breeding records come from greeley and decatur counties. _breeding schedule._--wolfe ( ) wrote that the species in decatur county laid eggs in the "last of may" in the early s. the only other dated breeding record is of downy young (ku , ) taken on june . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is usually eggs. eggs are laid in slight depressions in the ground, "lined with a few grass stems," according to wolfe ( ). =american woodcock=: _philohela minor_ (gmelin).--this is a rare summer resident in wet woodlands in eastern kansas. arrival in the northeast is from mid-march through april, with departures southward occurring from september to december; the last date on which the species has been seen in any year is december . there are nesting records only from woodson county; probably the species nests in douglas county (fitch, : ). _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid in april. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is usually eggs. nests are depressions in the dry ground within swampy places, usually under heavy plant cover. =long-billed curlew=: _numenius americanus americanus_ bechstein.--this is an uncommon summer resident in western kansas, in prairie grassland. breeding records are from stanton and morton counties. _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid at least in may and june. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs. eggs are laid in slight depressions in the ground in grassy cover. =upland plover=: _bartramia longicauda_ (bechstein).--this is a locally common summer resident, most conspicuously in the flint hills, in grassland. breeding records are from trego, hamilton, finney, morton, meade, marion, chase, kearny, butler, cowley, douglas, johnson, wabaunsee, franklin, anderson, and coffey counties. dates of first arrival in spring span the period april to may (the median is april ), and dates last seen in autumn are from september to october (the median is september ). _breeding schedule._--sixteen records of breeding span the period april to june ; the modal date for egg-laying is may . _number of eggs._--usually eggs are laid. eggs are placed on vegetation on the ground surface, in pasture, field stubble, or gravel, frequently under heavy plant cover. =spotted sandpiper=: _actitis macularia_ (linnaeus).--this summer resident is locally common on wet ground and along streams. dates of arrival in spring are from march to april (the median is april ), and dates of last observation in autumn span the period september to october (the median is september ). _breeding schedule._--egg records are all from the northeastern sector, and all are for may. _number of eggs._--usually eggs are laid. nests are of plant fibers in depressions in dry ground on gravel banks, pond or stream borders, or in pastureland. =american avocet=: _recurvirostra americana_ gmelin.--this is a local summer resident in marshes in central and western kansas. there are breeding records from finney, barton, and stafford counties. extreme dates within which avocets have been recorded are april to november . _breeding schedule._--forty-one records of breeding span the period may to june ( records shown in fig. ); the modal date for laying is june . _number of eggs._--usually eggs are laid. nests are placed on the surface of the ground, near water. =wilson phalarope=: _steganopus tricolor_ vieillot.--this is a local summer resident in marshes in central and western kansas, but breeding records are available only from barton county. the earliest date of occurrence is april and the latest is october . _breeding schedule._--ten records indicate eggs are laid in may and june. _number of eggs._--three or eggs are laid. nests are of plant stems in slight depressions in the ground. =forster tern=: _sterna forsteri_ nuttall.--this is a local summer resident in central kansas, in marshes. there are breeding records only from cheyenne bottoms, barton county (zuvanich, : ). first dates of arrival in spring span the period april to (the median is april ), and apparent departure south in autumn occurs from august to november (the median is september ). _breeding schedule._--twenty-three records of nesting are from late may to mid-june; all records are for the year . _number of eggs._--usually eggs are laid. nests are frequently floating platforms of vegetation (algae, cattail, and the like) in shallow water; old nests of pied-billed grebes are sometimes used as bases, and occasionally the birds nest on the ground. =least tern=: _sterna albifrons athalassos_ burleigh and lowery.--this tern is a local summer resident in marshes and along streams in central and western kansas. there are breeding records from hamilton, meade, and stafford counties. first dates of arrival in spring are from may to (the median is may ), and last dates of occurrence in autumn are from august to september (the median is august ). _breeding schedule._--twenty-one records of egg-laying are from may to june (fig. ); the modal date for laying is june . _number of eggs._--two, or eggs are laid. eggs are laid on the bare ground, usually a sandy surface, near water. =black tern=: _chlidonias niger surinamensis_ (gmelin).--this is a local summer resident in marshlands in central kansas. there are breeding records only from barton county for and ; possibly the species breeds in douglas county. first dates of arrival in spring are from may to (the median is may ), and last dates of occurrence in autumn are from september to (the median is september ). _breeding schedule._--twenty-four sets of eggs (parmelee, : ; m. schwilling) were complete between june and july . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs. nests are of dead plant matter placed on floating parts of emergent green plants in shallow water. =rock dove=: _columba livia_ gmelin.--this species was introduced into north america by man from european stocks of semi-domesticated ancestry. "pigeons" now are feral around towns and farms, and cliffsides in the west, and are locally common permanent residents throughout the state. _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid in every month of the year. the main season of breeding is spring, and this is depicted in figure ; the records of breeding by feral birds are from january to june , and the modal date of laying is probably april . _number of eggs._--pigeons usually lay eggs. nests are of sticks and other plant matter placed on ledges and recesses of buildings, bridges, and cliffs, to feet high. [illustration: fig. .--histograms representing breeding schedules of the least tern, two doves, the yellow-billed cuckoo, and two owls in kansas. see legend to figure for explanation of histograms.] =mourning dove=: _zenaidura macroura marginella_ (woodhouse).--this is a common summer resident throughout the state, in open country and woodland edge. the species is also present in winter in much reduced numbers, and many are transient in periods of migration. the time of greatest abundance is from march to november. doves of extreme eastern kansas have by some workers been referred to the subspecies _z. m. carolinensis_ (linnaeus); specimens at the museum of natural history indicate that these doves are best regarded as members of populations of intermediate subspecific, or morphologic, affinities, and that they are satisfactorily included within _z. m. marginella_. _breeding schedule._--numerous ( ) records of egg-laying from north-central kansas are from april to september ; the modal date for laying is may . forty-three records of breeding from northeastern kansas span the period march to august ; the modal date of laying is may . these samples are depicted in figure . both sets of data are shown here to illustrate some of the differences between large and small samples of heterogeneous data. the small sample tends to be incomplete both early and late in the season, and the mode tends to be conspicuous. yet, the modes for the two samples coincide. also, the data from the north-central sector indicate that egg-laying in march would be found less than once in records, but the small sample from the northeast includes one record for march. such an instance doubtless reflects, at least in part, the fact that the two geographic sectors have different environmental conditions, but it is likely that the instance also partly reflects the unpredictable nature of sampling. _number of eggs._--doves lay two eggs. about one per cent of all nests have eggs, but it is not known for any of these whether one or two females were responsible. nests are placed in a wide variety of plants, or on the ground. the commonest plants are those used most frequently; in north-central kansas one-third of all nests are placed in osage orange trees, but in the northeast elms are most frequently used. nestsites are from zero to feet high. =yellow-billed cuckoo=: _coccyzus americanus americanus_ (linnaeus).--this is a common summer resident in riparian and second-growth habitats throughout the state. twenty-three dates of first arrival in spring fall between april and may (the median is may ), and nine dates of last observation in autumn run from september to october (the median is september ). _breeding schedule._--sixty-nine records of egg-laying span the period may to september (fig. ); the modal date of laying is june . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed about six feet high (from four to feet) in sumac, rose, pawpaw, mulberry, elm, cottonwood, willow, redbud, oak, osage orange, walnut, boxelder, usually on horizontal surfaces, and in heavy cover. =black-billed cuckoo=: _coccyzus erythropthalmus_ (wilson).--this is an uncommon summer resident, occurring in heavy riparian shrubbery and second-growth. breeding records are chiefly from eastern kansas, but specimens have been taken in the breeding season in all parts of the state. eleven dates of first arrival in spring are from may to may (the median is may ), and four dates of last observed occurrence in autumn are between september and october (the average is september ). _breeding schedule._--seventeen records of egg-laying are between may and august ; the mode is at june . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is to eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed about four feet high in heavy cover in plum, elm, locust, and the like. =roadrunner=: _geococcyx californianus_ (lesson).--this is a local resident in southern kansas in xeric scrub or open edge habitats. breeding records are from cowley and sumner counties. _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid at least from early april to mid-july. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed on the ground under plant cover, or occasionally low in bushes. =barn owl=: _tyto alba pratincola_ bonaparte.--this resident has a low density throughout kansas in open woodland and near agricultural enterprises of man. _breeding schedule._--the few records available indicate egg-laying occurs at least from april to july; elsewhere the species is known to have a more protracted breeding schedule. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are informal aggregations of sticks and litter placed in recesses in stumps, hollow trees, rocky and earthen banks, and dwellings and outbuildings of man. =screech owl=: _otus asio_ (linnaeus).--this is a common resident in woodland habitats throughout kansas. _o. a. aikeni_ (brewster) occurs west of rawlins, gove, and comanche counties, and _o. a. naevius_ (gmelin) occurs in the remainder of the state except for the eastern south-central sector, occupied by _o. a. hasbroucki_ ridgway. _breeding schedule._--fifteen records of egg-laying span the period march to may ; there is a strong mode at april . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed in holes and recesses in trees, three to feet high. =great horned owl=: _bubo virginianus_ (gmelin).--this is a common resident throughout kansas, especially near woodlands and cliffsides. _b. v. virginianus_ (gmelin) occurs east of a line through rawlins and meade counties and _b. v. occidentalis_ stone occurs to the west. _breeding schedule._--fifty-seven records of egg-laying span the period january to march (fig. ); the modal date for laying is near february . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed about feet high in cottonwood, elm, osage orange, hackberry, juniper, locust, cliffsides, and buildings of man. old nests of hawks, crows, and herons are frequently appropriated. =burrowing owl=: _speotyto cunicularia hypugaea_ (bonaparte).--this is an uncommon summer resident in western kansas in grassland and open scrub habitats. stations of breeding all come from west of a line running through cloud and barber counties. arrival in spring is between march and april (the median for records is april ), and dates last seen in autumn span the period september to november (the median for records is september ). _breeding schedule._--twenty-one records of egg-laying run from april to july (fig. ); the mode of laying is may . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is or eggs. nests are informal aggregations of plant and animal fibers in chambers of earthen burrows usually made by badgers or prairie dogs. =barred owl=: _strix varia varia_ barton.--this is a local resident in eastern kansas, in heavy woodland. the species is said by implication (a. o. u. check-list, ) to occur in western kansas, but no good breeding records are available, all such records coming from and east of morris county. specimens from southeastern kansas show morphologic intergradation with characters of _s. v. georgica_ latham. _breeding schedule._--three records of egg-laying are for the first half of march. _number of eggs._--clutch-size in our sample is eggs. nests are situated in cavities in trees or in old hawk or crow nests. =long-eared owl=: _asio otus wilsonianus_ (lesson).--this owl is a local resident or summer resident in woodland with heavy cover throughout the state. breeding records are available from trego, meade, cloud, and douglas counties. _breeding schedule._--four records of egg-laying are for the period march to april . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is or eggs. nests are placed in hollows of trees, stumps, cliffsides, on the ground surface, or in old hawk, crow, or magpie nests (davie, ). =short-eared owl=: _asio flammeus flammeus_ (pontoppidan).--this is a local resident or summer resident in open, marshy, and edge habitats; records of nesting come from republic, marshall, woodson, and bourbon counties. _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid at least in april. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs (davie, ). nests are simple structures of sticks and grasses, placed on the ground in grasses, frequently near cover of downed timber or bushes. =saw-whet owl=: _aegolius acadicus acadicus_ (gmelin).--this is a rare and local resident, in woodland. there is one breeding record (summer, , wyandotte county; tordoff, : ). =chuck-will's-widow=: _caprimulgus carolinensis_ gmelin.--this is a locally common summer resident in woodland habitats in eastern kansas. stations of occurrence of actual breeding fall south of wyandotte county and east of shawnee, greenwood, stafford, and sedgwick counties. _breeding schedule._--five records of breeding come between april and may , with a peak perhaps in the first third of may. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs. eggs are laid on heavy leaf-litter, usually under shrubby cover. =whip-poor-will=: _caprimulgus vociferus vociferus_ wilson.--this is a local summer resident in woodland in eastern kansas. breeding records are available only from doniphan, leavenworth, and douglas counties; there are sight records in summer from shawnee county. _breeding schedule._--two records of breeding cover the period may to june . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs. eggs are laid on heavy leaf-litter in shrubby cover. =poor-will=: _phalaenoptilus nuttallii nuttallii_ (audubon).--this is a common summer resident in western kansas, in xeric, scrubby woodland. breeding records are chiefly from west of riley county, but there is one from franklin county; specimens taken in the breeding season are available from doniphan, douglas, anderson, woodson, and greenwood counties. _breeding schedule._--six records of egg-laying are from the period may to june . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs. eggs are laid on the ground, with or without plant cover. table .--occurrence in time of summer resident caprimulgids and apodids in kansas ==================+==========================+============================ | arrival | departure species +----------------+---------+------------------+--------- | range | median | range | median ------------------+----------------+---------+------------------+--------- chuck-will's-widow| apr. -may | apr. | oct.-dec. | oct. ? whip-poor-will | apr. -apr. | apr. | sept. -oct. | sept. poor-will | apr. | ... | sept. | ... common nighthawk | apr. -may | may | sept. -oct. | sept. chimney swift | apr. -apr. | apr. | sept. -oct. | oct. ruby-throated | | | | hummingbird | apr. -may | may | sept. -oct. | sept. ------------------+----------------+---------+------------------+--------- =common nighthawk=: _chordeiles minor_ (forster).--this is a common summer resident throughout kansas. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . three subspecies reach their distributional limits in the state, _c. m. minor_ (forster) in northeastern kansas, _c. m. chapmani_ coues in southeastern kansas, and _c. m. howelli_ oberholser west of the flint hills. _breeding schedule._--twenty-two records of breeding span the period may to june ; the modal date for egg-laying is june (fig. ). _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs. eggs are laid on the ground in rocky or gravelly areas, on unpaved roads, or on flat, gravelled tops of buildings of man. =chimney swift=: _chaetura pelagica_ (linnaeus).--this is a common summer resident in eastern kansas, around towns. temporal occurrence in the state is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--thirty-six records of breeding span the period may to june ; the modal date for egg-laying is may (fig. ). _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are secured by means of a salivary cement to vertical surfaces, usually near the inside tops of chimneys in dwellings of man, but occasionally in abandoned buildings and hollow trees. =ruby-throated hummingbird=: _archilochus colubris_ (linnaeus).--this is an uncommon summer resident in eastern kansas, and is rare in the west, in towns and along riparian vegetation. temporal occurrence in the state is listed in table . _breeding schedule._--eight records of breeding fall within the period may to july ; there seems to be a peak to laying in the last third of june. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs. most nests are on outer branches of shrubs and trees, in forks or on pendant branches, to feet high. =belted kingfisher=: _megaceryle alcyon alcyon_ (linnaeus).--this summer resident is common throughout the state in streamside and lakeside habitats. timing of arrival and departure of the breeding birds is not well-documented owing to the fact that the species is also transient and a winter resident in the state. _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid at least from april to may . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is near eggs. eggs are laid on the floor of the chamber at the inner end of a horizontal tunnel excavated in an earthen bank. the tunnel is two to six feet long and many tunnels are strewn with bones and other dietary refuse. =yellow-shafted flicker=: _colaptes auratus_ (linnaeus).--this is a common resident and summer resident in eastern kansas, meeting, hybridizing with, and partly replaced by _colaptes cafer_ westward, in open woodlands. _c. a. auratus_ (linnaeus) occurs in southeastern kansas, and _c. a. luteus_ bangs occurs in the remainder, intergrading west of the flint hills with _c. cafer_. _breeding season._--forty-eight records of breeding span the period april to june ; the modal date for egg-laying is may (fig. ). this sample is drawn from central and eastern kansas, but includes records of breeding by some birds identified in the field as _c. cafer_. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are piles of wood chips in cavities excavated in stumps and dead limbs of trees such as willow, cottonwood, mulberry, and catalpa, ordinarily about six feet above the ground. =red-shafted flicker=: _colaptes cafer collaris_ vigors.--this woodpecker is a common summer resident in western kansas, meeting, hybridizing with, and largely replaced by _c. auratus_ in central and eastern sectors. the vast majority of specimens taken in kansas show evidence of intergradation with _c. auratus_. _breeding schedule._--the few records of flickers identified in the field as _c. cafer_ have been combined with those of _c. auratus_ (fig. ). _number of eggs._--clutch-size is perhaps eggs. nests are like those of _c. auratus_. =pileated woodpecker=: _dryocopus pileatus_ (linnaeus).--this is a rare and local resident in the east, in heavy timber. the species has been seen, chiefly in winter, in all sectors of eastern kansas in recent years, but actual records of breeding come only from linn and cherokee counties. _d. p. abieticola_ (bangs) occurs in the northeast, and _d. p. pileatus_ (linnaeus) in the southeast. _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid at least in april. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is or eggs. nests are of wood chips in cavities excavated to feet high in main trunks of cottonwood, sycamore, and pin oak. =red-bellied woodpecker=: _centurus carolinus zebra_ (boddaert).--in woodland habitats this is a common resident in eastern kansas, local in the west. _breeding schedule._--thirty-seven records of breeding span the period march to june (fig. ); the modal date of egg-laying is around april . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are of wood chips in cavities excavated in elm, cottonwood, box elder, ash, hickory, or willow, about feet high (nine to feet). [illustration: fig. .--histograms representing breeding schedules of the common nighthawk, chimney swift, woodpeckers, and flycatchers in kansas. see legend to figure for explanation of histograms.] =red-headed woodpecker=: _melanerpes erythrocephalus_ (linnaeus).--this is a common summer resident and uncommon permanent resident in open woodland; in winter it is noted especially around groves of oaks. _m. e. erythrocephalus_ (linnaeus) occurs in eastern kansas and _m. e. caurinus_ brodkorb occurs in central and western kansas. _breeding schedule._--fifty-eight records of breeding span the period may to august (fig. ); the modal date of egg-laying is june . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is or eggs. nests are of wood chips in cavities excavated about feet high in willow, cottonwood, and elm. =hairy woodpecker=: _dendrocopos villosus villosus_ (linnaeus).--this resident is common in woodlands throughout the state. _breeding schedule._--twenty-eight records of breeding span the period march to may (fig. ); the modal date of egg-laying is may . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are of wood chips in cavities excavated about feet high in elm, honey locust, and ash. =downy woodpecker=: _dendrocopos pubescens_ (linnaeus).--this resident is common in woodland throughout the state. _d. p. pubescens_ (linnaeus) occurs in southeastern kansas, and _d. p. medianus_ (swainson) in the remainder. _breeding schedule._--forty-one records of breeding span the period april to june (fig. ); the modal date of egg-laying is may . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are of wood chips in cavities excavated about feet high in willow, honey locust, ash, apple, and pear. =eastern kingbird=: _tyrannus tyrannus_ (linnaeus).--this summer resident is common throughout the east; it is local in the west but there maintains conspicuous numbers in favorable places, such as riparian woodland; preferred habitat in eastern sectors is typically in woodland edge. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding season._--sixty-three dates of egg-laying span the period may to july (fig. ); the modal date for completion of clutches is june . nearly per cent of all eggs are laid in june. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). clutches are probably larger than the average in may and smaller in june and july. nests are placed in crotches, terminal forks, and some on tops of limbs, about feet high, in elm, sycamore, honey locust, willow, oak, apple, and red cedar. =western kingbird=: _tyrannus verticalis_ say.--this summer resident is common in the west, but is local and less abundant in the east. preferred habitat is in woodland edge, open country with scattered trees, and in towns. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--the dates of egg-laying span the period may to july (fig. ); the modal date for egg-laying is june . more than per cent of all clutches are laid in june. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed in crotches, lateral forks, or on horizontal limbs, about feet high, in cottonwood, elm, osage orange, hackberry, honey locust, mulberry, oak, and on power poles. =scissor-tailed flycatcher=: _muscivora forficata_ (gmelin).--this summer resident is common in central and southern kansas; it is rare to absent in the northwestern sector, and is local in the northeast. preferred habitat is in open country with scattered trees. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--twenty-eight records of breeding occur from may to july (fig. ); the modal date of egg-laying is june . the present sample of records is small, and there is otherwise no evidence suggesting that the breeding schedule of this species differs from those of the other two kingbirds in kansas. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). mean clutch-size for the first peak of laying shown in figure is . eggs; that for the second peak is . eggs. nests are placed in forks or on horizontal limbs of osage orange, red haw, elm, and on crosspieces of power poles, about feet high (ranging from five to feet). =great crested flycatcher=: _myiarchus crinitus boreus_ bangs.--this summer resident is common in eastern kansas, but is less numerous in the west. preferred habitat is in woodland and woodland edge. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--the twenty-two records of egg-laying are in the period may to july (fig. ); the modal date for egg-laying is june . the shape of the histogram (fig. ) indicates that some breeding for which records are lacking occurs earlier in may. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed in hollows and crevices in elm, maple, cottonwood, willow, pear, apple, oak, drain spouts, and, occasionally, "bird houses" made by man, about feet high (four to feet high). table .--occurrence in time of summer resident flycatchers in kansas =================+===========================+============================ | arrival | departure species +-----------------+---------+-----------------+---------- | range | median | range | median -----------------+-----------------+---------+-----------------+---------- eastern kingbird | apr. -apr. | apr. | sept. -sept. | sept. western kingbird | apr. -apr. | apr. | sept. -sept. | sept. scissor-tailed | | | | flycatcher | apr. -apr. | apr. | sept. -oct. | oct. great crested | | | | flycatcher | apr. -may | apr. | sept. -sept. | sept. eastern phoebe | mar. -mar. | mar. | oct. -oct. | oct. say phoebe | apr. -apr. | apr. | | acadian | | | | flycatcher | apr. -may | may | sept. -sept. | sept. eastern wood | | | | pewee | apr. -may | may | aug. -sept. | sept. -----------------+-----------------+---------+-----------------+---------- =eastern phoebe=: _sayornis phoebe_ (latham).--this summer resident is common in eastern kansas, but is local in the west. preferred habitat is in woodland edge and riparian groves, where most birds are found near bridges, culverts, or isolated outbuildings of man. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--the records of breeding span the period march to july (fig. ); the modal date for egg-laying is april (for first clutches) and june (for second clutches); this species seems to be the only double-brooded flycatcher in kansas. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is to eggs ( . , - ; ). the seasonal progression in clutch-size can be summarized as follows: march -april : . eggs ( records) april -may : . eggs ( records) may -june : . eggs ( records) june -july : . eggs ( records) nests are placed on horizontal, vertical, or overhanging surfaces of culverts, bridges, houses of man, earthen cliffs, rocky ledges, and entrances to caves, at an average height of . feet. =say phoebe=: _sayornis saya saya_ (bonaparte).--this is a common summer resident in western kansas, breeding at least east to cloud county, in open country. occurrence in time is listed in table . _breeding schedule._--ten records of breeding fall in the period may to july ; the modal date for egg-laying is in late may. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are placed under bridges, in houses, or on cliffsides and earthen banks. =acadian flycatcher=: _empidonax virescens_ (vieillot).--this is an uncommon summer resident in eastern kansas, in woodland and riparian habitats. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--the available records of breeding by this species in kansas are too few to indicate reliably the span of the breeding season. information on hand suggests that acadian flycatchers lay most eggs in late may or early june, and this places their nesting peak some to days earlier than peaks for wood pewees and traill flycatchers. _number of eggs._--five records show eggs each. nests are placed about six feet high on terminal twigs of oak and alder. =traill flycatcher=: _empidonax traillii traillii_ (audubon).--this flycatcher has only recently been found nesting within kansas; the species is not included in analyses above. twenty-three nesting records are here reported, for the species in kansas city, jackson and platte counties, missouri. most of these records are from within a few hundred yards of the political boundary of kansas. the traill flycatcher is a local summer resident in extreme northeastern kansas (doniphan county), in wet woodland and riparian groves. temporal occurrence is not well-documented; first dates run from may to ; the last dates of annual occurrence, possibly not all for transients, run from august to september . _breeding schedule._--twenty-three records of breeding are from may to july (fig. ); the modal date for egg-laying is june . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed in forks, crotches, and occasionally near trunks, chiefly of willow, from . to feet high (averaging six feet). =eastern wood pewee=: _contopus virens_ (linnaeus).--this summer resident is common in the east, but is rare in the west. preferred habitat is in edge of forest and woodland. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--nineteen dates of egg-laying span the period june to july (fig. ); the modal date for completion of clutches is june , and more than half of all clutches are laid in the period june to . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are placed on upper surfaces of horizontal limbs of oak, elm, and sycamore, about feet high. =horned lark=: _eremophila alpestris_ (linnaeus).--breeding populations are resident in open country with short or cropped vegetation. _e. a. praticola_ (henshaw) lives in the east, and _e. a. enthymia_ (oberholser) in the west. _breeding schedule._--twenty-one records of breeding span the period march to june (fig. ); the modal date for egg-laying is march . the histogram (fig. ) is constructed on a clearly inadequate sample, and records of breeding both earlier and later are to be expected. the peak of first nesting activity is probably reasonably well-indicated by the available records. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed on the ground, usually amid short vegetation such as cropped prairie grassland or cultivated fields (notably soybeans and wheat), and occasionally on bare ground. table .--occurrence in time of summer resident swallows in kansas ===============+===========================+============================= | arrival | departure species +-----------------+---------+------------------+---------- | range | median | range | median ---------------+-----------------+---------+------------------+---------- tree swallow | apr. -apr. | apr. | sept. -oct. | oct. bank swallow | apr. -may | may | sept. -sept. | sept. rough-winged | | | | swallow | mar. -may | apr. | sept. -oct. | oct. cliff swallow | apr. -may | may | sept. -oct. | sept. barn swallow | mar. -apr. | apr. | sept. -oct. | oct. purple martin | mar. -apr. | mar. | aug. -sept. | sept. ---------------+-----------------+---------+------------------+---------- =tree swallow=: _iridoprocne bicolor_ (vieillot).--this is a summer resident in extreme northeastern kansas; nesting birds have been found only along the missouri river in doniphan county. habitat is in open woodland, and in kansas is always associated with water. temporal occurrence in the state is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--eight records of breeding span the period may to june ; the modal date for egg-laying is may . the small sample may not accurately reflect the peak of nesting activity. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is or eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed chiefly in abandoned woodpecker diggings in willows, four to ten feet high, over water. =bank swallow=: _riparia riparia riparia_ (linnaeus).--this summer resident is common wherever cut-banks suitable for nesting activities allow relatively undisturbed behavior. the species is almost always found near water. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--sixty records of breeding span the period may to june (fig. ); the modal date for completion of clutches is june . nearly per cent of all clutches are laid in the period may to june . under unusual circumstances time of breeding can be greatly delayed; such circumstances occurred in in many places along the kansas river in eastern kansas, where the soft, sandy-clay banks were repeatedly washed away in may and june by high water undercutting the cliffs. bank swallows attempted to work on burrows in late may, but stabilization of the banks occurred only by late june, and the peak of egg-laying for many colonies was around july . records for are omitted from the sample used here (fig. ). _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). yearly clutch-size at one colony miles east of lawrence, douglas county, is as follows: : . , records : . , records : . , records : . , records the sample for is that taken in early july when breeding occurred after a delay of more than a month, as described above. nesting chambers are excavated in sandy-clay banks, piles of sand, piles of sawdust, or similar sites, at ends of tunnels one to more than three feet in depth from the vertical face of the substrate. =rough-winged swallow=: _stelgidopteryx ruficollis serripennis_ (audubon).--this summer resident is common in most places; it is not restricted to a single habitat, but needs some sort of earthen or other substrate with ready-made burrows for nesting. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--the records of breeding are in the period may to june ; the modal date of egg-laying is june . seventy per cent of all eggs are laid in the period may to june . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nesting chambers are in old burrows of bank swallows, kingfishers, rodents, or in crevices remaining subsequent to decomposition of roots of plants; frequently this swallow uses a side chamber off the main tunnel, near the mouth, of a burrow abandoned or still in use by the other species mentioned above. =cliff swallow=: _petrochelidon pyrrhonota pyrrhonota_ (vieillot).--this common summer resident occurs wherever suitable sites for nests are found. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--the records of breeding span the period may to june (fig. ); the modal date for egg-laying is june , and per cent of all clutches are laid from may to june . such synchronous breeding activity is probably a function of strong coloniality with attendant "social facilitation" of breeding behavior. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are built in mud jugs plastered to vertical rock faces, bridges, culverts, and buildings from a few feet to more than feet above the ground. [illustration: fig. .--histograms representing breeding schedules of the horned lark and swallows in kansas. see legend to figure for explanation of histograms.] =barn swallow=: _hirundo rustica erythrogaster_ boddaert.--this summer resident is common in most habitats, occurring chiefly about cultivated fields and pastures. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--sixty-three records of breeding in northern kansas span the period may to july (fig. ); the modal date for completion of first clutches is may , and that for the second is july . the schedule of breeding in southern kansas (chiefly cowley county), to judge by records, conforms to the one for northern kansas: the season spans the period may to august , and the modal date for first clutches is may . the ten-day lag in peak of first clutches of the northern over the southern sample is about what would be expected on the basis of differential inception of the biological growing season from south to north each spring. _number of eggs._--clutch-size does not vary geographically, to judge only from the present samples, and all are included in the listing to follow. the modal size of clutches is eggs ( . , - ; ); clutches from the period may to show an average of . eggs, from june to an average of . eggs, and from june to august , . eggs. nests are usually placed on horizontal surfaces in barns, sheds, or other such structures; more rarely they are put on bridges, and less frequently yet on vertical walls of culverts or sheds. =purple martin=: _progne subis subis_ (linnaeus).--this summer resident is common in the east but rare in the west. the only documented colony west of the th meridian was in oberlin, decatur county (wolfe, ), occupied some years ago. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--the breeding season spans the period may to june (fig. ); the modal date of egg-laying is june , and per cent of all clutches are laid in the period june to . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). mean clutch-size is . eggs in may and . in june. adults tend to lay clutches of eggs and first-year birds clutches of . replacement clutches by birds of any age tend to be of eggs. nests are built of sticks and mud placed in cavities; in kansas these are almost always in colony houses erected by man. use of holes and crevices in old buildings is known to have occurred on the campus of the university of kansas in the nineteen thirties (w. s. long, , ms), in oberlin, decatur county in - (wolfe, _loc. cit._), and presently in ottawa, franklin county (hardy, ). =blue jay=: _cyanocitta cristata bromia_ oberholser.--this resident is common throughout kansas in woodland habitats. most first-year birds move south in winter, but adults tend to be strictly permanent residents. groups of ten to more than individuals can be seen moving south in october and north in april. all individuals taken from such mobile groups are in first-year feather. _breeding schedule._--eighty-three records of breeding span the period april to july (fig. ); the modal date of egg-laying is may , and about per cent of all clutches are laid in the period may - . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed from eight to feet high (averaging feet) in forks, crotches, and on horizontal limbs of elm, maple, osage orange, cottonwood, and ash. =black-billed magpie=: _pica pica hudsonia_ (sabine).--this resident is common in western kansas, along riparian groves and woodland edge. records of nesting are from as far east as clay county. wolfe ( ) outlines the history of magpies in decatur county as follows: the species was purported to have appeared in rural districts near oberlin in , but wolfe saw the birds only by , at which time he also found the first (used) nests. the first reported occupied nest was one in hamilton county in (linsdale, ). earlier records, chiefly of occurrence in winter, can be found in goss ( ). _breeding schedule._--fourteen records of breeding span the period april to june ; the modal date for egg-laying is may . _number of eggs._--there are no data on clutch-size in kansas; elsewhere black-billed magpies lay to eggs, and clutches of are found most frequently (linsdale, : ). nests are placed from to feet high (averaging feet) in forks or lateral masses of branches in cottonwood, box elder, ash, and willow. =white-necked raven=: _corvus cryptoleucus_ couch.--this summer resident is common in western kansas, probably occupying locally favorable sites in prairie grassland and woodland edge west of a line from smith to seward counties. the species is known to nest in cheyenne, sherman, and finney counties. _breeding schedule._--there are few data from kansas; aldous ( ) states that the birds begin activities leading to building sometime in april in oklahoma; the peak of egg-laying probably occurs in may, which coincides with the records from kansas. _number of eggs._--outside kansas, this species lays to eggs; these figures seem applicable to kansas, where brood sizes are known to run from to young. nests are placed about feet high in cottonwood and other trees. =common crow=: _corvus brachyrhynchos brachyrhynchos_ brehm.--this resident is common in most of kansas, but numbers are lower in the west. distribution in the breeding season is west at least to cheyenne, logan, and meade counties. _breeding schedule._--sixty-nine records of breeding span the period march to may (fig. ); the modal date for egg-laying is april , and per cent of all eggs are laid between march and april . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed about feet high in crotches near trunks or heavy branches of such trees as red cedar, elm, oak, osage orange, cottonwood, honey locust, box elder, and pine. =black-capped chickadee=: _parus atricapillus_ linnaeus.--this resident is common north of the southernmost tier of counties, in forested and wooded areas. _p. a. atricapillus_ linnaeus occurs chiefly east of the th meridian, and _p. a. septentrionalis_ harris occurs west of this; a broad zone of intergradation exists between these two subspecies. _breeding schedule._--fifty-one records of breeding span the period march to june (fig. ); the modal date for laying is april , and per cent of all eggs are laid between april and . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed in cavities about ten feet high (ranging from four to feet) in willow, elm, cottonwood, honey locust, apricot, or nestboxes placed by man. [illustration: fig. .--histograms representing breeding schedules of crows, chickadees, wrens, thrashers, thrushes, and their allies in kansas. see legend to figure for explanation of histograms.] =carolina chickadee=: _parus carolinensis atricapilloides_ lunk.--this resident is common in the southernmost tier of counties, from comanche county east, in forest and woodland edge. actual records of breeding are from barber and montgomery counties. _breeding schedule._--there are no data on breeding of this species in kansas. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are placed in cavities of trees. =tufted titmouse=: _paras bicolor_ linnaeus.--this resident is common in the eastern half of kansas, in woodlands. specimens taken in the breeding season and nesting records come from east of a line running through cloud, harvey, and sumner counties, and the species probably breeds in barber county. _breeding schedule._--twenty-two records of breeding span the period march to june (fig. ); the modal date for laying is april , and per cent of all clutches are laid in the period april to . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is to eggs ( . ; ). nests are placed in cavities about feet high (ranging from three to feet) in elm, oak, cottonwood, hackberry, redbud, osage orange, and nestboxes placed by man. =white-breasted nuthatch=: _sitta carolinensis_ latham.--this resident in eastern kansas, in well-developed woodland, is uncommon. _s. c. cookei_ oberholser occurs east of a line running through douglas and cherokee counties, on the basis of specimens taken in the breeding season and actual nesting records, and _s. c. carolinensis_ latham occurs in montgomery and labette counties. _s. c. nelsoni_ mearns has been recorded in morton county but probably does not breed there. _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid in march and april; young have been recorded being fed by parents throughout may. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is between and eggs. nests are placed in cavities about feet high in elm and sycamore. =house wren=: _troglodytes aedon parkmanii_ audubon.--this summer resident is common in the east and uncommon in the west. preferred habitat is in woodland, brushland, and urban parkland. house wrens arrive in eastern kansas in the period april to (the median is april ), and are last seen in autumn in the period september to october (the median is september ). _breeding schedule._--the records of breeding span the period april to july (fig. ); the modal date of laying is may . about per cent of all clutches are laid in the period may to . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). clutches laid in may average . eggs ( - ; ); those laid in june and july average . eggs ( - ; ). nests are placed in cavities about ten feet high (ranging from two to feet) in cottonwood, elm, willow, and a wide variety of structures, mostly nestboxes, built by man. =bewick wren=: _thryomanes bewickii_ audubon.--this wren is an uncommon resident in kansas, except for the northeastern quarter, in woodland understory and brushland. _t. b. bewickii_ audubon occurs north and east of stations in riley, pottawatomie, douglas, and linn counties, and _t. b. cryptus_ oberholser is found south of stations in greeley, stafford, and linn counties; a zone of intergradation occurs between the two named populations. the species occupies marginal habitat in most of kansas and periodically is reduced in numbers by severe winters. _breeding schedule._--twenty-two records of breeding span the period march to july (fig. ); the modal date for first clutches is april and for second clutches june . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed in crevices about five feet high (ranging from zero to nine feet) in trees (oak, cherry, and pear), boulders, and a wide variety of structures, some of them nestboxes, built by man; appropriation and modification of nests of barn swallows is known to occur. =carolina wren=: _thryothorus ludovicianus ludovicianus_ latham.--this common resident of southeastern kansas in woodland understory and brushland is uncommon in the northeastern and south-central sectors. stations of breeding all fall east of a line running through doniphan, riley, and western reno counties. north and west of southeastern kansas the carolina wren is in marginal habitat and periodically is reduced in numbers by severe winters. _breeding schedule._--fourteen records of breeding span the period april to august ; the modal date for laying is april , to judge only from the present sample. the species probably breeds also in late march and early april. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed near the ground in stumps, and a wide variety of structures built by man, or in crevices in earthen banks. =long-billed marsh wren=: _telmatodytes palustris dissaëptus_ (bangs).--this is an uncommon summer resident in eastern kansas in and around marshes. presumably breeding individuals occur east of stations in doniphan, shawnee, and sedgwick counties, but actual records of breeding come only from doniphan county (linsdale, : ). first dates of arrival in spring run from april to (the median is april ), and dates of last autumnal occurrence are from september to october (the median is october ). _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid from may to august. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is or eggs; the range is from to (welter, ). nests are woven of broad-bladed grasses, usually no farther than two feet from water or mud, suspended in vertical plant stalks or branches in marshes. =short-billed marsh wren=: _cistothorus platensis stellaris_ (nauman).--this rare and irregular summer resident in northeastern kansas occurs in wet meadowland. breeding records are available from douglas and coffey counties. temporal occurrence in the state is at least from april to october ; early dates are most likely of transients. _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid in late july and august. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is or eggs. nests are woven of plant fibers and placed in vertically-running stalks and stems of grasses and short, woody vegetation, within two feet of the ground. =rock wren=: _salpinctes obsoletus obsoletus_ (say).--this species is a common summer resident in western kansas, in open, rocky country. specimens taken in the breeding season and actual nests found come from west of stations in decatur, trego, and comanche counties. dates of occurrence are from april to october . autumnal, postbreeding movement brings the species east at least to cloud county (october , , and ) and douglas county (october ). _breeding schedule._--sixteen records of breeding span the period may to july ; the modal date for egg-laying is june . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed in holes in rocks, occasionally in rodent burrows, from ground level to feet high on faces of cliffs, but there averaging about feet. =northern mockingbird=: _mimus polyglottos_ (linnaeus).--this is a common resident in parkland and brushy savannah throughout kansas. _m. p. polyglottos_ (linnaeus) occurs in the east, and _m. p. leucopterus_ (vigors) in the west; a broad zone of intergradation exists between the two. most specimens from kansas are of intermediate morphology. _breeding schedule._--sixty-nine records of breeding span the period april to july (fig. ); the modal date for first clutches is june , but is weakly indicated in the histogram (fig. ). _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). size of clutch does not vary seasonally or geographically in the present sample. nests are placed about four feet high (two to feet) in osage orange, red cedar, mulberry, scotch pine, catalpa, cottonwood, rose, and arbor vitae. =catbird=: _dumetella carolinensis_ (linnaeus).--this is a common summer resident in the eastern half of kansas, but is local in the west, in and near woodland edge and second-growth. first dates of arrival in spring are from april to may (the median is may ), and last dates of autumnal occurrence are between september and november (the median is september ). _breeding schedule._--seventy-seven records of breeding span the period may to july (fig. ); the modal date for egg-laying is may , and per cent of all clutches are laid from may to june . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). clutches laid between may and june tend to be of eggs ( . , - ; ), and clutches laid between june and july tend to be of eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed about four feet high in shrubs (rose, lilac, plum, elderberry) and about seven feet high in trees (red cedar, honey locust, willow, elm, apple, and in vines in such trees). =brown thrasher=: _toxostoma rufum_ (linnaeus).--this is a common summer resident in woodland understory, edge, and second-growth. _t. r. rufum_ (linnaeus) occurs in eastern kansas, to the western edge of the flint hills, and _t. r. longicauda_ baird occurs west of stations in decatur, lane, and meade counties; the intervening populations are of intermediate morphologic character. some individuals overwinter in kansas, but most are regular migrants and summer residents, arriving in spring from april to april (the median is april ), and departing in autumn between september and october (the median is september ). _breeding schedule._--the records of breeding span the period may to july (fig. ); the modal date for egg-laying is may , and one-third of all eggs are laid in the period may to . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs, ranging from to . seasonal variation and mean values are shown in table . nests are placed about four feet high (ranging from - / to feet) in osage orange, elm, ornamental evergreens, gooseberry, barberry, honey locust, cottonwood, red cedar, rose, plum, honeysuckle, spirea, arbor vitae, willow, oak, apple, dogwood, and maple. table .--seasonal variation in clutch-size of the brown thrasher ============+==================+=================== time | mean clutch-size | number of records ------------+------------------+------------------- may - | . | may - | . | may - | . | june - | . | june - | . | june - | . | july - | | july - | | all: | . | ------------+------------------+------------------- =robin=: _turdus migratorius migratorius_ linnaeus.--this summer resident is common in the east, and is locally common in the west. some individuals, usually in small groups, can be seen throughout the winter in eastern kansas, and their presence makes it difficult to document dates of arrival and departure of the strictly summer resident birds; these can be said to arrive in march and to leave in october, but these indications are the barest approximations. _breeding schedule._--the records of breeding span the period april to july (fig. ); the modal date of laying of first clutches is april , but subsequent peaks are indistinct. nearly half of all eggs are laid in the period april to . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). clutches laid prior to may average . eggs ( - ; ), and those laid subsequent to may average . eggs ( - ; ). nests are placed about feet from the ground (ranging from two to feet) in elm, ornamental conifers, fruit trees, cottonwood, mulberry, walnut, hackberry, oak, ash, maple, osage orange, and coffeeberry. robins rarely nest in manmade structures, such as on rafters in sheds and barns, on bridge stringers, and, exceptionally, on electrical utility pole installations. =wood thrush=: _hylocichla mustelina_ (gmelin).--this is an uncommon summer resident in eastern kansas, presently absent from the state west of stations in cloud and barber counties. preferred habitat is found in understory of forest and woodland. wood thrushes appear to have nested in small numbers as far west as oberlin, decatur county (wolfe, ), some years ago, but have since disappeared from such places, probably as a result of progressive modification of watershed and riparian timber by man. first dates of arrival in spring are from april to may (the median is may ), and departure southward is in the period september to october (the median is september ). _breeding schedule._--thirty-eight records of breeding fall in the period may to august (fig. ); the modal date of egg-laying is june for first clutches. fifty-five per cent of all eggs are laid between may and june . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed about feet high in elm, dogwood, willow, linden, and oak. =eastern bluebird=: _sialia sialis sialis_ (linnaeus).--this locally common resident and summer resident in eastern kansas, is only casual west of comanche county, in open parkland and woodland edge. _breeding schedule._--fifty-four records of breeding span the period april to july (fig. ); the modal date for first clutches is april and for second clutches is june . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed in cavities about eight feet high in trees (elm, box elder, fruit trees, willow, and ash), and about four feet high in stumps, fence posts, and nestboxes placed by man. =blue-gray gnatcatcher=: _polioptila caerulea caerulea_ (linnaeus).--this summer resident is common in eastern kansas in brushy woodland, edge, and second growth. specimens taken in the breeding season and nesting records come from east of stations in riley and cowley counties, but there is a breeding specimen from oklahoma just south of harper county, kansas. the species is present from march to september . _breeding schedule._--twelve records of breeding span the period april to june ; the modal date for egg-laying is may . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are placed in forks or on limbs about feet high in oak, elm, honey locust, red haw, pecan, and walnut. =cedar waxwing=: _bombycilla cedrorum_ vieillot.--this waxwing is a rare, local, and highly irregular summer resident in northeastern kansas, in woodland and forest edge habitats. the known nesting stations are in wyandotte and shawnee counties; six nests have been found in the period to . the species has been recorded in all months. _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid in june and early july. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs (davie, ). nests are placed four to feet high in a variety of deciduous and coniferous trees and shrubs. =loggerhead shrike=: _lanius ludovicianus_ linnaeus.--this common resident and summer resident favors open country with scattered shrubs and thickets. _l. l. migrans_ palmer occurs in eastern kansas, west to about the th meridian, and _l. l. excubitorides_ grinnell occurs in western kansas, east to about the th meridian; populations of intermediate character occupy central kansas. these shrikes tend to be resident in southern counties, but are migratory in the north. dates of spring arrival in cloud county are between march and (the median is march ) and the birds leave southward between october and december (the median is november ). _breeding schedule._--fifty-seven records of breeding span the period april to june (fig. ); the modal date for egg-laying is april . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). there is no seasonal variation in the sample. nests are placed about six feet high (ranging from four to feet) in osage orange, small pines, honeysuckle vines, and elm. =starling=: _sturnus vulgaris_ linnaeus.--this species is a common resident in towns and around farms, foraging in open fields of various kinds. starlings (introduced into north america from european stocks of _s. v. vulgaris_) first appeared in eastern kansas in the early s and were established as successful residents by or . occupancy of kansas to the west took only a few years. there are no specimens taken in the breeding season or actual nesting records from southwest of ellis and stafford counties; starlings seem to be resident in cheyenne county, but no nesting record exists from there. _breeding schedule._--sixty-seven records of breeding span the period march to june (fig. ); the modal date for first clutches is april , and for second clutches is june . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed about feet high (ranging from eight to feet) in crevices in elm, locust, hackberry, nestboxes placed by man, and in a variety of other structures of man. =black-capped vireo=: _vireo atricapilla_ woodhouse.--this was a summer resident, apparently of limited distribution but in good numbers, in comanche county, in oak woodland and brushland edge. no specimens have been taken in kansas since . _breeding schedule._--eggs are probably laid in may and june. goss ( : ) found a nest under construction on may , , and this is the only nesting record of the species in the state. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs (davie, ). nests are placed low, perhaps around four feet high, in deciduous trees and shrubs (davie, _op. cit._). =white-eyed vireo=: _vireo griseus noveboracensis_ (gmelin).--this is a local summer resident in eastern kansas, in woodland and forest edge. stations of breeding occurrence are in doniphan, douglas, johnson, anderson, labette, and montgomery counties. the species is present within the extreme dates of april to october (table ). _breeding schedule._--ten records of breeding span the period may to june ; the modal date for egg-laying is june . the present sample is not adequate to indicate extreme or modal dates with reasonable accuracy. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed relatively low in forks in trees and shrubs. =bell vireo=: _vireo bellii bellii_ audubon.--this summer resident is common in riparian thickets and second-growth scrub. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--sixty-six records of breeding span the period may to july (fig. ); the modal date for egg-laying is may , and a little under per cent of all eggs are laid in the period may - . renesting following disruption of first nests is regular, and the small peak in the histogram in the period june - is representative of this. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). clutches in may have an average of . eggs, and those in june and july . eggs. nests are placed about two feet high (ranging from one to five feet) in terminal or lateral forks of small branches in elm, hackberry, osage orange, coralberry, dogwood, plum, honey locust, mulberry, willow, cottonwood, and box elder. =yellow-throated vireo=: _vireo flavifrons_ vieillot.--this is a rare and local summer resident in deciduous forest and woodland in eastern kansas. stations of breeding occurrence fall east of shawnee and woodson counties. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid at least in may. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are placed to feet high in forks of mature deciduous trees. table .--occurrence in time of summer resident vireos in kansas =================+==========================+============================= | arrival | departure species +----------------+---------+------------------+---------- | range | median | range | median -----------------+----------------+---------+------------------+---------- white-eyed vireo | apr. -may | may | oct. | bell vireo | apr. -may | may | aug. -sept. | sept. yellow-throated | | | | vireo | apr. -may | may | aug. -oct. | aug. red-eyed vireo | apr. -may | may | sept. -oct. | sept. warbling vireo | apr. -may | apr. | sept. -oct. | sept. -----------------+----------------+---------+------------------+---------- =red-eyed vireo=: _vireo olivaceus olivaceus_ (linnaeus).--this summer resident is common in the east, but is local and less abundant in the west, in woodland and deciduous forest. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--eight records of breeding fall in the period may to july ; most records of egg-laying are in the first week of june. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed in forks of mature deciduous trees, usually fairly high--perhaps to feet (davie, ). =warbling vireo=: _vireo gilvus gilvus_ (vieillot).--this summer resident is common in woodland and forest edge. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--seventeen records of breeding span the period may to june , but it is likely that breeding later in june and july will be recorded. the modal date for egg-laying is june , and this seems to be a reliable index to the major effort in egg-laying in spite of the small sample. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed three to feet high in a variety of deciduous shrubs and trees. =black-and-white warbler=: _mniotilta varia_ (linnaeus).--this local and uncommon summer resident lives in deciduous forest and woodland. specimens taken in the breeding season and actual records of nesting come from doniphan, douglas, coffey, greenwood, sedgwick, labette, and cherokee counties. temporal occurrence in the state is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid in may and june. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is around eggs (davie, ). nests are placed on the ground, in depressions or niches, under heavy cover. =prothonotary warbler=: _protonotaria citrea_ (boddaert).--this is a local summer resident in eastern kansas, in understory of riparian timber and swampy woodland. specimens taken in the breeding season and actual records of nesting come from doniphan, douglas, linn, and cowley counties. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--twenty-two records of breeding span the period may to july (fig. ); the modal date for egg-laying is june , and per cent of all clutches are laid in the period june to . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed in holes and niches in willow, red haw, elm, and a variety of stumps, about eight feet high (ranging from five to feet), usually over water. a pair nested once in a gourd under the eave of a house in winfield, cowley county, and another pair in a tin cup on a shelf at a sawmill (goss, ex long, ). =parula warbler=: _parula americana_ (linnaeus).--this summer resident in eastern kansas usually can be found in heavy woodland and flood-plain timber. specimens taken in the breeding season and actual records of breeding come from doniphan, riley, douglas, montgomery, labette, and cherokee counties. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid at least from mid-may to mid-june. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are placed in debris in root tangles along stream banks, and, presumably, in pendant arboreal lichens. =yellow warbler=: _dendroica petechia_ (linnaeus).--this summer resident is common in the east, in woodland and riparian growths. _d. p. aestiva_ (gmelin) occupies eastern kansas west at least to barber county, but it is not known how far west representatives of this population breed. _d. p. morcomi_ coale breeds in western kansas. _d. p. sonorana_ brewster, a name applicable to yellow warblers of the southwestern united states and northern mexico, has been considered a "straggler" (long, ) or probable summer resident (tordoff, ; johnston, ) in southwestern kansas, on the basis of one specimen taken on june , , at a point two miles south of wallace, wallace county. this specimen, which is pale, was identified in as _d. p. sonorana_ by h. c. oberholser. specimens taken subsequently from cheyenne, hamilton, and morton counties in the breeding season can be referred adequately to _d. p. morcomi_. probably the specimen of is a pale variant of _d. p. morcomi_ within its normal distributional range. _breeding schedule._--thirty-five records of breeding span the period may to june (fig. ); this probably is inadequate to show the extent of the season, and some egg-laying into july is likely to be found in the future. the modal date of egg-laying is may , and this is likely to be reliable. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed about nine feet high (ranging from five to feet) in crotches of trees and shrubs including willow, elderberry, cottonwood, crabapple, plum, and coralberry. =prairie warbler=: _dendroica discolor discolor_ (vieillot).--this rare, local summer resident occurs in deciduous second-growth. the only breeding records are from wyandotte and johnson counties. _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid at least in june. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs (davie, ). nests are placed low, perhaps about four feet high, in a wide variety of small trees and shrubs. =louisiana waterthrush=: _seiurus motacilla_ (vieillot).--this uncommon to rare summer resident in eastern kansas lives in woodland understory near streams. nesting records come from douglas, miami, linn, and crawford counties. wolfe ( ) reports he found a nest with young near oberlin, decatur county, on june , , under an overhanging bank of sappa creek; decatur county is some miles west of the present western limit of the breeding range of the louisiana waterthrush, and western habitats are not favorable for their occurrence. temporal characteristics of their distribution are indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid in may and june. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs (davie, ). nests are placed in concealed places in banks or stumps always where it is wet. table .--occurrence in time of summer resident wood warblers in kansas ==================+=========================+============================= | arrival | departure species +----------------+--------+------------------+---------- | range | median | range | median ------------------+----------------+--------+------------------+---------- black-and-white | | | | warbler | apr. -may | may | sept. -oct. | sept. prothonotary | | | | warbler | apr. -may | may | aug. -sept. | aug. parula warbler | apr. -may | apr. | sept. -oct. | sept. yellow warbler | apr. -may | apr. | aug. -oct. | sept. louisiana | | | | waterthrush | apr. -may | apr. | aug. ? | kentucky warbler | apr. -may | may | sept. | yellowthroat | apr. -may | may | sept. -oct. | sept. yellow-breasted | | | | chat | apr. -may | may | aug. -oct. | sept. american redstart | apr. -may | may | sept. -oct. | sept. ------------------+----------------+--------+------------------+---------- =kentucky warbler=: _oporornis formosus_ (wilson).--this is an uncommon summer resident in eastern kansas, in deciduous forest and woodland. specimens taken in the breeding season and actual records of nesting come from riley, doniphan, douglas, leavenworth, linn, montgomery, and labette counties. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid in may and june. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is or eggs. nests are placed near or on the ground, usually at the base of small shrubs or clumps of grass. =yellowthroat=: _geothlypis trichas_ (linnaeus).--this summer resident in and near marshes is common in the east and is local and somewhat less common in the west. _g. t. brachydactylus_ (swainson) breeds east of stations in clay, greenwood, and montgomery counties, _g. t. occidentalis_ brewster breeds west of stations in decatur, stafford, and pratt counties, and the intervening area is occupied by warblers of intermediate morphologic characters. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--nine records of breeding span the period may to june ; the modal date of egg-laying is june . the season is probably more extended in time than is indicated by the available records. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed in cattails and sedges one to two and one-half feet high. =yellow-breasted chat=: _icteria virens_ (linnaeus).--this summer resident is common in willow thickets and rank second-growth. _i. v. virens_ (linnaeus) breeds in eastern kansas, from nemaha county south, _i. v. auricollis_ (deppe) breeds in western kansas, from norton county south, and the intervening sector is occupied by chats of intermediate morphologic character. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--twenty-six records of breeding span the period may to july (fig. ); the modal date for completion of clutches is june . forty-two per cent of all eggs are laid in the period june to . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). clutches in may are larger than those in june and july. nests are placed in forks and crotches about three feet high in dogwood, willow, rose, coralberry, cottonwood, and thistles. =hooded warbler=: _wilsonia citrina_ (boddaert).--this warbler is a rare summer resident in eastern kansas, in wet, open woodland. specimens (a total of four) taken in the breeding season are from leavenworth and shawnee counties, and the one nesting record is from anderson county. _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid at least in may. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are low (some as high as six feet) in woody vegetation. =american redstart=: _setophaga ruticilla ruticilla_ (linnaeus).--this summer resident occurs locally in woodlands east from stations in cloud and sumner counties. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid in may and june. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs (davie, ), but there are two records of in kansas. nests are placed six to feet high, but usually about feet, in forks or saddled on a branch, in deciduous trees. [illustration: fig. .--histograms representing breeding schedules of wood warblers, the house sparrow, icterids, and cardinal grosbeaks in kansas. see legend to figure for explanation of histograms.] =house sparrow=: _passer domesticus_ (linnaeus).--this sparrow, introduced from stocks in ohio and new york (originally from england and germany), has been present since about in eastern kansas; it is a common resident in towns and at farmsteads throughout the state. nomenclaturally, house sparrows in north america consistently have been referred to the european ancestral stocks, _p. d. domesticus_, but none in north america today duplicates morphologically the european birds. this is evidence of meaningful adaptation of the north american populations to environments in which they now live, and continued use of _p. d. domesticus_ is misleading. studies on local differentiation in north american house sparrows are in progress, and when the biology of sparrows in the midwest is better understood, suitable nomenclatural proposals will be made. _breeding schedule._--fifty-one records of breeding span the period march to july (fig. ); the modal date for laying of first clutches is april , and for second clutches may . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed in niches of various sorts seven to feet high in buildings, nestboxes, and trees, or freely situated in forks and crotches of large trees. =bobolink=: _dolichonyx oryzivorus_ (linnaeus).--this species is a rare and local summer resident, in and about grassy meadows. there are but two stations of breeding in kansas: jamestown state lake, cloud county, and big salt marsh, stafford county. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid in june. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are placed on the ground amidst grasses. =eastern meadowlark=: _sturnella magna_ (linnaeus).--this summer resident and resident is common in eastern kansas, in moist grassland. _s. m. argutula_ bangs occurs in montgomery, labette, and cherokee counties and intergrades to the north and west with _s. m. magna_ (linnaeus). good numbers of birds are found east of the flint hills, but to the west the species is of restricted and local distribution. extreme outliers of the species are found no farther west than stations in jewell, stafford, and barber counties. _breeding schedule._--forty records of breeding span the period april to july (fig. ); the modal date for egg-laying is may . fifty-seven per cent of all eggs are laid in the period may to . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). prior to may , clutch-size is . eggs ( records), and after that date it is . eggs ( records). nests are placed on the ground, with cover of grasses or forbs. =western meadowlark=: _sturnella neglecta neglecta_ (audubon).--this is a common resident and summer resident in western kansas, and is restricted and local in the east; preferred habitat is in grassy uplands. _breeding schedule._--twenty-three records of breeding span the period april to july (fig. ); the modal date for egg-laying is may for first nests and june for second nests. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed on the ground with cover of grasses or forbs. =yellow-headed blackbird=: _xanthocephalus xanthocephalus_ (bonaparte).--this uncommon and local summer resident occurs chiefly in the west, in marshes. nesting records are from wallace, meade, barton, stafford, doniphan, and douglas counties. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--fifty-one records of breeding span the period may to june ; the modal date of egg-laying is june . the sample is probably not large enough to be wholly reliable. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are placed within a few feet of water in cattail, rush, sedge, and willow. =red-winged blackbird=: _agelaius phoeniceus_ (linnaeus).--this is a common summer resident in marshes, wet pasture, and scrubby parkland throughout the state. _a. p. phoeniceus_ (linnaeus) occurs in most of kansas and _a. p. fortis_ (ridgway) occurs in the west, east to about decatur county. a few birds can be found in eastern kansas in winter; the full breeding population is present between april and october. _breeding schedule._--the records of breeding in cloud county span the period may to july (fig. ); the modal date for laying is may , and per cent of all eggs are laid in the period may to june . eighty-eight records of breeding from northwestern kansas make a histogram almost exactly duplicating the one from cloud county. _number of eggs._--clutch-size at concordia, cloud county, is eggs ( . , - ; ); in northeastern kansas mean clutch-size is . eggs ( - ; ). for the total sample, mean clutch-size in may is . eggs, in june, . eggs, and in july, . eggs. nests are placed about four feet high (one to nine feet) in willow, cattail, sedge, grass, elm, exotic conifer, elderberry, coralberry, buttonbrush, honeysuckle, smartweed, ash, osage orange, and yellow clover. in central kansas red-wings are host to the brown-headed cowbird in a frequency of one parasitized nest out of nine; in northeastern kansas the ratio is : . table .--occurrence in time of summer resident icterids in kansas =================+===========================+============================ | arrival | departure species +-----------------+---------+------------------+--------- | range | median | range | median -----------------+-----------------+---------+------------------+--------- bobolink | may -may | may | aug. -oct. | sept. yellow-headed | | | | blackbird | mar. -apr. | apr. | sept. -oct. | sept. orchard oriole | apr. -may | may | aug. -sept. | aug. baltimore oriole | apr. -may | apr. | sept. -sept. | sept. common grackle | mar. -mar. | mar. | oct. -nov. | oct. -----------------+-----------------+---------+------------------+--------- =orchard oriole=: _icterus spurius_ (linnaeus).--this summer resident is common in parkland, woodland, and old second-growth. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--the records of breeding span the period may to august (fig. ); the modal date for completion of clutches is june , and per cent of all eggs are laid in the first ten days of june. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). clutches laid at the peak of the season average . eggs ( - ; ), and replacement clutches average . eggs ( - ; ). nests are hung about feet high (ranging from six to feet) in elm, cottonwood, hackberry, locust, catalpa, willow, alder, osage orange, walnut, pear, linden, and ash. =baltimore oriole=: _icterus galbula_ (linnaeus).--this common summer resident is most numerous in the east, in woodland and riparian timber. the species hybridizes freely with the bullock oriole in western kansas, and individuals morphologically typical of baltimore orioles are rare west of the th meridian. evidence of such hybridization can be found in specimens taken in eastern kansas, but the linear nature of distribution along water-courses to the west restricts gene-flow, and evident hybrids are not yet conspicuous. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--eighty-three records of breeding span the period may to july (fig. ); the modal date of egg-laying is june , and per cent of all eggs are laid between may and june . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs. nests are hung about feet high (ranging from nine to feet) in elm, cottonwood, sycamore, maple, and oak. =bullock oriole=: _icterus bullockii_ (swainson).--this summer resident is common in western kansas in woodland and riparian situations. the species hybridizes freely with the baltimore oriole, and most bullock orioles in kansas show evidence of such interbreeding. almost all records of breeding come from west of the th meridian, but the species in recognizable form probably breeds locally at least as far east as stafford county. _breeding schedule._--few nesting records are available, but these suggest that the breeding schedule of the bullock oriole resembles those of the preceding two species in kansas. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are hung about feet high (ranging from to feet) in cottonwood, elm, and other large trees. =common grackle=: _quiscalus quiscula versicolor_ vieillot.--this summer resident is common in parkland, and around towns and farms. most individuals move out of kansas in winter, and the temporal occurrence of these birds is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--the records of breeding span the period april to june (fig. ); the modal date for egg-laying is may , and two-thirds of all eggs are laid between may and may . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). clutches laid at the peak of the season average . eggs ( - ; ), and those laid as replacement clutches average . eggs ( - ; ). nests are placed in forks and crotches about feet high (ranging from six to feet) in elm, red cedar, cottonwood, oak, box elder, and pine. =brown-headed cowbird=: _molothrus ater ater_ (boddaert).--many individuals of this common summer resident overwinter in the southern part of the state and it is difficult to determine dates of arrival and departure in kansas. conspicuous abundance in the north covers the period april to october. _breeding schedule._--the instances of egg-laying span the period april to july (fig. ); the modal date of laying is may , and per cent of all eggs are laid in the period may to june . inception of laying is here fairly reliably indicated, but in exceptionally early springs laying does occur earlier; a few eggs were found on april , , too late for incorporation into this report other than in this sentence. _number of eggs._--clutch-size in cowbirds is not readily determined. on the basis of ovarian examination of five females taken in mid-season, the birds here lay about five eggs at a time. there is no question that the birds are "double-brooded" in kansas, and the season is sufficiently long for as many as five "clutches" to be laid by a given female. eggs are laid in nests of some forty species of birds in kansas; of these are passerines. no preference for any one species is detectable; the most frequently parasitized species are simply the common species, and these are the kinds for which nesting records are easily gathered by man. in the following list of host species, the names marked with an asterisk are the conspicuously parasitized species. mourning dove, eastern kingbird, eastern phoebe,* say phoebe,* acadian flycatcher, barn swallow, horned lark, carolina wren, rock wren, brown thrasher,* mockingbird, catbird, wood thrush,* eastern bluebird, yellow-throated vireo, bell vireo,* white-eyed vireo,* parula warbler, yellow warbler, black-and-white warbler, kentucky warbler, louisiana waterthrush, yellow-breasted chat, yellowthroat, eastern meadowlark, western meadowlark, red-winged blackbird,* orchard oriole,* cardinal,* black-headed grosbeak, indigo bunting,* blue grosbeak, dickcissel,* pine siskin,* rufous-sided towhee,* grasshopper sparrow, lark sparrow,* chipping sparrow, field sparrow.* =scarlet tanager=: _piranga olivacea_ (gmelin).--this rare summer resident in northeastern kansas occurs in deciduous forest and bottomland timber. specimens taken in the breeding season and records of nesting come from clay, doniphan, douglas, wyandotte, johnson, and linn counties, but the species probably occupies the entire eastern third of the state. dates of arrival in spring are from april to may (the median is may ), and dates of departure in autumn are from august to september (the median is august ). _breeding schedule._--six records of breeding fall in the period may to june . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are placed to feet high in elm, linden, hickory, and walnut. =summer tanager=: _piranga rubra rubra_ (linnaeus).--this uncommon summer resident in eastern kansas occurs in woodland. specimens taken in the breeding season and records of nesting come from east of stations in doniphan, shawnee, and montgomery counties. dates of arrival in spring run from april to may (the median is april ), and the species departs southward in september and october. _breeding schedule._--eleven records of egg-laying cover the period may to july ; the modal date for laying is june . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are situated ten to feet high on horizontal limbs of large trees. =cardinal=: _richmondena cardinalis cardinalis_ (linnaeus).--this species is a common resident in eastern kansas, west to about the th meridian; west of this line the species becomes local and uncommon to rare. habitat in the east is found in woodland, edge, second-growth and open riparian timber, and in the west the species is restricted to riparian growths, chiefly along the republican, solomon, smoky hill, arkansas, and cimarron rivers, and their larger tributaries. _breeding schedule._--the records of breeding span the period april to september (fig. ); the modal date for laying of first clutches is may , subsequent to which breeding activity is regular but asynchronous. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). seasonal variation in clutch-size is as follows: date mean clutch-size number of records april - . april -may . may -may . june -june . june -july . nests are placed about five feet high (ranging from inches to feet) in osage orange, elm, grape, rose, red cedar, coralberry, willow, cottonwood, gooseberry, oak, elderberry, box elder, arbor vitae, lombardy poplar, forsythia, pines, honeysuckle, wisteria, lilac, red haw, hickory, dogwood, and sycamore. =rose-breasted grosbeak=: _pheucticus ludovicianus_ (linnaeus).--this is a local and at times common summer resident in eastern kansas, in woodland, edge, and riparian timber. specimens taken in the breeding season and actual records of breeding come from clay, riley, doniphan, leavenworth, and douglas counties. this species meets and hybridizes with the black-headed grosbeak west of the flint hills. temporal occurrence in the state is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--eleven records of breeding span the period may to july ; the modal date for laying is probably june . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is or eggs. nests are placed in deciduous trees, in forks and crotches six to feet high. =black-headed grosbeak=: _pheucticus mehnocephalus melanocephalus_ (swainson).--this summer resident is common in western kansas, chiefly along streams. individuals referable to this species by sight records alone breed in fair numbers as far east as cloud and sedgwick counties, but to the east of these stations numbers are reduced, partly as a result of presumed competition with the rose-breasted grosbeak. hybrids between these two grosbeaks are regularly produced. the easternmost record of breeding by this species is at st. mary's, pottawatomie county, where a male was seen as probably mated with a female rose-breasted grosbeak. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--sixteen records of breeding span the period may to july ; the modal date for egg-laying is june . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed about feet high in a variety of deciduous trees. =blue grosbeak=: _guiraca caerulea_ (linnaeus).--this is a common to uncommon summer resident in most of kansas, in brushland and streamside thickets. _g. c. caerulea_ (linnaeus) breeds in the east, east of stations in douglas, greenwood, and cowley counties, and _g. c. interfusa_ dwight and griscom breeds in the west, west of stations in cloud, stafford, and clark counties; a broad zone of intergradation exists between the two named populations. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--seven records of breeding span the period may to june ; the modal date of laying seems to be in late may or early june. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are placed from three to feet high in a variety of deciduous plants. table .--occurrence in time of summer resident cardinal grosbeaks in kansas =================+=========================+============================= | arrival | departure species +----------------+--------+------------------+---------- | range | median | range | median -----------------+----------------+--------+------------------+---------- rose-breasted | | | | grosbeak | apr. -may | may | sept. -oct. | sept. black-headed | | | | grosbeak | apr. -may | may | aug. -sept. | sept. blue grosbeak | apr. -may | may | aug. -sept. | aug. indigo bunting | apr. -may | may | aug. -oct. | oct. lazuli bunting | may -may | may | | painted bunting | apr. -may | may | | dickcissel | apr. -may | may | sept. -oct. | sept. -----------------+----------------+--------+------------------+---------- =indigo bunting=: _passerina cyanea_ (linnaeus).--this summer resident is common in mixed-field and heavy brushland habitats. the species extends westerly, in riparian situations, in reduced numbers, ultimately meeting and hybridizing with the lazuli bunting. specimens referrable to the indigo bunting have been taken as far west as finney county, but most specimens from that far west show evidence of interbreeding with lazuli buntings. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--twenty-four records of breeding span the period may to august (fig. ); the modal date for egg-laying is june . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed about three feet high (ranging from one to nine feet) in coralberry, sumac, thistle, sycamore sprouts, hickory sprouts, grape, elderberry, cottonwood, dogwood, ragweed, and grasses. =lazuli bunting=: _passerina amoena_ (say).--this uncommon summer resident of western kansas occurs in edge habitats and streamside thickets. the one breeding record is from morton county, and there is a breeding specimen taken at sharon springs, wallace county. the species hybridizes with the indigo bunting in the western half of the state. temporal occurrence in spring is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid in june and july. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs (davie, ). nests are placed a few feet from the ground, probably much as are nests of the indigo bunting. =painted bunting=: _passerina ciris pallidior_ mearns.--this is an uncommon summer resident in the southeastern third of kansas, in edge habitats and streamside brush. specimens taken in the breeding season and actual nesting records come from douglas, shawnee, geary, barber, and crawford counties. temporal occurrence in spring is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid in june and july. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs (davie, ). nests are placed in deciduous shrubs and trees. =dickcissel=: _spiza americana_ (gmelin).--this species is a common summer resident in eastern kansas and is local and irregular in the west, in grassland habitats. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--forty-one records of breeding span the period may to july (fig. ); the modal date for egg-laying seems to be may , but the curiously abrupt inception of breeding described by this sample suggests that more records are needed to document fully the breeding schedule of this species. breeding in april almost certainly will be found. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed about two feet high (ranging from ground level to feet) in grasses, osage orange, sedge, box elder, honey locust, clover, thistle, and blackberry. =pine siskin=: _spinus pinus pinus_ (wilson).--this irregular summer resident occurs locally north of the th parallel, chiefly around planted conifers. known stations of breeding are in hays, ellis county, concordia, cloud county, and onaga and st. marys, pottawatomie county. _breeding schedule._--twelve records of breeding span the period march to may (fig. ); most nests have been established in late april or by early may. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. of ten nests examined for eggs, five had at least one egg of the brown-headed cowbird; if it is assumed that each cowbird egg replaced one of the siskins, mean clutch-size is . eggs. nests are placed about seven feet high (ranging from . to feet) in red cedar, exotic conifers, and lombardy poplar. =american goldfinch=: _spinus tristis tristis_ (linnaeus).--this resident is common in woodland edge, scrubby second-growth, old fields, and riparian thickets. occurrence tends to be local and at low density in the southwestern sector. _breeding schedule._--twelve records of breeding span the period june to september (fig. ); the modal date for laying is august . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed from two to eight feet high in woody or herbaceous vegetation. =red crossbill=: _loxia curvirostra_ linnaeus.--this is an uncommon and irregular winter visitant to kansas, but it nested once in shawnee county. _l. c. minor_ (brehm), on geographic grounds, probably nested here, but five other subspecies have been recorded in the state and any one of these might have undertaken the aberrant breeding. _breeding record._--three eggs, set completed march , , shawnee county; successfully fledged (hyde, : ). the species usually lays eggs and places its nests in conifers. =rufous-sided towhee=: _pipilo erythrophthalmus erythrophthalmus_ (linnaeus).--this is an uncommon summer resident in eastern kansas, in understory of woodland and streamside timber. specimens taken in the breeding season and actual records of nesting come from east of stations in cloud, marion, and cherokee counties. temporal occurrence is indicated in table ; records of _p. e. arcticus_ (swainson) have been eliminated from the sample as far as has been possible. _breeding schedule._--nineteen records of breeding span the period april to august (fig. ); the modal date for egg-laying is may . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed on the ground, in heavy cover. [illustration: fig. .--histograms representing breeding schedules of cardueline and emberizine finches in kansas. see legend to figure for explanation of histograms.] =lark bunting=: _calamospiza melanocorys_ stejneger.--this species is ordinarily a common summer resident in western kansas, in grassland and open scrub. specimens taken in the breeding season and all breeding records except one for western franklin county come from west of stations in decatur, ellis, and comanche counties. irregular fluctuations in breeding density have been recorded from decatur county (wolfe, ). temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--fourteen records of breeding span the period may to june ; the modal date of egg-laying cannot be determined from the present sample. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed on the ground, at bases of clumps of grasses. =grasshopper sparrow=: _ammodramus savannarum perpallidus_ (coues).--this species is a local and at times common summer resident throughout kansas, in grassland. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--seven records of breeding fall in the period may to june ; the modal date of laying seems to be about may . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed on the ground or in low vegetation, with cover of grasses or forbs. =henslow sparrow=: _passerherbulus henslowii henslowii_ (audubon).--this is an uncommon and local summer resident in eastern kansas, in grassland. breeding records are from cloud, shawnee, douglas, morris, and anderson counties. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid in may and june. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are placed on the ground, usually in bluestem pasture, but in any case grasses. =lark sparrow=: _chondestes grammacus_ (say).--this is a common summer resident in grassland edge habitats. _c. g. grammacus_ (say) breeds east of the flint hills, east of stations in pottawatomie, anderson, and montgomery counties, and _c. g. strigatus_ swainson breeds west of stations in clay, dickinson, harvey, and sedgwick counties; specimens from the intervening area are of intermediate subspecific character. temporal occurrence is indicated in table . _breeding schedule._--thirty-nine records of breeding span the period may to july (fig. ); the modal date for egg-laying is probably may , but the sample may not be reliable in this respect. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are usually placed on the ground, in cover of pasture grasses, clover, thistle, milo maize, and soybean; there is one record of a nest one and one-half feet high in a small pine. =cassin sparrow=: _aimophila cassinii_ (woodhouse).--this is a common summer resident in open scrub and grassland edge, to the south and west of wallace and comanche counties. specimens taken in the breeding season and actual nesting records are from wallace, hamilton, kearny, finney, morton, and comanche counties; the a. o. u. check-list ( ) cites hays, ellis county, as a breeding locality, but it is doubtful that the species now occurs there. _breeding schedule._--eggs are laid in may and june. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is about eggs. nests are placed on the ground, at bases of small bushes. table .--occurrence in time of summer resident american buntings in kansas =================+===========================+============================ | arrival | departure species +-----------------+---------+------------------+--------- | range | median | range | median -----------------+-----------------+---------+------------------+--------- rufous-sided | | | | towhee | apr. -apr. | apr. | sept. -oct. | sept. lark bunting | may -may | may | | grasshopper | | | | sparrow | apr. -may | apr. | aug. -oct. | aug. henslow sparrow | apr. -apr. | apr. | oct. | lark sparrow | mar. -apr. | apr. | sept. -oct. | oct. chipping sparrow | mar. -apr. | apr. | oct. -nov. | oct. field sparrow | mar. -apr. | apr. | oct. -nov. | oct. -----------------+-----------------+---------+------------------+--------- =chipping sparrow=: _spizella passerina passerina_ (bechstein).--this is an uncommon summer resident in open woodland, second-growth, and edge. _s. p. passerina_ is found east of stations in barber and shawnee counties; chipping sparrows are not known to breed farther to the west, but records for north-central kansas are likely to be found. the subspecific affinities of our chipping sparrows are entirely with the nominate subspecies, and there is no basis for earlier reports (long, ; tordoff, ; johnston, ) that _s. p. arizonae_ coues (= _s. p. boreophila_ oberholser) occurs in kansas. _breeding schedule._--nine records of breeding fall in the period may to may , in no way indicating the whole span of the breeding season; the species probably lays eggs in may and july, as well as in june. _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs. nests are placed four to feet high in evergreens of a variety of kinds. =field sparrow=: _spizella pusilla_ (wilson).--this species is a common summer resident in grassland and edge habitats. _s. p. pusilla_ (wilson) breeds in eastern kansas chiefly east of the flint hills; _s. p. arenacea_ chadbourne breeds in central and western kansas, intergrading easterly with _s. p. pusilla_. _breeding schedule._--twenty-nine records of breeding span the period april to september (fig. ); the modal date for first clutches is may . _number of eggs._--clutch-size is eggs ( . , - ; ). nests are placed about inches high (ranging from ground level to three feet) in or among coralberry, osage orange, elm, oak, rose, and, once, peony. =chestnut-collared longspur=: _calcarius ornatus_ (townsend).--this was formerly a summer resident in western kansas, in short-grass habitat. the only known nesting area was in the vicinity of ft. hays, ellis county. the species is to be looked for in prairie with short grass type of vegetation. acknowledgments many persons have contributed field observations such as dates of arrival and departure for migrants, and the various activities of the breeding cycle for most of the species here discussed. an alphabetic listing of their names follows. galen abbot, ruth abbot, ted anderson, ted f. andrews, jon barlow, amelia betts, grace thompson bigelow, l. c. binford, bessie boso, william j. brecheisen, j. walker butin, l. b. carson, mrs. eunice dingus, charles s. edwards, a. s. gaunt, sue griffith, mrs. mary f. hall, j. w. hardy, stanley hunter, katherine kelley, e. e. klaas, w. c. kerfoot, john a. knouse, eugene lewis, eulalia lewis, john lenz, nathan h. mcdonald, marno mckaughan, merrill mchenry, robert m. mengel, robert merz, jim myers, mary louise myers, mrs. kathryn nelson, t. w. nelson, steven norris, dan michener, p. w. ogilvie, gary c. packard, mrs. marion j. mengel, dwight platt, william reynolds, frank robl, s. d. roth, jr., nancy saunders, richard h. schmidt, marvin d. schwilling, t. m. sperry, steve stephens, max thompson, fr. matthew turk, emil urban, j. w. wallace, h. e. warfel, a. w. wiens, mrs. joyce wildenthal, george young, and richard zenger. literature cited aldous, s. e. . the white-necked raven in relation to agriculture. u. s. fish and wildlife serv., research rep. : - . american ornithologists' union, check-list committee . check-list of north american birds (lord baltimore press, baltimore), xiii + pp. baker, j. r. . the relation between latitude and breeding season in birds. proc. zool. soc. london, (a): - . brown, f. a., jr. . response to pervasive geophysical factors and the biological clock problem. cold spring harbor symp. quant. biol., : - . cockrum, e. l., jr. . mammals of kansas. univ. kansas publ. mus. nat. hist., : - . davie, o. . nests and eggs of north american birds (david mckay, philadelphia). (vi) + pp. davis, t. a. w. . an outline of the ecology and breeding seasons of birds of the lowland forest region of british guiana. ibis, : - . fitch, h. s. . home ranges, territories, and seasonal movements of vertebrates of the natural history reservation. univ. kansas publ. mus. nat. hist., : - . goodrich, a. l., jr. . birds in kansas. rept. kansas state brd. agric, ( ): - . goss, n. s. . history of the birds of kansas (g. w. crane co., topeka). pp. graber, r., and graber, j. . notes on the birds of southwestern kansas. trans. kansas acad. sci., : - . hardy, j. w. . purple martins nesting in city buildings. wilson bull., : . hopkins, a. d. . bioclimatics, ... u. s. dept. agric., misc. publ. :iv + pp. johnston, r. f. . variation in breeding season and clutch-size in song sparrows of the pacific coast. condor, : - . . population structure in salt marsh song sparrows, i. condor, : - . . directory to the bird-life of kansas. univ. kansas publ. mus. nat. hist., misc. publ. : - . lack, d. . the significance of clutch-size, i, ii. ibis, : - . long, w. s. . check-list of kansas birds. trans. kansas acad. sci., : - . lehrman, d. s. . induction of broodiness by participation in courtship and nestbuilding in the ring dove (_streptopelia risoria_). jour. comp. physiol. psychol., : - . lehrman, d. s., brody, p. n., and wortis, r. p. . the presence of the mate and of nesting material as stimuli for the development of incubation behavior and for gonadotropin in the ring dove (_streptopelia risoria_). endocrinol., : - . linsdale, j. m. . the magpie nesting in kansas. condor, : - . . birds of a limited area in eastern kansas. univ. kansas sci. bull., : - . . the natural history of magpies. pac. coast avif., : - . marshall, a. j., and disney, h. j. de s. . experimental induction of the breeding season in a xerophilous bird. nature, : - . mayr, e. . history of the north american bird fauna. wilson bull., : - . mccabe, t. t., and mccabe, e. b. . notes on the anatomy and breeding habits of crossbills. condor, : - . miller, a. h. _a_. the expression of innate reproductive rhythm under conditions of winter lighting. auk, : - . _b_. breeding cycles in a constant equatorial environment in columbia, south america. proc. xi congr. internat. ornithol., basel, : - . . adaptation of breeding schedule to latitude. proc. xii congr. internat. ornithol., helsinki, : - . moreau, r. e. . the breeding seasons of african birds, i. land birds. ibis, : - . nice, m. m. . studies in the life history of the song sparrow, i. trans. linnean soc. new york, : - . nossaman, l. o. . [photograph] _in_ "kansas fish and game," ( ): . parmelee, d. . a nesting colony of black terns in kansas. bull. kansas ornith. soc., : - . paynter, r. a., jr. . interrelations between clutch-size, brood-size, prefledging survival and weight in kent island tree swallows, i. bird-banding, : - . schmidt-koenig, k. . the sun azimuth compass: one factor in the orientation of homing pigeons. science, : - . snow, d. w. . the breeding of blackbird, song thrush, and mistle thrush in great britain. i. clutch-size. bird study, : - . tordoff, h. b. . check-list of the birds of kansas. univ. kansas publ. mus. nat. hist, : - . udvardy, m. d. f. . ecological and distributional analysis of north american birds. condor, : - . welter, w. a. . the natural history of the long-billed marsh wren. wilson bull., : - . wiener, n. . nonlinear problems in random theory. (technology press, cambridge, england.) williamson, f. s. l. . the molt and testis cycle of the anna hummingbird. condor, : - . wolfe, l. r. . the breeding birds of decatur county, kansas: - . bull. kansas ornith. soc., : - . zuvanich, j. r. . forster terns breeding in kansas. bull. kansas ornith. soc., : - . _transmitted november , ._ [illustration: fig. .--map of kansas showing names of counties.] university of kansas publications museum of natural history institutional libraries interested in publications exchange may obtain this series by addressing the exchange librarian, university of kansas library, lawrence, kansas. copies for individuals, persons working in a particular field of study, may be obtained by addressing instead the museum of natural history, university of kansas, lawrence, kansas. there is no provision for sale of this series by the university library, which meets institutional requests, or by the museum of natural history, which meets the requests of individuals. nevertheless, when individuals request copies from the museum, cents should be included, for each separate number that is pages or more in length, for the purpose of defraying the costs of wrapping and mailing. * an asterisk designates those numbers of which the museum's supply (not the library's supply) is exhausted. numbers published to date, in this series, are as follows: vol. . nos. - and index. pp. - , - . *vol. . (complete) mammals of washington. by walter w. dalquest. pp. - , figures in text. april , . vol. . nos. - and index. pp. - . . *vol. . (complete) american weasels. by e. raymond hall. pp. - , plates, figures in text. december , . vol. . nos. - and index. pp. - , - . *vol. . (complete) mammals of utah, _taxonomy and distribution_. by stephen d. durrant. pp. - , figures in text, tables. august , . vol. . nos. - and index. pp. - , - . vol. . nos. - and index. pp. - , - . vol. . * . speciation of the wandering shrew. by james s. findley. pp. - , figures in text. december , . . additional records and extension of ranges of mammals from utah. by stephen d. durrant, m. raymond lee, and richard m. hansen. pp. - . december , . . a new long-eared myotis (myotis evotis) from northeastern mexico. by rollin h. baker and howard j. stains. pp. - . december , . . subspeciation in the meadow mouse, microtus pennsylvanicus, in wyoming. by sydney anderson. pp. - , figures in text. may , . . the condylarth genus ellipsodon. by robert w. wilson. pp. - , figures in text. may , . . additional remains of the multituberculate genus eucosmodon. by robert w. wilson. pp. - , figures in text. may , . . mammals of coahuila, mexico. by rollin h. baker. pp. - , figures in text. june , . . comments on the taxonomic status of apodemus peninsulae, with description of a new subspecies from north china. by j. knox jones, jr. pp. - , figure in text, table. august , . . extensions of known ranges of mexican bats. by sydney anderson. pp. - . august , . . a new bat (genus leptonycteris) from coahuila. by howard j. stains. pp. - . january , . . a new species of pocket gopher (genus pappogeomys) from jalisco, mexico. by robert j. russell. pp. - . january , . . geographic variation in the pocket gopher, thomomys bottae, in colorado. by phillip m. youngman. pp. - , figures in text. february , . . new bog lemming (genus synaptomys) from nebraska. by j. knox jones, jr. pp. - . may , . . pleistocene bats from san josecito cave, nuevo león, méxico. by j. knox jones, jr. pp. - . december , . . new subspecies of the rodent baiomys from central america. by robert l. packard. pp. - . december , . . mammals of the grand mesa, colorado. by sydney anderson. pp. - , figure in text. may , . . distribution, variation, and relationships of the montane vole, microtus montanus. by sydney anderson. pp. - , figures in text, tables. august , . . conspecificity of two pocket mice, perognathus goldmani and p. artus. by e. raymond hall and marilyn bailey ogilvie. pp. - , map. january , . . records of harvest mice, reithrodontomys, from central america, with description of a new subspecies from nicaragua. by sydney anderson and j. knox jones, jr. pp. - . january , . . small carnivores from san josecito cave (pleistocene), nuevo león, méxico. by e. raymond hall. pp. - , figure in text. january , . . pleistocene pocket gophers from san josecito cave, nuevo león, méxico. by robert j. russell. pp. - , figure in text. january , . . review of the insectivores of korea. by j. knox jones, jr., and david h. johnson. pp. - . february , . . speciation and evolution of the pygmy mice, genus baiomys. by robert l. packard. pp. - , plates, figures in text. june , . index. pp. - . vol. . . studies of birds killed in nocturnal migration. by harrison b. tordoff and robert m. mengel. pp. - , figures in text, tables. september , . . comparative breeding behavior of ammospiza caudacuta and a. maritima. by glen e. woolfenden. pp. - , plates, figure. december , . . the forest habitat of the university of kansas natural history reservation. by henry s. fitch and ronald r. mcgregor. pp. - , plates, figures in text, tables. december , . . aspects of reproduction and development in the prairie vole (microtus ochrogaster). by henry s. fitch. pp. - , figures in text, tables. december , . . birds found on the arctic slope of northern alaska. by james w. bee. pp. - , plates - , figure in text. march , . * . the wood rats of colorado: distribution and ecology. by robert b. finley, jr. pp. - , plates, figures in text, tables. november , . . home ranges and movements of the eastern cottontail in kansas. by donald w. janes. pp. - , plates, figures in text. may , . . natural history of the salamander, aneides hardyi. by richard f. johnston and gerhard a. schad. pp. - . october , . . a new subspecies of lizard, cnemidophorus sacki, from michoacán, méxico. by william e. duellman. pp. - , figures in text. may , . . a taxonomic study of the middle american snake, pituophis deppei. by william e. duellman. pp. - , plate, figure in text. may , . index. pp. - . vol. . nos. - and index. pp. - , - . vol. . . functional morphology of three bats: eumops, myotis, macrotus. by terry a. vaughan. pp. - , plates, figures in text. july , . * . the ancestry of modern amphibia: a review of the evidence. by theodore h. eaton, jr. pp. - , figures in text. july , . . the baculum in microtine rodents. by sydney anderson. pp. - , figures in text. february , . * . a new order of fishlike amphibia from the pennsylvanian of kansas. by theodore h. eaton, jr., and peggy lou stewart. pp. - , figures in text. may , . . natural history of the bell vireo. by jon c. barlow. pp. - , figures in text. march , . . two new pelycosaurs from the lower permian of oklahoma. by richard c. fox. pp. - , figures in text. may , . . vertebrates from the barrier island of tamaulipas, méxico. by robert k. selander, richard f. johnston, b. j. wilks, and gerald g. raun. pp. - , pls. - . june , . . teeth of edestid sharks. by theodore h. eaton, jr. pp. - , figures in text. october , . . variation in the muscles and nerves of the leg in two genera of grouse (tympanuchus and pedioecetes). by e. bruce holmes. pp. - , figures. october , . . a new genus of pennsylvanian fish (crossopterygii, coelacanthiformes) from kansas. by joan echols. pp. - , figures. october , . . observations on the mississippi kite in southwestern kansas. by henry s. fitch. pp. - . october , . . jaw musculature of the mourning and white-winged doves. by robert l. merz. pp. - , figures. october , . . thoracic and coracoid arteries in two families of birds, columbidae and hirundinidae. by marion anne jenkinson. pp. - , figures. march , . . the breeding birds of kansas. by richard f. johnston. pp. - , figures. may , . index to come. vol. . . five natural hybrid combinations in minnows (cyprinidae). by frank b. cross and w. l. minckley. pp. - . june , . . a distributional study of the amphibians of the isthmus of tehuantepec, méxico. by william e. duellman. pp. - , pls. - , figures in text. august , . . a new subspecies of the slider turtle (pseudemys scripta) from coahuila, méxico. by john m. legler. pp. - , pls. - , figures in text. august , . . autecology of the copperhead. by henry s. fitch. pp. - , pls. - , figures in text. november , . . occurrence of the garter snake, thamnophis sirtalis, in the great plains and rocky mountains. by henry s. fitch and t. paul maslin. pp. - , figures in text. february , . . fishes of the wakarusa river in kansas. by james e. deacon and artie l. metcalf. pp. - , figure in text. february , . . geographic variation in the north american cyprinid fish, hybopsis gracilis. by leonard j. olund and frank b. cross. pp. - , pls. - , figures in text. february , . . descriptions of two species of frogs, genus ptychohyla; studies of american hylid frogs, v. by william e. duellman. pp. - , pl. , figures in text. april , . . fish populations, following a drought, in the neosho and marais des cygnes rivers of kansas. by james everett deacon. pp. - , pls. - , figures. august , . . recent soft-shelled turtles of north america (family trionychidae). by robert g. webb. pp. - , pls. - , figures in text. february , . index. pp. - . vol. . . neotropical bats from western méxico. by sydney anderson. pp. - . october , . . geographic variation in the harvest mouse. reithrodontomys megalotis, on the central great plains and in adjacent regions. by j. knox jones, jr., and b. mursaloglu. pp. - , figure in text. july , . . mammals of mesa verde national park, colorado. by sydney anderson. pp. - , pls. and , figures in text. july , . . a new subspecies of the black myotis (bat) from eastern mexico. by e. raymond hall and ticul alvarez. pp. - , figure in text. december , . . north american yellow bats, "dasypterus," and a list of the named kinds of the genus lasiurus gray. by e. raymond hall and j. knox jones, jr. pp. - , figures in text. december , . . natural history of the brush mouse (peromyscus boylii) in kansas with description of a new subspecies. by charles a. long. pp. - , figure in text. december , . . taxonomic status of some mice of the peromyscus boylii group in eastern mexico, with description of a new subspecies. by ticul alvarez. pp. - , figure in text. december , . . a new subspecies of ground squirrel (spermophilus spilosoma) from tamaulipas, mexico. by ticul alvarez. pp. - . march , . . taxonomic status of the free-tailed bat, tadarida yucatanica miller. by j. knox jones, jr., and ticul alvarez. pp. - , figure in text. march , . . a new doglike carnivore, genus cynaretus, from the clarendonian pliocene, of texas. by e. raymond hall and walter w. dalquest. pp. - , figures in text. april , . . a new subspecies of wood rat (neotoma) from northeastern mexico. by ticul alvarez. pp. - . april , . . noteworthy mammals from sinaloa, mexico. by j. knox jones, jr., ticul alvarez, and m. raymond lee. pp. - , figure in text. may , . . a new bat (myotis) from mexico. by e. raymond hall. pp. - , figure in text. may , . . the mammals of veracruz. by e. raymond hall and walter w. dalquest. pp. - , figures. may , . . the recent mammals of tamaulipas, méxico. by ticul alvarez. pp. - , figures in text. may , . . a new subspecies of the fruit-eating bat, sturnira ludovici, from western mexico. by j. knox jones, jr. and gary l. phillips. pp. - , march , . . records of the fossil mammal sinclairella, family apatemyidae, from the chadronian and orellan. by william c. clemens. pp. - . march , . more numbers will appear in volume . vol. . . the amphibians and reptiles of michoacán, méxico. by william e. duellman. pp. - , pls. - , figures in text. december , . . some reptiles and amphibians from korea. by robert g. webb, j. knox jones, jr., and george w. byers. pp. - . january , . . a new species of frog (genus tomodactylus) from western méxico. by robert g. webb. pp. - , figure in text. march , . . type specimens of amphibians and reptiles in the museum of natural history, the university of kansas. by william e. duellman and barbara berg. pp. - . october , . . amphibians and reptiles of the rainforests of southern el petén, guatemala. by william e. duellman. pp. - , pls. - , figures in text. october , . . a revision of snakes of the genus conophis (family colubridae, from middle america). by john wellman. pp. - , figures in text. october , . . a review of the middle american tree frogs of the genus ptychohyla. by william e. duellman. pp. - , pls. - , figures in text. october , . . natural history of the racer coluber constrictor. by henry s. fitch. pp. - , pls. - , figures in text. december , . . a review of the frogs of the hyla bistincta group. by william e. duellman. pp. - , figures in text. march , . more numbers will appear in volume . transcriber's notes with the exception of six typographical errors that were corrected, converting the occurrences of "pp." to "pp." to match the in the publication listing and moving the list of publications to the end of the document, the original text and illustrations are presented as they appeared in the printed version. although it is common practice to convert text that appears in small caps in the original into all caps in the text version, it was decided that it looked better not to convert all of the text. for example, the table titles. emphasis notation _text_ - italic =text= - bold typographical corrections page correction ==== =========================== : myiarchis => myiarchus : insectivorus => insectivorous : vieillot was incorrectly italicized. : oberholser was incorrectly italicized. : trailii => traillii : in => is university of kansas publications museum of natural history volume , no. , pp. - , pls., figs. in text, tables december , the forest habitat of the university of kansas natural history reservation by henry s. fitch and ronald l. mcgregor university of kansas lawrence university of kansas publications, museum of natural history editors: e. raymond hall, chairman, a. byron leonard, robert w. wilson volume , no. , pp. - , pls., figs. in text, tables published december , university of kansas lawrence, kansas printed by ferd voiland, jr., state printer topeka, kansas - the forest habitat of the university of kansas natural history reservation by henry s. fitch and ronald l. mcgregor introduction in northeastern kansas, before it was disturbed by the arrival of white settlers in the eighteen fifties, tall grass prairies and deciduous forests were both represented. these two contrasting types of vegetation overlapped widely in an interdigitating pattern which was determined by distribution of moisture, soil types, slope exposure and various biotic factors. the early explorers who saw this region, and the settlers who came later, left only incomplete descriptions, which were usually vague as to the locality and the species of plants represented. as a result, there is but little concrete information as to the precise boundaries between the forests and grasslands, and opinions differ among ecologists. no representative sample of either type remains. it may be assumed that the plant communities existing one hundred years ago and earlier were far more stable than those of the present that have resulted from man's disruptive activities. this stability was only relative, however. within the last few thousand years since the final withdrawal of the wisconsinan ice sheet, fairly rapid and continual change must have occurred, as a result of changing climate, the sudden extinction of various large, dominant mammals, and finally the impact of successive aboriginal cultures. the land north of the kansas river had been a reserve for the delaware indians. this land was thrown open to settlement as a result of two separate purchases from the tribe, in and . the alluvial bottomlands were fertile and soon were under cultivation. history because the prairies and forests were soon destroyed or altered by cow, ax, plow and fire, knowledge of the region's ecology under the conditions that prevailed in the early nineteenth century and the centuries before must be gained largely from circumstantial evidence. although there were no ecologists among the first settlers in kansas, occasional glimpses of the region's ecology are afforded by the writings of early residents who mentioned native plant and animal life from time to time. however, such mention was usually casual and fragmentary. a brief early description of forest in northeastern kansas, which is casual and incomplete, and perhaps misleading, since it differs from later accounts, was included in major w. s. long's report of the exploring expedition that passed through country now included in johnson, douglas, shawnee, wabaunsee, riley, pottawatomie, jackson, jefferson and leavenworth counties in . "the catalogue of the forest trees in this region is not very copious. the cottonwood and the plane tree [sycamore] everywhere form conspicuous features of the forests. with these are intermixed the tall and graceful acacia, the honey locust, and the bonduc, or coffee-tree, and carya [hickory] and fraxinus [ash] ..." (taft, : ). a description of the country in northern douglas county and adjacent leavenworth county, while it was still in virtually undisturbed condition, was written by mr. george s. parks ( ). travelling up the kansas river from the missouri state line he described the vegetation and physiography with respect to specific landmarks that can be easily located at the present time. his descriptions of the areas he saw that were nearest the reservation, are quoted below, in part. [travelling west from near the mouth of stranger creek miles ese reservation.] "... bluff with open woods and high rolling prairie in background. on the south side of the river ... grass and scattering timber forming a green lawn back with high prairie. in this neighborhood the shore is rocky. we passed a bald bluff on the north, with a rich bottom on the south side, and a high open lawn in the rear. a little farther on the elevated prairies strike the river, giving a charming variety of scenery--while on the north are extended bottoms of rich timbered lands. "in this vicinity we saw many indians along the banks; we also passed a grape thicket, in the bottom, spread over several thousand acres--while just above, on our right, rose a rocky bluff, covered with open woods. a little above this sugar creek empties into the kansas, from the right; and a little farther up, there is a low bluff--a short distance beyond, there being another fine grape thicket, and rich walnut bottom. on the right side of the river ... rises a beautiful undulating eminence ... open woods and a fine prairie about a mile back. "on the left, a short distance above, the wakarusa flows in--a considerable stream--with good timber for some way back. "on both sides of the river, above the wakarusa, there are excellent bottom lands; ... farther up on the south bank, the high prairie comes down to the water's edge.... away as far as the eye could reach in a southwest direction, the prairies were high and rolling, like the waves of old ocean--southward, beautiful groves dot the prairie and the dark line of timber that stretches along the wakarusa valley--with the great prairie-mound ... fixed there as a landmark of perpetual beauty--the meandering river with its dark skirting forests of timber on the north ... proceeding north, high rich bottoms extend for many miles and we saw vast thickets of grape-vines, pea-vines etc. and paw-paws. the timber was principally oak, walnut, ash, hickory, mulberry, hackberry, linden, cottonwood and coffee-bean. [between the reservation and the mouth of the delaware river, miles west.] "a few miles below the mouth of the grasshopper [delaware] on the north the prairie undulates gradually back from the river as far as the eye can reach ... between the grasshopper and mud creek there is a prairie bottom where pioneers are making claims." in mrs. sara t. d. robinson, wife of dr. charles robinson who was the first governor of kansas, described in her diary the environs of lawrence ( ). in part, the areas described by her overlap those described by parks, and both writers impart similar impressions. mrs. robinson's writing was concerned chiefly with the social and political affairs of the territory and the occasional comments on the "scenery" in her voluble accounts must be regarded as impressions rather than purposeful and accurate descriptions, as certain inconsistencies are apparent. excerpts from several of her more significant descriptive passages are quoted below. [between lawrence and kansas city, april , .] "... prairie stretching in all directions, noble forests marking the line of the rivers and creeks, ... tall oaks and walnuts grouped in admirable arrangement ... there were deep ravines ... skirted with graceful trees, while the water in their pebbly beds is limpid and clear." [north of wakarusa crossing.] "... stumps in every direction in the woods ..." [at lawrence, april , .] "the town reaches to the river, whose further shore is skirted with a line of beautiful timber, while beyond all rise the delaware lands, which in the distance have all the appearance of cultivated fields and orchards.... a line of timber between us and blue mound marks the course of the wakarusa, while beyond the eye rests upon a country diversified in surface, sloping hills, finely rolling prairies, and timbered creeks ... to the northwest there is the most delightful mingling together of hill, valley, prairie, woodland, and river ... fine grove about a mile west of town, one of nature's grand old forests." [on trip to visit a neighbor four miles away from lawrence.] "there were high, conical hills, bearing on their tops forest trees, with dense, thick foliage; at the next moment a little shady nook, with a silvery rivulet running over its pebbly bed...." [on trip west toward topeka.] "timber was more abundant, not only marking the line of the creeks, but crowning the summit of many an elevation." [at lawrence.] "lawrence and its surroundings, of river flowing beneath the dim forests two miles deep on the north bank...." parks' and robinson's accounts seem to show that in general bottomlands and stream courses were wooded, and uplands were mainly prairie, but that local deviations from this pattern were numerous, with trees and groves isolated or partly isolated in a variety of situations. this condition suggests that prairies were then encroaching into formerly wooded areas. a climatic shift toward hotter and drier conditions, or a change in native practices, with more frequent burning, might have brought about the trend. further information concerning the distribution and composition of the forest is afforded by a series of letters from the settlers at lawrence, kansas, that were printed in various boston newspapers and in the milwaukee daily sentinel, in , , and . in nine such letters which discuss, among other things, the availability of timber, several kinds of trees are listed. oak (species not mentioned), black walnut, and cottonwood are each listed in seven of the nine letters, while elm, hickory and "white walnut" are each listed in two, and ash, hackberry, sycamore, basswood, willow and locust are each mentioned only once. copies of these letters are in the files of dr. james c. malin, to whom we are much indebted for the privilege of examining them, and for his critical reading of parts of the manuscript. early u. s. government maps of northeastern kansas show the distribution of forest in the late eighteen fifties, and in general the pattern agrees well with that indicated by the accounts of parks and robinson. through the kindness of dr. malin, we have been permitted to examine his photostatic copies of a series of these early maps, covering the area discussed in our study, and made in the period extending from through . a tracing taken from parts of two of these maps, showing the kansas river north and east of lawrence, and the area between the river and the north boundary of douglas county, is reproduced in fig. . for comparison, a map of the same area showing the stream courses and the distribution of timber, as traced from recent u. s. geological survey maps, is reproduced in fig. . the early maps agree with parks' and robinson's descriptions in showing an extensive belt of timber in the flood plain north of the river, and narrower belts of timber along its tributary streams. in fig. the courses of the kansas river and of mud creek agree fairly well with those shown on modern maps, but there are gross errors in the minor drainage systems of the sections of land in the northeastern part. other evidence indicates that the distribution of forest was much different than that shown in this part of the map. field work by the map-makers in this marginal area must have been extremely sketchy. dr. malin explains that such inaccuracies are to be expected because the contracts for mapping were made on a political basis, with little or no regard for other qualifications of the applicant. the university of kansas natural history reservation is in the northeasternmost section (section , township s, range e) of douglas county, kansas. topographically, it is almost evenly divided into three parts: ( ) peninsular extensions of the kansas river valley, sloping gradually up to a level approximately feet above that of the flood plain; ( ) hilltops feet or more above the level of the flood plain; ( ) steep slopes from the hilltops to the valley floor. the land that is now the reservation was part of a tract acquired in the eighteen sixties by former governor charles robinson, after the delaware reserve lands in the northeastern part of kansas territory were sold by the tribe. the section of land now comprising the reservation was used primarily for grazing after robinson acquired it. however, several squatters settled on the area and cultivated small acreages for periods of years in the eighteen seventies and eighteen eighties. in the eighteen nineties parts of the area including some of the hillsides were still covered with a mixed forest of virgin timber (_fide_ frank h. leonhard in conversation, october , ). mr. leonhard, who was long in the employ of the charles robinson family, remembered the area as far back as the early eighteen nineties when he worked on it cutting timber. he remembered, especially, cutting large walnut trees as much as two feet in diameter, which were valuable timber, but he thought that elm also was abundant at that time. by then the area, separated into east and west halves by a rock wall, had already been heavily grazed, and the original prairie vegetation, presumably dominated by big bluestem, had been much altered. the open upland portions were dominated by blue grass. [illustration: fig. . tracing from early ( - ) u. s. government maps of northeastern douglas county, kansas, and adjacent western edge of leavenworth county, showing stream courses and approximate distribution of woodland before deforestation had occurred. section to right of center at upper edge of figure, is now mostly included in the university of kansas natural history reservation. note inaccuracies in drainage systems on this part of map as compared with fig. .] [illustration: fig. . tracing from u.s. geological survey maps of same area shown in fig. , indicating present distribution of woodland, and the pattern of drainage systems.] by about control of the area had passed to the j. f. morgan family. the homesteads had long since been deserted and the entire area was used for grazing (_fide_ j. f. morgan, in conversation, january , ). parts of the bottomland were fenced and broken for cultivation in , , and , and hilltop fields were first cultivated in . tree cutting was more or less continual. many of the old stumps still present on the area are remnants of the trees cut in the "twenties" or even earlier. several acres of hilltop and south slope in the northwest corner of the area were protected from livestock and maintained for harvesting of prairie hay. the hay was mowed annually, and the vegetation was burned at less frequent intervals, usually in early spring. this treatment served to kill encroaching woody vegetation and to maintain a prairie type. in the mid-thirties control of the area passed to the university of kansas. at that time a program of development was launched by the university and the u. s. soil conservation service with relief labor (_fide_ c. g. bayles in conversation, november , ). the work included: filling gullies, digging diversion ditches and building check dams and terraces to prevent erosion; clearing extensive thickets; bindweed eradication from the cultivated areas; and fencing off the wooded hillsides from the valley and hilltop pastures for protection from livestock. this work extended over several years, and one main objective was to utilize the area for growing timber. however, plans to make extensive plantings of walnut and other valuable timber never materialized. in the forties the check dams fell into disrepair. the area was leased to a farmer and was again heavily overgrazed. in this period there was some tree-cutting by the university's department of buildings and grounds and by farmers, but this cutting was not on a commercial scale and was mainly for firewood and fence posts. one of the chief results of fencing off the wooded hillsides was that shrubs and young trees, formerly held in check by livestock, were allowed to flourish. understory thickets sprang up throughout most of the woodland, and especially in edge situations. late in , after the area had been made a reservation, livestock were excluded. in the years following, the parts of the closely grazed pastures adjacent to woodland passed through stages similar to those that had occurred to years earlier in the parts protected by fences. young trees and shrubs sprang up in thickets, the numbers and kinds depending on amount of shade, seed sources, soil, moisture, and various other factors. although most of the tree-cutting was done prior to , annual growth rings are discernible on many of the old stumps, indicating the age of the tree at the time it was cut. occasionally the stumps produced sprouts which had grown into sizable trees by . in such instances the year that the tree was cut and the year that it originally began growing could be determined from a study of the annual growth rings. in instances ring counts were obtained from stumps or logs, or from trees that had been split and fallen in wind storms. stumps that were otherwise intact often had small central cavities an inch or more in diameter. for these it was necessary to estimate the numbers of missing rings in order to obtain a figure for the approximate total age of the tree at the time it was cut. many of the logs and stumps were so much decayed that growth rings were no longer distinct, and on most there were a few rings that were not clearly defined. in the majority of instances the time of cutting could not be determined accurately, but it is known that there was little tree-cutting after on most parts of the area. probably most of the stumps on the reservation that were well enough preserved to provide counts were from to years old. most of the counts of growth rings on chestnut oaks were obtained on a hillside adjoining the reservation where the trees were cut in the early nineteen forties. width of the annual growth rings reflects rapidity of growth in the tree and is determined, in part, by the amount of annual rainfall, especially in this region on the western edge of the deciduous forests where moisture is the chief limiting factor. periods of drought or of unusually heavy rainfall may result in growth rings smaller or larger than average. because the trees draw moisture from the deeper soil layer there is a lag in their response to precipitation, and a single year that is much wetter or much drier than those preceding or following it may not stand out clearly in the annual rings. in individual trees the effect of precipitation is often obscured by the effects of crowding and shading by competitors, injury or disease. none of the trees examined for growth rings reflected the annual precipitation accurately for long periods though some indication of known drought periods or of series of wet years were usually discernible. for black oaks, chestnut oaks, and american elms, growth rings averaged . per inch of trunk diameter (according to size of the tree; . rings per inch in those trees to inches in diameter, . in those to inches, . in those to inches, and . in those of more than inches). data from a few complete counts and many incomplete counts indicate that in _gleditsia triacanthos_ growth is much more rapid, with only to rings per inch of trunk diameter, whereas in _juglans nigra_, _celtis occidentalis_, _carya ovata_, and _fraxinus americana_ growth is much slower, with usually five or more growth rings per inch of trunk diameter. individual trees deviate widely from the average for their species, and those in rich bottomland soil grow more rapidly than those in shallow soil of hilltops or those on rocky slopes. if such factors are taken into account the ages of trees may be estimated from the diameters of their trunks. in mature trees growth slows; age is likely to be underestimated rather than overestimated in those of exceptionally large size. the belief that this and similar areas in northeastern kansas were virtually treeless at the time of occupation by white settlers is shown to be wholly unfounded by the information obtained from growth rings. the ring counts show that many trees now growing on the area and others cut within the last years, but still represented by stumps, were already present in the eighteen sixties when the area was first occupied. a few trees on the area probably are much older, dating back to the early eighteen hundreds. as there are no virgin stands of timber, and the more valuable trees have been removed by selective cutting at various times, it is to be expected that there are few or no trees on the area approaching the potential longevity for their species. the many oaks and elms on the area that are more than two feet in trunk diameter mostly date back to the eighteen sixties or earlier. the distribution of the larger trees and stumps provides a clue as to the original distribution of forest and grassland on the area. there is no description available of the area that is now the reservation in its original condition. however, mrs. anna morgan ward ( ) has recorded comments on the appearance of the country in the section of land adjoining the reservation on the south, as it appeared when her family settled there in . this land differed from that of the reservation, as it consists of low rolling hills, well drained with predominately south exposure, and with sandy soil. it adjoins the present flood plain of the kansas river, and consists partly of the old menoken terrace deposited in the pleistocene. the following excerpts from mrs. ward's manuscript are selected as most descriptive of the original vegetation on this section of land. [in southwest part of section near the morgan house.] "... some hills that were covered with jack oak trees ... here we found wild strawberries on the hillsides. and along the creeks we located gooseberry bushes, wild grapes, both summer and winter grapes, plums, and paw paws in the fall. we found a crabapple tree ... plenty of walnuts and hazel nuts." [hilly south-central part of section, the j. p. whitney farm.] "... on a hill among many small trees ... especially on the east were many trees." [less hilly southeastern part of section.] "... was open prairie and free grazing ground for many years...." much of the land in this section is now under cultivation but there are still hilltop groves of blackjack oak, probably in about the same places where mrs ward noticed them years ago--south of the house that was formerly robinson's residence, and west across the county road, beside the oakridge school building, and on other knolls to the east and southeast. the bottomland areas of the reservation are mainly grassland and no old stumps remain to indicate that trees were formerly present. nevertheless, it might be expected that under original conditions these bottomland areas supported forests, as the soil is deep and rich with abundant moisture. also most of the early accounts agree that forests occurred mainly along stream courses in this region. presumably these areas were cut over early, because they were most accessible, and because they supported the best stands of timber. one of the best indications of the former vegetation on these bottomland areas is provided by old bleached shells of snails and certain other mollusks, brought to the surface by plowing in cultivated fields adjoining the reservation on the south and west (fitch and lokke, ). a high proportion of the shells are of species limited to humus soil, decaying logs, or leaf litter in moist woodlands (_stenotrema leai_, _retinella electrina_, _zonitoides arboreus_, _vertigo ovata_, _helicodiscus parallelus_), to wet places (_lymnaea parva_, _succinea avara_) or even to standing pools (_physa hawni_, _helisoma trivolvis_, _pisidium compressum_). no living mollusks could be found in these fields and none could be expected to survive on land that is cultivated annually. as a whole the assemblage seems to be indicative of a humid, poorly drained forest habitat. presumably most of the shells or all of them are more than years old, antedating the time when the area was first disturbed by human activities, and also antedating the time when the creeks (now feet or more below the fields) had begun to erode their channels. that the shell deposits are of no great antiquity, and represent conditions prevailing within the last few hundred years, is suggested by the fact that all are species still living in douglas county, and with one exception, all still live on the reservation. [illustration: fig. . tracing from a contour map made in , of the two small valleys on the reservation, showing changed position of contour lines at gullies by . as a result of overgrazing, and cultivation of part of the upland drainage area, there was relatively rapid erosion in the -year interval.] [illustration: fig. . map of university of kansas natural history reservation, with -foot contours, showing probable approximate distribution of forest in early eighteen hundreds (vertical lines show slopes and hilltops that are still wooded; grid pattern shows bottomlands that were formerly wooded but later cleared for pasture or cultivated crops). stippled areas show those slopes and hilltops now wooded seemingly as a result of recent reinvasion, that probably were bluestem prairie earlier. unshaded areas are relatively flat hilltops that are still grassland and are thought to have been bluestem prairie.] mrs. ward (_op. cit._) in her manuscript concerning the early history of grant township, mentioned the small creek that drains the east part of the reservation. evidently in the sixties it had a more constant flow, usually with clear water. later it eroded its channel, cutting a deep gully. presumably the water table has been much lowered. in his verbal reminiscences of the area, mr. j. f. morgan told us that in the nineties this stream had eroded its channel but little within the present limits of the reservation. in a period of years, to inclusive, when there was abnormally heavy rainfall, severe erosion occurred, and the saturated soil of several hillside areas slipped downhill to the extent of several feet vertical displacement. the ravine draining into the present pond from the north was known as "sunken canyon" because of such soil slips. however, a map of the reservation and surrounding areas made by the university of kansas department of civil engineering in , shows that by that time relatively little gullying had occurred. comparison of this contour map with a more detailed one prepared in shows that the gullies had eroded their channels to depths more than feet greater in some places, in the -year interval (fig. ). in june and july, , when there was unusually heavy rainfall, gullies deepened perceptibly. dozens of trees including many large mature elms, honey locusts, and osage orange, growing along the banks were undermined and fell into the gullies. composition of the forest under present conditions, every one of the larger tree species dominates at least some small part of the area. for reasons that are usually obscure, locations that seem otherwise similar differ in the kinds, numbers, and sizes of trees they support. probably most of these differences have arisen in the varying treatments under human occupation in the last years. in the two valley areas, presumably heavily wooded under primitive conditions, the trees growing at present seem to be secondary invaders. they include groves and isolated trees of elm, honey locust, walnut, and osage orange, and an occasional red haw, hackberry, or coffee-tree. the hilltops likewise are chiefly open, but forest of the hillsides encroaches onto them for as much as yards in some places. the slopes between the hilltops and the valleys are almost everywhere wooded, but the aspect of the woods changes from place to place. subdivisions on a vertical scale, might be recognized as follows: the upper limestone outcrop (plattsmouth member) at the hilltop; the usually steep slope strewn with rocks, between the upper and lower (toronto) limestone outcrop; the lower limestone outcrop; an almost level terracelike formation often approximately feet wide a few feet below the level of the toronto limestone; the slope below the terrace, variable in steepness, exposure, and soil type, and usually several times more extensive than the first four subdivisions combined. along both the upper and lower outcrops, elm and hackberry are especially prominent. chestnut oak is abundant along the outcrops and on the rocky slope between them in some situations. ash grows abundantly on some upper slopes but there are few growing on the upper outcrop. on the terrace, elm, ash, hackberry, honey locust, coffee-tree and black oak are abundant. on the lower slopes grow most of the blackjack oaks, post oaks, red oaks and mulberries. even greater differences in the local aspect of woodland on the hillsides are caused by slope exposure. on south facing slopes, especially, the woodland is noticeably different from that in other situations, and of more xeric aspect. the climax species, _quercus muehlenbergii_, _q. rubra_, _q. velutina_ and _carya ovata_ are almost totally absent. such trees as are present are of small to medium size. they are mostly red elm, american elm, walnut, honey locust, hackberry, and osage orange, with dogwood (_cornus drummondii_) and plum (_prunus americanus_) forming dense thickets. occasional patches of prairie grasses remain in more exposed situations where they have not been shaded out. these, together with the small size of most of the trees, indicate that the south slopes have become wooded rather recently, and originally were prairie. nevertheless, the small remaining groves of blackjack oak and post oak are on slopes that face south, southeast, or southwest, and probably under original conditions they occupied these situations, separate from the forests of other hardwoods. slopes facing east, west, and north, are more similar in relative abundance of various kinds of trees, and they do not differ much from hilltop edges that are wooded. chestnut oak and hickory are most abundant on north slopes, and ash occurs mainly on north slopes. table .--percentages of larger trees (a foot or more in trunk diameter) on different slope exposures. -----------------------+----------+------------+---------+---------- | north | | west | south | slopes | hilltops | slopes | slopes -----------------------+----------+------------+---------+---------- elm | . | . | . | . chestnut oak | . | . | . | . hickory | . | . | . | . walnut | . | . | . | . ash | . | . | | . hackberry | . | . | . | . black oak | . | . | | . red oak | . | | . | locust | . | . | . | . osage orange | . | . | . | . sycamore | . | | . | . coffee-tree | | . | . | . cherry | | . | | . red haw | | . | | . ailanthus | | | | . mulberry | | . | | . cottonwood | | | | . redbud | | . | . | . boxelder | | . | | . blackjack oak | | | . | | | | | total trees in sample | | | | -----------------------+----------+------------+---------+---------- table shows the percentages of different kinds of trees a foot or more in trunk diameter on different slope exposures sampled. elm is almost always the dominant tree, making up from one-fourth to one-half of the total stand. the other species dominate relatively small areas. chestnut oak usually makes up a substantial part of the stand on hilltops and slopes of north, east, or west exposure. black oak, red oak, and walnut may be prominent on the east and west slopes. walnut and locust are prominent on south slopes. hickory usually has a trunk diameter of less than one foot, and, therefore, it is not prominent anywhere among the larger trees. table , showing ratios of medium-small trees (more than inches and less than one foot in trunk diameter) demonstrates that hickory is one of the more prominent trees on hilltops and on slopes other than those of south exposure. invasion of fields in when the extensive open parts of the reservation were grazed and cultivated, small trees were inconspicuous and few. mature trees, with trunk diameters of inches to more than two feet, were distributed over the pastured areas, however, with groves of american elm, honey locust, and walnut near the edges of the woods, and occasional scattered trees of these species and of osage orange, coffee-tree, red haw, hackberry, and ash. table .--percentages of different kinds of small trees (six inches to a foot in trunk diameter) on different slope exposures. ---------------------------+--------+----------+--------+--------- | north | hilltops | west | south | slopes | | slopes | slopes ---------------------------+--------+----------+--------+--------- | | | | elm | . | . | . | . chestnut oak | . | . | . | . hickory | . | . | . | . walnut | . | . | . | . hackberry | . | . | . | . black oak | . | . | | red oak | . | | . | locust | | . | | . osage orange | | . | | . coffee-tree | . | . | | . cherry | | | | . red haw | | . | | mulberry | | . | | redbud | . | | . | . boxelder | | | | . | | | | total trees in sample | | | | ---------------------------+--------+----------+--------+--------- in soon after the discontinuance of grazing and cultivation, a large crop of tree seedlings became established. each year thereafter the numbers were augmented by new crops of seedlings, but conditions rapidly became less favorable for their establishment, as the ground cover of herbaceous vegetation became thicker. the numbers and kinds of young trees that became established differed markedly in different situations. the seedlings present in large numbers were those of elm, honey locust, boxelder, dogwood, walnut, osage orange and crab-apple. there was none of the climax species--oaks or hickories--in the sample. table .--numbers of young trees per acre in fields of the reservation, june, . ---------------------+----------+-------+----------+--------+------- | | |bottomland|hilltop | |bottomland|hilltop| fallow |fallow |prairie | pasture |pasture| field | field | ---------------------+----------+-------+----------+--------+------- no. of / acre | | | | | plots sampled | | | | | | | | | | honey locust | . | . | | . | elm | . | . | . | . | . boxelder | . | . | . | | . dogwood | . | . | . | . | . walnut | . | . | . | | osage orange | . | . | | | crab-apple | . | . | | . | red haw | . | . | . | . | . coffee-tree | . | . | | | hackberry | . | | | | . cottonwood | . | | | | ash | | . | | . | plum | . | | | | peach | . | | | | cockspur thorn | . | . | | | sycamore | . | | | . | cherry | | . | | | . | | | | | total number counted | | | | | ---------------------+----------+-------+----------+--------+------- table shows the numbers of young trees counted in a total of plots of / acre each, in june, . the trees counted included all those approximately one foot high or larger. a few were up to feet tall, but most were between one foot and five feet in height. not included were the many smaller seedlings, which were mostly concealed beneath the dense layer of low herbaceous vegetation. of young trees there were most on the bluestem prairie area, less on the former pastures and least on the fallow fields. in both the pasture areas and the fallow fields, the bottomlands had fewer trees than the hilltops-- per cent and . per cent, respectively. in every instance the abundance of young trees seemed to be inversely proportional to the amount of competing herbaceous vegetation. the bottomland fallow fields, which had the fewest tree seedlings, were dominated by a rank growth of giant ragweed and sunflower, often as much as ten feet tall, effectively shutting most of the light from the tree seedlings. by , however, the sunflower was nearly eliminated, and the giant ragweed, though still abundant, was much stunted. the bluestem prairie on an area of hilltop and upper slope had not been burned over or otherwise disturbed for some years prior to , and probably trees began to invade this area years before they invaded the fallow fields and pastures accounting, in part, for their greater abundance in . approximately half of the young trees on this prairie area were boxelders, which were relatively scarce on the other four areas. elm was either first or second in abundance on each area. on both types of pasture areas honey locusts were appearing in abundance and osage orange seedlings were present in somewhat smaller numbers. however, these two kinds of trees were almost entirely absent from the other areas sampled, except that a few locusts were recorded on a hilltop fallow field. in honey locust seeds were noticed in great abundance in the droppings of cattle; their dispersal in this manner probably is in large part responsible for the abundance of young honey locusts throughout the former pastures. osage orange may have been distributed in the same manner. seedlings of dogwood were moderately numerous on each one of the areas sampled, and those of red haw were somewhat less abundant on each area. crab-apple was the most abundant species invading the hilltop pastures but was scarce or absent in the other situations. the remaining species of trees, including coffee-tree, hackberry, cottonwood, ash, plum, peach, cherry, cockspur thorn, sycamore, and redbud, each made up only a small percentage of the tree crop in the situations where they occurred. in late july and early august, , counts of young trees were made again on the upland pasture area, with a total of / -acre plot samples. this sample was taken at the end of one of the longest and most severe droughts in the history of the area. both and had drought summers, and up to the end of july the summer of was exceptionally dry also. the conditions of the young trees at this time, in the relatively dry and shallow hilltop soil, was especially significant. as might have been anticipated, in this count, young trees were more numerous than they had been on any of the areas sampled in . however, the data for and are not entirely comparable, because in none of the plots sampled was nearer than feet to the edge of the woods, whereas in , the sample was arranged to be representative of the entire field, including the parts adjacent to the woods. the numbers per acre of each kind of tree, and the percentages that were dead or dying, were as follows: crab-apple ( . per cent dead); locust ( per cent dead); elm . ( . per cent dead); osage orange . (none dead); walnut . ( . per cent dead); red haw . (none dead); ash . (none dead); cockspur thorn ( . per cent dead); wild plum ( . per cent dead); dogwood . (none dead); prickly ash ( per cent dead); black oak . (none dead); boxelder . (none dead). thus, of the species that were prominent invaders of the field, only crab-apple showed heavy mortality. in many instances the mortality in crab-apple was due wholly or in part to attack by cottontails (_sylvilagus floridanus_), which had completely girdled many of the stems. in general, mortality in the young trees was light in this grassland area compared with the mortality in any part of the woodland. competition and mortality the ratios of trees of different species and different size groups reflect, to some extent, the changes to which the area has been subjected. under original conditions mature trees of oak and hickory dominated the forest. with the opening up of the forest that resulted from cutting most of these mature trees, other kinds of trees increased and spread. species relatively intolerant of shading became established. chinquapin oak, honey locust, osage orange, cherry, dogwood, red haw, and crab-apple, being especially intolerant of shading, cannot grow in close competition with climax species, and they become established only in fairly open situations. their presence in thick woodland, along with climax competitors, usually is an indication that the woodland is either of recent origin or has been much disturbed in the past, permitting invasion by them. about when approximately half of the reservation, including nearly all the woodland areas, was fenced against livestock, shrubs and young trees sprang up in great abundance, especially in more open woodland situations, and at the edge of the forest. sumac (_rhus glabra_) often dominated at first in such situations. crab-apple, wild plum, red haw, chinquapin oak, prickly ash, dogwood, honey locust, and redbud also soon came into prominence. by thickets had grown up and the intense competition had killed much of the woody vegetation. sumac, especially, had been almost entirely killed out by the shading. by then, however, the adjacent fields had been protected for eight years from grazing, and sparse sumac thickets were present on the field sides of the fences, the average sizes of the plants progressively declining farther from the edge of the woods. much mortality had occurred also in all the other species mentioned, with only a few of the larger surviving in competition with elm, hackberry, ash and osage orange, and with reproduction practically stopped except near the edges of the thickets. in , after approximately years of protection from livestock, the woodland had become much denser, with a thick understory of saplings and tall shrubs in most places. from a time soon after protection was initiated, there was little or no reproduction (except where the woodland originally was open) in blackjack oak, dwarf or chinquapin oak, red haw, honey locust, and osage orange. on one south slope, an open woods with well scattered trees of black oak, american elm, hackberry, honey locust and osage orange, had by become so dense that it was almost impassable except with the aid of a brush knife to cut or break through the thickets. saplings of honey locust made up an important part of the understory vegetation on this slope. those of the smallest size group, up to ½ inches stem diameter, were mostly dead; in a strip feet long and feet wide there were dead saplings and ten live ones of this size group. in the next largest size group, up to ½ inches in stem diameter, there were dead and live saplings, while in the size group ½ to ½ inches stem diameter, there was one dead sapling and were alive. on another south slope, which had more large and medium-sized trees and less dense underbrush, saplings six inches or less in stem diameter, counted on a sample strip feet long and feet wide, included elm . %, dogwood . %, hackberry . %, coffee-tree . %, honey locust . %, plum . %, chestnut oak . %, crab-apple . %, osage orange . %, red haw . %, hickory, redbud, mulberry and cockspur thorn each . %. there was substantial mortality in the saplings of several of these species; plum . %, dogwood . %, elm . %, locust . %, chestnut oak . %, coffee-tree . %. by several areas of hilltop-edge and north slope, which presumably had been wooded originally, but which had been subjected to heavy cutting, supported thriving stands of young hickories mostly two to six inches in trunk diameter. most of these saplings seemed to have originated as stump-or root-sprouts. these numerous and closely spaced saplings produced a dense and almost continuous leaf canopy, shading and killing out many of the smaller trees of their own species as well as competing elms, redbuds, dogwoods, hackberries and others. on a north slope in the southeastern part of the reservation, many large stumps were found in late stages of decay, cut from to or more years before. insofar as could be determined, these old stumps were mostly of oaks, but in the trees growing on this slope were chiefly elms and coffee-trees less than one foot in diameter. effects of livestock livestock importantly affected the trend of succession. the tendency of grazing animals to hold back the forest by stripping the foliage from young trees and killing them is selective, however; the several kinds of trees differ in their tolerance to browsing and in their palatability to animals. the kind of animal and the season and intensity of use also have important bearing on the ultimate effect. several kinds of shrubs and small trees seem to be especially susceptible to damage by browsing; chinquapin oak, crab-apple, plum, hazel, dogwood, prickly ash, and paw paw were found to be either absent entirely from the parts of the woodland that were heavily used by stock, or much scarcer than they were on adjacent unbrowsed areas. some woody plants that are even more susceptible may have been completely eliminated by browsing. in the thirties when most of the woodland area was fenced off and protected from grazing, three wooded hillside areas of a few acres each, were maintained as connecting strips between the pastures of the hilltops and those of the bottomlands. these areas were utilized only at certain seasons, but by the effect of trampling and heavy browsing by livestock was conspicuous. herbaceous ground vegetation was almost lacking and low woody vegetation was also scarce, in contrast to the parts of the woodland that were adjacent but separated by fences that excluded livestock. the contrast was perhaps heightened along the fences because the animals tended to follow along the fence lines and their effects were concentrated there. table .--numbers of young trees of various kinds and sizes in on a . -acre area consisting of six hillside strips each feet wide. each strip was equally divided by a fence line, excluding livestock from one side during the period (approximately) to . ---------------------------------------------------------------------- |less than ½-inch | ½-inch to -inch| -inch to -inch | stem diameter | stem diameter | stem diameter |-------+---------+-------+---------+-------+--------- | | percent-| | percent-| | percent- | total | age in |total | age in | total | age in |number | browsed |number | browsed |number | browsed | | half | | half | | half ----------------+-------+---------+-------+---------+-------+--------- | | | | | | dogwood | | . | | . | | redbud | | . | | . | | elm | | . | | . | | . hackberry | | . | | . | | . plum | | . | | . | | . crab-apple | | . | | . | | red haw | | . | | . | | . walnut | | . | | . | | . honey locust | | . | | . | | . osage orange | | . | | . | | . shagbark hickory| | . | | . | | . chestnut oak | | | | . | | . chinquapin oak | | | | . | | . coffee-tree | | | | . | | . ailanthus | | . | | . | | . black oak | | | | . | | . american ash | | . | | . | | paw paw | | | | . | | ----------------+-------+---------+-------+---------+-------+--------- in ten-foot wide strips were sampled on both sides of the fences. for both browsed and unbrowsed samples, the strips had a total length of feet, each representing an area of . acres. table contrasts the number of young trees per acre on the browsed and unbrowsed areas, grouped in several size classes. in general the saplings up to one-fourth inch in diameter were those that had become established in the five growing seasons since browsing was discontinued and both areas were protected. for this size group the numbers were approximately equal, being slightly higher on the browsed strips. however, in the size group of ½ inch to inches in stem diameter, the trees were nearly three times as abundant on the unbrowsed areas, and most trees within this size range must have become established within the time of differing treatments. the disparity in numbers was great for hackberry, redbud, elm and dogwood which made up the bulk of the saplings. in the size range to inches most trees antedated the fence, and the unbrowsed portion had only a few more than the portion that had been browsed. on the formerly browsed areas clumps of gooseberry bushes were conspicuous and were computed to cover . per cent of the area sampled, versus . per cent on the unbrowsed area. these thorny bushes seem to be resistant to browsing, and elsewhere have been noted in abundance in woodlands heavily used by livestock. the elimination of competing undergrowth by browsers may be a factor favoring development of gooseberry clumps. the trend was just the opposite for fragrant sumac, which was computed to cover . per cent of the browsed sample versus . per cent of the unbrowsed sample. greenbrier (_smilax tamnoides hispida_) was most abundant on the unbrowsed strips, with seven large clumps, and smaller clumps ( stems or fewer) as contrasted with five large clumps and smaller clumps on the browsed strips. there were grapevines (_vitis vulpina_) on the unbrowsed strips and only seven on those that were browsed. animal associates the invertebrates of the university of kansas natural history reservation have not been intensively studied. most of the species of vertebrates are characteristic of the deciduous forest of the eastern united states, or of the edge of woodland; relatively few kinds are characteristic of prairies. of birds, for example, some species characteristic of the eastern deciduous forests have been found nesting on the reservation, as have additional species that are mainly eastern in their distribution but are most characteristic of forest-edge thickets, clearings, or marshy places. the ruffed grouse (_bonasa umbellus_) and wild turkey (_meleagris gallopavo_) are not present on the area, although they may have occurred there earlier. other forest birds which occur in the general area, and which have been recorded from time to time on the reservation, although they seem not to nest there, are: chuck-will's-widow (_caprimulgus carolinensis_), scarlet tanager (_piranga olivacea_), acadian flycatcher (_empidonax virescens_), veery (_hylocichla fuscescens_), parula warbler (_parula americana_), oven-bird (_seiurus aurocapillus_), and orchard oriole (_icterus spurius_). for each of these, habitat conditions on the reservation seem to be deficient in some respect. on the other hand, the only typical prairie bird that breeds on the reservation is the dickcissel (_spiza americana_). others, including the swainson hawk (_buteo swainsoni_), greater prairie chicken (_tympanuchus cupido_), upland plover (_bartramia longicauda_), western kingbird (_tyrannus verticalis_) and loggerhead shrike (_lanius ludovicianus_), occur in the general area, and may even cross the reservation at times, but they do not become established. in the mammalian fauna, species typical of the deciduous forests include the opossum (_didelphis marsupialis_), short-tailed shrew (_blarina brevicauda_), eastern mole (_scalopus aquaticus_), eastern gray squirrel (_sciurus carolinensis_), and pine vole (_microtus pinetorum_), but the eastern chipmunk (_tamias striatus_) and southern flying squirrel (_glaucomys volans_) are lacking. also, the present fauna lacks large mammals that may have been present under original conditions: the white-tailed deer (_odocoileus virginianus_), recorded on the area from time to time but not permanently established there, the wapiti (_cervus americanus_), black bear (ursus americanus), and bobcat (_lynx rufus_). other species on the area, that are characteristic of the deciduous woodlands, but that occur also far west into prairie regions, include the little short-tailed shrew (_cryptotis parva_), raccoon (_procyon lotor_), fox squirrel (_sciurus niger_), white-footed mouse (_peromyscus leucopus_), eastern woodrat (_neotoma floridana_) and eastern cottontail. on the area, the only mammals that are sharply confined to grasslands, elsewhere as well as on the reservation, are the plains pocket gopher (_geomys bursarius_) and plains harvest mouse (_reithrodontomys montanus_), both of which are rare on the area, and the hispid cotton rat (_sigmodon hispidus_). the following species are typical of the plains, but they range eastward into the region of deciduous forests: western harvest mouse (_reithrodontomys megalotis_), deer mouse (_peromyscus maniculatus_), coyote (_canis latrans_), and spotted skunk (_spilogale putorius_). the following mammals, typical of grassland, are absent: black-tailed jack rabbit (_lepus californicus_), black-tailed prairie dog (_cynomys ludovicianus_), -lined ground squirrel (_spermophilus tridecemlineatus_), franklin's ground squirrel (_spermophilus franklinii_), southern lemming-mouse (_synaptomys cooperi_), and of course, the buffalo (_bison bison_), and the prong-horned antelope (_antilocapra americana_) long extinct in this part of their range. of amphibians and reptiles also, the majority are typical forest species, including: the american toad (_bufo terrestris_), common tree frog (_hyla versicolor_), brown skink (_lygosoma laterale_), common five-lined skink (_eumeces fasciatus_), worm snake (_carphophis amoenus_), pilot black snake (_elaphe obsoleta_), dekay snake (_storeria dekayi_), western ground snake (_haldea valeriae_), copperhead (_agkistrodon contortrix_), and timber rattlesnake (_crotalus horridus_). other typical forest species missing from the area include the spring peeper (_hyla crucifer_), carolina box turtle (_terrapene carolina_), coal skink (_eumeces anthracinus_), and red-bellied snake (_storeria occipitomaculata_). of typical prairie species only the kansas ant-eating frog (_gastrophryne olivacea_) and the ornate box turtle (_terrapene ornata_) are common, and, curiously, each seems to prefer a forest habitat on this area, in the absence of their closely related eastern representatives, the eastern ant-eating frog (_g. carolinensis_) and the carolina box turtle, respectively, which usually live in forests. the plains spadefoot (_spea bombifrons_), garden toad (_bufo woodhousii_), great plains skink (_eumeces obsoletus_), prairie skink (_eumeces septentrionalis_), slender tantilla (_tantilla gracilis_), prairie rat snake (_elaphe guttata_), bull snake (_pituophis catenifer_), and blotched king snake (_lampropeltis calligaster_) are all scarce on the area. the plains toad (_bufo cognatus_), collared lizard (_crotaphytus collaris_), except for an introduced colony, plains garter snake (_thamnophis radix_), lined snake (_tropidoclonion lineatum_), and massassauga (_sistrurus catenatus_) seem not to occur on the area at all. annotated list of species #juniperus virginiana.#--red cedar, the only native gymnosperm of northeastern kansas, occurs in nearly all woodlands of the region, although individual trees are widely scattered. it has increased remarkably in the past few years. no mature cedar trees grow anywhere on the reservation, but young trees, probably several dozen in all, are widely scattered in a variety of situations on the area. probably in every instance the seeds have reached the area in droppings of birds. approximately miles south and a little east of the reservation is a stand of cedars some of which are to years old. near the southwest corner of the section, at the site of a former farm house there is a small grove of these trees, probably planted. these may have been the source for some of the young trees on the reservation. on several occasions cardinals (_richmondena cardinalis_) were observed to have nested in the young cedars, whose thick foliage provided well sheltered nesting sites. this shelter was utilized especially in early nestings when foliage had only begun to appear on other trees and shrubs. however, two such nests in cedars, that were checked repeatedly, were eventually destroyed by predators. #salix nigra.#--black willow is localized in the vicinity of the one small pond on the reservation. the pond was made in ; at the upper end of a small valley a dirt bank yards long was built across a ravine through which an intermittent creek drained. hilltop fields draining into this ravine were then under cultivation. in the next few years heavy erosion occurred in the upland fields, and the soil carried downstream was deposited in the pond. most of the pond was filled up with a silt flat about an acre in area. on the higher part of this silt flat a dense thicket of saplings of elm, honey locust and osage orange sprang up. on the lower, wetter part of the silt bar a willow grove grew up, dominated by _s. nigra_, with _s. eriocephala_, _s. interior_ and _s. amygdaloides_ in smaller numbers. by some of these trees had attained a trunk diameter of eight inches and a height of thirty feet. elsewhere on the reservation, willow is represented only by a few scattered trees and bushes along the two intermittent creeks. the silty soil preferred by the willow is scarce as both streams are actively eroding their channels. the moist, silty soil beneath the willow grove is covered with a dense mat of low vegetation including giant ragweed, carpenter's square, dayflower, and rice cutgrass. short-tailed shrews, house mice (_mus musculus_), harvest mice and cotton rats thrive in this habitat. red-winged blackbirds (_agelaius phoeniceus_), yellow-billed cuckoos (_coccyzus americanus_), red-eyed vireos (_vireo olivaceus_), catbirds (_dumetella carolinensis_) and kentucky warblers (_oporornis formosus_) use it for nesting. the high humidity and dense vegetation in this grove render it favorable habitat for recently metamorphosed frogs and toads, especially the tree frog, which is sometimes extremely abundant there in summer. #populus deltoides.#--cottonwood is one of the less common trees on the area, but it attains a larger size than any of the other kinds. the larger of the two creeks on the reservation is lined with mature cottonwoods along the lower part of its course. along the smaller creek large cottonwoods are also present but they are more widely spaced. a few cottonwoods are present at well scattered points on slopes and hilltops, usually in forest edge situations or in woodland where other trees are sparse. by far the largest tree on the reservation is a cottonwood of -foot circumference (plate ), growing on a hilltop near the south boundary of the reservation, at the edge of woodland adjacent to a cultivated field. the heavy rainfall of resulted in the establishment of hundreds of cottonwood seedlings, mostly in places remote from the mature trees. so far as observed, all these were in recent silt deposits. many of them have survived the drought of - . because of their great height, towering above the level of the surrounding tree-tops, cottonwoods are preferred look-out perches of certain of the larger birds, notably red-tailed hawks (_buteo jamaicensis_), barred owls (_strix varia_), and crows (_corvus brachyrhynchos_). flocks of robins (_turdus migratorius_) and of rusty blackbirds (_euphagus carolinus_) preparing to roost have been noted habitually to gather in the tops of tall cottonwoods. in spring, large wandering flocks of goldfinches (_spinus tristis_) have been seen feeding on the leaf buds of cottonwoods. baltimore orioles (_icterus galbula_) and yellow-billed cuckoos often forage in cottonwoods. red-bellied woodpeckers (_centurus carolinus_) spend a disproportionately large amount of their time in cottonwoods. these woodpeckers have been observed nesting in the hollow branches on several occasions. downy woodpeckers (_dendrocopos pubescens_) also have been noticed foraging in cottonwoods on many occasions. certain large isolated cottonwoods along creeks were favorite stopping places of blue jays (_cyanocitta cristata_) which, on trips from one wooded hillside to another, usually perched briefly in the tops of these tall trees. calling and looking about, the jays seemed to maintain contact with distant mates or members of the flocks by using these high perches. often after a brief pause in the top of the cottonwood they flew off in a new direction. both woodrats and opossums have been known to utilize hollow cottonwoods as dens. fox squirrels have been seen climbing in cottonwoods occasionally. #juglans nigra.#--black walnut is one of the more prominent hardwoods. under original conditions, evidently many of the larger trees were of this species. being the most valuable timber species of the area, walnut has been subjected to heavy cutting over the past years. most of the walnut trees still present are small or medium-sized, but the species is still abundant over much of the area. along certain hilltop edges there are groves of walnuts, growing in nearly pure stands, with an occasional elm, ash, coffee-tree or honey locust. elsewhere walnut trees are more scattered, but are distributed throughout the woodland. although the walnut trees growing in woods are of various sizes from those of mature size down to saplings, seedlings are to be found mainly in fields near the woodland edge. in these situations it is one of the more prominent of the woody species invading open lands. the seeds evidently are transported mainly by rodents, especially fox squirrels. in autumn every walnut tree that is bearing nuts becomes a focal point of activity for squirrels. over a period of weeks the squirrels concentrate their attention on the walnut crop, continuing until virtually every nut has been harvested. walnut seems to be the one most important food source, for both the fox squirrel and the gray squirrel. most of the nuts are stored for future use. many buried separately and never retrieved by the squirrels, grow into new trees. white-footed mice often store the nuts in their nests, in burrows, beneath rocks or in crevices. in summer, groves and isolated trees of walnuts are favorite haunts of the yellow-billed cuckoo, which finds concealment in the thick foliage, and probably feeds upon the tent caterpillars that commonly infest these trees. #carya ovata.#--shagbark hickory is one of the more important hardwoods of the area. the trees are relatively small compared with the larger oaks, elms, ashes and hackberry. however, on several parts of the area this hickory is dominant. it grows mainly on north slopes and hilltops. the trees most frequently associated with it are black oak, american elm and chestnut oak. scattered through the woodlands are occasional mature hickories of dbh inches or more. however, many of the trees are six inches or less dbh and a large proportion of these have originated as stump sprouts from trees cut in the early thirties or before. shagbark is especially tolerant of shading. numerous young trees and seedlings noted all were growing in dense woods of larger hickories, oaks, or mature elms. none has been found in open fields or even in edge situations. this hickory is resistant to drought; relatively few died during the drought of - , and these were mostly small trees in crowded stands. in parts of the woodland dominated by shagbark hickory the trees are mostly to inches or even smaller in trunk diameter and to feet high, sometimes growing in nearly pure stands, and with a leaf canopy so dense that shrubs and herbaceous vegetation are sparse. the mast crop produced by shagbark is an important food source for both fox squirrels and gray squirrels. both kinds of squirrels often use these hickories as sites for their stick nests. white-footed mice also store the nuts as a winter food source. birds which are most often seen in groves of shagbark include the yellow-billed cuckoo, tufted titmouse (_parus bicolor_), black-capped chickadee (_p. atricapillus_), blue jay, summer tanager (_piranga rubra_), and red-eyed vireo. the cooper hawk (_accipiter cooperii_) has been recorded nesting in this hickory. in dead trees of this species that are still standing, the interiors may decay more rapidly than the armorlike bark plates. on several occasions tufted titmice and chickadees have been recorded as nesting in such cavities. #quercus stellata.#--post oak is relatively scarce on the reservation. one area of approximately an acre on a south slope is dominated by it. there are several other small groves and scattered trees. all are on moderately steep south slopes in poor soil. trees often found associated with it include red elm, chestnut oak, chinquapin oak, blackjack oak, hickory, and dogwood. it seems likely that under original conditions this species occupied about the same area as it does at present. it is not spreading, and there are few young trees anywhere on the area. in every instance the groves are limited to a rocky clay soil, and edaphic factors obviously are of major importance. under original conditions fire was probably a limiting factor, and at the present time competition with other hardwoods may be even more important. #quercus macrocarpa.#--less than a dozen individuals of mossycup oak have been noticed on the area, at well scattered points. under original conditions, it probably grew chiefly in the bottomlands that have been completely cleared of timber for cultivation. the few now present are all on hillsides, and are medium to large trees. #quercus muehlenbergii.#--chestnut oak was perhaps the one most important tree species of the original climax forest on the area. because of its slow growth, scanty seed production, and large heavy fruits with seeds lacking effective dispersal mechanisms, it has lost ground to other kinds of trees as a result of the unnatural disturbances which have occurred. it still dominates on rocky upper slopes that have north, east or west exposures and forms nearly pure stands in limited areas. nearly all the larger trees of this species now present have been cut one or more times and have regenerated from stump sprouts. seedlings and young saplings of this oak are scarce even in parts of the woodland where the species is most common. it is evident that reproduction is slow, at least under present conditions. on the lower hill slopes these oaks are scarce and scattered, but some of the largest are in such situations. chestnut oak seems to be relatively resistant to drought. in the summer of when elms, and especially black oaks of all sizes were dying in large numbers, the chestnut oaks growing among them showed little evidence of injury in mature trees and only a small percentage of mortality in saplings. [illustration: fig. . map of reservation showing present distribution of chestnut oak (shaded). the species is not spreading and is thought to be largely confined to the area that was wooded before . except in minor details, shagbark hickory conforms to the same distribution pattern on this area.] chestnut oak has a relatively slow growth rate. in that were recorded, there were, on the average, . annual rings per inch of trunk diameter. near pigeon lake, miami county, kansas, counts were obtained from five cut in from a virgin stand in a habitat similar to that on the reservation. the five trees had trunk diameters of ½ to inches and ranged in age from to years. several still growing on the reservation are larger and presumably are well over years old. as this oak seems to be in process of being replaced by other trees, is slow-growing, and slow in dispersal, it seems probable that the areas now occupied by its stands supported stands of it under original conditions. whether it can regain dominance under present conditions of protection from cutting, fire and grazing remains to be seen. the chestnut oak produces a mast crop which is utilized by many kinds of animals. fox squirrels, gray squirrels, and white-footed mice feed upon the acorns and store them. blue jays, red-headed woodpeckers (_melanerpes erythrocephalus_), and red-bellied woodpeckers also eat them. the red-eyed vireo, summer tanager and tufted titmouse are among the birds that most frequently forage for insect food in chestnut oaks. relatively few kinds of birds seem to use this tree as a nest site. #quercus prinoides.#--the chinquapin oak on this area is a small shrubby tree, usually not more than feet high and more typically only six to eight feet. it occurs chiefly in dry rocky situations along hilltop edges and upper slopes, usually where the slope exposure is at least partly to the south. in such situations it may grow in nearly pure stands. often it is associated with dogwood. the trunks are usually two to four inches in diameter, gnarled and twisted. the crowns are dense and spreading. this oak is the dominant plant in certain small areas of its preferred habitat. in other areas of hilltop edge and upper slope it is being eliminated by stands of hickory, chestnut oak, black oak and elm, which shade it out. the species is tolerant of moderate to heavy browsing, but seemingly can be eliminated by more intensive utilization; even the higher foliage is often within reach of livestock. in "horse woods" one of the hillside areas that was open to livestock until , this oak was almost absent, but it was abundant in adjoining parts of the woods that were fenced in the thirties to exclude livestock. the thickets formed by this shrubby oak are frequented by cottontails, which feed upon the bark and foliage. the small acorns are used as food by rodents, especially the white-footed mouse. on several occasions, in winter, groups of long-eared owls (_asio otus_) have been found roosting in thickets of chinquapin oak. crows also utilize these thickets for roosting occasionally. the white-eyed vireo (_vireo griseus_), gnatcatcher (_polioptila caerulea_), and tufted titmouse, frequent the oak thickets. #quercus rubra.#--the red oak is one of the important climax species of the area. at present it is largely confined to a ravine in the northeastern part of the section. the woodland here is less disturbed than on most other parts of the reservation, and red oak is the dominant species. there are large trees, rather evenly distributed, growing on east-facing and west-facing slopes. just east of the reservation, in the "wall creek" area, the small valley on either side of the creek and the adjacent lower slopes are dominated by giant red oaks larger than any now growing on the reservation. farther up the slope in the area of limestone outcrops, dominance shifts to chestnut oak. that red oaks of similar size, and even larger, formerly occurred on the reservation, at least in the area still dominated by the species, is shown by the presence of a stump inches in diameter, now in an advanced state of decay. [illustration: fig. . map of reservation showing present distribution of black oak (smaller dots) and red oak (larger dots). neither species is spreading and both are thought to be largely confined to the area that was wooded before .] the large acorns of the red oak are a favorite food of the gray squirrel, which is most numerous on the parts of the reservation where these trees are present. the red-headed woodpecker on the area tends to concentrate its activities where there are red oaks. the fox squirrel, white-footed mouse, and blue jay are important consumers of the acorns of red oak. a pair of barred owls resided in the deep woods formed by these oaks and the associated trees. #quercus velutina.#--black oak is one of the dominant species of the original forest climax, and is still one of the more important trees of the woodland. like chestnut oak it shows little tendency to spread beyond its present limits. wherever there are small trees there are old mature trees or remains of them nearby. for this reason the present distribution of black oak on the area is thought to fall entirely within the area occupied by the original forest. at present it occurs throughout most of the woodland except in the warmer and drier situations, such as on south slopes. in some hilltop situations it is common, with occasional large mature trees. in some parts of the bottomland and lower slopes it is abundant also, but there are scarcely any on the upper dry rocky slopes that are the preferred habitat of chestnut oak. growth in the black oak is somewhat more rapid than in the chestnut oak, as the black oak usually grows on better soil. for the average growth amounted to . annual rings per inch of trunk diameter. in a study of annual rings in a large, long dead, black oak at the bottom of a north slope near the reservation headquarters showed that the tree was years old, and hence was growing before the area was settled. within the period of this study black oak underwent reduction in numbers more severe than that noted in any other species of tree on the reservation. the effect of drought may have been the primary factor, although undoubtedly disease was involved also. in , the second successive drought year, mortality was noticeable. precipitation continued below normal until august . by then the oaks had been decimated. on a sample strip of hilltop where were recorded, had recently succumbed, and their leaves were dry and withered; two were dying, though still having some green foliage, and only six were surviving, all evidently in critical condition. the mortality included trees of all sizes, even the largest and oldest. no further mortality was noted in when precipitation was only slightly below normal. on the reservation there are many old logs, and snags still standing, of mature black oaks long dead. earlier drought periods such as those of - and - possibly were also times of unusually heavy mortality. in any case it seems clear that this oak was originally more prominent in the woodlands than it is at present, and has been steadily losing ground. even where the mature trees remain in greatest numbers the saplings are relatively scarce as compared with those of elm, ash, hackberry, and hickory. the westernmost limits of the range are nearly miles west of the reservation. black oak provides a mast crop which is utilized by various small mammals, notably squirrels and white-footed mice. gray squirrels have often been noticed in or about these trees. hairy woodpeckers (_dendrocopos villosus_), black and white warblers (_mniotilta varia_), and brown creepers (_certhia familiaris_) have often been noticed foraging on the trunks. blue jays, myrtle warblers (_dendroica coronata_), tufted titmice, and summer tanagers frequently forage through the crowns. often black oak trunks are hollow and the cavities are utilized by various birds and mammals including the screech owl (_otus asio_), barred owl, raccoon, opossum, fox squirrel, gray squirrel, woodrat, and white-footed mouse. #quercus marilandica.#--black jack oak is localized in four small compact groves on the reservation. these sites, though well separated, are similar. all are on steep lower slopes, where there is dry rocky clay soil and the exposure is mainly south. probably all four groves date back to the time when the area was still in an undisturbed state. originally they were perhaps largely separated from the remainder of the woodland. black jack oak is more tolerant of heat and drought than most of the other hardwoods are. the species is intolerant of fire, but perhaps was partly protected under original conditions by the sparseness of herbaceous vegetation on the poor soil where the groves were situated. these oaks are relatively slow-growing. one stump of -inch diameter, typical of the larger black jack trees, had approximately annual rings. under present conditions there is little or no reproduction and these trees are dying out as a result of competition by other hardwoods. under protection from fire and browsing, elms, other oaks, locust and dogwood have closed in about the groves and seem to be shading them out. there are several mature oaks of anomalous appearance, in different places within a few hundred feet at most of the groves of black jack. most of these appear to be hybrids between the present species and _q. velutina_, as they are somewhat intermediate in size, bark texture, and leaves. this oak produces a mast crop used by various birds and mammals, and groves are frequented by blue jays, fox squirrels, white-footed mice and woodrats. in the mid-forties when the woodrat population was high, there were many of the rats' stick houses in the groves, built either at the bases of the trunks or among the dense branchlets in tops of fallen trees. by the population of woodrats was much reduced and had disappeared entirely from these groves. the houses were collapsed and decaying. horned owls (_bubo virginianus_) and barred owls often make their day roosts among the dense interlacing twigs of these trees, and red-tailed hawks have been known to roost for the night in the same kinds of situations. #ulmus americana.#--on most parts of the area american elm is the dominant tree. it occurs throughout the woodland, and most of the larger trees are of this species. in each of the fields that were formerly cultivated, and in the pasture areas, there are many saplings. more than one hundred elms of dbh two feet or more have been recorded. presumably these mostly date back years or more and were already growing on the area when it was relatively undisturbed. on the area the distribution of these large elms corresponds in a general way with the present distribution of the oak-hickory type. the coinciding distribution of the climax species and of the largest trees is believed to reflect the distribution pattern of the original forest, except that clearing was thorough in the bottomlands so that hardly any trees of the climax species, or large trees of any kind remain. several elms of three feet or more dbh were recorded, and the largest one measured was inches. the largest elms are in alluvial soil near small creeks in the two valleys. also many large elms grow along the upper slopes, especially along the outcrops of the two main strata of the oread limestone. such sites along the outcrops on open slopes are the first to be invaded. the rock strata are relatively impervious to water, which is held at a depth where it is readily available to the trees. along rocky upper slopes between the two outcrops, where chestnut oak is abundant, elms are relatively scarce and seem unable to compete successfully. it is noteworthy that elm is not mentioned in several of the descriptions (taft, ; parks, ; robinson, ) of the original forest, even in listings of the species present. it must have been much less prominent until favored by disturbed conditions. [illustration: fig. . map of reservation showing present distribution of the largest american elms, those more than two feet in trunk diameter. american elm is increasing and spreading on the area, and smaller trees are abundant even in former cultivated fields and pastures. growth rate varies according to site, but these larger trees are, in many instances, years or more in age and most of them are thought to be in the area wooded in the eighteen sixties and before.] in july and august, , a large proportion of the elms on the area died. the die-off included trees of all sizes, and evidently the cumulative effect of drought in and , continuing into the spring and summer of , was the primary cause, although diseases such as phloem necrosis, and insect infestations, may have intensified its effect. in august of the bare dead elms stood out conspicuously in the mass of green foliage surrounding them. most of them had survived the two dry summers of and with little evident loss in vitality. however, the continued lack of moisture as the growing season progressed, and the extremely hot weather of june and july caused heavy mortality. in the course of a few days the foliage of the upper branches would wither, die and turn brown. in some instances numerous sucker shoots grew from the trunk of the tree as the top was dying. mortality was especially heavy on south-facing slopes. certain ecologists believe that over the years, as trees deplete subsoil moisture and periodic droughts make their effects felt, other species also will die off and eventually prairie will replace them where the present forests are growing in dry and exposed situations. infestations of the introduced bark beetle, _scolytus multistriatus_, were common and probably contributed to death of many elms. in the winter of - before much mortality had occurred, the bark beetle infestations had become conspicuous. especially on south slopes elms of about six inches dbh were heavily infested. woodpeckers, including the downy, hairy, and red-bellied, habitually resorted to the elm trunks to forage. as a result of their activities chips of bark accumulated sometimes to a depth of several inches around the bases of the trunks, and the exposed inner layers of brown bark caused the infested trees to contrast with the predominantly gray color of those that were still healthy and retained the outer layer of bark. in april and early may seeds of the american elm constitute a major food source for birds, including the black-capped chickadee, tufted titmouse, junco (_junco hyemalis_), red-eyed towhee (_pipilo erythrophthalmus_), harris sparrow (_zonotrichia querula_), cardinal, goldfinch, tree sparrow (_spizella arborea_) and field sparrow (_s. pusilla_). birds recorded as nesting in the american elm include the mourning dove (_zenaidura macroura_), cooper hawk, red-tailed hawk, broad-winged hawk (_buteo platypterus_), turkey vulture (_cathartes aura_), screech owl, horned owl, barred owl, red-bellied woodpecker, downy woodpecker, tufted titmouse, black-capped chickadee, gnatcatcher, red-eyed vireo, summer tanager, indigo bunting (_passerina cyanea_), field sparrow and cardinal. opossums, raccoons, fox squirrels and white-footed mice often live in cavities in elms. insectivorous birds that find their food on foliage and prefer elm or use it to a large extent are: yellow-billed cuckoo, tufted titmouse, black-capped chickadee, blue-gray gnatcatcher, red-eyed vireo, white-eyed vireo and warblers, including the myrtle, audubon (_dendroica auduboni_), yellow (_d. petechia_), black-throated green (_d. virens_), black-poll (_d. striata_), tennessee (_vermivora peregrina_), orange-crowned (_v. celata_), nashville (_v. ruficapilla_) and american redstart (_setophaga ruticilla_). #ulmus rubra.#--the red elm (or slippery elm) is widely distributed over the area, but only a few trees with a trunk diameter of twelve inches or more are present. throughout the woodlands of the reservation the saplings of this species constitute a prominent part of the understory. however, few survive beyond the sapling stage. the red elm is never abundant in kansas woodlands. it is intolerant of drought conditions, and is one of the first trees to die. this fact probably explains the scarcity of mature trees of this species on the reservation. #celtis occidentalis.#--hackberry is widely distributed on the area, but is not dominant anywhere. its favorite site is along hilltop limestone outcrops, especially where there is south exposure. there are few on hilltops away from the outcrops. hackberries are scattered in small numbers over the wooded slopes. there are a few of unusually large size, along edges of the bottomlands. hackberries are slow-growing. counts of annual rings for four indicated an average of . rings per inch of trunk diameter. young hackberries of all sizes are numerous throughout the woodland. therefore it seems likely that this species is in process of spreading and probably has already extended beyond the situations which it originally occupied. the fruits of hackberry provide a fall and winter food supply for various animals. opossums are especially fond of them. red-bellied woodpeckers have been seen storing them. migrating flocks of robins may utilize them as a major food source temporarily. white-footed mice and woodrats store them and eat them. #morus rubra.#--red mulberry is moderately common in certain heavily wooded areas, especially the lower parts of north slopes. a few are present on wooded hilltops. most of the trees are between ten and twenty feet tall, and generally die before growing larger. red mulberry is present in most woodlands of eastern kansas and is seemingly distributed by birds. it is never an important component of woodlands in the area. catbirds (_dumetella carolinensis_) and wood thrushes (_hylocichla mustelina_) especially have been noted frequenting the vicinity of mulberry trees in fruit. probably many other kinds of birds utilize the fruits to some extent. #maclura pomifera.#--osage orange was not a member of the original flora, but early settlers in kansas valued it for windbreaks and fence posts, and they made extensive plantings. presumably it was introduced onto the area of the present study in the eighteen sixties. at the present time it occurs throughout the woodland, with scattered mature trees and many young trees on the former pastures. this aggressive invader spread despite frequent cutting, and now plays an important part in the ecology of the area. most of the larger trees have been cut one or more times, but have regenerated from stump sprouts with multiple stems and spreading habit. the tough and durable wood is useful for fence posts. the growth rate is slow, similar to that of oaks and elms. osage orange is intolerant of fire and is easily killed by scorching. it is damaged by browsing, and cannot grow in deep shade. it is drought resistant. mortality was light during the drought period of - , although many of the trees were growing on poor soil in the hotter and drier sites. where there are stands of mixed hardwoods, osage orange is relatively scarce and tends to be on or near the edges of the stands. the osage orange trees growing in competition with oaks, elms and hickories may have tall, slender trunks and narrow crowns, in contrast with the spreading habit of those growing in more open sites. in the woodlands small and medium-sized trees are scarce and there is hardly any reproduction. obviously the osage orange, like honey locust became established in the forests when the stands were more open, probably after cutting of the large trees. in contrast to the meager reproduction in shaded sites is the abundant crop of young saplings along edges of fields adjacent to woods or about isolated osage orange trees. evidently the tree does not become established readily on bluestem prairie. on a hillside adjoining the northwest corner of the reservation, long subjected to heavy grazing, osage orange dominates, but just across the fence on the reservation side, it is almost absent. this area had been maintained as bluestem prairie until about by occasional burning and since then had partly grown up into thickets in which dogwood, and saplings of elm and hackberry were abundant. the dense thorny branches provide shelter and nesting sites for many kinds of animals. on this area the cardinal utilizes it for nesting sites more frequently than any other kind of tree. some nests were so well protected by the thorns that they could scarcely be reached. indigo buntings, field sparrows, and yellow-billed cuckoos also use these trees or young saplings for nesting sites. in the forties, when the woodrat was common on the area, its local distribution seemed to be determined mainly by the osage orange. many houses of the woodrat were built around old stumps at the bases of large, spreading osage orange trees. frequently the houses were in the main crotch of a tree two to eight feet from the ground. characteristically the rats used horizontal or gently inclined, low branches of the tree as runways to and from the house. in summer and early autumn these rats stored foliage of the osage orange in large quantities in chambers adjacent to the nest. the seeds also provided an important food source. during the period to the woodrat population steadily decreased, and one by one the houses in osage orange trees were deserted, until the small surviving population of woodrats was limited to hilltop rock outcrops not associated with osage orange trees. the seeds are well liked by other rodents also. in late fall and winter after the "hedge balls" have fallen, fox squirrels visit the trees and shred the fruits to gain access to the seeds. over periods of weeks heaps of the shredded refuse accumulate at the base of the tree trunk. the seeds probably constitute the one most important winter food of the fox squirrel. the tufted titmouse also relies to a large extent on the seeds for its winter food. being unable to shred the bulky hedge balls itself, it depends almost entirely on the seeds in fruits torn open by the squirrel but not fully utilized by it. at times when the ground and trees are snow-covered, making unavailable most other food sources, the osage orange seeds gleaned from refuse heaps in the sheltered feeding places of the squirrels are probably of critical importance to the titmouse. the cottontail and white-footed mouse also eat the seeds. #platanus occidentalis.#--sycamores are few and scattered on the area, but those present seem to be holding their own if not gaining in numbers. they include some of the largest trees on the reservation. the most typical habitat is along rocky ravines on wooded slopes. occasional trees are scattered through the woods away from ravines on slopes of north, east, or west exposures, or on hilltop edges, providing strong evidence that these areas were more open at the time the sycamore seedlings became established. cutting of the mature trees in the original forest and subsequent grazing might have created the conditions favorable for their establishment. many saplings have sprung up in the fallow hilltop fields that were formerly cultivated. many of the larger sycamores have cavities and these are inhabited by various animals. a large sycamore in a ravine below a pond had a cavity in its base within which a raccoon reared its litter of young one summer. at other times this same cavity was inhabited by woodrats and by fox squirrels. seemingly this cavity was the habitat of a certain chigger which was found on both the squirrels and the woodrat. red-bellied woodpeckers excavated a cavity high on this same tree trunk, in which they reared their brood. several large sycamores died as a result of the cumulative effect of drought in the summers of , and , but many others survived. #prunus americana.#--wild plum is a small tree, usually not more than three inches in trunk diameter, nor more than twelve feet high. it tends to grow in dense thickets which are spotty in distribution. several of these thickets are in edges of former pastures at the woodland edge. other extensive thickets are in the following situations: along hilltop rock ledges and encroaching into adjacent prairie on upper south-facing slope maintained as bluestem prairie by mowing and burning, until ; along a ravine in formerly cultivated hilltop fields; along tops of steep creek banks at edge of old corn field. in a few situations within the woodland there are dead and dying thickets of wild plum, shaded out by the closing in of the tree canopy, as fast-growing trees such as elm, honey locust, and cherry sprang up in former clearings. the woodrat lived in several plum thickets that provided the type of shelter from predators that it requires. the bark, fruit and foliage are used as food. in autumn the plums sometimes are the chief food of the opossum. plum thickets provide the preferred habitat for the bell vireo (_vireo bellii_). the white-eyed vireo, field sparrow, tree sparrow, harris sparrow, and white-throated sparrow (_zonotrichia albicollis_) also frequently use these thickets. #prunus serotina.#--isolated trees of black cherry six to fifteen inches in trunk diameter, have been noted on various parts of the reservation at widely scattered points. on a flat hilltop at the southeastern corner of the reservation there are many large trees of black cherry, which make up a major portion of the stand, and trunks of some are as much as inches in diameter. other trees in the vicinity are mostly elms and honey locusts, and seemingly the area was more open or perhaps entirely treeless in the recent past. the presence of black cherry in forest often can be interpreted as indicating more open conditions at the time the seedling became established. black cherry prefers a rich soil and an open habitat; hence it is generally not common in woodlands of northeastern kansas. the fruits of black cherry are a favorite food of the opossum, and the seeds have often been noticed in the scats of this animal. white-footed mice store and eat the seeds. two trees of black cherry well isolated from other trees except for saplings in low thickets, constituted the headquarters of a bell vireo's territory each summer from through . #pyrus ioensis.#--crab-apple is a small tree, usually less than five inches in trunk diameter and less than feet high. it grows both in woodlands and in former pastures, but chiefly along the line of contact. after removal of livestock in early , crab-apple spread into the edges of hilltop pastures, from the adjacent protected woodland. each year thickets of encroaching crab-apple have extended farther into the fields, until, in , there were graded series from the trees along the fence, six feet high or more, to the seedlings to feet out in the fields. dogwood, red haw, and smooth sumac are among the most common associates of crab-apple as they share its tendency to invade open land adjacent to the forest. evidently the tree is intolerant of browsing by livestock, as few were growing in the pastured areas in , but as soon as livestock were removed these areas were rapidly invaded. the thickets formed by crab-apple provide shelter for many kinds of animals. cottontails, especially, tend to stay in or near these thickets. in autumn the fruits are eaten by them, and in winter, when the ground is covered with snow, the bark is a major food source. most mature or partly grown trees show old scars near their bases, where the rabbits have attacked them. often the trees are completely girdled. in years when snow lies on the ground for long periods girdling is extensive and a substantial portion of the trees in the thickets may be killed, but this mortality has been insufficient to check the rapid spread of crab-apple. the crab-apple is one of the trees preferred as a nesting site by the cardinal. other birds that frequently use the crab-apple tree as a nest site include the field sparrow, towhee and indigo bunting. white-footed mice, prairie voles and pine voles eat the fruit and seed. #crataegus mollis.#--red haw occurs over much of the reservation, both in woodland and former pastures. the trees are scattered, and are not dominant, even on small areas. in the woodland, haw usually grows in the more open situations. where there are haws in denser woods, they are usually large and old; seemingly they are survivors from a time when the woods were more open. haw is intolerant of shading, and being of lesser height than any of the climax species, it cannot compete with them. the present wide distribution of haw on the area is secondary, resulting from the extensive cutting of the larger trees and opening up of the woodland. haw trees are most numerous on south facing slopes that have grown up into thickets in the last years. here its associates are chiefly honey locust, osage orange, dogwood and elm. red haws have been recorded as nest trees of horned owls, yellow-billed cuckoos, cardinals, and fox squirrels. cavities in the trunks are used by downy woodpeckers, titmice, chickadees and white-footed mice. #cercis canadensis.#--redbud is abundant in some parts of the woodland. trees are up to nine inches in diameter and feet high. they grow chiefly in rich soil on hillsides in moist situations. redbud and dogwood are in part complementary in distribution, each forming an understory in parts of the woodland where the leaf canopy of larger trees is not too dense. however, redbud is more tolerant of shade. in general dogwood grows in the drier, more rocky situations and redbud in better soil and damper sites. in the southeastern part of the reservation, on a west facing slope, redbud dominates, with smaller numbers of elm, blackjack oak, and dogwood. several times nests of yellow-billed cuckoos were found in redbuds. titmice, chickadees, and red-eyed vireos forage in redbuds on many occasions. brown creepers forage on the trunks. titmice, chickadees, and downy woodpeckers used cavities in dead or dying redbuds. however, there is no evidence that this tree is especially attractive to any kind of vertebrate, or plays an important part in the ecology of the area. #gymnocladus dioica.#--kentucky coffee-tree is one of the less important trees on the area but it is widely distributed. in general it is absent from the denser woods. on limited areas of certain slopes it is the dominant species. the groves sometimes are in nearly pure stands. slope exposure evidently is not the determining factor in the local distribution as groves have been found on hillsides of varying exposure. the tree seems to flourish where the forest has been opened by cutting of the larger trees. groves are mainly on the more gently sloping parts of the hillsides, or on the nearly level terrace. there are few coffee-trees more than inches in trunk diameter. the largest tree examined was inches. in may, groups of orchard orioles (_icterus spurius_) have been observed in coffee-trees, seemingly attracted by the blossoms. these concentrations never lasted more than a few days and seemed to involve individuals that were still migrating or newly arrived and not yet established on their territories. in winter the large pods of this tree are used as food to a limited extent by cottontails. the large hard shelled seeds resist attack by most animals. seemingly they are used by white-footed mice, as they have often been found stored in the nest cavities of these mice, beneath rocks or in logs. #gleditsia triacanthos.#--honey locust is at present one of the more important species of trees on the area. there are scattered locusts throughout most parts of the woodland. in the bottomland fields there are groves and scattered trees of medium to large size. on south slopes honey locust, osage orange and red elm form thickets. on hilltops, along woodland edges where fences were installed in the mid-thirties, young honey locusts have become established and are now abundant. some have grown to a diameter of inches or more. honey locust is the fastest growing of the trees on the area and therefore has an early advantage in competing with other kinds. a locust of -inch diameter cut in was found to have annual rings, an average of only . rings per inch as contrasted with an average of . for all the trees studied, and more than for some of the slowest growing. in open fields, both those used for pasture and those formerly cultivated, young honey locusts have sprung up in abundance since the discontinuance of grazing in . the species is resistant to drought. it seems to have been limited on the area mainly by grazing and shading. the locusts growing in the woods tend to be concentrated near its edges. those that are deeper in woodland evidently became established after heavy tree-cutting had opened clearings. locusts in such situations, competing with other hardwoods are of much different form than those growing in the open; the trunks are long and slender and the crowns are narrow. the south slopes that were originally prairie, were evidently only sparsely clothed with trees up until the thirties when livestock were fenced out. then the abundant growth of shrubs and young trees formed thickets. honey locust, growing rapidly tended to dominate. the younger locust saplings that were shaded beneath the leaf canopy died in large numbers. honey locust plays an important part in the over-all ecology of the area, providing both food and shelter for many kinds of animals. the foliage is well liked by livestock; consequently young trees have little chance of surviving in heavily grazed pastures. rabbits like both the foliage, and the bark. often they girdle or injure young trees, and eat the beans. both the prairie vole and the pine vole often feed upon the inner bark and root crowns of small saplings, sometimes completely undermining them. these voles also store and eat the seeds. beneath large mature locusts, runway systems and burrows of the pine vole are sometimes much in evidence. as ground vegetation is scanty in these places it seems that the voles are attracted by the abundant supply of locust seeds. the spiny branches of locusts provide well protected nesting sites that are utilized by various kinds of birds; mourning dove, horned owl, yellow-billed cuckoo, gnatcatcher, cardinal and goldfinch have been recorded nesting in locusts. the wood is relatively soft. the hairy woodpecker has been recorded nesting in a cavity which it had dug in a living honey locust, while the black-capped chickadee and red-bellied woodpecker have been recorded nesting in cavities in dead limbs. the summer tanager prefers large locusts near the edge of woodland as singing stations. fox squirrels also often exploit the spiny protection provided by locust trunks, and build their stick nests in these trees, usually in a fork of the main trunk eight to twelve feet above the ground. such nest trees often are either isolated or are in groves of other locusts. presumably the squirrels are attracted to them by the supply of locust seeds. #acer negundo.#--boxelder probably was not a part of the original flora of the reservation. the trees present now are few and scattered, and most are not more than eight inches in trunk diameter. the species seems intolerant of shade and does not grow in the denser woodlands. a few are present along the banks of the intermittent streams, and there are others in open woodlands of south slopes. the small patch of bluestem prairie remaining at the northwest corner of the reservation is being invaded by a variety of shrubs and saplings, and boxelder is by far the most prominent of these invaders, with two hundred seedlings and saplings per acre. #ailanthus altissima.#--tree-of-heaven is an asiatic species that was introduced early into northeastern kansas, and has become established locally in the woodland. most of those on the reservation are near the central part of the southwestern one-fourth. concentrated about the site of an old homestead, occupied in the eighteen-seventies, within a few acres, there are dozens of mature trees, up to inches in trunk diameter, and hundreds of saplings. elsewhere on the reservation the species is scarce and is represented by isolated trees and scattered clumps at a few places. #cornus drummondi.#--this dogwood is the most abundant tree on the area. however, it scarcely reaches the size of a tree. most mature examples are ½ to ½ inches in trunk diameter, and rarely more than twelve feet high. dogwood grows in greatest abundance on dry rocky slopes where other trees are scarce. in small areas it may be the dominant tree, often closely associated with chinquapin oak and red elm. in parts of the woodland where there are larger trees, dogwood may form an understory, its development depending largely on the amount of light passing through the upper leaf canopy. where the canopy is dense and nearly continuous, dogwood tends to be eliminated by shading. in some situations where forest has recently closed in, most of the dogwoods are dead or dying. especially on formerly cut-over north slopes, where oak and hickory have sprung up in a dense stand feet high, with a thick canopy, most of the dogwoods have been eliminated. on the remaining hillside prairie near the northwest corner of the reservation, dogwood is the most prominent of the trees and shrubs encroaching onto the area since it has been protected from fire--a period of approximately years. there are dense thickets of dogwood along the borders of the prairie and the woodland edge. the white-eyed vireo and bell vireo both forage and nest in thickets of dogwood and other shrubs. #fraxinus americana.#--white ash is localized on the reservation and most of the mature trees are within an area of perhaps three acres on a steep slope of northwest exposure. several of the largest trees, well over a foot in trunk diameter, grow at the lower limestone outcrop. ash is most abundant at this level and at the terrace just below it. on the one slope where it is concentrated, ash is one of the most common trees, growing in association with american elm, chestnut oak, black oak, and shagbark hickory. this area is one of the most mesic on the reservation. the soil is usually damp, with thick leaf litter and rich humus. in hilltop fields, formerly cultivated or pastured, saplings of white ash are among the most prominent invaders. the leaves of this tree and especially its saplings, are favorite foraging places for the tree frog. the groves of this tree provide favorable habitat for the opossum, short-tailed shrew, gray squirrel, and white-footed mouse. birds that frequent the same habitat include the black-capped chickadee, tufted titmouse, blue jay, rose-breasted grosbeak (_pheucticus ludovicianus_), yellow-billed cuckoo, red-eyed vireo, gnatcatcher, hairy woodpecker, kentucky warbler, and crested flycatcher (_myiarchus crinitus_). [illustration: plate explanation of plate upper figure shows gully in southeastern part of reservation, which has enlarged and deepened greatly in the past years. heavy precipitation in the summer of resulted in the undermining and collapse of many large and medium sized trees, as shown in this photograph taken in march, , by h. s. fitch. lower figure shows cottonwood fifteen feet in circumference, growing on hilltop near south edge of the reservation. this is the largest tree on the area. several exceptionally large black oaks, chestnut oaks, and elms are present on the same hilltop. photograph taken in december, , by h. s. fitch.] [illustration: plate large american elm at edge of bottomland field in west part of the reservation. photograph taken on april , , by h. s. fitch.] summary and conclusions the university of kansas natural history reservation, in the northeastern corner of douglas county, kansas, is situated in an area that originally supported two types of climax vegetation, tall grass prairie, and hardwood forest. these associations were distinct and sharply defined. the present distribution of the different species of trees on the area, supplemented by the data from snails, indicates the approximate distribution of the two original climaxes. the principal climax trees of the original forest were mossy-cup oak (mainly in bottomlands), black walnut, shagbark hickory, hackberry, red oak, black oak (mainly on hillsides and hilltop edges), chestnut oak (mainly on rocky upper slopes). subclimax trees characteristic of marginal situations include: american elm, red elm, white ash, honey locust, osage orange, coffee-tree, red haw, dogwood, redbud, cherry, wild plum and crab-apple. others characteristic of hydroseral situations include sycamore, willow (of four species), and cottonwood. in the kansas river flood plain and small tributary valleys, rich mesophytic forest of predominantly oak-hickory type was present. in somewhat stunted form, and with partial replacement of its species by those of more xeric habit, it extended up onto hillsides sloping north, east or west, and onto the adjacent hilltop edges. slopes having poor shallow soil and exposures mainly to the south supported chiefly tall grass prairie, but also had compact clumps of blackjack oak and post oak, usually more or less isolated from other parts of the woodland. hilltops were mostly treeless (except near their edges) and supported a tall-grass prairie vegetation. shrubs and various kinds of small trees must have been a much less conspicuous part of the woodland flora than they are at present, and occurred in small ravines where shelter was inadequate for the larger forest trees, and also along the extensive line of contact between forest and open land. one of the earliest changes was the destruction of the bottomland forest. with the rapid settlement of the region in the sixties and seventies, lumber was in demand and the supply was limited. the cleared land was productive as pasture. heavy grazing combined with drought, gradually altered the original tall grass prairie; the bluestems and other perennial grasses were replaced by the introduced blue grass and by various weedy forbs. prolonged protection from fire permitted encroachment of trees and shrubs into situations where they had not grown previously. heavy grazing however, tended to hold in check the spread of the woody vegetation. when the bottomlands had been cut over, lumbering operations were extended onto those hillsides where the better stands of trees were located. the cutting of large, mature oaks, walnuts, and hickories opened up the woodland and permitted large scale encroachment by subclimax species. american elm, especially, sprang up in thickets. ash, honey locust, cherry, red haw, crab-apple, dogwood, and the introduced osage orange, thrived and spread in the situations to which they were especially adapted. these species largely replaced the original climax. some of the trees cut, the oaks, sycamores, and hickories, usually produced fast-growing stump sprouts and competed vigorously with the invaders. at each successive cutting, however, the climax species lost ground. american elm, being tremendously prolific of seed, and only a little less tolerant of shading than its climax competitors, soon became the dominant tree of the woodlands. literature cited braun, e. l. . deciduous forests of eastern north america. the blakiston co., philadelphia, xiv + pp. fernald, m. l. . gray's manual of botany, th edition. the american book co., n. y., lxiv + pp. fitch, h. s. . the university of kansas natural history reservation. univ. kansas mus. nat. hist. misc. publ. no. : - . fitch, h. s. and d. h. lokke . the molluscan record of succession on the university of kansas natural history reservation. trans. kans. acad. sci. ( ). flora, s. d. . climate of kansas. rept. kansas state board agric. , no. , pp. xii + . leonard, a. b. and c. r. goble . mollusca of the university of kansas natural history reservation. univ. kansas sci. bull. : - , pls. parks, g. s. . "the tourist" [column]. the kansas herald of freedom, (no. ) wakarusa, kansas terr., october , . robinson, [mrs.] s. t. d. . kansas; its interior and exterior life including a full view of its settlement, political history, social life, climate, soil, productions, scenery, etc. journal publishing co., lawrence, kansas ( th ed.) xi + pp. taft, r. . the great sandy desert. trans. kansas acad. sci., : - . ward, [mrs.] a. m. ms. as i knew them--early settlers of grant township--douglas co., kansas. univ. kansas library, pp. _transmitted april , ._ * * * * * * * transcriber's notes with the exception of the typographical correction noted below, the text in this file is that presented in the original printed version. minor corrections of missing periods or commas may have been made; but are not reported here. some of the text was rearranged so that figures and tables do not split paragraphs. emphasis notation _text_ : italics #text# : bold-italics typographical corrections page para. : plaes => places * * * * * * * university of kansas publications museum of natural history volume , no. , pp. - , pls. - , figs. august , fish populations, following a drought, in the neosho and marais des cygnes rivers of kansas by james everett deacon (joint contribution from the state biological survey and the forestry, fish, and game commission) university of kansas lawrence university of kansas publications, museum of natural history editors: e. raymond hall, chairman, henry s. fitch, robert w. wilson volume , no. , pp. - , pls. - , figs. published august , university of kansas lawrence, kansas printed in the state printing plant topeka, kansas - fish populations, following a drought, in the neosho and marais des cygnes rivers of kansas by james everett deacon contents page introduction description of neosho river description of marais des cygnes river methods electrical fishing gear seines gill nets sodium cyanide rotenone dyes determination of abundance names of fishes annotated list of species fish-fauna of the upper neosho river description of study-areas methods changes in the fauna at the upper neosho station, through local variability of the fauna in different areas at the upper neosho station, temporal variability of fauna in the same areas population-estimation movement of marked fish similarity of the fauna at the upper neosho station to the faunas of nearby streams comparison of the fish-faunas of the neosho and marais des cygnes rivers faunal changes, through conclusions acknowledgments literature cited tables page . stream-flow in cubic feet per second (c. f. s.), neosho river near council grove, kansas . stream-flow in cubic feet per second, neosho river near parsons, kansas . stream-flow in cubic feet per second, marais des cygnes river near ottawa, kansas . stream-flow in cubic feet per second, marais des cygnes river at trading post, kansas . numbers and sizes of long-nosed gar . numbers and sizes of short-nosed gar . length-frequency of channel catfish from the neosho river . length-frequency of freshwater drum . average number of individuals captured per hour . numbers of fish seen or captured per hour . numbers of occurrences and numbers counted . percentage composition of the fish fauna at the upper neosho station in , and , as computed from results of rotenone collections . relative abundance of fish . changes in numbers of individuals . data used in making direct proportion population-estimations . data on movement of marked fish introduction this report concerns the ability of fish-populations in the neosho and marais des cygnes rivers in kansas to readjust to continuous stream-flow following intermittent conditions resulting from the severest drought in the history of the state. the variable weather in kansas (and in other areas of the great plains) markedly affects its flora and fauna. weaver and albertson ( ) reported as much as per cent loss in the basal prairie vegetative cover in kansas near the close of the drought of the 's. the average annual cost (in prices) of floods in kansas from to was $ , , . in the same period the average annual loss from the droughts of the 's and 's was $ , , (in prices), excluding losses from wind- and soil-erosion. thus, over a period of years, the average annual flood-losses were less than one-half the average annual drought-losses (foley, smrha, and metzler, : ; anonymous, : ). weather conditions in kansas from to were especially noteworthy: produced a bumper crop of climatological events significant to the economy of the state. notable among these were: wettest year since beginning of the state-wide weather records in ; highest river stages since settlement of the state on the kansas river and on most of its tributaries, as well as on the marais des cygnes and on the neosho and cottonwood. the upper arkansas and a number of smaller streams in western kansas also experienced unprecedented flooding (garrett, : ). this period of damaging floods was immediately followed by the driest five-year period on record, culminating in the driest year in (garrett, : ). water shortage became serious for many communities. the neosho river usually furnishes adequate quantities of water for present demands, but in some years of drought all flow ceases for several consecutive months. in -' , the city of chanute, on an emergency basis, recirculated treated sewage for potable supply (metzler _et al._, ). the water shortage in many communities along the neosho river became so serious that a joint project to pump water from the smoky hill river into the upper neosho was considered, and preliminary investigations were made. if the drought had continued through , this program might have been vigorously promoted. data on stream-flow in the neosho and marais des cygnes ( -' ) are presented in tables - . these severe conditions provided a unique opportunity to gain insight into the ability of several species of fish to adjust to marked changes in their environment. for this reason, and because of a paucity of information concerning stream-fish populations in kansas, the study here reported on was undertaken. table . stream-flow in cubic feet per second, neosho river near council grove, kansas. drainage area: square miles. ========================================================= water-year[a] | average flow | maximum | minimum | ---------------+--------------+------------+------------+ | . | , | . | | . | , | . | | . | | . | | . | , | . | | . | , | | | . | , | | | . | , | | | . | , | . | | . | , | . | ---------------+--------------+------------+------------+ table . stream-flow in cubic feet per second, neosho river near parsons, kansas. drainage area: square miles. ========================================================= water-year[b] | average flow | maximum | minimum | ---------------+--------------+------------+------------+ | , | , | . | | , | , | . | | | , | . | | | , | . | | | , | | | | , | | | , | , | | | , | , | . | | , | , | . | ---------------+--------------+------------+------------+ table . stream-flow in cubic feet per second, marais des cygnes river near ottawa, kansas. drainage area: , square miles. ========================================================= water-year | average flow | maximum | minimum | ---------------+--------------+------------+------------+ | , | , | . | | | , | . | | . | , | . | | . | , | . | | . | , | . | | | , | . | | | , | . | | | , | . | ---------------+--------------+------------+------------+ table . stream-flow in cubic feet per second, marais des cygnes river at trading post, kansas. drainage area: , square miles. ========================================================= water-year | average flow | maximum | minimum | ---------------+--------------+------------+------------+ | , | , | . | | , | , | . | | | , | | | | , | | | | , | . | | | , | | | | , | | | , | , | . | [c] | | , | . | ---------------+--------------+------------+------------+ [a] (oct. -sept. , inclusive) [b] (oct. -sept. , inclusive) [c] the gaging station was moved a short distance downstream to the kansas-missouri state line. description of neosho river the neosho river, a tributary of arkansas river, rises in the flint hills of morris and southwestern wabaunsee counties and flows southeast for miles in kansas, leaving the state in the extreme southeast corner (fig. ). with its tributaries (including cottonwood and spring rivers) the neosho drains , square miles in kansas and enters the arkansas river near muskogee, oklahoma (schoewe, : ). upstream from its confluence with cottonwood river, the neosho river has an average gradient of feet per mile. the gradient lessens rapidly below the mouth of the cottonwood, averaging . feet per mile downstream to the state line (anonymous, : ). the banks of the meandering, well-defined channel vary from to feet in height and support a deciduous fringe-forest. the spelling of the name originally was "neozho," an osage indian word signifying "clear water" (mead, : ). [illustration: fig. . neosho and marais des cygnes drainage systems. dots and circles indicate collecting-stations.] _neosho river, upper station._--two miles north and two miles west of council grove, morris county, kansas (sec. and , t. s., r. e.) (pl. , fig. , and pl. , fig. ). width to feet, depth to six feet, length of study-area one-half mile (one large pool plus many small pools connected by riffles), bottom of mud, gravel, and rubble. muddy banks to feet high. according to h. e. bosch (landowner) this section of the river dried completely in , except for the large pool mentioned above. this section was intermittent in and ; it again became intermittent in the late summer of but not in or . a second section two miles downstream (on land owned by herbert white) was studied in the summer of (sec. and , t. s., r. e.) (pl. , fig. and pl. , figs. and ). this section is to feet in width, to five feet in depth, one-half mile in length (six small pools with intervening riffles bounded upstream by a low-head dam and downstream by a long pool), having a bottom of gravel, rubble, bedrock, and mud, and banks of mud and rock, five to feet in height. _neosho river, middle station._--one mile east and one and one-half miles south of neosho falls, woodson county, kansas (sec. and , t. s., r. e.) (pl. , fig. ). width to feet, depth to eleven feet, length of study-area two miles (four large pools with connecting riffles), bottom of mud, gravel and rock. mud and rock banks to feet high. according to floyd meats (landowner) this section of the river was intermittent for part of the drought. _neosho river, lower station._--two and one-half miles west, one-half mile north of saint paul, neosho county, kansas (sec. , t. s., r. e.). width to feet, depth to ten feet, length of study-area one mile (two large pools connected by a long rubble-gravel riffle), bottom of mud, gravel, and rock. banks, of mud and rock, to feet high (pl. , fig. ). this station was established after one collection of fishes was made approximately ten miles upstream (sec. , t. s., r. e.). the second site, suggested by ernest craig, game protector, provided greater accessibility and a more representative section of stream than the original locality. description of marais des cygnes river the marais des cygnes river, a tributary of missouri river, rises in the flint hills of wabaunsee county, kansas, and flows generally eastward through the southern part of osage county and the middle of franklin county. the river then takes a southeasterly course through miami county and the northeastern part of linn county, leaving the state northeast of pleasanton. with its tributaries (dragoon, salt, pottawatomie, bull and big sugar creeks) the river drains , square miles in kansas (anonymous, : ), comprising the major part of the area between the watersheds of the kansas and neosho rivers. the gradient from the headwaters to quenemo is more than five feet per mile, from quenemo to osawatomie . feet per mile, and from osawatomie to the state line . feet per mile (anonymous, : ). the total length is approximately miles ( miles in kansas). the river flows in a highly-meandering, well-defined channel that has been entrenched from to feet (schoewe, : ). "marais des cygnes" is of french origin, signifying "the marsh of the swans." _marais des cygnes river, upper station._--one mile south and one mile west of pomona, franklin county, kansas (sec. , t. s., r. e.) (pl. , fig. ). width to feet, depth to six feet, length of study-area one-half mile (three large pools with short connecting riffles), bottom of mud and bedrock. mud banks to feet high. according to p. lindsey (landowner) this section of the river was intermittent for most of the drought. flow was continuous in , and . there are four low-head dams between the upper and middle marais des cygnes stations. _marais des cygnes river, middle station._--one mile east of ottawa, franklin county, kansas (sec. , t. s., r. e.) (pl. , fig. ). width to feet, depth to eight feet, length of study-area one-half mile (one large pool plus a long riffle interrupted by several small pools), bottom of mud, gravel, and rock. mud and sand banks to feet high. this section of the river was intermittent for much of the drought. in the winter of -' a bridge was constructed over this station as a part of interstate highway . because of this construction many trees were removed from the stream-banks, the channel was straightened, a gravel-bottomed riffle was rerouted, and silt was deposited in a gravel-bottom pool. _marais des cygnes river, lower station._--at eastern edge of marais des cygnes wildlife refuge, linn county, kansas (sec. , t. s., r. e.). width to feet, depth to eight feet, length of study-area one-half mile (one large pool plus a long riffle interrupted by several small pools), bottom of mud, gravel, and rock. mud banks to feet high. this section of the river ceased to flow only briefly in . methods _electrical fishing gear_ the principal collecting-device used was a portable ( -watt, -volt, a. c.) electric shocker carried in a -foot aluminum boat. two Ã� -inch wooden booms, each ten feet long, were attached to the front of the boat in a "v" position so they normally were two feet above the surface of the water. a nylon rope attached to the tips of the booms held them ten feet apart. electrodes, six feet long, were suspended from the tip and center of each boom, and two electrodes were suspended from the nylon rope. the electrodes extended approximately four feet into the water. of various materials used for electrodes, the most satisfactory was a neoprene-core, shielded hydraulic hose in sections two feet long. these lengths could be screwed together, permitting adjustment of the length of the electrodes with minimum effort. at night, a sealed-beam automobile headlight was plugged into a six-volt d. c. outlet in the generating unit and a coleman lantern was mounted on each gunwale to illuminate the area around the bow and along the sides of the boat (pl. a). in late summer, , a -volt, -watt generating unit, composed of a -volt, -watt homelite generator was used. it was attached to a step-up transformer that converted the current to volts. the same booms described above were used with the -volt unit, with single electrodes at the tip of each boom. a . -horsepower motor propelled the boat, and the stunned fish were collected by means of scap nets. fishes seen and identified but not captured also were recorded. on several occasions fishes were collected by placing a -foot seine in the current and shocking toward the seine from upstream. the shocker was used in daylight at all six stations in the three years, -' . collections were made at night in and at the middle neosho station and in at the lower neosho station. _seines_ seines of various lengths ( , , , , and feet), with mesh-sizes varying from bobbinet to one-half inch, were used. the -, -, and -foot seines were used in the estimation of relative abundance by taking ten hauls with each seine, recording all species captured in each haul, and making a total count of all fish captured in two of the ten hauls. the two hauls to be counted were chosen prior to each collection from a table of random numbers. additional selective seining was done to ascertain the habitats occupied by different species. _trap, hoop, and fyke nets._--limited use was made of unbaited trapping devices: wire traps . feet in diameter, six feet long, covered with one-inch-mesh chicken wire; hoop nets . feet to three feet in diameter at the first hoop with a pot-mesh of one inch; and a fyke net three feet in diameter at the first hoop, pot-mesh of one inch with wings three feet in length. all of these were set parallel to the current with the mouths downstream. the use of trapping devices was abated because data obtained were not sufficient to justify the effort expended. _gill nets_ gill-netting was done mostly in at the lower neosho station. use of gill nets was limited because frequent slight rises in the river caused nets to collect excessive debris, with damage to the nets. gill nets used were feet long, six feet deep, with mesh sizes of / inch to - / inches. nets, weighted to sink, were placed at right angles to the current and attached at the banks with rope. _sodium cyanide_ pellets of sodium cyanide were used infrequently to collect fish from a moderately fast riffle over gravel bottom that was overgrown with willows, making seining impossible. the pellets were dissolved in a small amount of water, a seine was held in place, and the cyanide solution was introduced into the water a short distance upstream from the seine, causing incapacitated fish to drift into the seine. most of these fish that were placed in uncontaminated water revived. _rotenone_ rotenone was used in a few small pools in efforts to capture complete populations. this method was used to check the validity of other methods, and to reduce the possibility that rare species would go undetected. rotenone was applied by hand, and applications were occasionally supplemented by placing rotenone in a container that was punctured with a small hole and suspended over the water at the head of a riffle draining into the area being poisoned. this maintained a toxic concentration in the pool for sufficient time to obtain the desired kill. rotenone acts more slowly than cyanide, allowing more of the distressed fish to rise to the surface. _dyes_ bismark brown y was used primarily at the upper neosho station to stain large numbers of small fish. the dye was used at a dilution of : , . fishes were placed in the dye-solution for three hours, then transferred to a live-box in midstream for variable periods (ten minutes to twelve hours) before release. _determination of abundance_ in the accounts of species that follow, the relative terms "abundant," "common," and "rare" are used. assignment of one of these terms to each species was based on analysis of data that are presented in tables - , (pages , , , , , , , - , and ). the number of fish caught per unit of effort with the shocker (table ) and with seines (table ) constitute the main basis for statements about the abundance of each species at all stations except the upper neosho station. species listed in each table ( and ) are those that were taken consistently by the method specified in the caption of the table; erratically, but in large numbers at least once, by that method; and those taken by the method specified but not the other method. for the species listed in table , the following usually applies: abundant=more than three fish caught per hour; common=one to three fish caught per hour; rare=less than one fish caught per hour. tables - list all fish obtained at the upper neosho station by means of the shocker, seines, and rotenone. _names of fishes_ technical names of fishes are those that seem to qualify under the international rules of zoological nomenclature. vernacular names are those in special publication no. ( ) of the american fisheries society, with grammatical modifications required for use in the university of kansas publications, museum of natural history. annotated list of species #lepisosteus osseus# (linnaeus) long-nosed gar the long-nosed gar was abundant at the lower and middle neosho stations and the lower marais des cygnes station. numbers increased slightly in the period of study, probably because of increased, continuous flow. the long-nosed gar was not taken at the upper neosho station. at lower stations the fish occurred in many habitats, but most commonly in pools where gar often were seen with their snouts protruding above the water in midstream. gar commonly lie quietly near the surface, both by day and by night, and are therefore readily collected by means of the shocker. twice, at night, gar jumped into the boat after being shocked. young-of-the-year were taken at the middle and lower stations on both the neosho and marais des cygnes rivers, and all were near shore in quiet water. many young-of-the-year were seined at the lower neosho station on june , near the lower end of a gravel-bar in a small backwater-area having a depth of one to three inches, a muddy bottom, and a higher temperature than the mainstream. forty-three of these young gar averaged . inches in total length (t.l.). comparison of sizes of long-nosed gar taken by means of the shocker and gill nets at the lower and middle neosho stations revealed that: the average size at each station remained constant from to ; the average size was greater at the lower than at the middle station; and, with the exception of young-of-the-year, no individual shorter than inches was found at the middle station and only one shorter than inches was taken at the lower station (table ). because collecting was intensive and several methods were used, i think that the population of gars was sampled adequately. wallen (_fishes of the verdigris river in oklahoma_, : [mimeographed copy of dissertation, oklahoma state university]) took large individuals in the mainstream of the verdigris river in oklahoma and small specimens from the headwaters of some tributaries. because i took young-of-the-year at the lower neosho station, it is possible that long-nosed gar move upstream when small and then slowly downstream to the larger parts of rivers as the fish increase in size. this pattern of size-segregation, according to size of river, merits further investigation. ripe, spent, and immature long-nosed gar ( males and females) were taken in three gill nets, set across the channel, to yards below a riffle, at the lower neosho station on june , , and , . on june, , males and two females were taken in gill nets set , , and yards above the same riffle. operations with the shocker between june and july, , yielded males and three females. the fish were taken from many kinds of habitat in a three-mile section of the river. direction of movement as recorded from gill nets shows that of gar taken, had moved downstream and upstream into the nets. only ten of the above gar were taken from the nets set above the riffle; six of the ten were captured as they moved downstream into the nets. on one occasion i watched minnows swimming frantically about, jumping out of the water, and crowding against the shore, presumably to avoid a long-nosed gar that swam slowly in and out of view. i have observed similar activity when gar fed in aquaria. stomachs of a few gar from the neosho river were examined and found to contain minnows and some channel catfish. long-nosed gar have a relatively long life span (breder, ). this longevity and their ability to gulp air probably insure excellent survival through periods of adverse conditions. the population of long-nosed gar probably would not be drastically affected even in the event of a nearly complete failure of one or two successive hatches. maturity is attained at approximately inches, total length. collections at the middle neosho station in indicate that the long-nosed gar is more susceptible to capture at night than in daytime (table , p. ). table . numbers and sizes of long-nosed gar captured by shocker and gill nets at the middle and lower neosho stations in , and . average total location date number length (inches) range middle neosho . - middle neosho . - middle neosho . - lower neosho . - lower neosho . - lower neosho . - #lepisosteus platostomus rafinesque# short-nosed gar only one short-nosed gar was taken in , at the lower station on the neosho river. in this species was taken at the lower station on the marais des cygnes and in and at the lower and middle stations on the neosho. more common in the neosho than the marais des cygnes, _l. platostomus_ occurs mainly in large streams and never was taken in the upper portions of either river. although short-nosed gar were about equally abundant at the middle and lower stations on the neosho, the average size was greater at the lower station (table ). this kind of segregation by size is shared with long-nosed gar, and was considered in the discussion of that species. short-nosed gar were taken only in quiet water. both species were collected most efficiently by means of gill nets and shocker. while shocking, i saw many gar only momentarily, as they appeared at the surface, and specific identification was impossible. the total of all gar seen while shocking indicated that gar increased in abundance from to (see tables and ). judging from the gar that were identified, the increase was more pronounced in short-nosed gar than in long-nosed gar. at the lower neosho station in , two ripe females and one spent female were taken in gill nets ( , and june, respectively) and were moving downstream when caught. no males were taken in the nets. subsequently, by means of the shocker ( june- july), two spent and two ripe males were captured in quiet water of the mainstream that closely resembled areas in which the gill nets were set. no females were taken by means of the shocker. table . numbers and sizes of short-nosed gar captured by shocker and gill nets at the middle and lower neosho stations in and . average total location date number length (inches) range middle neosho . . - . middle neosho . . - . lower neosho . . - . lower neosho . . - . #dorosoma cepedianum# (lesueur) gizzard shad gizzard shad declined in abundance from to . the largest population occurred at the middle station on the marais des cygnes in . shad were mainly in quiet water; often, when the river-level was high, i found them predominately in backwaters or in the mouths of tributary streams. examination of nine individuals, ranging in size from seven inches to . inches t. l., indicated that maturity is reached at to inches t. l. spawning probably occurred in late june in ("ripe" female caught on june); young-of-the-year were first recorded in mid-july. #cycleptus elongatus# (lesueur) blue sucker the blue sucker was taken rarely in the neosho river and not at all in the marais des cygnes in my study. cross (personal communication) obtained several blue suckers in collections made in the mainstream of the neosho river in ; both young and adults occupied swift, deep riffles. the species seemingly declined in abundance during the drought, and at the conclusion of my study ( ) had not regained the level of abundance found in . #ictiobus cyprinella# (valenciennes) big-mouthed buffalo big-mouthed buffalo were found in quiet water at all stations, but were rare. a ripe female, . inches long, was taken at the lower station on the neosho on june, . #ictiobus niger# (rafinesque) black buffalo and #ictiobus bubalus# (rafinesque) small-mouthed buffalo black buffalo were not taken at the upper station on the neosho and were rare at other stations. small-mouthed buffalo were taken at all stations and were common in the lower portions of the two streams. while the shocker was being used, buffalo were often seen only momentarily, thereby making specific identification impossible; both species were frequently taken together, and for this reason are discussed as a unit. both species maintained about the same level of abundance throughout my study. the two species were taken most often in the deeper, swifter currents of the mainstream, but were sometimes found in pools, creek-mouths and backwaters. on several occasions in the summer of , buffalo were seen in shallow parts of long, rubble riffles, with the dorsal or caudal fins protruding above the surface. ernest craig, game protector, said buffalo on such riffles formerly provided much sport for gig-fishermen. he stated that the best catches were made at night because the fish were less "spooky" then than in daytime. in my collections made by use of the shocker, buffalo were taken more frequently at night (table , p. ). on june, , i saw many buffalo that seemed to be feeding as they moved slowly upstream along the bottom of a riffle. the two species, often side by side, were readily distinguishable underwater. small-mouthed buffalo appeared to be paler (slate gray) and more compressed than the darker black buffalo. to test the reliability of underwater identifications, i identified all individuals prior to collection with a gig. correct identification was made of all fish collected on june. the smallest individual obtained in this manner was . inches t. l. on august, , small-mouthed buffalo were captured and many more were seen while the shocker was in use in the same riffle for one hour and ten minutes. one small-mouthed buffalo was caught while the shocker was being used in the pool below that riffle for one hour and fifty minutes. no black buffalo were taken on august. spawning by buffalo was not observed but probably occurred in spring; all mature fish in my earliest collections (mid-june of each year) were spent. small-mouthed buffalo reach maturity at approximately inches t. l. #carpiodes carpio carpio# (rafinesque) river carpsucker river carpsucker were abundant throughout the study at all stations. adults were taken most frequently in quiet water, but depth and bottom-type varied. the greatest concentrations occurred in mouths of creeks during times of high water; occasionally, large numbers were taken in a shallow backwater near the head of a riffle at the middle neosho station. river carpsucker feed on the bottom but seem partly pelagic in habit. they were taken readily by means of the shocker and gill nets at all depths. the population of _c. carpio_ in the neosho river probably was depleted by drought, although many individuals survived in the larger pools. when stream-flow was restored, carpsucker probably moved rapidly upstream but had a scattered distribution in . trautman ( : ) states that in the scioto river, ohio, river carpsucker moved upstream in may and downstream in late august and early september. numbers found at the middle and lower neosho stations suggest similar movements in the neosho river in . in midsummer they were common at the middle station but rare at the lower station; however, they became abundant at the lower station in november. the abundance in late fall at the lower neosho station might have resulted either from downstream migration or from continued upstream movement into thinly populated areas. no indication of seasonal movement was found in or . river carpsucker reach maturity at approximately inches t. l., and spawning occurs in may or june. a ripe male was taken from a gravel-bottomed riffle, three feet deep, at the middle station on the neosho station on june . the size-distribution of individuals taken at the middle neosho station is presented in fig. . the collection in early july of indicates that one size-group (probably the year-class) had a median length of approximately seven inches. the modal length of this group was nine inches in june, . a second, predominant size-group (fig. ) seemed to maintain almost the same median size throughout all the collection periods, although specimens taken in the spring of were slightly smaller than those obtained in . this apparent stability in size may have been due to an influx of the faster-growing individuals from a smaller size-group, coupled with mortality of most individuals more than inches in length. young-of-the-year were taken at every station. extensive seining along a gravel bar at the lower neosho station indicated that the young are highly selective for quiet, shallow water with mud bottom. in these areas, young-of-the-year carpsucker were often the most abundant fish. river carpsucker were collected more readily by use of the shocker after dark than in daylight (table , p. ). [illustration: fig. . length-frequency of river carpsucker in the neosho river, and .] #carpiodes velifer# (rafinesque) high-finned carpsucker a specimen of _carpiodes velifer_ taken at the lower station on the neosho in provided the only record of the species in kansas since . many specimens, now in the university of kansas museum of natural history, were taken from the neosho river system by personnel of the state biological survey prior to . the species has declined greatly in abundance in the past years. #moxostoma aureolum pisolabrum# trautman short-headed redhorse the short-headed redhorse occurred at all stations. it was common at the middle and lower stations on the neosho, rare at the upper station on the neosho, abundant at the upper station on the marais des cygnes in , and rare thereafter at all stations on the marais des cygnes. short-headed redhorse typically occur in riffles, most commonly at the uppermost end where the water flows swiftly and is about two feet deep. an unusually large concentration was seen on june, , in shallow (six inches), fast water over gravel bottom at the middle station on the neosho river. thirty-nine individuals were marked by clipping fins at the middle neosho station in . four were recovered from one to days later: two at the site of original capture (one days after marking), one less than one-half mile downstream, and one about one mile downstream from the original site of capture. at the middle neosho station in , this species was taken more readily by use of the shocker at night than by day (table , p. ). #moxostoma erythrurum# (rafinesque) golden redhorse the golden redhorse was abundant at the upper neosho station, rare at the middle neosho station, and did not occur in collections at other stations. this species was taken most frequently over gravel- or rubble-bottoms in small pools below riffles, and was especially susceptible to collection by means of the shocker. twenty-nine golden redhorse of the year-class, taken at the upper neosho station on september , were . to . inches in total length (average . inches); individuals of the same year-class caught on august were . to . inches in total length (average . inches). #cyprinus carpio# linnaeus carp the carp decreased in abundance from to at the upper and middle marais des cygnes station and at the middle and lower neosho stations. carp were more abundant in the marais des cygnes than in the neosho, although the largest number in any single collection was found in one pool at the upper neosho station in . carp were taken most commonly in quiet water near brush or other cover. at the middle neosho station, collecting was most effective between the hours of : a.m. and : p.m. and least effective between : p.m. and : p.m. (table , p. ). ripe males were taken as early as april ( . inches, . inches t. l.) and as late as july ( inches t. l.) at the middle neosho station. ripe females were taken as early as april at the middle neosho station ( . inches t. l.) and as late as july at the lower neosho station ( inches t. l.). young-of-the-year were taken first at the middle marais des cygnes on july . they were recorded on later dates at the upper marais des cygnes and at the lower and middle neosho stations. #notemigonus crysoleucas# (mitchill) golden shiner the golden shiner was taken rarely at the upper marais des cygnes station in and and at the middle marais des cygnes station in and . at the middle neosho station _notemigonus_ was seined from a pond that is flooded frequently by the river, but never was taken in the mainstream. #semotilus atromaculatus# (mitchill) creek chub the creek chub was taken only at the upper stations on both rivers. it increased in abundance at the upper neosho station from to , and was not taken in the upper marais des cygnes until . #hybopsis storeriana# (kirtland) silver chub a single specimen from the lower marais des cygnes station provides the only record of the species from the marais des cygnes system in kansas, and is the only silver chub that i found in either river in - . the species is taken often in the kansas and arkansas rivers. #hybopsis x-punctata# hubbs and crowe gravel chub the gravel chub, present only at the lower and middle neosho stations, occupied moderate currents over clean (free of silt) gravel bottom. the gravel chub was not taken in , was rare at both neosho stations in , became common at the lower neosho station in part of , but was never numerous at the middle neosho station. dr. f. b. cross recorded the species as "rare" in at a collection site near my middle neosho station, but larger numbers were taken then than in any of my collections at that station. the population was probably reduced by drought, and recovery was comparatively slow following restoration of flow. young-of-the-year and adults were common in collections from riffles at the lower neosho station from july through july, . i obtained only one specimen in intensive collections in the same area on , , and august. seemingly the species had moved off shallow riffles into areas not sampled effectively by seining. #phenacobius mirabilis# (girard) sucker-mouthed minnow the sucker-mouthed minnow was common at the middle marais des cygnes station but was not taken at the upper and lower stations until , when it was rare. at the middle and lower neosho stations this fish increased in abundance from to ; at the upper station, sucker-mouthed minnows were not taken until when collections were made on the white farm. there, the species was common immediately below a low-head dam, but was not taken in extensive collections on the bosch farm in . the species was most common immediately below riffles, or in other areas having clean gravel bottom in the current. on june, , many individuals were taken at night ( : p.m.) on a shallow gravel riffle (four inches in depth) where none had been found in a collection at : p.m. on the same date. young-of-the-year were taken at the lower neosho station on june, , and commonly thereafter in the summer. #notropis rubellus# (agassiz) rosy-faced shiner in , the rosy-faced shiner was taken rarely at the lower stations on both streams. this species is common in smaller streams tributary to the lower portions of the two rivers, and probably occurs in the mainstream only as "overflow" from tributaries. possibly, during drought, rosy-faced shiners found suitable habitat in the mainstream of neosho and marais des cygnes rivers, but re-occupied tributary streams as their flow increased with favorable precipitation, leaving diminishing populations in the mainstream. #notropis umbratilis# (girard) red-finned shiner the red-finned shiner, most abundant at the upper neosho station, occurred at all stations except the upper marais des cygnes. this fish seems to prefer small streams, not highly turbid, having clean, hard bottoms. it is a pool-dwelling, pelagic species. #notropis camurus# (jordan and meek) blunt-faced shiner the blunt-faced shiner was taken only in , at the middle neosho station, where it was rare. this species, abundant in clear streams tributary to the neosho river (field data, state biological survey) may have used the mainstream as a refugium during drought. the few specimens obtained in possibly represent a relict population that remained in the mainstream after flow in tributaries was restored by increased rainfall. #notropis lutrensis# (baird and girard) red shiner the red shiner, abundant in (early stage of drought), was consistently the most abundant fish in my collections in the marais des cygnes and at the lower and middle neosho stations. however, the abundance declined from to at the two neosho stations. at the upper neosho station the species was fourth in abundance in , and third in and (table ). the red shiner is pelagic in habit and occurs primarily in pools, though it frequently inhabits adjacent riffles. collections by seining along a gravel bar at the lower station showed this fish to be most abundant in shallow, quiet water over mud bottom, or at the head of a gravel bar in relatively quiet water. at the lower end of the gravel bar in water one to four feet deep, with a shallow layer of silt over gravel bottom and a slight eddy-current, red shiners were replaced by ghost shiners or river carpsucker young-of-the-year as the dominant fish. fifty-nine dyed individuals were released in an eddy at the lower end of a gravel bar at the middle neosho station on june, . some of these fish still were present in this area when a collection was made hours later. no colored fish were taken in collections from quiet water at the upper end of the gravel bar. a swift riffle intervening between the latter area and the area of release may have impeded their movement. forty-six individuals, released at the head of the same gravel bar on june, , immediately swam slowly upstream through quiet water and were soon joined by other minnows. these fish did not form a well-organized school, but moved about independently, with individuals or groups variously dropping out or rejoining the aggregation until all colored fish disappeared about feet upstream from the point of release. evidence of inshore movement at night was obtained on june, , in a shallow backwater, having gravel bottom, at the head of a gravel bar at the middle neosho station. a collection made in the afternoon contained no red shiners, but they were abundant in the same area after dark. in kansas, red shiners breed in may, june, and july. minckley ( : - ) described behavior that apparently was associated with spawning. because of its abundance, the red shiner is one of the most important forage fishes in kansas streams, and frequently is used as a bait minnow. #notropis volucellus# (cope) mimic shiner the mimic shiner was taken only rarely at the two lower neosho stations. this species, like _n. camurus_, is normally more common in clear tributaries than in the neosho river, and probably frequents the mainstream only during drought. #notropis buchanani# meek ghost shiner field records of the state biological survey indicate that the ghost shiner was common in the mainstream of the lower neosho river during drought. in , the species was abundant at the lower and middle stations on the neosho river and at the lower marais des cygnes station. collections at all stations show that the species has a definite preference for eddies--relatively quiet water, but adjacent to the strong current of the mainstream rather than in backwater remote from the channel. the bottom-type over which the ghost shiner was found varied from mud to gravel or rubble. #notropis stramineus# (cope) sand shiner the sand shiner was taken rarely in the neosho and commonly in the marais des cygnes in . in my study the species occurred at all stations, but not until at the upper and lower neosho stations. sand shiners were found with equal frequency in pools and riffles. spawning takes place in june and july. #pimephales tenellus tenellus# (girard) mountain minnow the mountain minnow was common at the lower and middle neosho stations throughout the period of study, and increased in abundance from to . it was taken only in at the upper neosho station, where it was rare. this species does not occur in the marais des cygnes river. the largest numbers were found in at the lower neosho station, where this fish occurred most commonly in moderate current over clean gravel bottom. the mountain minnow, like _hybopsis x-punctata_, was common in late june and early july but few were found in late august, . the near-absence of this species in collections made in late august is responsible for the apparent slight decline in abundance from to , as shown in table . metcalf ( ) found mountain minnows most commonly in streams of intermediate size in chautauqua, cowley and elk counties, kansas. the predilection of this species for permanent waters resulted in an increase in abundance during my study. with continued flow, this species possibly will decrease in abundance in the lower mainstream of the neosho river. i suspect that the species is, or will be (with continued stream-flow), abundant in tributaries of intermediate size in the neosho river basin. #pimephales vigilax perspicuus# (girard) parrot minnow the parrot minnow was not taken in the marais des cygnes river and was absent at the upper neosho station until . this species was common at the lower and middle neosho stations throughout the period of study and increased in abundance from to . at the lower neosho station, this fish preferred slow eddy-current over silt bottom, along the downstream portion of a gravel bar. the parrot minnow was taken less abundantly in the latter part of the summer, , than in early summer, but the decline was less than occurred in the mountain minnow. #pimephales notatus# (rafinesque) blunt-nosed minnow the blunt-nosed minnow was common, and increased in abundance in both rivers from to . the largest numbers were found at the upper neosho station in , and a large population also was present at the lower neosho station in . pools having rubble bottom, bedrock, and small areas of mud were preferred at the upper neosho station. at the lower neosho station the fish was most common in quiet water at the lower end of a gravel bar. the parrot minnow also was common in this general area; nevertheless, these two species were seldom numerous in the same seine-haul, indicating segregation of the two. the blunt-nosed minnow was taken frequently in moderate current over clean gravel bottom, especially in late summer, , when _p. notatus_ increased in abundance as the mountain minnow decreased. #pimephales promelas# rafinesque fat-headed minnow the fat-headed minnow was taken at all stations except at the lower one on the marais des cygnes, and was most abundant at the upper neosho station. intensive seining at the lower neosho station indicated that this species preferred quiet water and firm mud bottom. in the neosho river in to , habitats of the species of _pimephales_ seemed to be as follows: _pimephales tenellus_ (mountain minnow) occurred primarily in moderately flowing gravel riffles in the downstream portions of the river. _pimephales vigilax_ (parrot minnow) was mostly in the quiet areas having mud bottom at the downstream end of gravel bars, and less commonly on adjacent riffles, at the lower station. _pimephales notatus_ (blunt-nosed minnow) had a wider range of habitats, occurring in quiet areas and moderate currents both upstream and downstream. _pimephales promelas_ (fat-headed minnow) occurred throughout both rivers but was most abundant in the quiet water at the uppermost stations. #campostoma anomalum# (rafinesque) stoneroller the stoneroller was most abundant at the upper neosho station and was not taken at the lower marais des cygnes station. this fish increased in abundance from to , but was never common at the middle marais des cygnes or the middle and lower neosho stations. the stoneroller prefers fast, relatively clear water over rubble or gravel-bottom. #ictalurus punctatus# (rafinesque) channel catfish the abundance of channel catfish was greatly reduced as a result of the drought of - . with the resumption of normal stream-flow in , the small numbers of adult channel catfish present in the stream produced unusually large numbers of young. these young of the year-class, which reached an average size of about nine inches by september , will provide an abundant adult population for several years. the reduction in number of channel catfish in streams can be related to the changed environment in the drought. when stream levels were low in (tables - ), fish-populations were crowded into a greatly reduced area. an example of these crowded conditions was observed by roy schoonover, biologist of the kansas forestry, fish and game commission, in october, , when he was called to rescue fish near iola, kansas. the neosho river had ceased to flow and a pool (less than one acre) below the city overflow dam was pumped dry. schoonover (personal communication) estimated that , fish of all kinds were present in the pool. about , of these were channel catfish, two inches to inches long, with a few larger ones. fish were removed in the belief that sustained intermittency in the winter of - would result in severe winterkill. these conditions almost certainly were prevalent throughout the basin. in addition to winterkill, crowding probably resulted in a reduced rate of reproduction by channel catfish, and by other species as well. this kind of density-dependent reduction of fecundity is known for many species of animals (lack, , ch. ). in fish, it is probably expressed by complete failure of many individuals to spawn, coupled with scant survival of young produced by the adults that do spawn. reproductive failure of channel catfish in farm ponds, especially in clear ponds, is well known, and is often attributed to a paucity of suitable nest-sites (marzolf, : ; davis, : ). in the neosho and marais des cygnes rivers, the intermittent conditions prevalent in the drought resulted in reduced turbidity in the remaining pools. many spawning sites normally used by channel catfish were exposed, and others were rendered unsuitable because of the increased clarity of the water. in addition, predation on young channel catfish is increased in clear water (marzolf; davis, _loc. cit._), and would of course be especially pronounced in crowded conditions. the population was thereby reduced to correspond to the carrying capacity of each pool in the stream bed. the return of normal flow in left large areas unoccupied by fish and the processes described above were reversed. the expanded habitat favored spawning by nearly the entire adult population, and conditions for survival of young were excellent. as a result, a large hatch occurred in the summer of . (several hundred small channel catfish were sometimes taken by use of the shocker a short distance upstream from a -foot seine, set in a riffle). subsequent survival of the year-class has been good. by , few of the catfish spawned in had grown large enough to contribute to the sport fishery, but they are expected to do so in and . the year-class was probably the first strong year-class of channel catfish since . davis ( : ) found that channel catfish in kansas seldom live longer than seven years. the year-class reached age seven in . the extreme environmental conditions to which these fish were subjected in drought caused a higher mortality than would occur in normal times. the adult population in the two rivers probably was progressively reduced throughout the drought, and the reduction will continue until the strong year-class replenishes it. for these reasons, fishing success was poor in - . juvenile channel catfish were more abundant in the neosho than in the marais des cygnes in and , although both streams supported sizable populations. in the marais des cygnes the upper station had fewer channel catfish than the middle and lower stations. in the neosho, populations were equally abundant both upstream and downstream. the habitat of channel catfish in streams has been discussed by bailey and harrison ( ). i found adults in various habitats throughout the stream, but most abundantly in moderately fast water at the lower and middle neosho stations. at the upper neosho station where riffles are shallow, yearlings and two-year-olds were numerous in many of the small pools over rubble-gravel bottom. cover was utilized where present, but large numbers were taken in pools devoid of cover. young-of-the-year were nearly always taken from rubble- or gravel-riffles having moderate to fast current at both upstream and downstream stations. collections showed that young of were abundant on riffles throughout the summer and until november, . subsequent collections were not made until may, , at which time -class fish still were abundant on riffles at the lower neosho station; on that date, the larger individuals were in deeper parts of the riffles than were smaller representatives of the same year-class. in a later collection ( june, ), numbers present on the riffles were greatly reduced and the larger individuals were almost entirely missing. some of the smaller individuals were still present in the shallower riffle areas. table compares sizes of the individuals obtained on june with sizes collected from deep riffles at the middle neosho station on june, . the larger size of the group present in deep riffles is readily apparent. the yearlings almost completely disappeared from subsequent collections on riffles. a bimodal size-distribution of young-of-the-year was noted also in and ; but, no segregation of the two sizes occurred on riffles in summer. marzolf ( : ) recorded two peaks in spawning activity in missouri ponds. two spawning periods may account for the bimodal size distribution of young-of-the-year observed in my study. in , young-of-the-year began to appear in the latter part of june and became abundant by the first part of july. individuals as small as one inch t. l. were taken in gravel-bottomed riffles on july, . yearling individuals at the lower and middle neosho stations showed a pronounced tendency to move into shallow, moderately fast water over rubble or gravel bottom at night, where they were nearly ten times more abundant than in daytime (table ). adults probably have the same pattern of daily movement as yearlings, except that at night the adults move to deeper riffles. bailey and harrison ( : - ) demonstrated that channel catfish feed most actively from sundown to midnight. channel catfish (especially two-year-olds and adults) were abundant on a rubble-riffle during the day in some collections at the lower neosho station in . table . length-frequency of channel catfish from the neosho river, , and . (numbers in vertical columns indicate the number of individuals of a certain size collected on that date.) june june length nov. (shallow (deep sept. sept. in inches riffle) riffle) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . near the end of the spawning season in , i found spawning catfish at the lower neosho station. ripe females were taken between june and june, ; and, on june i found a channel catfish nest with eggs (water temp. ° f.). the nest-site was a hole in the base of a clay bank; the floor was clean gravel with a small mound of gravel at the entrance. the nest-opening, five to six inches in diameter, widened almost immediately into a chamber about two and one-half feet long and one foot wide. normally the water was about six inches deep in the mainstream as it ran over a riffle adjacent to the catfish nest. when i put my hand into the opening the fish bit vigorously, but became quiescent when i stroked its belly. i then felt the rounded gelatinous mass of eggs on the bottom of the nest. on june (water temp. ° f.) the fish was removed, struggling, from the nest, and returned to the stream. the next day ( june , water temp. ° f.) the eggs had hatched and the young were in a swarm in the nest. the adult did not attempt to bite but left as soon as i put my hand into the hole. marzolf ( : ) reports that young remain in the nest from seven to eight days after hatching. my seining records show a marked increase in abundance of small young-of-the-year on the first of july. probably the time of hatching of the nest described above correlated well with hatches of other nests. one and sometimes two channel catfish were found in other holes in the stream-bank or bottom. the fish occasionally attacked my hand vigorously, but at other times remained quiet or left without attacking. no other channel catfish eggs were found, although one hole under a rock in the middle of the river had one or two individuals in it each time it was checked until july, . a local fisherman informed me of his belief that these holes are occupied only in the spawning season. observations that i made in a pond owned by dr. e. c. bryan of erie indicated that channel catfish, when disturbed in the early stages of guarding the eggs, either eat the eggs and abandon the nest or leave the nest exposed to predation by other animals. in the later stages of nesting, the fish, if removed, will return to guard the nest. after the eggs hatch the guarding response probably diminishes and the fish leaves the nest readily. at the lower neosho station, several "artificial" holes were dug into the clay bank and two pieces of six-inch pipe were forced into the bank. nearly all these holes were occupied by catfish for a short period in june; many of the holes were enlarged, either by the current or by fish. i suspect that fish enlarged some holes, because in the spawning season several males were observed that had large abrasions atop their heads, around their lips, and to a lesser extent on their sides. these could have been caused by butting and scraping the sides, roof and floor of a hole. i found it possible to enlarge the holes by rapidly moving my hand while it was inside a hole. the growth-rate of channel catfish in the neosho was approximately the same at all stations, and the large year-class grew to an average size of about nine inches by mid-september, (table ). channel catfish mature at a total length of to inches. thus, most individuals of the year-class in the neosho river probably will mature in their fourth or fifth summer ( or spawning season). the sizes attained by young-of-the-year in differed in the two rivers. six hundred and thirty-three young taken in the marais des cygnes river attained an average size of . inches (range two to six inches) by mid-september. (age was determined by length-frequency and verified by examining cross-sections of fin-spines from the larger individuals). one hundred and fifty young from the neosho river averaged . inches (range to . inches) on november. gross examination of the riffle-insect faunas indicated a larger standing crop in the neosho than in the marais des cygnes river. thus, the slower growth of young channel catfish in the neosho seemed not to be correlated with food supply. bailey and harrison ( : - ) found that young channel catfish in the des moines river, iowa, fed almost exclusively on aquatic insect larvae. my observations indicate that this is true in the neosho and marais des cygnes rivers also. young produced in in the neosho river attained an average total length of three inches by august, and young produced in attained an average size of . inches by september. both groups probably continued growth until october, and may have averaged four inches total length at that time. the and year-classes were much less abundant than were the young. therefore, it seems likely that the growth of the young in the neosho river was depressed because of crowding. the year-class was larger than the small year-class, thus conforming to a general expectation that strong year-classes will be followed by weak year-classes. reproduction by channel catfish in seemed greater in the neosho river than in the marais des cygnes river (table ); this coincided with a greater change in volume of flow in the neosho river than in the marais des cygnes river (tables - ). the year-class seemed more crowded, and grew more slowly, in the neosho than in the marais des cygnes river. #ictalurus natalis# (lesueur) yellow bullhead yellow bullhead were taken only at the middle station on the marais des cygnes and upper station on the neosho. the yellow bullhead is more restricted to streams than is the black bullhead. both species decreased in abundance during a period of continuous flow ( to ) following drought at the upper neosho station. collections in -' indicated an increase in average size. of four individuals marked and released at the upper neosho station in , one was recaptured about three hours after being released. it had not moved from the area of release. #ictalurus melas# (rafinesque) black bullhead the black bullhead was abundant at the upper stations on each river, especially in backwaters having mud-bottom. the species was not taken in the mainstream of the lower and middle neosho stations, but was taken at the middle neosho station in a pond that is often flooded by the river. although the fish was common or abundant in nearly all pools at the upper neosho station, it was most abundant in one pool that had a bottom predominately of mud. at the middle marais des cygnes station, individuals were collected and fin-clipped on , and july . three of the marked on july were recaptured in the same area on july. the area was poisoned on september, , and black bullhead were taken, none of which had been marked. in , black bullhead were taken at the upper neosho station (five in area and at the white farm). in these collections, were marked (fin-clipped or dyed) and six were recaptured. four of the six had not left the area of capture one and two days after being released. the fifth fish recaptured was one of five individuals that had been displaced one pool downstream. when recaptured seven days later, this fish had moved upstream over two steep riffles (two to three inches deep, feet and feet long) past the site of original capture to the next pool. the sixth fish, marked at the same time but returned to the original pool, was recaptured nine days after original capture and had moved upstream over a long riffle (two to three inches deep, feet long) and a short riffle into the second pool above the original site of its capture. rotenone was applied to a small (. acre-feet) backwater ditch having a soft mud bottom at the upper marais des cygnes station on july, ; black bullhead, one green sunfish and one white crappie were collected. a sample of bullhead averaged . inches t.l. (range . to . inches) and individuals averaged . ounce each. these fish probably represented the year-class. the upper neosho station had a large population of black bullhead, strongly dominated by fish less than four inches t. l. (range . to . inches), in the spring of . most were approximately two inches t. l. and probably represented the year-class. growth, according to length-frequency, following restoration of stream-flow, shows a regular increase in length of this dominant year-class (fig. ). a scarcity of young, especially in and , is apparent in fig. . this may be due to the fact that a strong year-class usually is followed by one or several weak year-classes. however, it more probably reflects the fact that black bullhead are characteristically pond fish, and as such are not so well adapted to reproduction in flowing streams as are many other species. metcalf ( ) found this species most abundantly in the intermittent headwaters of walnut river and grouse creek in cowley county, kansas. [illustration: fig. . length-frequency of black bullhead at the upper neosho station, , and .] #pylodictis olivaris# (rafinesque) flat-headed catfish the flathead is the largest sport-fish occurring in kansas. several weighing more than pounds are caught from streams each year, and the species reportedly attains sizes in excess of one hundred pounds. several aspects of the biology of the flathead in kansas have been discussed by minckley and deacon ( ). the abundance of flathead declined slightly from through , counting fish of all sizes. this trend is attributable to a large hatch in ; the year-class strongly dominated the population throughout my study. natural mortality in that year-class was compensated by increased average size of the individuals (to six inches in autumn, , and inches in autumn, ). the numbers of flathead caught at the upper stations on the neosho and marais des cygnes rivers differed from the general trend in that the species was rare in and increased slightly by . flathead are most numerous in large streams, and in the drought they probably were almost extirpated from the headwaters. after , continuous flow and increased volume of flow were accompanied by a gradual increase in numbers of flathead in the upstream parts of the two rivers. the species was most abundant at the middle and lower neosho stations, where . per cent of all fish shocked in and were _p. olivaris_. the habitat of the flathead varied with size of the individuals. young-of-the-year inhabited swift riffles having rubble bottom; individuals four to inches in total length were distributed throughout the stream; those more than inches in total length were most commonly in pools in association with cover (rocks, or drifts of fallen timber). male flathead mature at to inches total length, females at to inches. the spawning season in probably began in early june and extended to mid-july. i attempted to find spawning fish on june and for one month thereafter. on june nine holes were dug into a -yard section of a clay bank adjacent to a long, shallow, rubble riffle. a flathead was first found in one of these holes on june, and others were frequently found in this and one other hole until mid-july. although channel catfish were often found in nearby holes, that species was never present in the two holes used by flatheads. the holes occupied by flathead (as well as those used by channel catfish) characteristically had silt-free gravel bottoms and a ridge of clean gravel across the entrance. a nest containing a flathead and eggs was located on july. in checking the hole i first put my foot into the entrance, then slowly advanced my hand into the hole, feeling along the bottom with my fingers until they entered the open mouth of a large catfish. i backed off slowly and then felt beneath the fish. the fish was directly above the egg-mass, seemingly touching the eggs with its belly. as i touched the front of the egg-mass the fish struck viciously, taking my entire fist into its mouth. it continued striking until i removed my hand from the hole after obtaining a small sample of eggs, which proved to be in an early stage of development (no vascularization evident). when the nest was checked again on july the eggs and fish were gone. as in the case of channel catfish, i suspect that disturbance of a flathead in the early stages of guarding the nest results in destruction of the nest either by the guardian fish or by predation resulting from its absence. the hole occupied by the above fish was one that i had dug seven to nine inches in diameter and extending two and one-half to three feet into the bank. at the time this fish occupied the hole its depth was approximately the same as originally, but the entrance had been enlarged to inches in diameter, and the chamber widened to inches. the holes were checked later in the summer and all were heavily silted or had been undercut by action of the current. the number of flathead of catchable size was not reduced as severely during my study as was the number of large channel catfish. flathead have a longer life-span than channel catfish; therefore, it is not surprising that, of flathead and channel catfish that survived the drought, a higher proportion of flathead persisted throughout the next three years, in which my study was made. in drought, when fish were concentrated in residual pools, the piscivorous (fish eating) habit of flatheads may have favored their survival. the growth rate of flathead taken from the neosho river in and was reported by minckley and deacon ( : - ). individuals hatched in and and collected in had attained average sizes of . inches and . inches, respectively, by the end of the growing-season. flatheads of the and year-classes attained average sizes of . and . inches, respectively, by the end of the growing season. these data indicate that growth was retarded in the summer of . many species, including _p. olivaris_, had an exceptionally large hatch in , associated with increased water levels in that year. despite the great increase in amount of water, i suppose that young-of-the-year and yearlings were subjected to crowding resulting from exceptional hatches. this caused reduction in growth of young flathead, and probably in several other species. food of flatheads . inches and shorter was nearly all insect larvae; that of fish . to inches was insect larvae, fishes and crayfish; and that of larger flatheads was mostly fish and crayfish. the specific kind of food eaten was correlated with abundance of the food item in the stream (minckley and deacon, : - ). #noturus flavus# rafinesque stonecat the stonecat was not taken at the upper marais des cygnes station, and was less abundant at the middle marais des cygnes station than at other stations. the abundance of the stonecat was greatest at the lower marais des cygnes station in and at the upper neosho station in . the species increased in abundance from to in the neosho river, where the principal habitat was riffles over rubble bottom. thirty-three stonecats were marked at the upper neosho station in . five of these were recaptured three hours after release, all near the point of release. one individual was taken from a riffle, fin-clipped, and released at the foot of the next riffle downstream. when recaptured four days later, this fish was still in the area of release. young-of-the-year were taken on july , , at the lower neosho station. #noturus gyrinus# (mitchill) tadpole madtom trautman ( : - ) describes the habitat of the tadpole madtom as "low-gradient lowland streams, springs, marshes, oxbows, pothole lakes, and protected harbors and bays of lake erie, where conditions were relatively stable, the water was usually clear, the bottom was of soft muck which generally contained varying amounts of twigs, logs, and leaves, and where there usually was an abundance of such rooted aquatics as pondweeds and hornwort. the species seemed to be highly intolerant to much turbidity and rapid silting,..." the tadpole madtom was obtained only at the middle marais des cygnes station in a small, deep, mud-bottomed pool in after water levels, and probably turbidity, had been low for five years. the occurrence provides the westernmost record station in kansas. cross and minckley ( : ) reported the species from the lower part of the marais des cygnes in kansas. #noturus nocturnus# jordan and gilbert freckled madtom the freckled madtom was taken only at the middle neosho station on april, . this species occurs most frequently in small streams, and individuals living in the mainstream of the neosho probably are "strays" from nearby tributaries. this species may have utilized the mainstream as a refugium in the drought of -' . #noturus exilis# nelson slender madtom the slender madtom was taken only at the middle marais des cygnes station in the fall of . this species prefers permanent riffles of clear streams (deacon and metcalf, : ). my specimen possibly strayed from a nearby tributary; or, it was a relict from a population living in the mainstream during drought. #noturus sp.# neosho madtom a description of this species, which is endemic to neosho river, has been prepared but not yet published by dr. w. ralph taylor. i found the neosho madtom only at the middle station in and , and at the lower station in , where the species was common in shallow water having moderate current over clean gravel bottom. specimens were most effectively collected by digging into the gravel above the seine and allowing the gravel to wash into the seine. in , cross ( : ) found this species in abundance in riffles at the confluence of the south fork and cottonwood river, and at several other localities in the neosho mainstream (personal communication). the neosho madtom is nearly restricted to gravel riffles having moderate flow; therefore, it may be drastically reduced by intermittency of flow. i found none in and few in . by , the third summer of continuous flow, the neosho madtom was again common. #fundulus notatus# (rafinesque) black-striped topminnow the black-striped topminnow was rare in the mainstream at the lower marais des cygnes and the middle and lower neosho stations, where it was found in quiet water near shore. near the middle neosho station, a large population was present in an oxbow lake that is frequently flooded by the river. #labidesthes sicculus# (cope) brook silversides the brook silversides occurred rarely at the lower marais des cygnes and at the middle and lower neosho stations. #micropterus dolomieui# lacépède small-mouthed bass one individual was taken at the lower neosho station in . #micropterus punctulatus punctulatus# (rafinesque) spotted bass the spotted bass occurs in kansas only in the southeastern part of the state--in southern tributaries of the osage system, in spring river drainage, and in relatively clear streams of the flint hills. at my stations on the neosho river, this fish was more abundant in than in or . spotted bass were taken most frequently over rubble bottom or near boulders in moderate current. collections made in the evening or early morning more often contained spotted bass than collections made at other times of day (table ). data from a few specimens that were marked, released, and recaptured indicated that the species is relatively sedentary; therefore, the greater abundance in the morning and evening collections probably indicates increased activity during these periods, possibly in connection with feeding. the spawning season in may have continued as late as july when a ripe female . inches t. l. was taken. young-of-the-year were taken on june in moderate current over gravel bottom and in quiet water over mud bottom. spotted bass normally form a small part of the game-fish fauna in the lower neosho river. the species attains greater abundance in smaller, clear streams of the arkansas river basin in kansas (cross, , and unpublished data of state biological survey of kansas). during the drought, the lower neosho probably assumed many characteristics of a smaller stream in normal times. flow was reduced or entirely interrupted and turbidity was lessened. these conditions resulted in faunal changes in which spotted bass were more prominent than in years of normal flow. during this period of reduced flow, some fishermen turned from catfishing to bass-fishing; i think this constitutes evidence for an increase in numbers of bass, accompanied by a decrease in numbers of channel catfish. with the return of continuous flow and a consequent rise in turbidity, bass declined in abundance in the mainstream. #micropteras salmoides salmoides# (lacépède) large-mouthed bass the large-mouth was rare at all stations. it prefers quiet water near cover; to become abundant, the large-mouth probably requires clearer water than is afforded by most kansas streams. this species, like spotted bass, declined in abundance during the period of study. nevertheless, young-of-the-year were taken in and (earliest date of capture, june in ). #lepomis cyanellus# rafinesque green sunfish green sunfish were taken at all stations, but most abundantly at the upper neosho station where the number captured increased slightly from to . young-of-the-year and adults were most common in shallow backwater. at the upper neosho station green sunfish inhabit quiet pools, where recaptures of marked fish indicated that the species is notably sedentary in habit. hasler and wisby ( ) have shown that green sunfish exhibit a homing reaction. this fish provides some sport for fishermen, especially in the smaller streams, but i found few green sunfish that were larger than six inches t. l. at any station. #lepomis megalotis# (rafinesque) long-eared sunfish long-eared sunfish were taken at all stations but were notably more abundant in the neosho river, where the largest population occurred at the upper station. in all three years of the study, large samples were obtained by means of rotenone in the same pool at the upper neosho station. there were fewer long-eared sunfish present each year, and average size increased slightly. collections in other pools at this station indicated that long-eared sunfish maintained a high level of abundance throughout my study. long-eared sunfish occurred in pools having bottoms of gravel or bedrock at the upper neosho station, or near shore over rubble or gravel in slow to moderate current at the middle neosho station. #lepomis humilis# (girard) orange-spotted sunfish the orange-spotted sunfish occurred at all stations; it was most abundant in the neosho river, especially at the uppermost station. this fish was taken in a variety of habitats, but was most common in areas where the current was slack, often over mud or silt bottom. #lepomis macrochirus# rafinesque bluegill bluegill were taken at all stations but were rare. this species occurred exclusively in pools, usually near cover (brush or trees in the water). bluegill are predominately pond-fish in kansas, and populations in rivers may consist partly of individuals that escaped from ponds in time of overflow. i know of no stream in kansas that has a population large enough to contribute significantly to the sport fishery. #pomoxis nigromaculatus# (lesueur) black crappie this species was represented by only one specimen, taken at the lower neosho station in . #pomoxis annularis# rafinesque white crappie white crappie were taken at all stations, but were common only at the upper and middle stations on the marais des cygnes and the upper neosho station. at the last station, this fish was abundant in a single large pool that contained much more water during drought than any other area at this station. there was little dispersal into several smaller pools, below the large pool, which were sampled in , and . white crappie were not taken in the lower pools until , and then were rare. most crappie were taken in quiet water near cover or near shore. young-of-the-year were found in , and , but never abundantly. at the lower neosho station in , ripe individuals were collected on june, a spent female on june, and young-of-the-year on july. the young were present in quiet, shallow water over mud bottom at the lower end of a gravel bar. large white crappie ( - inches t. l.) were common at the middle and lower neosho stations in and in april, . large fish were almost entirely absent from later collections. average size, maximum size and abundance declined during the period of study. #percina phoxocephala# (nelson) slender-headed darter the slender-headed darter was taken at all stations but was more abundant in the neosho than in the marais des cygnes. the lower marais des cygnes, however, was the only station with a relatively large population in . slender-headed darters were rare in the neosho river in and did not become common until . the largest population was found at the upper neosho station in . this darter occurs most frequently in swift water over gravel bottom, but was taken in various habitats, including an intermittent pool at the upper neosho station on september, . at the middle and lower neosho stations, considerably greater numbers were taken in june, july, and early august than in may or late august. the abundance in my collections diminished from a peak in early july, to scarcity in late august. young-of-the-year were taken at the lower neosho station on july, (and subsequently), in moderately fast water over gravel. on august, , a ripe female (eggs stripped easily) was the only slender-headed darter present in a collection from riffles at the middle neosho station. #percina caprodes# (rafinesque) logperch logperch were not taken in the marais des cygnes. they were rare in the neosho, where they were taken most frequently at the upper station in water two to three feet deep, over gravel bottom, in moderate to slight current. this species was present in intermittent pools at the upper neosho station in . #percina copelandi# (jordan) channel darter one specimen was taken at the lower neosho station in . because no others ever have been found in the mainstream of the neosho river, i suspect that my specimen is a "stray" from one of the smaller tributaries, where channel darters are locally common. #etheostoma flabellare# rafinesque fan-tailed darter the fan-tailed darter is represented in my collections by one specimen, obtained in the mainstream of the neosho river at the lower station in . records of this species in kansas are almost confined to the smallest, clear, permanent streams of the southeastern part of the state. my specimen may represent a small population that retreated to the mainstream of the neosho during drought. #etheostoma spectabile# (agassiz) orange-throated darter orange-throated darters were common at the upper marais des cygnes and upper neosho stations in , rare at the middle and lower neosho stations, and absent from the middle and lower marais des cygnes stations. the species was found almost exclusively on upstream riffles over gravel-rubble bottom. the population in the upper neosho was decimated by drought, and the fish did not become common until the summer of , the third year after resumption of normal stream-flow. deacon and metcalf ( : ) indicated that long periods of intermittency result in depletion or elimination of populations of the orange-throated darter in the wakarusa river, kansas. a limited number of orange-throated darters probably survived in the few permanent pools in the upper neosho and provided the brood-stock necessary to repopulate this section of the stream. #aplodinotus grunniens# rafinesque freshwater drum drum were taken at all stations, but were most abundant at the middle and lower neosho stations. a high level of abundance also was found in at the middle marais des cygnes station. the abundance of drum declined from to , but the average size increased because of a dominant year-class that was moderately reduced by natural mortality in -' . although the population was composed largely of young-of-the-year and adults in , it was dominated by yearling individuals in . by the number had declined considerably and the population consisted mostly of juveniles and adults. fish of the year-class reached a length of approximately ten inches by mid-summer of (table ). adults were taken in a variety of habitats, but most often in quiet water. on the other hand, yearlings were extremely abundant in near shore in shallow, moderately fast water over rubble bottom at night. drum were rare in the same areas in daylight (table ). young-of-the-year occur in shallow, quiet water, usually over mud-bottom. the freshwater drum matures at about inches t. l. ripe males were taken as late as june ; however, the height of the spawning season probably is in may. table . length-frequency of freshwater drum from the middle neosho station in , and . total length aug. aug. - july -aug. in inches table . average number of individuals captured per hour, using the shocker, at different times of the day and night at the middle neosho station in . numbers in parentheses indicate total number captured. ====================================================================== | morning | afternoon | early night | late night | | hours | hours | hours | hours | species | of effort | of effort | of effort | of effort | | expended | expended | expended | expended | | : a.m. | : p.m. | : p.m. | : a.m. | | : p.m. | : p.m. | : a.m. | : a.m. | ----------------+------------+------------+-------------+------------+ long-nosed gar | | . ( ) | . ( ) | . ( ) | short-nosed gar | . ( ) | | . ( ) | . ( ) | gizzard shad | . ( ) | . ( ) | . ( ) | . ( ) | black buffalo | | . ( ) | . ( ) | | small-mouthed | | | | | buffalo | . ( ) | . ( ) | . ( ) | . ( ) | river | | | | | carpsucker | . ( ) | . ( ) | . ( ) | . ( ) | redhorse | | . ( ) | . ( ) | . ( ) | carp | . ( ) | . ( ) | . ( ) | . ( ) | channel catfish | . ( ) | . ( ) | . ( ) | . ( ) | flathead | . ( ) | . ( ) | . ( ) | . ( ) | spotted bass | . ( ) | . ( ) | . ( ) | . ( ) | green sunfish | . ( ) | . ( ) | . ( ) | . ( ) | long-eared | | | | | sunfish | | | . ( ) | . ( ) | orange-spotted | | | | | sunfish | . ( ) | | | | white crappie | . ( ) | . ( ) | . ( ) | . ( ) | freshwater drum | . ( ) | . ( ) | . ( ) | . ( ) | number captured | | | | | per hour | . | . | . | . | ----------------+------------+------------+-------------+------------+ table . numbers of fish seen or captured per hour by use of the shocker. excludes fish taken by shocking into a seine on riffles; young-of-the-year channel catfish and flathead catfish predominated in samples taken by that method. ==================================================================== | marais des cygnes river | |-----------------+-----------------+-----------+ species | upper | middle | lower | -------------------+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+ | | | | | | | | | -------------------+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+ gar | . | . | . | . | . | ... | . | . | gizzard shad | . | . | ... | . | . | ... | ... | . | buffalo | . | . | . | . | . | ... | . | . | river carpsucker | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | shortheaded | | | | | | | | | redhorse | . | . | . | . | . | ... | ... | ... | carp | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | . | black bullhead | ... | ... | ... | . | . | ... | ... | ... | channel catfish | . | . | ... | . | . | ... | . | . | flathead | . | ... | . | . | ... | ... | . | . | largemouth | . | ... | ... | . | . | ... | ... | ... | white crappie | . | . | . | . | . | ... | ... | . | freshwater drum | . | . | . | . | . | ... | . | . | | | | | | | | | | hours shocked | - / | - / | - / | | | | - / | - / | -------------------+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+ | neosho river | |-----------------------------------------------| | middle | lower | |-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+ | | | | | | | -------------------|-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+ gar | . | . | . | . | . | . | gizzard shad | . | . | . | . | . | . | buffalo | . | . | . | . | . | . | river carpsucker | . | . | . | . | . | . | shortheaded | | | | | | | redhorse | . | . | . | . | ... | . | carp | . | . | . | . | . | . | channel catfish | . | . | . | . | . | . | flathead | . | . | . | . | . | . | bass | . | . | . | . | . | . | white crappie | ... | . | . | . | . | . | freshwater drum | . | . | . | . | . | . | | | | | | | | hours shocked | - / | - / | - / | - / | | - / | | | | | | | | -------------------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+-------+ table . number of occurrences (roman type) and number counted (_italic type_) per seining unit. one seining unit equals seine-hauls (ten each with the -foot, -foot and -foot seine) of which six randomly-chosen hauls were counted. dashes signify that the species occurred in uncounted collections only. ====================================================================== | marais des cygnes stations | neosho +-----------+----------+-----------+--------------- species | upper | middle | lower | lower station +-----+-----+----+-----+-----------+------+-------- | | | | | | | | -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- golden shiner | ... | ... |--- | ... | ... | ...| ... | ... -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- creek chub | ... | --- |... | ... | ... | ...| ... | ... -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- silver chub | ... | ... |... | ... | --- | ...| ... | ... -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- gravel chub | ... | ... |... | ... | ... | ...| ... | . | | | | | | | | _ . _ -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- sucker-mouthed | --- | |... | | ... | | | . minnow | | | | _ _ | | | | _ . _ -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- red-finned shiner | ... | ... |... | | . | | ... | . | | | | | _ . _| | | _ . _ -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- blunt-faced shiner | ... | ... |--- | ... | ... | ...| ... | ... -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- red shiner | | | | | . | | | . |_ _ | |_ _ |_ _ |_ . _|_ _|_ _|_ . _ -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- mimic shiner | ... | ... |... | ... | ... | ...| --- | ... -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- ghost shiner | . | |... | | . | | | . | | | | |_ . _| | _ _| _ _ -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- sand shiner | --- | |... | | . | | ... | | | | | _ _ | | | | _. _ -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- mountain minnow | ... | ... |... | ... | ... | ...| | . | | | | | | | _ _| _ . _ -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- blunt-nosed minnow | --- | |... | | . | | | . | | | | | _. _| | _ _| _ . _ -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- parrot minnow | ... | ... |... | ... | ... | ...| | . | | | | | | | _ _| _ . _ -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- fat-headed minnow | . | | | | ... | ...| ...| . |_ . _| |_ _ | _ _ | | | | _ . _ -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- stoneroller | --- | |--- | ... | ... | ...| --- | . | | | | | | | | _ . _ -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- black bullhead | ... | ... |... | ... | . | ...| ... | ... -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- channel catfish | . | | | | . | | | . |_ . _| |_ _ | _ _ | _ . _| _ _| _ _| _ . _ -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- flathead | --- | |--- | --- | . | ...| --- | . -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- stonecat | ... | ... |--- | ... | . | ...| --- | . | | | | | _. _| | | -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- neosho madtom | ... | ... |... | ... | ... | ...| ... | . | | | | | | | | _ . _ -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- brook silversides | ... | ... |... | ... | . | ...| ... | . | | | | | _ . _| | | -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- black-striped | ... | ... |... | ... | . | | ... | . topminnow | | | | | _ . _| | | _. _ -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- spotted bass | ... | ... |... | ... | ... | ...| | . | | | | | | | | _. _ -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- largemouth | ... | ... | | | ... | ...| | ... | | |_ _ | _ _ | | | _ _| -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- green sunfish | | | | | . | | | . |_ . _| |_ _ | _ _ |_ . _| _ _| _ _| _ . _ -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- long-eared sunfish | ... | ... |... | ... | . | ...| | . | | | | | | | | _. _ -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- orange-spotted | . | --- | | | . | ...| | . sunfish |_ _ | |_ _ | | | | _ _| _ . _ -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- bluegill | . | |... | | . | | | . | | | | _ _ | | | | _. _ -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- white crappie | ... | ... | | | ... | ...| ... | ... | | |_ _ | | | | | -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- logperch | ... | ... |... | ... | ... | ...| | . | | | | | | | | _. _ -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- slender-headed | --- | |... | | . | | | . darter | | | | |_ . _| _ _| | _ . _ -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- orange-throated | --- | |... | ... | ... | ...| | --- darter | | | | | | | | -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- seining units | / | | | | | | | -------------------+-----+-----+----+-----+------+----+------+-------- fish-fauna of the upper neosho river collections at the upper neosho station were more intensive than at any other station, especially in . rotenone was used in the summers of , and , to obtain large samples of the population in one section of the stream. in september, , the shocker was used in other sections in order to estimate populations in particular pools and riffles, to measure variability in the fauna between areas having slightly different habitat, and to record movement of marked individuals in a short section of the stream. description of study-areas two sections of the stream, each about one-half mile long (see p. ), were studied. additional description of particular areas is presented below. area and the pools in which rotenone was used are on the bosch farm approximately two miles upstream from the white farm where areas , , , , and are situated. area has a length of feet, an average width of four feet, and a maximum depth of two feet. the upper half is a swift, rubble riffle four inches in average depth; the lower half is one and one-half feet in average depth and has a slow current (pl. , fig. ). area has a length of feet, an average width of feet, and a maximum depth of two and one-half feet. this area includes a shallow riffle at both upstream and downstream ends of a pool feet long and approximately one foot in average depth (pl. , fig. ). area has a length of feet, an average width of feet, and a maximum depth of two and one-half feet. this is a shallow, quiet pool over rubble and bedrock bottom except for a small area of mud bottom (backwater) above the point where a short riffle drains into this pool from area (pl. , fig. ). area has a length of feet, an average width of feet, and a maximum depth of one and one-half feet. this is a shallow, quiet pool over bedrock bottom, except for a small area of mud bottom at one side of the upper end of the pool. a short, steep, rubble-riffle is included in this area at the upstream end (pl. , fig. ). areas , , and resemble at least one of the areas described above but were sampled less intensively. data from areas , , and are included in discussion of the total fauna of the upper neosho river but are excluded from the discussion of representative parts of that fauna. methods _rotenone_ rotenone was applied to an intermittent pool in . in and rotenone was applied to the upper end of a pool and mixed by agitating the water. the concentration in the pool was maintained by slowly introducing part of the rotenone into the riffle at the head of the pool. this was the most effective means of obtaining a large sample of fish from the deeper, slowly flowing water of the upper neosho. pools in which rotenone was used had areas of as much as one-half acre and depths in excess of six feet. _shocker_ in the shocker was used extensively in several areas of the upper neosho. because of the small size of the stream, "tennis-racket" electrodes were used effectively by two men--one carrying the electrodes and one picking up fish and placing them in a live-box. in fast water, many fish floated into a seine placed across the lower end of the area. a large segment of the population was collected in this manner. areas in which fish were collected by means of the shocker included riffles, and pools having flowing water no more than three feet in maximum depth. the bottom-type was usually gravel, rubble or bedrock, but a small amount of mud bottom was present in many pools. because of the necessity of wading, we could not use the shocker effectively in water more than three feet deep. in addition, turbidity of the water prevented effective collection of stunned fish in the deeper pools. therefore, rotenone was more effective in deep water than was the shocker. in shallow, swift riffles and pools, the shocker yielded more reliable samples than did rotenone, because of difficulty in maintaining adequate concentrations of rotenone where flow was swift. the relative abundance of each species in the upper neosho was calculated from cumulative results obtained by use of the shocker in seven areas in . population estimates were made by collecting fish with the shocker, marking them by clipping fins or staining them in bismark brown y at a concentration of : , (deacon, ), returning them to the stream, and making a second collection three hours (areas and ) or hours (area ) later. the same area was shocked again within two to eight days. collections throughout the one-half-mile section yielded information on movement. changes in the fauna at the upper neosho station, through . the following discussion is based principally on collections made with rotenone in , and (table ). other supplementary data aid in understanding the changes that occurred after the resumption of normal flow at the upper neosho station. the population in was strongly dominated by black bullhead and young-of-the-year channel catfish. other common species were long-eared sunfish, red shiner, yellow bullhead, orange-spotted sunfish and green sunfish. this fauna, with the exception of young-of-the-year individuals, was a fauna produced during the years of drought. deacon and metcalf ( : - ) found a similar fauna in streams of the wakarusa river basin that had been seriously affected by drought. the black bullheads taken in were predominately yearlings. it is likely that by the total fish population in the upper neosho had been decimated by drought. the ponded conditions prevalent in that year were conducive to production and survival of young black bullheads. fig. shows that this dominant year-class reached an average length of approximately . inches by august, . reproduction by black bullheads was limited in , , and , and slight reduction in relative abundance occurred from to . the relative abundance in remained nearly stable. if stream-flow remains essentially continuous for the next few years, the number of black bullheads probably will decline as individuals of the year-class reach the end of their life-span. reference has been made to the large hatch of channel catfish in , in a discussion of that species. conditions for survival of young channel catfish at the upper neosho station in were good because there was continuous flow over many gravel-rubble riffles, which were largely unoccupied by other fish, in the spring and summer of . table . percentage-composition of the fish-fauna at the upper neosho station in , and , as computed from collections obtained by using rotenone. ============================================================ species | | | ----------------------------------+--------+-------+-------- big-mouthed buffalo...............| ...... | t[d] | t small-mouthed buffalo.............| ...... | ..... | t river carpsucker..................| t | . | . golden redhorse...................| t | . | . creek chub........................| ...... | t | . red-finned shiner.................| . | . | . red shiner........................| . | . | . ghost shiner......................| t | t | ...... blunt-nosed minnow................| t | t | t fat-headed minnow.................| t | t | . stoneroller.......................| . | . | . black bullhead....................| . | . | . yellow bullhead...................| . | . | . channel catfish...................| . | . | . flathead..........................| t | t | t stonecat..........................| t | t | . spotted bass......................| t | t | . largemouth........................| t | t | t green sunfish.....................| . | . | . long-eared sunfish................| . | . | . orange-spotted sunfish............| . | . | . bluegill..........................| t | t | t white crappie.....................| t | ..... | t logperch......................... | t | . | . slender-headed darter.............| . | . | . orange-throated darter............| ...... | t | . total number of fish..............| | | size of sample-area in acre-feet..| . | . | . ----------------------------------+--------+-------+-------- [d] t denotes less than one-half of one per cent of the population. channel catfish also showed a slight decline in relative abundance after , resulting from mortality in the year-class. with continuous flow, channel catfish will probably remain abundant, although annual reproductive success probably will be less than in . the big-mouthed buffalo, small-mouthed buffalo, creek chub and orange-throated darter were not taken in , but appeared in collections in . the river carpsucker, golden redhorse, red shiner, fat-headed minnow, stoneroller, stonecat, and slender-headed darter also increased in abundance between and . the increased abundance of all these species in and resulted in a more diversified fauna, with lesser predominance by any single species, than in (table ); this change is related to the increased, permanent flow in and . local variability of the fauna in different areas at the upper neosho station, the shallow areas in which the shocker was used in are the prevalent habitat in the upper neosho river. the relative abundance of fishes found in these areas is presented in table . the red shiner was most abundant and was followed (in decreasing order) by long-eared sunfish, minnows of the genus _pimephales_, green sunfish, red-finned shiner, channel catfish, and stoneroller. other species combined comprise less than ten per cent of the population. table also shows the variability in relative abundance of different species among areas that have the same general kind of habitat. the species composition is similar in all areas. the sample obtained with rotenone in is included in table to show differences in the fauna of deep, slowly flowing areas and shallower areas with stronger current. the differences in relative abundance indicate the kind of habitat that each species is able to utilize most fully. golden redhorse and black bullhead were most abundant in large, deep, quiet pools ( . per cent and per cent of the total population) and were more abundant in area ( . per cent and . per cent respectively) than in any of the other shallow areas. area has greater average depth, more mud bottom, and less riffle area than areas , and . the golden redhorse and black bullhead have specific habitat preferences that are not evident in the above discussion. my collections indicate that the golden redhorse prefers deep water having some current, whereas the black bullhead prefers little or no current. species that prevailed in or near riffles were: creek chub, sucker-mouthed minnow, stoneroller, channel catfish (young-of-the-year only), flathead (young-of-the-year only), stonecat, slender-headed darter, and orange-throated darter. of these species, the sucker-mouthed minnow, slender-headed darter and orange-throated darter reached their greatest abundance at area , where the riffle is shallow, slow, and has a bottom composed of flat limestone rubble. the riffle at area is, for the most part, deeper and faster than at area and has a bottom composed of gravel and small rocks. the creek chub, stoneroller, channel catfish (young-of-the-year), flathead (young-of-the-year), and stonecat reached their greatest abundance in area . all species that showed a preference for riffles were rare or absent in area where no riffle-habitat was sampled. the riffle-dwelling species that were present in collections made with rotenone in the deeper pools were taken from the riffle into which rotenone was introduced. the river carpsucker, blunt-nosed minnow, fat-headed minnow, channel catfish (yearlings and two-year-olds), flathead (yearlings and two-year-olds), green sunfish and long-eared sunfish showed a preference for shallow, quiet water. all of these species were more common in collections from areas and than in collections from other areas. table . relative abundance of fish (per cent of total population made up by each species), in the first collection made in each of four different shallow areas by means of the shocker, is shown in vertical columns - . results of the use of rotenone in a fifth, deeper area are shown in column . column combines data from all collections made by using the shocker in seven shallow areas (including columns - ). ====================================================================== | area | area | area | area | | all | | | | | rotenone | areas ------------------------+------+------+------+------+----------+------ big-mouthed buffalo | .... | .... | t[e] | .... | t | t small-mouthed buffalo | .... | .... | . | .... | t | t river carpsucker | .... | t | . | t | . | . river carpsucker (yy)[f]| .... | . | t | . | .... | . short-headed redhorse | .... | .... | . | .... | .... | t golden redhorse | . | . | . | .... | . | t carp | .... | .... | .... | .... | .... | t golden shiner | .... | .... | .... | .... | .... | t creek chub | . | t | t | t | . | t sucker-mouthed minnow | .... | . | t | . | .... | . red-finned shiner | .... | .... | .... | . | . | . red shiner | . | . | . | . | . | . sand shiner | .... | . | .... | . | .... | t pimephales (yy) | .... | .... | .... | .... | .... | . mountain minnow | .... | .... | .... | t | .... | t blunt-nosed minnow | .... | . | . | . | t | . parrot minnow | .... | .... | .... | .... | .... | t fat-headed minnow | t | t | . | . | . | . stoneroller | . | . | . | . | . | . black bullhead | . | t | . | t | . | . yellow bullhead | t | t | .... | t | . | t channel catfish (j)[g] | . | . | . | t | . | . channel catfish (yy) | . | . | t | . | . | . flathead (j) | .... | . | . | t | t | t flathead (yy) | . | t | .... | .... | .... | t stonecat | . | . | .... | .... | . | . spotted bass | .... | t | . | t | . | t largemouth | .... | .... | t | .... | t | t green sunfish | . | . | . | . | . | . long-eared sunfish | . | . | . | . | . | . orange-spotted sunfish | t | t | . | . | . | . bluegill | .... | .... | . | .... | t | t white crappie | .... | .... | .... | .... | t | t logperch | t | t | t | t | . | t slender-headed darter | t | . | . | . | . | . orange-throated darter | . | . | t | . | . | t freshwater drum | .... | .... | t | .... | .... | t total number of fish | | | | | | , area in square feet | | | | | .... | .... volume | .... | .... | .... | .... | / | | | | | |acre-foot | ------------------------+------+------+------+------+----------+------ [e] "t" designates species that comprised less than . per cent of the population. [f] (yy) signifies young-of-the-year. [g] (j) signifies yearlings or two-year-olds. temporal variability of fauna in the same areas the variability of the population in successive collections from the same area is presented in table . supplementary data obtained in areas , and support conclusions discussed below for areas , and . the abundance of some species maintained a constant level, whereas that of others varied. table . numbers of individuals collected by means of the shocker at varying intervals in september, . the number at the top of each column is the date when the collection was made. ====================================================================== | area | area | area species +-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+----- | | | | | | | | | ----------------+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+----- golden redhorse | | | ... | | | | ... | ... | creek chub | | | | | ... | ... | | | ... sucker-mouthed | | | | | | | | | minnow | ... | ... | ... | | | | | | red-finned | | | | | | | | | shiner | ... | ... | | ... | ... | | | | red shiner | | | | | | | | | blunt-nosed | | | | | | | | | minnow | ... | ... | ... | | | | | | fat-headed | | | | | | | | | minnow | | ... | ... | | | | | | stoneroller | | | | | | | | | black bullhead | | ... | | | | ... | ... | | yellow bullhead | | | ... | | | ... | | ... | channel catfish | | | ... | | | ... | | | channel | | | | | | | | | catfish(yy)[h]| | | | | | | | | flathead | ... | ... | ... | | | | | ... | flathead(yy) | | | | | | | ... | ... | ... stonecat | | | | | | | ... | ... | ... green sunfish | | | | | | | | | long-eared | | | | | | | | | sunfish | | | | | | | | | logperch | | ... | ... | | ... | ... | ... | ... | ... slender-headed | | | | | | | | | darter | ... | | | | | | | | orange-throated | | | | | | | | | darter | | | | | | | | ... | ----------------+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+----- total | | | | | | | | | ----------------+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+----- [h] (yy) means young-of-the-year only. stoneroller, channel catfish (young-of-the-year), green sunfish, and long-eared sunfish formed the most stable element of the population, in that the numbers of these species varied less in successive collections than did numbers of other species. the number of orange-throated darters remained constant at areas and , and the number of stonecats changed little in successive collections from area . i suspect that an apparent decline in stonecats at area on september was due to a slow rate of dispersal from the point of release (see pages , ). some species (sucker-mouthed minnow, red-finned shiner, slender-headed darter, and fat-headed minnow) decreased significantly in successive samples from the same area because of mortality in handling or movement out of the area of initial capture. the decrease in abundance of the sucker-mouthed minnow may have been due to some mobility of the species. evidence for mortality caused by handling was obtained for the red-finned shiner and probably accounts for the reduction of this species in area . the red-finned shiner is also probably a mobile species. the reduction in abundance of the slender-headed darter seems unexplainable because no evidence was obtained for either movement or mortality. fat-headed minnows also declined markedly in successive collections from area , the only area in which the species was common. no marked fat-headed minnows were taken outside the area of release, indicating low mobility of the species. i cannot certainly account for their decline; possibly there was latent mortality due to shocking. the numbers of red shiners, blunt-nosed minnows, and juvenile channel catfish varied erratically in successive collections, probably as a result of movement. this problem is discussed for all species in a later section. population-estimation the direct-proportion method was used to estimate fish populations in areas , and . reliable results could not be obtained for all species because of scarcity, mortality in handling, mobility, or other factors. a high rate of mortality due to handling was observed in area for the red shiner and in area for river carpsucker (young-of-the-year), sucker-mouthed minnows, red-finned shiner, red shiner, blunt-nosed minnow, and stoneroller. in area , in contrast, there was little mortality in the same species during the twelve-hour interval that fish were held in traps prior to release as marked individuals. the following species were common in at least one area, but probably are sufficiently mobile (see page ) to invalidate estimates of static populations in small areas: red shiner, red-finned shiner, and channel catfish (yearlings and older). other species were rare and are indicated as "t" in table . those species for which population-estimates seem warranted include: golden redhorse, sucker-mouthed minnow, red shiner, sand shiner, fat-headed minnow, stoneroller, stonecat, channel catfish (young-of-the-year), green sunfish, long-eared sunfish, slender-headed darter, and orange-throated darter. i consider the estimate valid if a high percentage of the marked fish is recaptured. results are presented in table , and ordinarily will not be referred to in the following discussion of the population in each of the three areas. _area _ the order of abundance at area , in terms of the estimated population per square feet, was as follows: stoneroller ( . ), stonecat ( . ), channel catfish (young-of-the-year) ( . ), green sunfish ( . ), red shiner ( . ), long-eared sunfish ( . ), channel catfish (yearlings and older) ( . ), golden redhorse ( . ). insufficient data make inclusion of other species unreliable. a comparison of the order of abundance between the estimated total population and the percentage composition in the first collection from each area shows significant correlations. the percentage-composition of the fish fauna at area was calculated as follows: stoneroller ( . %), red shiner ( . %), green sunfish ( . %), stonecat ( . %), channel catfish (young-of-the-year) ( . %), channel catfish (yearlings and older) ( . %), long-eared sunfish ( . %), golden redhorse ( . %). it can be seen that the stoneroller, green sunfish, long-eared sunfish and golden redhorse follow each other in the same order in both calculations. the stonecat is shown to be more common than channel catfish (young-of-the-year) in both calculations, but both species appear to be more abundant than green sunfish and red shiner in calculations of the total population and less abundant in the percentage-composition in the first collection. i think that the order of abundance as shown by percentage-composition is the more accurate figure for area . the abundance of the red shiner is known to have been affected by mortality in collecting. furthermore, as will be shown later, the species is so mobile that its abundance often changes markedly in a short time. therefore, it is not surprising to find the red shiner in widely varying positions of relative and absolute abundance. however, the green sunfish maintains stable populations and should remain in about the same position of abundance in relation to other species (such as the stonecat and channel catfish young-of-the-year) that also maintain stable populations. the differences in order of abundance obtained by the two methods for green sunfish and channel catfish young-of-the-year are not great. however, in the estimation of total population the abundance of the stonecat seems significantly greater, in relation to other species, than in the calculation of percentage-composition. i believe that this difference can be attributed to the relatively low number of marked fish recaptured, which is probably due to a slow rate of dispersal from the point of release. stonecats were released in relatively quiet water, and if they remained there they might be missed in subsequent collections, because they lack air-bladders and tend to remain on the bottom when shocked. therefore, the calculated total population of the stonecat in area may be too high. table . data used in estimating total populations, by direct proportions, in areas , , and at the upper neosho stations. ====================================================================== | number | number | number | captured first | marked and |captured second species | collection | released | collection +----+-----+-----+----+----+----+----+-----+---- | | | | | | | | | ----------------------+----+-----+-----+----+----+----+----+-----+---- golden redhorse | | | | | | | | | sucker-mouthed minnow | | | | | | | | | red shiner | | | | | | | | | sand shiner | | | | | | | | | blunt-nosed minnow | | | | | | | | | fat-headed minnow | | | | | | | | | stoneroller | | | | | | | | | channel catfish(j)[i] | | | | | | | | | channel catfish(yy)[j]| | | | | | | | | stonecat | | | | | | | | | green sunfish | |[k]--| | | -- | | | -- | long-eared sunfish | | | | | | | | | ----------------------+----+-----+-----+----+----+----+----+-----+---- ====================================================================== number of | estimated | percent of | number marked fish | total | marked fish | per recaptured | population | recovered | square feet ----+----+----+----+-----+------+-----+-----+----+------+------+------ | | | | | | | | | | | ----+----+----+----+-----+------+-----+-----+----+------+------+------ | | | | | | | | -- | . | . | | | | | | -- | -- | | | | . | -- | | | | | | | | | . | . | -- | | | | | -- | -- | | -- | | . | -- | | | | -- | | -- | | | | -- | | | | -- | -- | | | | | -- | -- | . | | | | | | | | | . | . | . | | | | | -- | | | | . | . | -- | | | | | -- | | | | . | . | -- | | -- | | -- | | | | -- | . | -- | | -- | | | -- | | | -- | | . | -- | . | | | | | | | | | . | . | . ----+----+----+----+-----+------+-----+-----+----+------+------+------ [i] (j) denotes juveniles only. [j] (yy) denotes young-of-year only. [k] a dash denotes incomplete or insufficient data. _area _ the order of abundance of the species at area , in terms of the estimated population per square feet, was as follows: red shiner ( . ), stoneroller ( . ), sucker-mouthed minnow ( . ), channel catfish (young-of-the-year) ( . ), sand shiner ( . ), channel catfish (yearlings and older) ( . ), long-eared sunfish ( . ), golden redhorse ( . ). insufficient data make inclusion of other species unreliable. for comparison with the estimates of total population, the percentage-composition in the first collection gives the following results: red shiner ( . %), stoneroller ( . %), sucker-mouthed minnow ( . %), channel catfish (yearlings and older) ( . %), channel catfish (young-of-the-year) ( . %), long-eared sunfish ( . %), sand shiner ( . %), and golden redhorse ( . %). for the most part, the species have the same order of abundance in both methods of analysis. those that are apparently out of order are channel catfish (yearlings and older) and long-eared sunfish. the first species is mobile (excepting young-of-the-year) and commonly fluctuates widely in numbers in the same area; the second species was treated differently in that only adults were considered in the population-estimation whereas both young and adults were considered in calculating percentage-composition. (i found that i could not confidently distinguish between young-of-the-year of green sunfish, long-eared sunfish and orange-spotted sunfish after staining.) _area _ the order of abundance of the species at area , in terms of the estimated population per square feet, was as follows: red shiner ( . ), fat-headed minnow ( . ), blunt-nosed minnow ( . ), stoneroller ( . ), green sunfish ( . ), long-eared sunfish ( . ). insufficient data make inclusion of other species unreliable. calculations of percentage-composition give the following results: red shiner ( . %), long-eared sunfish ( . %), green sunfish ( . %), fat-headed minnow ( . %), blunt-nosed minnow ( . %), stoneroller ( . %). the two species of sunfish form a more significant part of the population in the latter analysis because young are included. only adults were considered in the estimation of total population. the fact that estimates of the total population and the percentage-composition agree in most respects lends support to the validity of both methods of analysis. it should be re-emphasized that differences in the order of abundance in the various areas reflect the ability of each species to utilize each particular kind of habitat. movement of marked fish table . data on movement of marked fish at the upper neosho station, september, . ====================================================================== | number | number | number | number species | marked | recaptured | moved | moved | | | upstream | downstream ------------------------+--------+------------+----------+-------------- golden redhorse | | | | sucker-mouthed minnow | | | | red-finned shiner | | | | red shiner | | | | blunt-nosed minnow | | | | fat-headed minnow | | | | stoneroller | | | | black bullhead | | | | channel catfish (j)[l] | | | | channel catfish (yy)[m] | | | | stonecat | | | | green sunfish | | | | long-eared sunfish | | | | slender-headed darter | | | | orange-throated darter | | | | ------------------------+--------+------------+----------+------------ [l] (j) denotes juveniles only. [m] (yy) denotes young-of-year only. some measure was gained of the amount of movement exhibited by several species of fish. results are biased in favor of a conclusion that a species is sedentary because a large percentage of the recaptures were made in collections taken in the same immediate area three hours after release of marked fish, the total area checked was not large (one mile), and collecting was limited to an eleven-day period. nevertheless, some species were shown to be definitely mobile and others exhibited pronounced sedentary tendencies. the results of experiments on movement are presented in table . marked fish (dyed and fin-clipped) were taken as long as seven days after being marked. only those species in which more than ten individuals were marked are included. blunt-nosed minnow, red shiner, and channel catfish (yearlings and older) are more mobile than other species. the mobility of channel catfish has been discussed by muncy ( ) and funk ( ). my records show that of marked channel catfish that were recaptured, were taken in areas other than the one into which they had been returned. a pronounced mobile tendency on the part of the red shiner and blunt-nosed minnow is shown by the fact that of marked red shiners recaptured, had moved from the area of release; and of marked blunt-nosed minnows recaptured, had moved from the area of release. the fact that the habitat occupied by these species is not precise (ranging from swift riffles to quiet pools) supports a conclusion that the species are mobile. the fat-headed minnow, stoneroller, channel catfish (young-of-the-year), green sunfish and long-eared sunfish form a sedentary element of the population. with the exception of the fat-headed minnow, the sedentary group also maintained relatively stable numbers in areas , and throughout the study (table ). it is interesting to note that, in contrast to the mobile group, the species forming the sedentary group have rather well-defined habitat preferences. a third group of species, represented by the red-finned shiner, stonecat, slender-headed darter and orange-throated darter, was characterized by having a low rate of recapture. i suspect that mortality is a factor contributing to the failure to recapture red-finned shiners, because in one collection only four of red-finned shiners captured were successfully marked and released, in another case of . the red-finned shiner occurs most often in pools but is also taken in other areas, is pelagic, and probably is a mobile species. the stonecat, slender-headed darter and orange-throated darter are generally restricted to riffle-habitats, and are probably sedentary. the low number of recaptures for these three species probably is due either to a slow rate of dispersal from the point of release or to latent mortality resulting from shock. table shows that these three species maintain comparatively stable populations, but there seems to be a tendency for a reduction in numbers with continued collecting, even though all fish captured were returned to the stream. golden redhorse showed a high rate of recapture. all individuals marked were recaptured three hours after release in areas (two fish) and (five fish). nine individuals were taken from area on september; seven of these were marked and released in the next pool downstream (area ). on september, two fish were retaken in area and two were retaken in area , the next pool downstream. the species was common in area also where five of eight marked individuals were recaptured two days after release. it seems that the golden redhorse is somewhat restricted in movement, at least for short periods. the sucker-mouthed minnow and black bullhead showed some movement--less than such mobile species as red shiners and channel catfish, but more than the sedentary group. seven of marked sucker-mouthed minnows were taken in areas adjacent to the one to which they had been returned. two of six black bullheads that were recaptured had moved. the black bullhead moved the greater distance. the extent of short-term movement by several of the species in the upper neosho correlates well with redistribution subsequent to drought in the wakarusa river, discussed by deacon and metcalf ( ). similarity of the fauna at the upper neosho station to the faunas of nearby streams the fauna that i found to be characteristic at the upper neosho station has affinity with the upland tributary-fauna described by metcalf ( ) for chautauqua, cowley and elk counties, kansas. the primary difference is a nearly complete absence at my station of the ozarkian element of the population. some species (red-finned shiner, long-eared sunfish, and spotted bass) listed by metcalf as characteristic of the mainstream of smaller rivers occur at the upper neosho station in greater abundance then elsewhere in the neosho. this difference is probably due to the fact that the upper neosho station is somewhat larger and slightly more turbid than metcalf's "upland tributaries." hall ( ) reported on the distribution of fishes in the vicinity of fort gibson reservoir, an impoundment on the grand (neosho) river in oklahoma. he separated the fishes into three groups according to habitat-preference: species restricted to upland tributaries on the east side of grand (neosho) river, species restricted to lowland tributaries on the west side of grand (neosho) river, and species occurring in the grand river proper and/or tributaries on one or both sides. several species found in the upper neosho river also occur in the area studied by hall. of these, only the creek chub was restricted to upland tributaries on the east side of grand (neosho) river. the sucker-mouthed minnow and red-finned shiner were restricted to the lowland tributaries on the west side of grand (neosho) river in the fort gibson reservoir area. golden redhorse, stoneroller, yellow bullhead, spotted bass, green sunfish, long-eared sunfish, and orange-throated darter were present in collections from the grand river proper and/or tributaries on both sides of the river, most commonly in tributaries. hall's data show that black bullhead, large-mouthed bass, white crappie, and logperch occurred most frequently in or near the quiet water of the reservoir. in my study these fish were most common in the larger, quiet pools at the upper neosho station. comparison of the fish faunas of the neosho and marais des cygnes rivers the marais des cygnes river has less gradient (especially in the upstream portions), fewer and shorter riffles, and more mud bottom than does the neosho river. stream-flow during drought was reduced to a proportionately greater degree in the neosho river than it was in the marais des cygnes river. average flow of the neosho river near parsons (drainage area: square miles), kansas, was less than average flow of the marais des cygnes river at trading post (drainage area: square miles), kansas, in , and . in normal times the neosho river carries a larger volume of water than the marais des cygnes. the neosho river has a greater variety of habitat-conditions and a more diversified fish-fauna than the marais des cygnes. the following species were taken in the neosho river but not in the marais des cygnes river: blue sucker, high-finned carpsucker, golden redhorse, gravel chub, mimic shiner, mountain minnow, parrot minnow, neosho madtom (the only endemic in either river), mosquitofish, spotted bass, smallmouth, black crappie, logperch and fan-tailed darter. most of the above species are usually found in association with gravel-bottom, which is prevalent in neosho river. the blue sucker, high-finned carpsucker, gravel chub, mountain minnow, and parrot minnow normally occur in the larger streams in kansas. the last three species became more abundant in the neosho river following resumption of flow. the golden redhorse also increased in abundance from to , but was most numerous at the upper neosho station, whereas the other species occurred mainly at the lower stations. the mimic shiner, spotted bass, smallmouth, and fan-tailed darter are characteristic of upstream habitats with clear water (tributaries, rather than the mainstream), and were taken in the neosho river only in or became less abundant from to . the silver chub, slender madtom and tadpole madtom were taken in the marais des cygnes river only in and were not taken in the neosho river. the following species, common to both rivers, were more abundant in the neosho: long-nosed gar, short-nosed gar, river carpsucker, creek chub, sucker-mouthed minnow, red-finned shiner, red shiner, ghost shiner, blunt-nosed minnow, fat-headed minnow, stoneroller, yellow bullhead, channel catfish, flathead, stonecat, largemouth, long-eared sunfish, slender-headed darter, and freshwater drum. these species, collectively, reflect the more diversified habitats (more gravel-bottom, more riffle-areas, more gradient, greater range of stream-size sampled) in the neosho river. the following species, common to both rivers, were more abundant in the marais des cygnes: gizzard shad, carp, sand shiner, black bullhead and white crappie. these species (with the exception of sand shiner) emphasize the fact that the marais des cygnes is a sluggish stream with large areas of mud bottom. differences in the abundance of the sand shiner in the two rivers are part of taxonomic and distributional studies being conducted by mr. bernard c. nelson. the following species were not consistently more abundant in one river than the other: big-mouthed buffalo, black buffalo, small-mouthed buffalo, short-headed redhorse, green sunfish, orange-spotted sunfish and orange-throated darter. these species, excepting the orange-throated darter and short-headed redhorse, occurred in a wide variety of habitats. faunal changes, through the following species increased in abundance from to (tables and ): long-nosed gar, short-nosed gar, river carpsucker, creek chub, gravel chub, sucker-mouthed minnow, mountain minnow, blunt-nosed minnow, parrot minnow, stoneroller, stonecat, neosho madtom, green sunfish, slender-headed darter, and orange-throated darter. these species can be separated into three groups, characteristic of different habitats but having in common a preference for permanent flow. one group, composed of long-nosed gar, short-nosed gar, river carpsucker, gravel chub, mountain minnow, parrot minnow, and neosho madtom, prefers streams of moderate to large size. a second group composed of creek chub, sucker-mouthed minnow, stoneroller, and orange-throated darter occurs most abundantly in small, permanent streams. the green sunfish may be included here on the basis of its abundance at the upper neosho station; however, this is a pioneer species and does not require permanent flow. the third group is characteristic of continuously flowing water, but in both upstream and downstream situations. the species in this group (blunt-nosed minnow, stonecat, and slender-headed darter), increased in response to a resumption of permanent flow, but did not respond as quickly as did channel catfish, flatheads and freshwater drum, which are discussed subsequently. the fact that riffle-insects were abundant throughout my study convinces me that food was not a limiting factor in the re-establishment of the fish-fauna on riffles of the neosho river. the following species decreased in abundance during my study (tables and ): gizzard shad, carp, rosy-faced shiner, blunt-faced shiner, red shiner, mimic shiner, black bullhead, yellow bullhead, channel catfish, flathead, slender madtom, tadpole madtom, freckled madtom, spotted bass, largemouth, black crappie, fan-tailed darter, and freshwater drum. among the species that decreased, three groups, characteristic of different habitats, can be distinguished. the first group occurs most commonly in ponded conditions or in slowly flowing streams. species in this group are: shad, carp, black bullhead, tadpole madtom, largemouth, black crappie, and white crappie. bullhead, bass and crappie commonly occur in farm ponds and lakes in kansas and seem less well adapted to streams. it is therefore not surprising to find that these species decreased in abundance when flow was resumed. a second group, composed of rosy-faced shiner, blunt-faced shiner, mimic shiner, slender madtom, freckled madtom, spotted bass, and fan-tailed darter, normally is characteristic of clear tributaries rather than the mainstream of rivers. these species probably used the mainstream as a refugium during drought; with the resumption of flow, conditions became unsuitable for these populations in the mainstream. at the same time, conditions probably became favorable to the re-establishment of these species in tributaries. metcalf ( : ) listed the rosy-faced shiner, blunt-faced shiner and mimic shiner as species that were characteristic of upland tributaries in the flint hills and chautauqua hills of chautauqua, cowley and elk counties in kansas. the slender madtom and fan-tailed darter are more common in clear streams of southeast kansas than in other areas of the state (cross, personal communication and data of the state biological survey of kansas). both species are recorded by hall ( : - ) only in upland tributaries on the east side of grand (neosho) river in the fort gibson reservoir area of oklahoma. neither species was taken in faunal studies of the verdigris river in oklahoma (wallen, ), in the verdigris and fall rivers in kansas (schelske, ), or by metcalf ( ). the spotted bass is not so restricted in its distribution and its habitat-requirements as are other species in this group; but, in kansas, spotted bass are most abundant in clear creeks in the southeast part of the state. the freckled madtom was taken in most of the studies cited above and is most common in the smaller streams of the southeast one-fourth of kansas and the northeast one-fourth of oklahoma. schelske ( : ) reports that the freckled madtom was taken only in march, april, october and november in the verdigris river, kansas. my only record of this species was obtained in the neosho river in april, . the third group is composed of channel catfish, flathead, and freshwater drum. this group represents that element of the population that responded most quickly to the resumption of continuous flow. the fact that adult channel catfish and flatheads live in pools and do not require flowing water to spawn gives these species a survival advantage as well as a reproductive advantage over obligatory riffle fishes (such as most darters) in the highly variable conditions found in kansas streams. these factors resulted in unusually high reproductive success in . subsequent survival of fry was excellent; however, some mortality in the highly-dominant year-class became apparent in the and collections, accounting for a numerical decline in these species. the ability to respond immediately to increased flow is an adaptive feature that allows these species to maintain high levels of abundance in the highly fluctuating streams of kansas. the continuous flow that occurred in in the neosho and marais des cygnes rivers, for the first time in four years, provided the necessary habitat for survival of young catfish hatched in that year. the nearly complete absence of other species on the riffles, and the abundant populations of riffle-insects that i observed in the summer of , were undoubtedly factors contributing to the survival of young. the decrease in abundance of the red shiner may be partially due to an increase in the numbers of other species that are well adapted to conditions of permanent flow. at the completion of my study, the red shiner was still the most abundant minnow in both rivers. in this species was common in many habitats, including swift riffles, that were later occupied by madtoms, darters, the gravel chub, mountain minnow and sucker-mouthed minnow. the basic pattern of change was clearly an increase in the species that are characteristic of permanently flowing waters, and a decrease in the species that are characteristic of ponds or small, clear streams. plate [illustration: fig. . neosho river, middle station, sec. and , t. s., r. e., looking upstream, july, .] [illustration: fig. . neosho river, lower station, sec. , t. s., r. e., along gravel bar, july, .] plate [illustration: fig. . marais des cygnes river, upper station, sec. , t. s., r. e., looking downstream, june, .] [illustration: fig. . marais des cygnes river, middle station, sec. , t. s., r. e., looking downstream, june, .] plate [illustration: fig. . electrical fishing gear used at night.] [illustration: fig. . pool at the upper neosho station in which rotenone was used, sec. , t. s., r. e., looking downstream, june, .] plate [illustration: fig. . area , upper neosho station, sec. , t. s., r. e., looking upstream, june, .] [illustration: fig. . area , upper neosho station, sec. , t. s., r. e., looking downstream, june, .] plate [illustration: fig. . area , upper neosho station, sec. , t. s., r. e., looking upstream, june, .] [illustration: fig. . area , upper neosho station, sec. , t. s., r. e., looking upstream, june, .] conclusions the fauna of the neosho and marais des cygnes rivers is capable of a wide range of adjustment in response to marked environmental changes. as these rivers become low and clear they take on many of the faunal characteristics of smaller tributaries and ponds. species such as black bullhead, spotted bass, largemouth, white crappie, red shiner, rosy-faced shiner, blunt-faced minnow, mimic shiner, and slender madtom assume a more prominent position in the total population. other species such as channel catfish, flathead, freshwater drum, blue sucker, and such riffle-dwelling species as the gravel chub, neosho madtom, and slender-headed darter hold a less prominent position in the total population. when permanent flow is re-established the more mobile and the more generalized species (with respect to habitat) are able to utilize the available space immediately. as a result, these species increase rapidly in numbers. this increase occurs both by movement from more permanent waters and by reproduction. channel catfish, flathead, freshwater drum, and river carpsucker are mobile species (funk, ; trautman, ) and long-nosed gar probably are mobile. individuals that move supplement those that survive in residual pools, and provide brood stock adequate to produce a large year-class in the first year of permanent flow. the five species last mentioned are found in diverse kinds of streams, indicating that they are adaptable to varying habitats. a sixth species, the red shiner, although probably less mobile, is able to utilize opportunistically nearly any kind of habitat in plains streams. although this species seldom is abundant in riffles, it was, in , abundant in both pool and riffle situations at all my stations. these riffles were almost unoccupied by other species in until mid-summer, when hatches of channel catfish and flatheads occurred. although adult channel catfish and flatheads live well in pools, the young occupy mainly riffles. this age- and size-segregation, in different habitats, was an advantage to the rapid re-establishment of these species in the neosho and marais des cygnes rivers in . species that occupy restricted habitats, especially riffle-dwellers such as the neosho madtom, gravel chub, and slender-headed darter, were slowest to increase following drought. these species seem less capable of adapting to the variable conditions prevalent in the neosho and marais des cygnes rivers than species that have more generalized habitat-requirements. in the neosho and marais des cygnes rivers nearly all species that were found in years just prior to the drought of - were again found in the last year of my survey; however, some species that live in a restricted habitat may eventually be extirpated in these two rivers. the high-finned carpsucker _carpiodes velifer_, common shiner _notropis cornutus_, horny-headed chub _hybopsis biguttata_, and johnny darter _etheostoma nigrum_ all have specific habitat requirements and have disappeared or become restricted to one tributary in the wakarusa river system (deacon and metcalf, ). the disappearance or reduction of these species implies long-term changes in the environment. suckers, minnows and catfishes constitute the main fauna of the neosho and marais des cygnes rivers, because these families contain many species that have generalized habitat-requirements. many of these fish are able to live successfully in either ponds or flowing waters and others are capable of long migrations. because these fish predominate in the streams of kansas, attempts should be made to utilize them more effectively. in years such as , large numbers of young channel catfish could be collected and used to stock new ponds and lakes. so doing would not affect the numbers of _adults_ produced in the stream, and, if enough young could be removed, those remaining in the streams might grow faster. suckers and carp are abundant in the two rivers and mostly are unused at present, because current regulations preclude the use of methods effective for the capture of these species. acknowledgments the investigation here reported on was supported jointly by the kansas forestry, fish and game commission and the state biological survey of kansas. i thank messrs. w. l. minckley, d. a. distler, j. mcmullen, a. l. metcalf, l. j. olund, m. topping, b. nelson and claude hastings for assistance in the field, and mr. ernest craig, game protector, erie, kansas, for valuable suggestions and co-operation. i am especially grateful to associate professor frank b. cross for his pre-drought data, guidance, and criticism throughout the course of the work. i thank the many landowners who allowed me access to streams, and am especially indebted to mr. and mrs. floyd meats and mr. and mrs. oliver craig for their hospitality and assistance. assistant professor kenneth b. armitage and associate professor ronald l. mcgregor read the manuscript and gave helpful advice. mrs. maxine deacon typed the manuscript and assisted in other ways. literature cited anonymous. . kansas state board of agriculture. river basin problems and proposed reservoir projects for a state plan of water resources development: div. of water resources, ( ): - , figs. - . . kansas state board of agriculture. the neosho river basin plan of state water resources development: div. of water resources, ( ): - , figs. - . . drought: a report. united states government printing office, : - . bailey, r. m., and harrison, h. m., jr. . food habits of the southern channel catfish (_ictalurus lacustris punctatus_) in the des moines river, iowa. trans. am. fish. soc., : - . breder, c. m., jr. . long-lived fishes in the aquarium. bull. n. y. zool. soc., : - . cross, f. b. . fishes of cedar creek and the south fork of the cottonwood river, chase county, kansas. trans. kansas acad. sci., ( ): - . ----, and minckley, w. l. . new records of four fishes from kansas. trans. kansas acad. sci., ( ): - . davis, j. . management of channel catfish in kansas. univ. kansas misc. publ., mus. nat. hist., : - . deacon, j. e. . a new staining method for marking large numbers of small fish. prog. fish cult., ( ): - . ----, and metcalf, a. l. fishes of the wakarusa river, kansas. univ. of kansas publ., mus. nat. hist., ( ): - . foley, f. c., smrha, r. v., and metzler, d. f. . water in kansas. a report to the kansas state legislature. university of kansas, pp. - . funk, j. l. . movement of stream fishes in missouri. trans. am. fish. soc., ( ), pp. - . garrett, r. a. . kansas flood producing rains of . trans. kansas acad. sci., ( ): - . . _in_ kansas agriculture - . kansas state board of agriculture, th report, pp. - . hall, g. e. . observations on the fishes of the fort gibson and tenkiller reservoir areas, . proc. oklahoma acad. sci., : - . hasler, a. d. and wisby, w. j. . the return of displaced largemouth bass and green sunfish to a "home" area. ecology ( ): - . lack, d. . the natural regulation of animal numbers. oxford university press, amen house, london e. c. . viii + - . marzolf, r. c. . the production of channel catfish in missouri ponds. jour. wildl. mgt., : - . mead, j. r. . origin of names of kansas streams. trans. kansas acad. sci., : - . metcalf, a. l. . fishes of chautauqua, cowley and elk counties, kansas. univ. kansas publ., mus. nat. hist., : - . metzler, d. f., culp, r. l., stoltenberg, h. a., woodward, r. l., walton, g., chang, s. l., clarke, n. a., palmer, c. m., and middleton, f. m. . emergency use of reclaimed water for potable supply at chanute, kansas. journ. am. water works assoc., ( ): - . minckley, w. l. . fishes of the big blue river basin, kansas. univ. kansas publ., mus. nat. hist., : - . ----, and deacon, j. e. . biology of the flathead catfish in kansas. trans. am. fish. soc., : - . muncy, r. j. . movements of channel catfish in des moines river, boone county, iowa. iowa st. col. jour. of sci., ( ): - . schelske, c. l. . an ecological study of the fishes of the fall and verdigris rivers in wilson and montgomery counties, kansas, march , to february . emporia state research studies, ( ): - . schoewe, w. h. . the geography of kansas. trans. kansas acad. sci., ( ): - . trautman, m. b. . the fishes of ohio. waverly press, inc., baltimore, md. xvii + - . weaver, j. e., and albertson, f. w. . effects of the great drought on the prairies of iowa, nebraska, and kansas. ecology ( ): - . _transmitted march , ._ - university of kansas publications museum of natural history institutional libraries interested in publications exchange may obtain this series by addressing the exchange librarian, university of kansas library, lawrence, kansas. copies for individuals, persons working in a particular field of study, may be obtained by addressing instead the museum of natural history, university of kansas, lawrence, kansas. there is no provision for sale of this series by the university library, which meets institutional requests, or by the museum of natural history, which meets the requests of individuals. however, when individuals request copies from the museum, cents should be included, for each separate number that is pages or more in length, for the purpose of defraying the costs of wrapping and mailing. * an asterisk designates those numbers of which the museum's supply (not the library's supply) is exhausted. numbers published to date, in this series, are as follows: vol. . nos. - and index. pp. - , - . *vol. . (complete) mammals of washington. by walter w. dalquest. pp. - , figures in text. april , . vol. . * . the avifauna of micronesia, its origin, evolution, and distribution. by rollin h. baker. pp. - , figures in text. june , . * . a quantitative study of the nocturnal migration of birds. by george h. lowery, jr. pp. - , figures in text. june , . . phylogeny of the waxwings and allied birds. by m. dale arvey. pp. - , figures in text, tables. october , . . birds from the state of veracruz, mexico. by george h. lowery, jr., and walter w. dalquest. pp. - , figures in text, tables. october , . index. pp. - . *vol. . (complete) american weasels. by e. raymond hall. pp. - , plates, figures in text. december , . vol. . nos. - and index. pp. - , - . *vol. . (complete) mammals of utah, _taxonomy and distribution_. by stephen d. durrant. pp. - , figures in text, tables. august , . vol. . * . mammals of kansas. by e. lendell cockrum. pp. - , figures in text, tables. august , . . ecology of the opossum on a natural area in northeastern kansas. by henry s. fitch and lewis l. sandidge. pp. - , figures in text. august , . . the silky pocket mice (perognathus flavus) of mexico. by rollin h. baker. pp. - , figure in text. february , . . north american jumping mice (genus zapus). by phillip h. krutzsch. pp. - , figures in text, tables. april , . . mammals from southeastern alaska. by rollin h. baker and james s. findley. pp. - . april , . . distribution of some nebraskan mammals. by j. knox jones, jr. pp. - . april , . . subspeciation in the montane meadow mouse, microtus montanus, in wyoming and colorado. by sydney anderson. pp. - , figures in text. july , . . a new subspecies of bat (myotis velifer) from southeastern california and arizona. by terry a. vaughan. pp. - . july , . . mammals of the san gabriel mountains of california. by terry a. vaughan. pp. - , figure in text, tables. november , . . a new bat (genus pipistrellus) from northeastern mexico. by rollin h. baker. pp. - . november , . . a new subspecies of pocket mouse from kansas. by e. raymond hall. pp. - . november , . . geographic variation in the pocket gopher, cratogeomys castanops, in coahuila, mexico. by robert j. russell and rollin h. baker. pp. - . march , . . a new cottontail (sylvilagus floridanus) from northeastern mexico. by rollin h. baker. pp. - . april , . . taxonomy and distribution of some american shrews. by james s. findley. pp. - . june , . . the pigmy woodrat, neotoma goldmani, its distribution and systematic position. by dennis g. rainey and rollin h. baker. pp. - , figures in text. june , . index. pp. - . vol. . nos. - and index. pp. - , - . vol. . . speciation of the wandering shrew. by james s. findley. pp. - , figures in text. december , . . additional records and extension of ranges of mammals from utah. by stephen d. durrant, m. raymond lee, and richard m. hansen. pp. - . december , . . a new long-eared myotis (myotis evotis) from northeastern mexico. by rollin h. baker and howard j. stains. pp. - . december , . . subspeciation in the meadow mouse, microtus pennsylvanicus, in wyoming. by sydney anderson. pp. - , figures in text. may , . . the condylarth genus ellipsodon. by robert w. wilson. pp. - , figures in text. may , . . additional remains of the multituberculate genus eucosmodon. by robert w. wilson. pp. - , figures in text. may , . . mammals of coahuila, mexico. by rollin h. baker. pp. - , figures in text. june , . . comments on the taxonomic status of apodemus peninsulae, with description of a new subspecies from north china. by j. knox jones, jr. pp. - , figure in text, table. august , . . extensions of known ranges of mexican bats. by sydney anderson. pp. - . august , . . a new bat (genus leptonycteris) from coahuila. by howard j. stains. pp. - . january , . . a new species of pocket gopher (genus pappogeomys) from jalisco, mexico. by robert j. russell. pp. - . january , . . geographic variation in the pocket gopher, thomomys bottae, in colorado. by phillip m. youngman. pp. - , figures in text. february , . . new bog lemming (genus synaptomys) from nebraska. by j. knox jones, jr. pp. - . may , . . pleistocene bats from san josecito cave, nuevo león, méxico. by j. knox jones, jr. pp. - . december , . . new subspecies of the rodent baiomys from central america. by robert l. packard. pp. - . december , . . mammals of the grand mesa, colorado. by sydney anderson. pp. - , figure in text, may , . . distribution, variation, and relationships of the montane vole, microtus montanus. by sydney anderson. pp. - , figures in text, tables. august , . . conspecificity of two pocket mice, perognathus goldmani and p. artus. by e. raymond hall and marilyn bailey ogilvie. pp. - , map. january , . . records of harvest mice, reithrodontomys, from central america, with description of a new subspecies from nicaragua. by sydney anderson and j. knox jones, jr. pp. - . january , . . small carnivores from san josecito cave (pleistocene), nuevo león, méxico. by e. raymond hall. pp. - , figure in text. january , . . pleistocene pocket gophers from san josecito cave, nuevo león, méxico. by robert j. russell. pp. - , figure in text. january , . . review of the insectivores of korea. by j. knox jones, jr., and david h. johnson. pp. - . february , . . speciation and evolution of the pygmy mice, genus baiomys. by robert l. packard. pp. - , plates, figures in text. june , . index. pp. - . vol. . . studies of birds killed in nocturnal migration. by harrison b. tordoff and robert m. mengel. pp. - , figures in text, tables. september , . . comparative breeding behavior of ammospiza caudacuta and a. maritima. by glen e. woolfenden. pp. - , plates, figure. december , . . the forest habitat of the university of kansas natural history reservation. by henry s. fitch and ronald r. mcgregor. pp. - , plates, figures in text, tables. december , . . aspects of reproduction and development in the prairie vole (microtus ochrogaster). by henry s. fitch. pp. - , figures in text, tables. december , . . birds found on the arctic slope of northern alaska. by james w. bee. pp. - , plates - , figure in text. march , . . the wood rats of colorado: distribution and ecology. by robert b. finley, jr. pp. - , plates, figures in text, tables. november , . . home ranges and movements of the eastern cottontail in kansas. by donald w. janes. pp. - , plates, figures in text. may , . . natural history of the salamander, aneides hardyi. by richard f. johnston and gerhard a. schad. pp. - . october , . . a new subspecies of lizard, cnemidophorus sacki, from michoacán, méxico. by william e. duellman, pp. - , figures in text. may , . . a taxonomic study of the middle american snake, pituophis deppei. by william e. duellman. pp. - , plate, figure in text. may , . index. pp. - . vol. . . the systematic status of the colubrid snake, leptodeira discolor günther. by william e. duellman. pp. - , figures. july , . . natural history of the six-lined racerunner, cnemidophorus sexlineatus. by henry s. fitch. pp. - , figures, tables. september , . . home ranges, territories, and seasonal movements of vertebrates of the natural history reservation. by henry s. fitch. pp. - , plates, figures in text, tables. december , . . a new snake of the genus geophis from chihuahua, mexico. by john m. legler. pp. - , figures in text. january , . . a new tortoise, genus gopherus, from north-central mexico. by john m. legler. pp. - . april , . . fishes of chautauqua, cowley and elk counties, kansas. by artie l. metcalf. pp. - , plates, figures in text, tables. may , . . fishes of the big blue river basin, kansas. by w. l. minckley. pp. - , plates, figures in text, tables. may , . . birds from coahuila, méxico. by emil k. urban. pp. - . august , . . description of a new softshell turtle from the southeastern united states. by robert g. webb. pp. - , plates, figure in text. august , . . natural history of the ornate box turtle, terrapene ornata ornata agassiz. by john m. legler. pp. - , pls., figures in text. march , . index pp. - . vol. . . functional morphology of three bats: eumops, myotis, macrotus. by terry a. vaughan. pp. - , plates, figures in text. july , . . the ancestry of modern amphibia: a review of the evidence. by theodore h. eaton, jr. pp. - , figures in text. july , . . the baculum in microtine rodents. by sydney anderson. pp. - , figures in text. february , . . a new order of fishlike amphibia from the pennsylvanian of kansas. by theodore h. eaton, jr., and peggy lou stewart. pp. - , figures in text. may , . more numbers will appear in volume . vol. . . five natural hybrid combinations in minnows (cyprinidae). by frank b. cross and w. l. minckley. pp. - . june , . . a distributional study of the amphibians of the isthmus of tehuantepec, méxico. by william e. duellman. pp. - , pls. - , figures in text. august , . . a new subspecies of the slider turtle (pseudemys scripta) from coahuila, méxico. by john m. legler. pp. - , pls. - , figures in text. august , . . autecology of the copperhead. by henry s. fitch. pp. - , pls. - , figures in text. november , . . occurrence of the garter snake, thamnophis sirtalis, in the great plains and rocky mountains. by henry s. fitch and t. paul maslin. pp. - , figures in text. february , . . fishes of the wakarusa river in kansas. by james e. deacon and artie l. metcalf. pp. - , figure in text. february , . . geographic variation in the north american cyprinid fish, hybopsis gracilis. by leonard j. olund and frank b. cross. pp. - , pls. - , figures in text. february , . . descriptions of two species of frogs, genus ptychohyla; studies of american hylid frogs, v. by william e. duellman. pp. - , pl. , figures in text. april , . . fish populations, following a drought in the neosho and marais des cygnes rivers of kansas. by james everett deacon. pp. - , pls. - , figs. august , . more numbers will appear in volume . vol. . . neotropical bats from western méxico. by sydney anderson. pp. - . october , . . geographic variation in the harvest mouse. reithrodontomys megalotis, on the central great plains and in adjacent regions. by j. knox jones, jr., and b. mursaloglu. pp. - , figure in text. july , . . mammals of mesa verde national park, colorado. by sydney anderson. pp. - , pls. and , figures in text. july , . more numbers will appear in volume . ================================================================== university of kansas publications museum of natural history volume , no. , pp. - , figure in text ---------------------- march , ---------------------- check-list of the birds of kansas by harrison b. tordoff university of kansas lawrence university of kansas publications, museum of natural history editors: e. raymond hall, chairman, a. byron leonard, robert w. wilson volume , no. , pp. - , figure published march , university of kansas lawrence, kansas printed by ferd voiland, jr., state printer topeka, kansas - check-list of the birds of kansas by harrison b. tordoff kansas was one of the first states for which a detailed book on birds was published (n. s. goss, "history of the birds of kansas," topeka, kansas, ). ornithological progress in kansas in recent years, however, has not kept pace with work in many other states. as a result, knowledge of the birds of kansas today is not sufficiently detailed to make possible a modern, definitive report. one purpose of this check-list is to show gaps in our information on birds of the state. each student of birds can contribute importantly by keeping accurate records of nesting, distribution, and migration of any species in kansas and by making these records available through publication in appropriate journals. the museum of natural history at the university of kansas solicits records and specimens which contribute to our knowledge of birds in kansas. files and collections at the museum are available to any qualified person for study. the last state-wide list of birds was prepared by w. s. long (trans. kansas acad. sci., , : - ). this list and the unpublished thesis from which the list was abstracted have been of great value in preparing the present report. many other persons have contributed and among these the names of the following must be mentioned because of the value of their contributions: ivan l. boyd, l. b. carson, arthur l. goodrich, jr., richard graber, jean graber, harold c. hedges, r. f. miller, john m. porter, and marvin d. schwilling. full standing in this check-list has been given only to species for which at least one specimen from kansas has been examined by some qualified student. exceptions to this admittedly arbitrary rule have been made in three cases, trumpeter swan, turkey, and carolina paroquet, because there is no reason to doubt that each of these three species once occurred in kansas and because opportunity for obtaining specimens from kansas has been lost through disappearance of the species from the state. other species reported from the state but not authenticated by specimens have been relegated to the hypothetical list and their names and my remarks concerning these birds are enclosed in brackets. this procedure is intended to encourage collection of such species; it is not intended necessarily to indicate doubt of a record. in the case of a carefully identified but uncollected accidental, opportunity for obtaining a specimen may not exist again for a long period. this is unfortunate but emphasizes the need for judicious collecting. a total of species (or species and subspecies), of which four are introduced, is included in this check-list. additionally, species are discussed in the hypothetical list. an asterisk (*) preceding an account indicates positive evidence of breeding in kansas of the species so marked. the total of species known to have bred at least once in the state is . nomenclature in this list follows the american ornithologists' union "check-list of north american birds" ( , th edition) and its supplements. species on the hypothetical list are included in their current taxonomic position in the main list. _gavia immer_ (brünnich). common loon. uncommon transient throughout state. no subspecies recognized. _gavia stellata_ (pontoppidan). red-throated loon. rare transient. one specimen: female (univ. michigan mus. zool. ), marais des cygnes river, near ottawa, franklin county, october , , captain joe r. white. several sight records from shawnee and johnson counties within past years. no subspecies recognized. _colymbus grisegena._ red-necked grebe. rare transient. one specimen: female (ku ), kansas river east of lawrence, douglas county, october , , logan i. evans. subspecies in kansas: _c. g. holböllii_ (reinhardt). _colymbus auritus._ horned grebe. rare transient. two authentic specimens: manhattan, riley county, september , ; male (ku ), - / miles north of lawrence, douglas county, november , , e. c. olson and ralph l. montell. several sight records, from eastern, central, and western kansas. subspecies in kansas: _c. a. cornutus_ gmelin. _colymbus caspicus._ eared grebe. regular transient throughout state; more common than horned grebe. subspecies in kansas: _c. c. californicus_ (heermann). _aechmophorus occidentalis_ (lawrence). western grebe. rare transient, perhaps more common in west but status poorly known. no subspecies recognized. * _podilymbus podiceps._ pied-billed grebe. common transient and irregular summer resident, rare winter resident. subspecies in kansas: _p. p. podiceps_ (linnaeus). _pelecanus erythrorhynchos_ gmelin. white pelican. common transient throughout state. occasional individuals, probably sick or wounded, remain beyond normal migration periods in spring and fall. no subspecies recognized. _pelecanus occidentalis._ brown pelican. accidental. one specimen: adult, sex not determined (ku ), parker, linn county, june, , found dead by g. g. mcconnell. one seen at wichita, sedgwick county, by r. h. sullivan, april , . subspecies in kansas: _p. o. carolinensis_ gmelin. * _phalacrocorax auritus._ double-crested cormorant. regular transient, in small to moderate numbers. one nesting record: several nests, eggs, and small young seen, cheyenne bottoms, barton county, august, , otto tiemeier. subspecies in kansas: _p. a. auritus_ (lesson). _phalacrocorax olivaceus._ mexican cormorant. accidental. one record: specimen taken miles south of lawrence, douglas county, april , . present location unknown but specimen identified by s. f. baird and r. ridgway. subspecies in kansas: _p. o. mexicanus_ (brandt). _anhinga anhinga._ water-turkey. accidental. several specimens and sight observations are on record but most are prior to . several records and one specimen at cheyenne bottoms, barton county, since (frank robl). in recent years, some reported water-turkeys have proved to be cormorants. subspecies in kansas: _a. a. leucogaster_ (vieillot). _fregata magnificens._ man-o'-war-bird. accidental. one record: specimen (present location unknown) taken on the north fork of the solomon river, osborne county, august , , by frank lewis. subspecies in kansas: _f. m. rothschildi_ mathews. * _ardea herodias._ great blue heron. common transient and summer resident nesting in widely scattered colonies. subspecies in kansas: three reported, _a. h. herodias_ linnaeus in northeast, _a. h. wardi_ ridgway in southeast, and _a. h. treganzai_ court in west, but status of these poorly known because of lack of sufficient breeding specimens. _casmerodius albus._ american egret. regular postbreeding summer visitant; occasional spring and summer resident. no definite nesting record. subspecies in kansas: _c. a. egretta_ (gmelin). * _leucophoyx thula._ snowy egret. regular postbreeding summer visitant; rare and local summer resident; occasional in spring. one nesting record: two nests found, summer, , miles north and - / miles west of garden city, finney county, marvin d. schwilling. subspecies in kansas: _l. t. thula_ (molina). _hydranassa tricolor._ louisiana heron. accidental. two records: specimen taken at lake inman, mcpherson county, august , , by r. e. mohler and richard h. schmidt; one seen, - / miles south of iatan marsh, atchison county (near iatan, missouri), september , , first reported by r. f. miller and mr. and mrs. ivan l. boyd, seen by several other observers. subspecies in kansas: _h. t. ruficollis_ (gosse). * _florida caerulea._ little blue heron. regular postbreeding summer visitant; rare and local summer resident; occasional in spring. usually more common than snowy egret. one nesting record: one nest found, summer, , miles north and - / miles west of garden city, finney county, marvin d. schwilling. subspecies in kansas: _f. c. caerulea_ (linnaeus). * _butorides virescens._ green heron. common transient and summer resident. subspecies in kansas: _b. v. virescens_ (linnaeus). * _nycticorax nycticorax._ black-crowned night heron. transient and summer resident, breeding in scattered colonies. subspecies in kansas: _n. n. hoactli_ (gmelin). * _nyctanassa violacea._ yellow-crowned night heron. summer resident throughout state, rare in north; numbers perhaps augmented in late summer by postbreeding stragglers. subspecies in kansas: _n. v. violacea_ (linnaeus). * _botaurus lentiginosus_ (rackett). american bittern. common transient; summer resident locally. two definite nesting records: nest with newly hatched young (male collected, ku ), / mile east and miles south of welda, anderson county, june , , maurice f. baker; nest with eggs, miles north and - / miles west of kalvesta, finney county, summer, , raymond erkic (_fide_ marvin d. schwilling). no subspecies recognized. * _ixobrychus exilis._ least bittern. transient and irregular summer resident. two nests found at lake quivira, johnson county, june , , harold c. hedges; on june , one of the nests contained eggs, on july this nest was empty. no other definite nesting records. subspecies in kansas: _i. e. exilis_ (gmelin). _mycteria americana_ linnaeus. wood ibis. accidental. several sight records and one specimen: male (ku ), miles north-*east of goodland, sherman county, october , , willis feaster. no subspecies recognized. * _plegadis mexicana_ (gmelin). white-faced glossy ibis. irregular transient and summer visitant; more common in west. one definite nesting record: photograph of downy young ("kansas fish and game," vol. , no. , jan. , p. ) taken at cheyenne bottoms, barton county, presumably in summer of , by l. o. nossaman. frank robl has seen individuals in summer in cheyenne bottoms on many occasions. reports of eastern glossy ibis (_plegadis falcinellus_) in kansas probably are based on dark-faced immatures of the present species, although the eastern species has been taken in oklahoma. no subspecies recognized. _ajaia ajaja_ (linnaeus). roseate spoonbill. accidental. one authentic specimen (present location not known): male, near douglass, on four-mile creek, butler county, march , , taken by dr. r. matthews, identification verified by jerold volk and wilfred goodman. no subspecies recognized. _phoenicopterus ruber_ linnaeus. flamingo. accidental. two birds seen in autumn, , at little salt marsh, stafford county, one of which was killed on opening day of duck season and now ( ) is mounted at kansas forestry, fish, and game commission headquarters at pratt. no subspecies recognized. _olor columbianus_ (ord). whistling swan. transient and winter resident, formerly common, now rare. many specimens are on record; at least four were taken in winter. no subspecies recognized. _olor buccinator_ (richardson). trumpeter swan. formerly occasional migrant, no longer occurs in kansas. all specimens from kansas alleged to be of this species are actually whistling swans. the early sight records seem valid, however, and the species should remain on the state list. no subspecies recognized. * _branta canadensis._ canada goose. common transient; some winter in suitable places. this species was found nesting along the missouri river near atchison by early explorers. modern breeding records probably pertain to captives or their descendants. subspecies in kansas: _b. c. moffitti_ aldrich, _b. c. leucopareia_ (brandt), _b. c. minima_ ridgway, and _b. c. hutchinsi_ (richardson) have been collected in kansas. additionally, subspecies _interior_ todd and _parvipes_ (cassin) probably pass through the state but no specimens have been saved. canada geese of widely varying size are regularly seen in migration. _branta bernicla._ brant. accidental. several sight records and one specimen: unsexed bird (ku ), leavenworth county, november , , a. lange. some hunters refer to immature blue geese as "brant." orville o. rice saw brant miles north of burlington, near the neosho river, coffey county, march , , that appeared to be black brant, _branta nigricans_ (lawrence). subspecies in kansas: _b. b. hrota_ (müller). _anser albifrons._ white-fronted goose. regular transient throughout state, more common in central and western parts. subspecies in kansas: _a. a. frontalis_ baird. _chen hyperborea._ snow goose. common transient throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _c. h. hyperborea_ (pallas). _chen caerulescens_ (linnaeus). blue goose. common transient in east, less common in central and western parts of state. in east, this species predominates in early spring migration whereas the snow goose is most numerous later. hybrids between the two are regularly seen. no subspecies recognized. [_chen rossii_ (cassin). ross goose. one reported at wyandotte county lake, november , , by john bishop. placed in hypothetical list in absence of a specimen.] _dendrocygna bicolor._ fulvous tree-duck. accidental. frank robl carefully examined and identified three specimens killed in or , in cheyenne bottoms, barton county. none saved. specimens collected also in nearby areas of missouri. subspecies in kansas: _d. b. helva_ wetmore and peters, on geographical grounds. * _anas platyrhynchos._ mallard. abundant transient, regular winter resident, irregular and local summer resident. modern breeding distribution poorly known but several nests found in widely scattered areas in past years. nests regularly in kearny, finney, and barton counties. subspecies in kansas: _a. p. platyrhynchos_ linnaeus. _anas rubripes_ brewster. black duck. regular but rare or uncommon transient and winter resident in east and central (cheyenne bottoms, barton county) sections. no subspecies recognized. _anas fulvigula._ mottled duck. accidental. four specimens allegedly of this species have been reported. of these, two are actually mallards, one is a gadwall, and one, female, neosho falls, woodson county, march , , goss, is a mottled duck. subspecies in kansas: _a. f. maculosa_ sennett. _anas strepera_ linnaeus. gadwall. transient and occasional winter resident throughout state. rare summer resident but no satisfactory nesting record reported. no subspecies recognized. * _anas acuta_ linnaeus. pintail. abundant transient throughout state, irregular winter resident, local summer resident nesting in recent years in barton, finney, meade, and leavenworth counties, but summer distribution poorly known. no subspecies recognized. _anas carolinensis_ gmelin. green-winged teal. common transient, rare winter resident (records from meade county and kansas city). no subspecies recognized. * _anas discors_ linnaeus. blue-winged teal. common transient, locally common summer resident. no subspecies recognized. _anas cyanoptera._ cinnamon teal. rare transient in east, uncommon or fairly common transient in west. subspecies in kansas: _a. c. septentrionalis_ snyder and lumsden. * _spatula clypeata_ (linnaeus). shoveller. common transient throughout state. frank robl found a female with young in cheyenne bottoms, barton county, in approximately . nest with eggs found - / miles south of friend, finney county, in spring, , marvin d. schwilling. no subspecies recognized. [_mareca penelope_ (linnaeus). european widgeon. carl and david holmes reported a pair at lake shawnee, shawnee county, april , . placed on hypothetical list until a specimen is taken.] _mareca americana_ (gmelin). baldpate. common transient throughout state, rare winter resident. no subspecies recognized. * _aix sponsa_ (linnaeus). wood duck. transient, rare in west to locally common in extreme east. summer resident in eastern part of state; breeding distribution poorly known. no subspecies recognized. * _aythya americana_ (eyton). redhead. fairly common transient and occasional winter resident throughout state. frank robl found a nesting pair in cheyenne bottoms, barton county, in (approximate). the adults were neither captives nor cripples. no subspecies recognized. _aythya collaris_ (donovan). ring-necked duck. fairly common transient throughout state, rare winter resident. no subspecies recognized. _aythya valisineria_ (wilson). canvas-back. fairly common transient and occasional winter resident throughout state. no subspecies recognized. _aythya marila._ greater scaup duck. rare transient, status poorly known. several sight records, one in winter. floyd t. amsden, a competent sportsman and amateur ornithologist of wichita, identified male specimens killed miles north and mile east of sharon, barber county, on october ( ) and november ( ), . frank robl has seen specimens killed in cheyenne bottoms, barton county. every effort should be made to preserve specimens from kansas. subspecies in kansas: _a. m. nearctica_ stejneger, on geographical grounds. _aythya affinis_ (eyton). lesser scaup duck. common transient throughout state. a few records of wintering and summering (non-*breeding) individuals. no subspecies recognized. _bucephala clangula._ golden-eye. uncommon transient and winter resident. specimens from kansas alleged to be the barrow golden-eye (_bucephala islandica_) all are of the present species. subspecies in kansas: _b. c. americana_ (bonaparte). _bucephala albeola_ (linnaeus). buffle-head. fairly common transient and occasional winter resident throughout state. no subspecies recognized. _clangula hyemalis_ (linnaeus). old-squaw. rare transient and winter visitant. at least five specimens taken (but only two or three preserved) and numerous sight records, from widely separated parts of state. no subspecies recognized. _somateria mollissima._ eider. accidental. one record: immature male (ku ), kansas river near lecompton, douglas county, november , , a. l. wiedman. subspecies in kansas: _s. m. v. nigra_ bonaparte (identification checked by a. wetmore). _somateria spectabilis_ (linnaeus). king eider. accidental. one record: immature male (ku ), kansas river mile east of lawrence, douglas county, november , , r. l. montell. no subspecies recognized. _melanitta deglandi._ white-winged scoter. rare transient. nine specimens from douglas and leavenworth counties, taken from to ; several sight records from eastern kansas. subspecies in kansas: _m. d. deglandi_ (bonaparte). _melanitta perspicillata_ (linnaeus). surf scoter. rare transient. eight known specimens (three of which are now in university of kansas collection), all taken in autumn, seven in douglas county, one in sedgwick county; several sight records from eastern kansas. no subspecies recognized. _oidemia nigra._ common scoter. accidental. the two preserved specimens from kansas supposedly of this species are actually surf scoters. l. b. carson, however, identified an adult male common scoter killed by a hunter at horton lake, brown county, in the early 's. others have been seen by reliable field observers. every effort should be made to secure specimens from kansas. subspecies in kansas: _o. n. americana_ swainson, on geographical grounds. * _oxyura jamaicensis._ ruddy duck. common transient throughout state, rare winter resident. one breeding record: frank robl saw an adult female with one small young at cheyenne bottoms, barton county, in approximately . subspecies in kansas: _o. j. rubida_ (wilson). _lophodytes cucullatus_ (linnaeus). hooded merganser. uncommon transient and winter resident throughout state. probably nests occasionally (two specimens at ku taken in east in june), but no proof of this available. no subspecies recognized. _mergus merganser._ american merganser. common transient and winter resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _m. m. americanus_ cassin. _mergus serrator._ red-breasted merganser. uncommon transient throughout state; probably also rare winter resident but records lacking. this species is more common than hooded merganser in west, less common than hooded in east. subspecies in kansas: _m. s. serrator_ linnaeus. * _cathartes aura._ turkey vulture. common transient throughout state; common summer resident west at least to clark county. breeding distribution in west poorly known. subspecies in kansas: _c. a. teter_ friedmann. _coragyps atratus_ (meyer). black vulture. once occurred in southeast, but no record since . goss quotes dr. george lisle ("a close observer") as finding this species common and breeding at chetopa, labette county, on the oklahoma line, prior to . lisle found a nest with two eggs in . goss also reports one killed by watson at ellis, ellis county, on march , , but the location of the specimen is unknown. the species may still occur in southeastern kansas. no subspecies recognized. * _elanoïdes forficatus._ swallow-tailed kite. formerly summer resident in at least eastern half of state. last specimen from kansas taken by dr. g. c. rinker at hamilton, greenwood county, may , . subspecies in kansas: _e. f. forficatus_ (linnaeus). * _ictinia misisippiensis_ (wilson). mississippi kite. common summer resident in south-central kansas, east to harvey, north to barton, and west to kearny counties. occasional records from douglas (nested once), johnson, greenwood, and hamilton counties. no subspecies recognized. _accipiter gentilis._ goshawk. rare and irregular winter visitor in east. status in west unknown. subspecies in kansas: _a. g. atricapillus_ (wilson). * _accipiter striatus._ sharp-shinned hawk. transient and winter resident throughout state; less common in east. status in summer poorly known; one nest found in cloud county, july , , j. m. porter. subspecies in kansas: _a. s. velox_ (wilson). * _accipiter cooperii_ (bonaparte). cooper hawk. resident throughout state but nesting records only from the eastern half, west to cloud county. no subspecies recognized. * _buteo jamaicensis._ red-tailed hawk. abundant transient and winter resident in east; in high plains of west, largely restricted to river bottoms in winter. common summer resident in east; status in summer in west poorly known. subspecies in kansas: _b. j. borealis_ (gmelin) is the breeding bird of eastern kansas. _b. j. calurus_ cassin probably nests in west but no specimens available. _b. j. borealis_, _b. j. calurus_, _b. j. kriderii_ hoopes, and _b. j. harlani_ (audubon), the latter considered here as conspecific with _jamaicensis_, all occur as transients and winter residents. more specimens needed to establish details of distribution of various subspecies. * _buteo lineatus._ red-shouldered hawk. uncommon transient and summer resident and irregular winter resident in eastern kansas. breeding records from leavenworth and woodson counties; doubtless breeds in other eastern counties but definite evidence lacking. subspecies in kansas: _b. l. lineatus_ (gmelin). * _buteo platypterus._ broad-winged hawk. fairly common transient and local summer resident in eastern kansas. breeding records only from douglas, leavenworth, and johnson counties, where species nests regularly. subspecies in kansas: _b. p. platypterus_ (vieillot). * _buteo swainsoni_ bonaparte. swainson hawk. abundant transient in west, fairly common in east. nests commonly throughout western two-thirds of state and at least occasionally in eastern portion. supposed winter records should be substantiated by specimens. no subspecies recognized. _buteo lagopus._ rough-legged hawk. winter resident, fairly common in east to common in west. subspecies in kansas: _b. l. s. johannis_ (gmelin). * _buteo regalis_ (gray). ferruginous rough-leg. common transient and winter resident in west, rare in east. rare summer resident in west. two nesting records: nest with four young, south fork of smoky hill river, near wallace, may , , goss; nest with three young, west of russell springs, logan county, may , , marvin d. schwilling. no subspecies recognized. _parabuteo unicinctus._ harris hawk. accidental. two records: male, wichita, sedgwick county, december , , leroy snyder; female (ku ), - / miles southwest of lawrence, douglas county, december , , fred hastie. subspecies in kansas: _p. u. harrisi_ (audubon). * _aquila chrysaëtos._ golden eagle. formerly common resident throughout state. now common in winter in west to rare in east. one positive nesting record: a pair nested for several years (prior to ) in southeastern comanche county on a high gypsum ledge, goss. subspecies in kansas: _a. c. canadensis_ (linnaeus). _haliaeetus leucocephalus._ bald eagle. rare transient and winter resident in east; fairly common winter resident in west, where large numbers may gather to roost. subspecies in kansas: _h. l. alascanus_ townsend. previous students refer all bald eagles from the state to _h. l. leucocephalus_ (linnaeus) but specimens in the k. u. collection, all taken in winter, are large (three females, wing, , , mm.) and are clearly of the northern subspecies. _circus cyaneus._ marsh hawk. resident, common in winter, less common and local in summer. subspecies in kansas: _c. c. hudsonius_ (linnaeus). _pandion haliaetus._ osprey. occurs irregularly throughout state but less frequently in west. most records in spring and autumn but a few at other seasons. no definite nesting record. subspecies in kansas: _p. h. carolinensis_ (gmelin). _falco rusticolus._ gyrfalcon. accidental. one specimen: manhattan, riley county, december , , a. l. runyan (specimen at kansas state college). subspecies in kansas: _f. r. obsoletus_ gmelin. _falco mexicanus_ schlegel. prairie falcon. rare summer and fairly common winter resident in west; occasional transient and winter resident in east. no satisfactory breeding records. no subspecies recognized. * _falco peregrinus._ duck hawk. rare transient and winter resident, probably more common in west. formerly nested but no nesting record since before . subspecies in kansas: _f. p. anatum_ bonaparte. _falco columbarius._ pigeon hawk. uncommon transient and rare winter resident in east; more common in migration in west but status there in winter not known. subspecies in kansas: _f. c. columbarius_ linnaeus is most frequent in eastern part, west to reno county; _f. c. richardsonii_ ridgway is the common subspecies in west, occasional in east; _f. c. bendirei_ swann is known in kansas from one specimen (ku ) from ellis county, october, , taken by dr. l. watson (identified by james l. peters). * _falco sparverius._ sparrow hawk. common resident and transient throughout state (but status in winter in northwest not known). subspecies in kansas: _f. s. sparverius_ linnaeus. _bonasa umbellus._ ruffed grouse. formerly common resident in eastern part; now probably extirpated in state but observers in extreme east should watch for it. one authentic specimen (ku ), southeastern kansas, between and , alexander j. c. roese. no definite nesting record. subspecies in kansas: _b. u. umbellus_ (linnaeus). * _tympanuchus cupido._ greater prairie chicken. resident, but highly local; absent in southwestern quarter of state. subspecies in kansas: _t. c. pinnatus_ (brewster). * _tympanuchus pallidicinctus_ (ridgway). lesser prairie chicken. resident, but local, in southwestern quarter of state, north to hamilton and finney counties and east to pawnee and barber counties. a few old records east to anderson and neosho counties in winter. no subspecies recognized. _pedioecetes phasianellus._ sharp-tailed grouse. formerly resident in western part of state; scattered old records from eastern localities. now extirpated, or nearly so, in kansas; observers in northwestern counties should watch for it. no definite nesting record. subspecies in kansas: _p. p. jamesi_ lincoln. * _colinus virginianus._ bob-white. resident, common in east, less common and local in west. subspecies in kansas: _c. v. virginianus_ (linnaeus) in east, intergrading through central part with _c. v. taylori_ lincoln in west. * _callipepla squamata._ scaled quail. locally common resident in southwest, formerly north to wallace county but now primarily south of arkansas river, eastern limit not known. breeding records from hamilton, kearny, finney, stanton, morton, stevens, and clark counties, marvin d. schwilling. subspecies in kansas: _c. s. pallida_ brewster. * _phasianus colchicus_ linnaeus. ring-necked pheasant. introduced. common in western two-thirds, gradually invading east where a few are now found in most counties. origin of north american stock obscure; no subspecies now recognized here. _meleagris gallopavo._ turkey. formerly common resident, west along streams at least to riley county; now extirpated in kansas. no known specimen from kansas with authentic data. no definite nesting record. subspecies in kansas: _m. g. silvestris_ vieillot. _grus americana_ (linnaeus). whooping crane. regular transient, now rare. probably most individuals go through east-central part of state. several early specimens from state and several recent sight records and one specimen: adult female (ku ), found crippled - / miles south of sharon, barber county, october , , thane s. robinson. no subspecies recognized. _grus canadensis._ sandhill crane. transient, rare in east, common to abundant in west. subspecies in kansas: _g. c. canadensis_ (linnaeus) and _g. c. tabida_ (peters); comparative status of the two subspecies not known. * _rallus elegans._ king rail. transient and summer resident, locally common. subspecies in kansas: _r. e. elegans_ audubon. _rallus limicola._ virginia rail. transient and summer resident, but breeding status poorly known. one breeding record: adult with six small, downy young, miles south of richfield, morton county, may , , richard and jean graber. subspecies in kansas: _r. l. limicola_ vieillot. * _porzana carolina_ (linnaeus). sora. common transient throughout state; status in summer poorly known. two breeding records: osawatomie, miami county, prior to (no other details), record by colvin, a careful observer; two nests, at least one with eggs, finney county state lake, august , , marvin d. schwilling. additional nesting records should be sought. no subspecies recognized. _coturnicops noveboracensis._ yellow rail. rare or generally overlooked transient. records only from eastern part of state (west to sedgwick county). subspecies in kansas: _c. m. noveboracensis_ (gmelin). * _laterallus jamaicensis._ black rail. rare or generally overlooked summer resident. at least ten records, including at least seven specimens from widely scattered localities. two breeding records: nest with eight eggs, manhattan, riley county, june, , c. p. blachly; nest with nine eggs, near garden city, finney county, june , , h. w. menke. subspecies in kansas: _l. j. jamaicensis_ (gmelin). _porphyrula martinica_ (linnaeus). purple gallinule. rare and irregular summer visitant. five specimens taken in april and june in douglas, sedgwick, and riley counties. several sight records from eastern kansas. no subspecies recognized. * _gallinula chloropus._ florida gallinule. rare summer resident; status poorly known. two breeding records: nest found "on a board," coffey county, june (year not given), p. b. peabody; nest (female, ku , and two eggs taken), miles northeast of lawrence, douglas county, may , (previously published as ), r. l. montell. subspecies in kansas: _g. c. cachinnans_ bangs. * _fulica americana._ american coot. uncommon summer resident, abundant transient, and local winter resident in east and central parts; status in west poorly known. breeding record: newly hatched young (ku - ), little salt marsh, stafford county, june , , h. c. parker and w. h. burt. the few other nesting localities include one in finney county. subspecies in kansas: _f. a. americana_ gmelin. _charadrius hiaticula._ semipalmated plover. regular transient throughout state, often fairly common. subspecies in kansas: _c. h. semipalmatus_ bonaparte. _charadrius melodus._ piping plover. rare transient. three specimens from douglas county, march and april, and a female (ku ) from little salt marsh, stafford county, july , , t. e. white. nests in nebraska, south at least to lincoln; observers in north-central kansas should watch for possible breeding birds. subspecies in kansas: _c. m. circumcinctus_ (ridgway). * _charadrius alexandrinus._ snowy plover. summer resident on salt plains of clark, comanche, stafford, barton, and probably other counties. breeding range in kansas poorly known. one definite nesting record: adults with young, and one nest with eggs, comanche county, june , , goss. one female (ku ), from lawrence, douglas county, april , , l. l. dyche. subspecies in kansas: _c. a. tenuirostris_ (lawrence). * _charadrius vociferus._ killdeer. common transient and summer resident throughout state. occasional winter resident. subspecies in kansas: _c. v. vociferus_ linnaeus. * _eupoda montana_ (townsend). mountain plover. summer resident in high plains of western kansas, but current status poorly known. many specimens from west and one positive breeding record: two half-grown, partly downy males (ku , ), miles south of tribune, greeley county, june , , bunker and rocklund. no subspecies recognized. _pluvialis dominica._ golden plover. regular transient in east, sometimes common; more common in spring than in autumn. formerly abundant; status in west not known. subspecies in kansas: _p. d. dominica_ (müller). _squatarola squatarola_ (linnaeus). black-bellied plover. regular transient throughout state. no subspecies recognized. _arenaria interpres._ ruddy turnstone. rare transient. several sight records from eastern part of state and two specimens: one killed at topeka, shawnee county, august , , f. w. forbes (location of specimen unknown); male, hamilton, greenwood county, october , , g. c. rinker. subspecies in kansas: _a. i. morinella_ (linnaeus). * _philohela minor_ (gmelin). american woodcock. uncommon transient west to scott and kearny counties. probably does not occur farther west. one early nesting record: adult with several "at least one-fourth grown" young, near neosho falls, woodson county, may , , goss. no subspecies recognized. _capella gallinago._ wilson snipe. common transient and occasional winter resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _c. g. delicata_ (ord). * _numenius americanus._ long-billed curlew. transient and uncommon summer resident in west; occasional transient in east. female and two downy young (ku , , ) taken mile from spring creek, morton county, june , , w. h. burt and l. v. compton. subspecies in kansas: _n. a. americanus_ bechstein is the breeding form; _n. a. parvus_ bishop occurs in migration (specimens from riley, lyon, and douglas counties). [_numenius phaeopus._ hudsonian curlew. reported by goss, and one seen at iatan marsh, atchison county, may , , by harold c. hedges, but here placed in hypothetical list until a specimen from kansas is taken.] _numenius borealis_ (forster). eskimo curlew. formerly abundant transient in eastern kansas; now extinct, or nearly so. one unsexed bird (ku ) taken in douglas county, may , , by n. j. stevens. no subspecies recognized. * _bartramia longicauda_ (bechstein). upland plover. abundant transient and locally common summer resident in suitable habitat; most numerous in west. nesting records from johnson, wabaunsee, chase, finney, and kearny counties. no subspecies recognized. * _actitis macularia_ (linnaeus). spotted sandpiper. common transient and summer resident throughout state. breeding records from leavenworth county and kansas city region. no subspecies recognized. _tringa solitaria._ solitary sandpiper. common transient throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _t. s. solitaria_ wilson is most common in eastern part and _t. s. cinnamomea_ (brewster) is most common in western part of kansas, with much overlap of the two. _catoptrophorus semipalmatus._ willet. transient throughout state, usually uncommon, but sometimes locally common. subspecies in kansas: _c. s. inornatus_ (brewster). _c. s. semipalmatus_ (gmelin) has been reported, probably erroneously; all specimens seen are of the western subspecies, _inornatus_. _totanus melanoleucus_ (gmelin). greater yellow-legs. common transient throughout state. no subspecies recognized. _totanus flavipes_ (gmelin). lesser yellow-legs. common transient throughout state. no subspecies recognized. _calidris canutus._ american knot. rare transient. sight records from eastern and western kansas; only one specimen preserved, hamilton, greenwood county, september , , g. c. rinker. subspecies in kansas: _c. c. rufa_ (wilson). _erolia melanotos_ (vieillot). pectoral sandpiper. common transient through state. no subspecies recognized. _erolia fuscicollis_ (vieillot). white-rumped sandpiper. common transient throughout state. no subspecies recognized. _erolia bairdii_ (coues). baird sandpiper. common transient in east; abundant transient in west. no subspecies recognized. _erolia minutilla_ (vieillot). least sandpiper. common transient throughout state, but less numerous in west than in east. no subspecies recognized. _erolia alpina._ red-backed sandpiper. rare or uncommon transient; reported only from eastern half of state, west to cloud county. few specimens have been preserved. subspecies in kansas: _e. a. pacifica_ (coues). _limnodromus griseus._ short-billed dowitcher. rare or uncommon transient in east, status in west not known. one specimen: male (ku ), miles east of lawrence, douglas county, may , , r. l. montell. dowitchers having noticeably short bills should be collected when possible. subspecies in kansas: _l. g. hendersoni_ rowan. _limnodromus scolopaceus_ (say). long-billed dowitcher. common transient throughout state. no subspecies recognized. _micropalama himantopus_ (bonaparte). stilt sandpiper. common transient throughout state. no subspecies recognized. _ereunetes pusillus_ (linnaeus). semipalmated sandpiper. common transient throughout state. no subspecies recognized. _ereunetes mauri_ cabanis. western sandpiper. uncommon transient in east; probably common in west but status there unknown. no subspecies recognized. _tryngites subruficollis_ (vieillot). buff-breasted sandpiper. uncommon but regular transient in autumn in eastern kansas, west to republic county; few spring records. no subspecies recognized. _limosa fedoa_ (linnaeus). marbled godwit. rare or uncommon transient throughout state. status somewhat uncertain because some observers confuse this species with female hudsonian godwits. the latter are larger and often much duller than male hudsonian godwits. marbled godwits, however, show no contrasting tail pattern in flight. no subspecies recognized. _limosa haemastica_ (linnaeus). hudsonian godwit. uncommon transient in eastern and central kansas; status in west poorly known (reported from ness and kearny counties). no subspecies recognized. _crocethia alba_ (pallas). sanderling. rare transient in eastern and central kansas; status in west not known. three specimens have been taken, two from douglas county (october) and one from stafford county (july). no subspecies recognized. * _recurvirostra americana_ gmelin. avocet. uncommon transient in east; common transient and uncommon summer resident in west. breeding records from kearny, finney, haskell, meade, and barton counties. no subspecies recognized. _himantopus mexicanus_ (müller). black-necked stilt. rare transient. records from crawford, sedgwick, cloud, stafford, finney, and kearny counties; few recent records. no satisfactory nesting record. no subspecies recognized. _phalaropus fulicarius_ (linnaeus). red phalarope. very rare transient. two specimens: female (ku ), lake view, douglas county, november , , e. e. brown; male (ottawa univ. ), near ottawa, franklin county, october , , wesley clanton (identification checked by tordoff). no subspecies recognized. * _steganopus tricolor_ vieillot. wilson phalarope. common transient throughout state. one definite nesting record: adult male with downy young, cheyenne bottoms, barton county, june , , ted f. andrews and homer stephens. goss mentioned "breeding birds" in meade county but the record is not convincing. no subspecies recognized. _lobipes lobatus_ (linnaeus). northern phalarope. rare transient. goss shot five and preserved one (now in goss collection) of or seen at fort wallace, wallace county, may , . several sight records. no subspecies recognized. _stercorarius pomarinus_ (temminck). pomarine jaeger. accidental. one record: immature male (ku ), kansas river near lawrence, douglas county, october , , gus berger and banks brown. this specimen erroneously reported as a parasitic jaeger, _stercorarius parasiticus_ (linnaeus), in previous lists of birds of kansas. no subspecies recognized. _stercorarius longicaudus_ vieillot. long-tailed jaeger. accidental. one record: female (ku ), cheyenne bottoms, barton county, june , , william m. lynn and larry d. mosby. no subspecies recognized. [_larus hyperboreus._ glaucous gull. one bird with crippled leg seen at lake shawnee, shawnee county, january , , and several days thereafter, by many observers including the author. placed on hypothetical list until specimen is taken in kansas.] _larus argentatus._ herring gull. transient, regular along missouri river, uncommon to rare elsewhere in state; probably rare winter resident. subspecies in kansas: _l. a. smithsonianus_ coues. _larus californicus_ lawrence. california gull. accidental. one record: specimen (location unknown) taken by goss, arkansas river, reno county, october , . no subspecies recognized. _larus delawarensis_ ord. ring-billed gull. transient, locally common; rare winter resident. no subspecies recognized. _larus atricilla_ linnaeus. laughing gull. accidental. one specimen taken miles east and - / miles south of canton, in marion county, may , , richard h. schmidt (specimen in his collection); sight records from barton and shawnee counties. no subspecies recognized. _larus pipixcan_ wagler. franklin gull. transient, abundant in west, common in east. no subspecies recognized. _larus philadelphia_ (ord). bonaparte gull. rare transient. all specimens from eastern part, west to cloud county; status in west not known. no subspecies recognized. [_rissa tridactyla._ kittiwake. immature bird seen at lake shawnee, shawnee county, october , , by l. b. carson and o. s. pettingill, jr. in the absence of a specimen, the species is placed on the hypothical list.] _xema sabini._ sabine gull. three records: immature male, taken at humboldt, allen county, september , , peter long (now in goss collection); immature male, taken at hamilton, greenwood county, october , , g. c. rinker; immature bird seen but not collected on october , , and , , at lake shawnee, shawnee county, by several observers (orville o. rice secured good photographs of this bird). subspecies in kansas: _x. s. sabini_ (sabine). _sterna forsteri_ nuttall. forster tern. transient, locally common in eastern half of state; status in west unknown. no subspecies recognized. _sterna hirundo._ common tern. rare transient. two specimens: female, anderson county, may , (in goss collection); male, munger's lake, near hamilton, greenwood county, september , , g. c. rinker. subspecies in kansas: _s. h. hirundo_ linnaeus. * _sterna albifrons._ least tern. uncommon transient and local summer resident throughout state. one definite nesting record: five nests, each with two eggs, arkansas river at coolidge, hamilton county, july , , otto tiemeier. subspecies in kansas: _s. a. athalassos_ burleigh and lowery. _hydroprogne caspia_ (pallas). caspian tern. uncommon transient throughout state. many sight records but only one specimen: female (ku ), douglas county, september , , harold standing (skin and body skeleton of this tern saved; erroneously reported previously as two specimens). no subspecies recognized. _chlidonias niger._ black tern. common transient and, in north-central part, regular summer resident but no positive breeding record. subspecies in kansas: _c. n. surinamensis_ (gmelin). * _columba livia_ gmelin. rock dove. introduced. common around habitations; nesting locally in feral state on cliffs in western kansas. no subspecies recognized because of mixed ancestry of birds introduced into new world. * _zenaidura macroura._ mourning dove. common transient and summer resident, uncommon winter resident. subspecies in kansas: _z. m. carolinensis_ (linnaeus) in east, _z. m. marginella_ (woodhouse) in west, intergrading in central part. * _ectopistes migratorius_ (linnaeus). passenger pigeon. extinct. formerly irregular transient and summer resident. two specimens, both males, taken at neosho falls, woodson county, april , , by goss, who also reported this species to nest there occasionally. no subspecies recognized. [_columbigallina passerina._ ground dove. one seen on kansas river, miles west of st. marys, pottawatomie county, november , , by thomas a. hoffman and james mulligan. placed in hypothetical list in absence of a specimen from kansas.] [_scardafella inca_ (lesson). inca dove. one seen daily at halstead, harvey county, november , , to january , , by edna l. ruth and others. one seen in topeka, shawnee county, last week of june, , e. j. rice. placed in hypothetical list in absence of a specimen from kansas.] * _conuropsis carolinensis._ carolina paroquet. extinct. formerly common resident in wooded areas of east; west along stream bottoms. goss reported nesting of small flock near neosho falls, woodson county, in spring, . no specimen from kansas preserved. subspecies in kansas: _c. c. ludovicianus_ (gmelin), on geographical grounds. * _coccyzus americanus._ yellow-billed cuckoo. common transient and summer resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _c. a. americanus_ (linnaeus). * _coccyzus erythropthalmus_ (wilson). black-billed cuckoo. uncommon transient and summer resident. nesting records: female (ku ) and nest containing two black-billed cuckoo eggs and one yellow-billed cuckoo egg, - / miles southwest of lawrence, douglas county, june , , charles d. bunker; nests found in cloud county in june, ( ), ( ), ( ), ( ), ( ), j. m. porter. no subspecies recognized. * _geococcyx californianus_ (lesson). road-runner. resident in south-central and southwestern kansas; abundance and distribution subject to wide fluctuation, current status unknown. four nests found, april to july, , - / miles east of arkansas city, cowley county, walter colvin. no subspecies recognized. _crotophaga sulcirostris._ groove-billed ani. accidental. three records: specimen (ku ), mccune, crawford county, between and , alexander j. c. roese; specimen, lyon county, november , ; male (ku ), - / miles northeast of blue rapids, marshall county, october , , elizabeth g. mccleod. subspecies in kansas: _c. s. sulcirostris_ swainson. * _tyto alba._ barn owl. uncommon resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _t. a. pratincola_ (bonaparte). * _otus asio._ screech owl. common resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: following reported: _o. a. naevius_ (gmelin) in northeast, _o. a. hasbroucki_ ridgway in south-central, _o. a. aikeni_ (brewster) and _o. a. swenki_ oberholser in west. the status of these subspecies is poorly known; additional breeding specimens and revisionary study are needed. * _bubo virginianus._ horned owl. common resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _b. v. virginianus_ (gmelin) in east, _b. v. occidentalis_ stone in west. _nyctea scandiaca_ (linnaeus). snowy owl. rare and irregular winter visitant throughout state. no subspecies recognized. [_surnia ulula._ hawk owl. none of the several sight records from kansas is convincing to me. reports from eastern kansas indicating regular occurrence there of this far-northern species are surely erroneous and probably pertain to short-eared owls.] * _speotyto cunicularia._ burrowing owl. common summer resident in west; irregular transient in east. numbers seem to be decreasing. subspecies in kansas: _s. c. hypugea_ (bonaparte). * _strix varia._ barred owl. resident in east, locally fairly common. status in west not known. subspecies in kansas: _s. v. georgica_ latham in southeast; _s. v. varia_ barton elsewhere in state. * _asio otus._ long-eared owl. uncommon summer resident, locally common transient and winter resident throughout state. nesting records from ottawa, douglas, doniphan, and meade counties. status in summer poorly known. subspecies in kansas: _a. o. wilsonianus_ (lesson). * _asio flammeus._ short-eared owl. resident, probably throughout state, in suitable habitat. more common in winter. nesting records from woodson, republic, and marshall counties. subspecies in kansas: _a. f. flammeus_ (pontoppidan). * _aegolius acadicus._ saw-whet owl. rare winter resident throughout state. one nesting record: a pair found in kansas city, wyandotte county, in winter, , remained at least to september, , and were seen with young birds in summer, , john bishop. subspecies in kansas: _a. a. acadicus_ (gmelin). * _caprimulgus carolinensis_ gmelin. chuck-will's-widow. locally common summer resident in eastern kansas, western limit of distribution poorly known. no subspecies recognized. * _caprimulgus vociferus._ whip-poor-will. locally common summer resident in eastern kansas; two specimens reported from finney county, but status in west poorly known. two nests reported, at geary, doniphan county, june and june to july , , by linsdale. in recent years, chuck-will's-widows seem to have increased at the expense of whip-poor-wills in kansas. subspecies in kansas: _c. v. vociferus_ wilson. * _phalaenoptilus nuttallii._ poor-will. summer resident, common in west, rare and local in east. subspecies in kansas: _p. n. nuttallii_ (audubon). * _chordeiles minor._ nighthawk. common transient and summer resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: nesting; _c. m. minor_ (forster) in northeast, _c. m. chapmani_ coues in southeast, and _c. m. howelli_ oberholser in west, intergrading with one another through fairly broad zones. migration; _c. m. sennetti_ coues throughout state. * _chaetura pelagica_ (linnaeus). chimney swift. common transient and summer resident in east; status in west poorly known. schwilling reports this species only in migration in finney and neighboring counties. no subspecies recognized. * _archilochus colubris_ (linnaeus). ruby-throated hummingbird. common transient and summer resident in east; much less common in west, status there poorly known. no subspecies recognized. _stellula calliope_ (gould). calliope hummingbird. one record: immature female, miles south of richfield and miles east of kansas highway , morton county, september , , jean w. graber. no subspecies recognized. * _megaceryle alcyon._ belted kingfisher. common summer resident and uncommon winter resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _m. a. alcyon_ (linnaeus). * _colaptes auratus._ yellow-shafted flicker. common resident throughout state, but partly replaced in west by red-shafted flicker and hybrids between the two species. subspecies in kansas: _c. a. auratus_ (linnaeus) in southeast, _c. a. luteus_ bangs in remainder of state. _c. a. borealis_ ridgway has been reported in winter in east. * _colaptes cafer._ red-shafted flicker. common resident in west, hybridizing with, and replaced by, yellow-shafted flicker eastward. uncommon winter resident in east. subspecies in kansas: _c. c. collaris_ vigors. * _dryocopus pileatus._ pileated woodpecker. formerly common resident in eastern kansas, now much reduced in numbers and distribution. recent sight records from leavenworth, wyandotte, douglas, miami, linn, and neosho counties may indicate that this species is increasing in its former range. definite nesting records only from linn county where frank wood and ivan sutton found a nest with eggs and a nest with two young and one egg, along marais des cygnes river, near pleasanton, some years ago. eunice and wilson dingus have noted this species at mound city, linn county, regularly for several years. subspecies in kansas: _d. p. abieticola_ (bangs) in northeast, _d. p. pileatus_ (linnaeus) in southeast. * _centurus carolinus._ red-bellied woodpecker. common resident in eastern part, breeding west at least to comanche county; additional records in west from morton, finney, and kearny counties. subspecies in kansas: _c. c. zebra_ (boddaert). * _melanerpes erythrocephalus._ red-headed woodpecker. common transient and summer resident throughout state. occasional winter resident west to cloud county; not found in winter in southwest by schwilling. subspecies in kansas: _m. e. erythrocephalus_ (linnaeus), intergrading in west with _m. e. caurinus_ brodkorb. _asyndesmus lewis_ (gray). lewis woodpecker. possibly rare resident in southwest but status uncertain. several specimens and sight records from western third of state; one specimen, female (ku ), from lawrence, douglas county, november , , bunker and wetmore. no subspecies recognized. _sphyrapicus varius._ yellow-bellied sapsucker. uncommon transient and winter resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _s. v. varius_ (linnaeus) in eastern kansas, _s. v. nuchalis_ baird in western part (three specimens, wallace and morton counties). [_sphyrapicus thyroideus._ williamson sapsucker. an adult male seen at concordia, cloud county, april , , by dr. j. m. porter. placed in hypothetical list in absence of a specimen.] * _dendrocopos villosus._ hairy woodpecker. common resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _d. v. villosus_ (linnaeus). * _dendrocopos pubescens._ downy woodpecker. common resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _d. p. pubescens_ (linnaeus) in southeast (labette and montgomery counties), _d. p. medianus_ (swainson) in rest of state, with fairly broad zone of intergradation between the two subspecies. _dendrocopos scalaris._ ladder-backed woodpecker. common resident in extreme southwestern kansas (morton county). six specimens. no nest found yet in kansas. subspecies in kansas: _d. s. symplectus_ (oberholser). * _tyrannus tyrannus_ (linnaeus). eastern kingbird. common transient and summer resident throughout state; most numerous in east. no subspecies recognized. * _tyrannus verticalis_ say. western kingbird. common transient and summer resident east to flint hills; uncommon transient and summer resident in east (occurs regularly at lawrence but rarely at kansas city). no subspecies recognized. _tyrannus vociferans._ cassin kingbird. transient and summer resident in extreme western part, east to finney county. one specimen: male, kansas highway at cimarron river [ - / miles north of elkhart], morton county, may , , richard and jean graber. no nesting record. status poorly known. subspecies in kansas: _t. v. vociferans_ swainson. * _muscivora forficata_ (gmelin). scissor-tailed flycatcher. common summer resident in southern and central kansas; nesting west to morton county, north to cloud county, east to neosho county. sporadic records elsewhere in state. no subspecies recognized. * _myiarchus crinitus._ crested flycatcher. common transient and summer resident throughout state, but perhaps less numerous in west. subspecies in kansas: _m. c. boreus_ bangs. _myiarchus cinerascens._ ash-throated flycatcher. known only from morton county; several seen in may, , and a female with somewhat enlarged ovary taken, miles south of richfield, may , , richard and jean graber. no nesting record. subspecies in kansas: _m. c. cinerascens_ (lawrence). * _sayornis phoebe_ (latham). eastern phoebe. common transient and summer resident in east; occurs, but must less common, in west. no subspecies recognized. * _sayornis saya._ say phoebe. common transient and summer resident in west. nesting records from rawlins, jewell, logan, and ness counties. in migration, reported east to republic and lyon counties. subspecies in kansas: _s. s. saya_ (bonaparte) is the breeding bird; _s. s. yukonensis_ bishop probably occurs in migration. _empidonax flaviventris_ (baird and baird). yellow-bellied flycatcher. uncommon transient in east. specimens from johnson, douglas, and shawnee counties. no subspecies recognized. * _empidonax virescens_ (vieillot). acadian flycatcher. summer resident in eastern kansas. specimens from doniphan, leavenworth, douglas, woodson, montgomery, and labette counties. nesting records from doniphan county (jean m. linsdale), linn county (wilson j. and eunice dingus), and douglas county (r. f. miller). no subspecies recognized. _empidonax traillii._ alder flycatcher. transient throughout state; no satisfactory nesting records or specimens taken in breeding season. subspecies in kansas: _e. t. brewsteri_ oberholser transient, probably more common in west, and _e. t. traillii_ (audubon) transient and perhaps breeding in east. _empidonax minimus_ (baird and baird). least flycatcher. common transient throughout state; no satisfactory evidence of nesting. no subspecies recognized. _empidonax oberholseri_ phillips. wright flycatcher. known only from three specimens, may (male and female) and may (male), , eight miles south of richfield, morton county, richard and jean graber. no subspecies recognized. _empidonax difficilis._ western flycatcher. known only from two specimens taken eight miles south of richfield, morton county; september , , immature female, jean graber; september , , immature male (ku ), richard graber. subspecies in kansas: _e. d. hellmayri_ brodkorb (female specimen); intermediate between _e. d. hellmayri_ and _e. d. difficilis_ baird (male specimen). * _contopus virens_ (linnaeus). eastern wood pewee. common transient and summer resident in east, rare transient in west. breeding distribution in state poorly known. no subspecies recognized. _contopus richardsonii._ western wood pewee. common transient and probably summer resident in west; rare transient in east (specimen from greenwood county and one seen in cloud county). no nesting record. subspecies in kansas: _c. r. richardsonii_ (swainson). _nuttallornis borealis_ (swainson). olive-sided flycatcher. uncommon transient throughout state. no subspecies recognized. * _eremophila alpestris._ horned lark. common transient and resident throughout state. numbers augmented by northern birds in winter. subspecies in kansas: _e. a. praticola_ (henshaw) resident in east; _e. a. enthymia_ (oberholser) resident west of flint hills; _e. a. hoyti_ (bishop), _e. a. alpestris_ (linnaeus), and _e. a. leucolaema_ (coues) in winter. [_tachycineta thalassina._ violet-green swallow. five birds seen at lake shawnee, shawnee county, april , , by l. b. carson. placed in hypothetical list in absence of a specimen.] * _iridoprocne bicolor_ (vieillot). tree swallow. summer resident in extreme northeastern kansas; common transient throughout eastern half of state, status in west not known. nesting records only from doniphan county, along missouri river, four nests located by linsdale, in , , and , and leavenworth county, nests found by brumwell along missouri river. no subspecies recognized. * _riparia riparia._ bank swallow. common transient and summer resident, probably throughout state but status in northwest not known. subspecies in kansas: _r. r. riparia_ (linnaeus). * _stelgidopteryx ruficollis._ rough-winged swallow. common transient and summer resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _s. r. serripennis_ (audubon). * _hirundo rustica._ barn swallow. common transient and summer resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _h. r. erythrogaster_ boddaert. * _petrochelidon pyrrhonota._ cliff swallow. common transient and locally common summer resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _p. p. pyrrhonota_ (vieillot). _progne subis._ purple martin. common transient and summer resident in east to uncommon or rare in west. subspecies in kansas: _p. s. subis_ (linnaeus). * _cyanocitta cristata._ blue jay. common transient and resident throughout state; less common in northern and western sections in winter. subspecies in kansas: _c. c. bromia_ oberholser in east, _c. c. cyanotephra_ sutton in west, intergrading through central kansas. [_cyanocitta stelleri._ steller jay. several sight records from southwestern kansas. placed in hypothetical list in absence of a specimen.] _aphelocoma coerulescens._ scrub jay. irregular winter resident in southwestern kansas. five specimens (ku - , ), miles northeast of elkhart, morton county, november , , , , w. s. long and fred hastie. two seen in finney county, january , , by marvin d. schwilling. subspecies in kansas: _a. c. woodhouseii_ (baird). _aphelocoma ultramarina._ arizona jay. accidental. one specimen: "probably female," near mt. jesus, clark county, march, , b. ashton keith. identification confirmed by l. l. dyche; present location of specimen unknown. subspecies in kansas: _a. u. arizonae_ (ridgway). * _pica pica._ american magpie. common resident in west; occasional in east in winter. eastward extent of breeding range poorly known; nests from ottawa ( ), republic ( and ), and cloud ( ) counties. extending breeding range eastward (j. m. porter). subspecies in kansas: _p. p. hudsonia_ (sabine). _corvus corax._ american raven. formerly occurred on high plains, precise status not known. no records since disappearance of bison herds. one specimen: jewell county, date unknown, edward kern (specimen now at kansas state college, manhattan). subspecies in kansas: _c. c. sinuatus_ wagler. * _corvus cryptoleucus_ couch. white-necked raven. common summer resident in western two tiers of counties; occasional resident east to ford county. locally common winter resident (finney, scott, and sherman counties). one shot at larned, pawnee county, about october , , by frank robl. no subspecies recognized. * _corvus brachyrhynchos._ crow. common resident in east, less common in west. abundant transient and winter resident in central kansas. subspecies in kansas: _c. b. brachyrhynchos_ brehm. _gymnorhinus cyanocephalus_ wied. piñon jay. irregular winter visitant, more frequent in west than in east. reported from douglas (twice), sedgwick, mitchell, clark, finney, and kearny counties. no subspecies recognized. _nucifraga columbiana_ (wilson). clark nutcracker. irregular winter visitant, more frequent in west than in east. reported from marshall (twice), ellis, lyon, finney, and seward counties. no subspecies recognized. * _parus atricapillus._ black-capped chickadee. common resident in entire state except for southern tier of counties, where either rare or absent in summer and locally common in winter. subspecies in kansas: _p. a. atricapillus_ linnaeus in east, where most specimens are more or less intermediate toward _p. a. septentrionalis_ harris, the resident subspecies in the west. * _parus carolinensis._ carolina chickadee. common resident in southern tier of counties; taken also in greenwood county. reported occurrence in douglas county is erroneous. proof of breeding rests on partly grown juveniles taken in barber county, and on two nests found in montgomery county by l. b. carson. subspecies in kansas: _p. c. atricapilloides_ lunk. * _parus bicolor_ linnaeus. tufted titmouse. common resident in eastern kansas, west at least to barber, harvey, and cloud counties. western limit of breeding range poorly known. no subspecies recognized. * _sitta carolinensis._ white-breasted nuthatch. uncommon and local resident and winter visitant throughout state. three positive nesting records, all from douglas county, by c. d. bunker, r. f. miller, and katherine kelley. subspecies in kansas: _s. c. carolinensis_ latham resident in labette and montgomery counties; _s. c. nelsoni_ mearns occurs in at least morton county, status uncertain; _s. c. cookei_ oberholser resident and winter visitant in rest of state. _sitta canadensis_ linnaeus. red-breasted nuthatch. uncommon transient and winter resident throughout state. no subspecies recognized. _certhia familiaris._ brown creeper. fairly common transient and winter resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _c. f. americana_ bonaparte. * _troglodytes aëdon._ house wren. transient and summer resident, common in east to uncommon in west. subspecies in kansas: _t. a. parkmanii_ audubon. _troglodytes troglodytes._ winter wren. rare or uncommon transient and winter resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _t. t. hiemalis_ vieillot. _thryomanes bewickii._ bewick wren. resident, common in south, rare in north; status poorly known. nesting records from shawnee, johnson, and montgomery counties. subspecies in kansas: _t. b. bewickii_ (audubon) in northern and northeastern part, _t. b. cryptus_ oberholser in rest of state. (_t. b. niceae_ sutton, a questionably valid subspecies, has been reported from meade and morton counties.) * _thryothorus ludovicianus._ carolina wren. resident, common in south, less common to north and west. one record from hamilton county; status in northwest unknown. subspecies in kansas: _t. l. ludovicianus_ (latham). * _telmatodytes palustris._ long-billed marsh wren. uncommon transient throughout state; known as a breeding bird only from doniphan county, where linsdale found several nests and collected a juvenile (ku ) with half-grown tail, august , . subspecies in kansas: _t. p. dissaëptus_ (bangs). * _cistothorus platensis._ short-billed marsh wren. uncommon transient and irregular summer resident in east, no records from west. one breeding record: male (ku ), female (ku ), and their nest with four eggs, eight miles west of lawrence, douglas county, august , , h. b. tordoff and g. p. young. subspecies in kansas: _c. p. stellaris_ (naumann). * _salpinctes obsoletus._ rock wren. common transient and summer resident in west, rare transient in east; eastern limit of breeding range not known. nests found in hamilton, scott, and logan counties. subspecies in kansas: _s. o. obsoletus_ (say). * _mimus polyglottos._ mockingbird. resident throughout state, less common in north, especially in winter. subspecies in kansas: _m. p. polyglottos_ (linnaeus) in east, _m. p. leucopterus_ (vigors) in west (most specimens from kansas are intermediate between the two subspecies). * _dumetella carolinensis_ (linnaeus). catbird. common transient and summer resident throughout state. no subspecies recognized. * _toxostoma rufum._ brown thrasher. common transient and summer resident throughout state; occasional winter resident at least in east. subspecies in kansas: _t. r. rufum_ (linnaeus) in east, _t. r. longicauda_ baird in west. _oreoscoptes montanus_ (townsend). sage thrasher. rare transient in west. two unsexed specimens (ku , ), mile south of holcomb, finney county, september and october , , marvin d. schwilling. a third individual seen in morton county, september , , and a fourth in kearny county, march , , by schwilling. no subspecies recognized. * _turdus migratorius._ robin. common transient and summer resident; locally common winter resident. subspecies in kansas: _t. m. migratorius_ linnaeus breeds in most of state but birds in southeast are intermediate toward _t. m. achrusterus_ (batchelder); _t. m. propinquus_ ridgway occurs in west, at least in migration, and irregularly in other parts of state in winter. _ixoreus naevius._ varied thrush. accidental. one record: specimen (present location unknown) taken at garden city, finney county, october , , h. w. menke. subspecies in kansas: probably _i. n. meruloides_ (swainson), on geographical grounds. * _hylocichla mustelina_ (gmelin). wood thrush. common transient and summer resident in east, absent in west, western limit of breeding in kansas not known (nests, but uncommonly, in cloud county). no subspecies recognized. _hylocichla guttata._ hermit thrush. transient throughout state, usually uncommon. rare in winter in east. subspecies in kansas: _h. g. faxoni_ bangs and penard in east, _h. g. sequoiensis_ (belding) in west. _hylocichla ustulata._ olive-backed thrush. common transient throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _h. u. swainsoni_ (tschudi). _hylocichla minima._ gray-cheeked thrush. fairly common transient in east; probably does not occur in west but western limit in migration in kansas unknown (rare in cloud county, three records by j. m. porter). subspecies in kansas: _h. m. minima_ (lafresnaye). _hylocichla fuscescens._ veery. transient, rare in east, fairly common in west. subspecies in kansas: _h. f. salicicola_ ridgway. * _sialia sialis._ eastern bluebird. common resident and transient throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _s. s. sialis_ (linnaeus). [_sialia mexicana._ chestnut-backed bluebird. said to be winter resident at coolidge, hamilton county, by shanstrum. reliably reported from southeastern colorado. placed in hypothetical list in absence of a specimen from kansas.] _sialia currucoides_ (bechstein). mountain bluebird. common winter resident in west; occurs regularly east to cloud and barber counties and irregularly farther east (to douglas and anderson counties). bunker and rocklund took a full-grown juvenal female (ku ) on june , , near the colorado line northwest of coolidge, hamilton county. no subspecies recognized. _myadestes townsendi._ townsend solitaire. winter resident in small numbers in west; irregular in winter in east. subspecies in kansas: _m. t. townsendi_ (audubon). * _polioptila caerulea._ blue-gray gnatcatcher. common transient and summer resident in east, probably transient only in west but status there poorly known. nesting records from doniphan, douglas, and barber counties. subspecies in kansas: _p. c. caerulea_ (linnaeus). _regulus satrapa._ golden-crowned kinglet. common transient throughout state; uncommon winter resident. subspecies in kansas: _r. s. satrapa_ lichtenstein. _regulus calendula._ ruby-crowned kinglet. common transient throughout state; rare winter resident. subspecies in kansas: _r. c. calendula_ (linnaeus). _anthus spinoletta._ water pipit. common transient throughout state, more numerous in west. subspecies in kansas: _a. s. rubescens_ (tunstall). _anthus spragueii_ (audubon). sprague pipit. transient throughout state, perhaps more common in central or western parts; status poorly known. specimens known from trego, cloud, greenwood, woodson, and anderson counties. no subspecies recognized. _bombycilla garrulus._ bohemian waxwing. rare winter visitant throughout state. few specimens on record, from riley, shawnee, jefferson, greenwood, and sedgwick counties. subspecies in kansas: _b. g. pallidiceps_ reichenow. * _bombycilla cedrorum_ vieillot. cedar waxwing. common transient and irregular winter resident throughout state; rare summer resident in northeast. breeding records: four nests found at lake quivira, wyandotte county, july , (nestling collected, ku ), july , (young in nest), july , , july , (young in nest), harold c. hedges; nest found in topeka, shawnee county, june , , cliff olander and t. w. nelson. no subspecies recognized. _lanius excubitor._ northern shrike. winter resident, rare in east, uncommon in west. subspecies in kansas: _l. e. borealis_ vieillot in east, _l. e. invictus_ grinnell in west (most specimens from kansas are intermediate between the two). * _lanius ludovicianus._ loggerhead shrike. common resident and transient throughout state, but may leave north-central and northwestern parts in winter. subspecies in kansas: _l. l. migrans_ palmer in extreme east, _l. l. excubitorides_ swainson in west, east to norton, ness, and clark counties; birds from rest of state mostly intermediate. * _sturnus vulgaris._ starling. introduced. first appeared in early 's, now common transient and resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _s. v. vulgaris_ linnaeus. * _vireo atricapillus_ woodhouse. black-capped vireo. summer resident in comanche and possibly other south-central counties. status poorly known. goss collected three pairs in southeastern comanche county, may to , , and found a nest under construction on may , . sight records from manhattan, riley county, june , , by scott searles, and halstead, harvey county, may , , by edna l. ruth. no subspecies recognized. * _vireo griseus._ white-eyed vireo. locally common transient and summer resident in east. status poorly known. nesting records from doniphan county (linsdale) and kansas city region; specimens taken in summer from douglas, montgomery, and labette counties. subspecies in kansas: _v. g. noveboracensis_ (gmelin). * _vireo bellii._ bell vireo. common summer resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _v. b. bellii_ audubon. * _vireo flavifrons_ vieillot. yellow-throated vireo. uncommon transient and local, uncommon summer resident throughout state. goss reported two nests, one with cowbird and vireo eggs, at neosho falls, woodson county, may , , and one under construction at topeka, shawnee county, may , . t. w. nelson found a nest at topeka in (date approximate). r. f. miller found an occupied nest miles north of baldwin, douglas county, may , . no subspecies recognized. _vireo solitarius._ solitary vireo. fairly common transient throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _v. s. solitarius_ (wilson) in east, _v. s. plumbeus_ coues and _v. s. cassinii_ xantus in west. * _vireo olivaceus_ (linnaeus). red-eyed vireo. common transient and summer resident throughout state. no subspecies recognized. _vireo philadelphicus_ (cassin). philadelphia vireo. uncommon transient in east (often overlooked); reported west to harvey county but western limit of migration in kansas not known. no subspecies recognized. * _vireo gilvus._ warbling vireo. common transient and summer resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _v. g. gilvus_ (vieillot). * _mniotilta varia_ (linnaeus). black and white warbler. common transient throughout state, local and uncommon summer resident in east. breeding distribution in state poorly known. nests reported in douglas and leavenworth counties. no subspecies recognized. * _protonotaria citrea_ (boddaert). prothonotary warbler. locally common transient and summer resident in eastern kansas. nesting records from doniphan, leavenworth, johnson, douglas, shawnee, and woodson counties. no subspecies recognized. * _helmitheros vermivorus_ (gmelin). worm-eating warbler. rare transient (specimens from doniphan, douglas, and woodson counties) and summer resident in east. linsdale saw a singing bird on july , , in doniphan county. hilton (wilson bull., , : - ) reports finding a newly-fledged young bird with an adult at fort leavenworth, leavenworth county, on june , (some of hilton's records seem highly improbable, but the one in question is convincing to me). no subspecies recognized. _vermivora chrysoptera_ (linnaeus). golden-winged warbler. rare transient in east. several sight records and one specimen: female (ku ), miles south of lawrence, douglas county, may , , e. r. hall. no subspecies recognized. _vermivora pinus_ (linnaeus). blue-winged warbler. uncommon transient in east. possibly nests rarely but no definite evidence. no subspecies recognized. _vermivora peregrina_ (wilson). tennessee warbler. common transient in east, uncommon transient in west. no subspecies recognized. _vermivora celata._ orange-crowned warbler. common transient throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _v. c. celata_ (say) throughout state, _v. c. orestera_ oberholser in west. _vermivora ruficapilla._ nashville warbler. common transient throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _v. r. ruficapilla_ (wilson). _vermivora virginiae_ (baird). virginia warbler. transient in extreme west. known in kansas only from miles south of richfield, morton county: five birds seen, two collected, may to , , richard and jean graber. no subspecies recognized. * _parula americana_ (linnaeus). parula warbler. fairly common transient and local summer resident in eastern kansas. nesting records from riley, doniphan, douglas, and woodson counties; western limit of breeding distribution unknown. no subspecies recognized. * _dendroica petechia._ yellow warbler. common transient and summer resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _d. p. aestiva_ (gmelin) breeding in all except southwestern kansas; _d. p. sonorana_ brewster probably breeding in extreme southwest (specimens from morton county); _d. p. rubiginosa_ (pallas) transient, probably throughout state. _dendroica magnolia_ (wilson). magnolia warbler. uncommon transient throughout state. no subspecies recognized. _dendroica tigrina_ (gmelin). cape may warbler. rare transient in east. several sight records but only one specimen from state: immature male (ku ), lawrence, douglas county, december , (abnormally late date), mary edith kizer. no subspecies recognized. _dendroica caerulescens._ black-throated blue warbler. rare transient, more records from west than from east. subspecies in kansas: _d. c. caerulescens_ (gmelin). _dendroica coronata._ myrtle warbler. common transient throughout state, rare winter resident. (see also audubon warbler.) subspecies in kansas: _d. c. coronata_ (linnaeus) and _d. c. hooveri_ mcgregor. _dendroica auduboni._ audubon warbler. common transient in west, rare in east, specimens taken east to trego county. hybrids between this species and myrtle warbler common in west. subspecies in kansas: _d. a. auduboni_ (townsend). _dendroica nigrescens_ (townsend). black-throated gray warbler. common transient in extreme western kansas. several sight records and four specimens from miles south of richfield, morton county, may to , , richard and jean graber. no subspecies recognized. _dendroica townsendi_ (townsend). townsend warbler. transient in extreme western kansas. five records: all from miles south of richfield, morton county, may (female collected), , and , , september and (immature female, ku ), , richard and jean graber. no subspecies recognized. _dendroica virens._ black-throated green warbler. transient, uncommon in east and rare in west. subspecies in kansas: _d. v. virens_ (gmelin). _dendroica cerulea_ (wilson). cerulean warbler. uncommon transient and possibly summer resident in east, but status poorly known. no definite nesting record. only five specimens on record. no subspecies recognized. _dendroica fusca_ (müller). blackburnian warbler. transient, uncommon in east, rare in west. no subspecies recognized. [_dendroica dominica._ sycamore warbler. a few sight records from east and possibly breeds in southeast but placed on hypothetical list until a specimen from state is obtained.] _dendroica pensylvanica_ (linnaeus). chestnut-sided warbler. transient, fairly common in east, uncommon in west. only three specimens from state, two from shawnee county, one from morton county. no subspecies recognized. _dendroica castanea_ (wilson). bay-breasted warbler. uncommon transient throughout state. no subspecies recognized. _dendroica striata_ (forster). black-poll warbler. common transient in east, uncommon or rare in west. no subspecies recognized. [_dendroica pinus._ pine warbler. probably rare transient in east where several have been reported seen, but placed in hypothetical list in absence of a specimen from kansas. linsdale reported taking a pine warbler in doniphan county, september , , but the specimen is actually a cerulean warbler.] * _dendroica discolor._ prairie warbler. known to occur regularly only in wyandotte and johnson counties, where locally common transient and summer resident; newly fledged young have been found. one specimen: male (ku ), miles west of lake quivira, johnson county, may , , harold c. hedges. subspecies in kansas: _d. d. discolor_ (vieillot). _dendroica palmarum._ palm warbler. uncommon transient in east, west at least to cloud county. western limit of occurrence in migration not known. subspecies in kansas: _d. p. palmarum_ (gmelin). * _seiurus aurocapillus._ oven-bird. fairly common transient throughout state; local summer resident in northeast. brumwell reported one pair nesting in june, , and in , at fort leavenworth, leavenworth county. his report is lacking in details but no other nesting records are available. subspecies in kansas: _s. a. aurocapillus_ (linnaeus) throughout state, _s. a. cinereus_ a. h. miller taken in cheyenne county. _seiurus noveboracensis._ northern water-thrush. fairly common transient throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _s. n. notabilis_ ridgway. * _seiurus motacilla_ (vieillot). louisiana water-thrush. fairly common transient and summer resident in east, uncommon transient in west. approximately breeding records, all from miami and linn counties. summer distribution in state inadequately known. no subspecies recognized. * _oporornis formosus_ (wilson). kentucky warbler. common transient and summer resident in east. nests west to riley county, but not reported from cloud county by porter. no subspecies recognized. _oporornis philadelphia_ (wilson). mourning warbler. locally common transient in east, west rarely to sedgwick and cloud counties. sight records supposedly of connecticut warblers (_oporornis agilis_) may, at least in part, refer to this species. no specimens of _o. agilis_ known from state. no subspecies recognized. _oporornis tolmiei._ macgillivray warbler. common transient in extreme western kansas, accidental in east. specimens from morton, hamilton, and marshall ( ) counties. subspecies in kansas: _o. t. monticola_ phillips. * _geothlypis trichas._ yellow-throat. common transient throughout state; common summer resident in east, less common in west. subspecies in kansas: _g. t. brachidactyla_ (swainson) breeds in east; _g. t. occidentalis_ brewster breeds in west. distribution in kansas of these subspecies and identity of transients poorly known. * _icteria virens._ yellow-breasted chat. common transient and summer resident, perhaps less common in west. subspecies in kansas: _i. v. virens_ (linnaeus) in east, _i. v. auricollis_ (lichtenstein) in west, intergrading through most of state. _wilsonia citrina_ (boddaert). hooded warbler. formerly common summer resident in east, now rare and perhaps no longer nests in state. no satisfactory breeding record. three males from leavenworth county, may , , and one from shawnee county, may , , taken by j. a. allen, are now at harvard. no subspecies recognized. _wilsonia pusilla._ wilson warbler. common transient throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _w. p. pusilla_ (wilson) in east, _w. p. pileolata_ (pallas) in west; precise distribution in migration unknown. _wilsonia canadensis_ (linnaeus). canada warbler. uncommon transient in east, reported west to sedgwick and cloud counties. no subspecies recognized. * _setophaga ruticilla._ american redstart. common transient and local summer resident in east; probably only transient in west but breeding range in state poorly known. few definite nesting records: brumwell reported nesting at fort leavenworth, leavenworth county; j. m. porter found a nest in republic county, may , . subspecies in kansas: _s. r. ruticilla_ (linnaeus) is breeding form; _s. r. tricolora_ (müller) occurs in migration. * _passer domesticus._ english sparrow. introduced. common resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _p. d. domesticus_ (linnaeus). * _dolichonyx oryzivorus_ (linnaeus). bobolink. transient, uncommon in east and rare in west in spring; rare in east and absent in west in fall. in , several pairs remained until july near jamestown state lake, cloud county, and two pairs were seen feeding fledglings on june (j. m. porter). no other good evidence of breeding. no subspecies recognized. * _sturnella magna._ eastern meadowlark. common transient and resident in eastern part. nests locally west to jewell county in north and barber county in south. less common in winter. subspecies in kansas: _s. m. magna_ (linnaeus) in northeast, _s. m. argutula_ bangs in southeast. _sturnella neglecta._ western meadowlark. common transient and resident in western part. nests commonly east to flint hills, irregularly and uncommonly in east. largely replaces eastern meadowlark in east in winter. subspecies in kansas: _s. n. neglecta_ audubon. * _xanthocephalus xanthocephalus_ (bonaparte). yellow-headed blackbird. transient, common in west and uncommon in east, and uncommon, local summer resident. breeds more frequently in west; nesting records from meade, wallace, barton, stafford, doniphan, and douglas counties. one winter record, riley county. no subspecies recognized. * _agelaius phoeniceus._ red-wing. common transient and summer resident throughout state, less common winter resident. subspecies in kansas: _a. p. phoeniceus_ (linnaeus) breeds in most of state; _a. p. fortis_ ridgway may nest in west and occurs in migration; _a. p. arctolegus_ oberholser occurs in migration. * _icterus spurius_ (linnaeus). orchard oriole. common transient and summer resident throughout state. no subspecies recognized. _icterus cucullatus._ hooded oriole. accidental. one record: bird banded at los angeles, california, january , , found dead by dr. f. s. williams, miles southeast of garden city, finney county, about august , ; foot of specimen preserved. subspecies in kansas: _i. c. californicus_ (lesson), on geographic grounds. * _icterus galbula_ (linnaeus). baltimore oriole. common transient and summer resident through most of state; hybridizes freely with bullock oriole in west. one winter record: immature male (ku ), lawrence, douglas county, december , , h. b. tordoff. no subspecies recognized. * _icterus bullockii._ bullock oriole. common transient and summer resident in west, rarely east to stafford county (breeding?) and douglas county (transient). subspecies in kansas: _i. b. bullockii_ (swainson). _euphagus carolinus._ rusty blackbird. common transient and locally common winter resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _e. c. carolinus_ (müller). _euphagus cyanocephalus_ (wagler). brewer blackbird. transient and local winter resident. common in west, uncommon in east. probably nests in northwest, but no satisfactory evidence of this. no subspecies recognized. _quiscalus quiscula._ bronzed grackle. common transient and summer resident throughout state; local winter resident. subspecies in kansas: _q. q. versicolor_ vieillot. * _molothrus ater._ cowbird. common transient and summer resident throughout state; local winter resident. subspecies in kansas: _m. a. ater_ (boddaert) is breeding bird; _m. a. artemisiae_ grinnell transient, common in west and possibly nesting in northwest. _piranga ludoviciana_ (wilson). western tanager. fairly common transient and perhaps summer resident in extreme west. two males taken - / miles west of kendall, hamilton county, may and june , , h. w. menke; many seen and two males and a female (ku ) taken miles south of richfield, morton county, may , (males) and september , , richard and jean graber. no subspecies recognized. * _piranga olivacea_ (gmelin). scarlet tanager. fairly common transient in east and uncommon summer resident in northeast. distribution in state poorly known; breeding records from doniphan, leavenworth, and cloud counties. no subspecies recognized. * _piranga rubra._ summer tanager. common transient and summer resident, distribution poorly known. recorded in migration (possibly breeding?) west to morton county and breeding in doniphan and douglas counties. not reported by porter as nesting in cloud county. subspecies in kansas: _p. r. rubra_ (linnaeus). * _richmondena cardinalis._ cardinal. common resident in east, uncommon in west, rare in extreme southwest. subspecies in kansas: _r. c. cardinalis_ (linnaeus). * _pheucticus ludovicianus_ (linnaeus). rose-breasted grosbeak. common transient and locally common summer resident in east. reported in summer west to rawlins county; probably absent in summer from southeast. distribution poorly known. no subspecies recognized. * _pheucticus melanocephalus._ black-headed grosbeak. common transient and summer resident in west, nesting east to cloud and harvey counties. occasionally occurs farther east in migration. subspecies in kansas: _p. m. melanocephalus_ (swainson). * _guiraca caerulea._ blue grosbeak. common transient and summer resident in most of state; locally common in summer in northeast. subspecies in kansas: _g. c. caerulea_ (linnaeus) in east, _g. c. interfusa_ dwight and griscom in west; most specimens from state are intergrades. _passerina cyanea_ (linnaeus). indigo bunting. common transient and summer resident west to finney county, status in extreme west not known but probably absent there. no subspecies recognized. _passerina amoena_ (say). lazuli bunting. common transient and probably summer resident in extreme western kansas. no breeding record. rare in east in migration. no subspecies recognized. * _passerina ciris._ painted bunting. fairly common summer resident in east, west to barber and north to riley and shawnee counties. one positive nesting record: nest with young, successfully fledged, lawrence, douglas county, spring and summer, , bessie d. reed. subspecies in kansas: _p. c. pallidior_ mearns. * _spiza americana_ (gmelin). dickcissel. transient and summer resident throughout state; common in east, locally common in west. no subspecies recognized. _hesperiphona vespertina._ evening grosbeak. rare and irregular winter visitant. reported from widely scattered localities throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _h. v. vespertina_ (cooper); _h. v. brooksi_ grinnell may occur in west. _carpodacus purpureus._ purple finch. fairly common transient and winter resident in east; status in west not known. subspecies in kansas: _c. p. purpureus_ (gmelin). _carpodacus mexicanus._ house finch. occurs in southwestern kansas, reported common north to hamilton county and east to finney county. one record from concordia, cloud county, or birds seen from february to march , , lillie and ida cook, j. m. porter. most records in winter; status in summer uncertain. subspecies in kansas: _c. m. frontalis_ (say). [_pinicola enucleator._ pine grosbeak. one old record (possibly based on a specimen, but convincing details are lacking) and a few recent sight records from east. placed in hypothetical list in absence of an authentic specimen from state.] _acanthis flammea._ redpoll. rare and irregular winter visitant. records from cloud, riley (specimen), douglas (specimens), and woodson counties, and kansas city region. subspecies in kansas: _a. f. flammea_ (linnaeus). * _spinus pinus._ pine siskin. common but irregular transient and winter resident throughout state. two breeding records: nest with or young, later successfully fledged, onaga, pottawatomie county, may , , f. f. crevecoeur; nest with eggs (young successfully fledged), mile southwest of concordia, cloud county, observed from april to , , j. m. porter. subspecies in kansas: _s. p. pinus_ (wilson). * _spinus tristis._ eastern goldfinch. common resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _s. t. tristis_ (linnaeus). * _loxia curvirostra._ red crossbill. irregular winter visitant throughout state, locally common at times. one nesting record: nest with one egg, topeka, shawnee county, march , , a. sidney hyde. this nest later held three eggs, all hatched, three young fledged, and the family left the area in june. subspecies in kansas (in approximate decreasing order of frequency): _l. c. benti_ griscom, _l. c. bendirei_ ridgway, _l. c. minor_ (brehm), _l. c. stricklandi_ ridgway, _l. c. sitkensis_ grinnell. _loxia leucoptera._ white-winged crossbill. rare and irregular winter visitant throughout the state. only two specimens taken (douglas and ellis counties). subspecies in kansas: _l. l. leucoptera_ gmelin. _chlorura chlorura_ (audubon). green-tailed towhee. fairly common transient in west; rare winter visitant in east (shawnee county, wyandotte county). no subspecies recognized. * _pipilo erythrophthalmus._ red-eyed towhee. common transient and winter resident throughout state; uncommon summer resident in east, status in west in summer not known. no nest found, but recently fledged young reported in several counties. subspecies in kansas: _p. e. erythrophthalmus_ (linnaeus) resident; _p. e. arcticus_ (swainson) winter resident throughout state; _p. e. montanus_ swarth reported as transient only from morton county. * _calamospiza melanocorys_ stejneger. lark bunting. common transient and summer resident in west, rare transient in east. nesting in southwestern kansas irregular; absent some years and present in other years. one nesting record from east, in franklin county. no subspecies recognized. _passerculus sandwichensis._ savannah sparrow. common transient and rare winter resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _p. s. savanna_ (wilson), _p. s. nevadensis_ grinnell, _p. s. oblitus_ peters and griscom. * _ammodramus savannarum._ grasshopper sparrow. common transient and local summer resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _a. s. perpallidus_ (coues). _ammodramus bairdii_ (audubon). baird sparrow. one record: male? (u. s. natl. mus. ), pendennis, lane county, april , , j. a. loring. this species probably occurs regularly in the state but is overlooked. no subspecies recognized. _passerherbulus caudacutus_ (latham). leconte sparrow. common transient and irregular, locally common winter resident west at least to lane county. no subspecies recognized. * _passerherbulus henslowii._ henslow sparrow. uncommon transient and uncommon, local summer resident in east, west at least to cloud county. breeding records from morris, shawnee, douglas, and anderson counties. subspecies in kansas: _p. h. henslowii_ (audubon). _ammospiza caudacuta._ sharp-tailed sparrow. rare transient in east. specimens taken in shawnee, douglas, woodson, and mcpherson counties. supposed nesting reported by goss probably erroneous. subspecies in kansas: _a. c. nelsoni_ (allen). _pooecetes gramineus._ vesper sparrow. common transient throughout state. may nest in northwest but no evidence available. subspecies in kansas: _p. g. gramineus_ (gmelin) in east, _p. g. confinis_ baird in west. * _chondestes grammacus._ lark sparrow. common transient and summer resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _c. g. grammacus_ (say) east of flint hills, _c. g. strigatus_ swainson in west; the two subspecies intergrade in central kansas. _aimophila ruficeps._ rufous-crowned sparrow. two records: male (ku ), schwarz canyon, comanche county, june , , c. w. hibbard; one seen near point rock, morton county, may , , richard and jean graber. subspecies in kansas: _a. r. scottii_ (sennett). _aimophila aestivalis._ pine-woods sparrow. one specimen: male (ku ), lake quivira, in wyandotte county, april , , harold c. hedges. one seen, lake quivira, in johnson county, april , , harold c. hedges. subspecies in kansas: _a. a. illinoensis_ (ridgway). * _aimophila cassinii_ (woodhouse). cassin sparrow. common summer resident in southwestern kansas, known north to hamilton county and east to finney county. one nesting record: nest with two young and one pipped egg, one mile south of garden city, finney county, may , , marvin d. schwilling. no subspecies recognized. _amphispiza bilineata._ black-throated sparrow. one record: specimen of unknown sex (ku ), miles north and miles east of garden city, finney county, november , , marvin d. schwilling. subspecies in kansas: _a. b. deserticola_ ridgway. _junco aikeni_ ridgway. white-winged junco. fairly common transient and winter resident in western kansas. specimens from wallace, ellis, hamilton, and morton counties. no subspecies recognized. _junco hyemalis._ slate-colored junco. common transient and winter resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _j. h. hyemalis_ (linnaeus), _j. h. cismontanus_ dwight. _junco oreganus._ oregon junco. common transient and winter resident in west, uncommon in east. subspecies in kansas: _j. o. montanus_ ridgway, _j. o. mearnsi_ ridgway. _spizella arborea._ tree sparrow. common transient and winter resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _s. a. arborea_ (wilson) common in east; _s. a. ochracea_ brewster common throughout state. * _spizella passerina._ chipping sparrow. common transient and summer resident in east, less common in west. only two actual nesting records: occupied nest at lawrence, douglas county, may, , james s. findley; nest with large young, miles south of atchison, atchison county, may, or , homer a. stephens (photographs taken of nest and adult). subspecies in kansas: _s. p. passerina_ (bechstein) in east, _s. p. arizonae_ coues in west. _spizella pallida_ (swainson). clay-colored sparrow. common transient throughout state. possibly breeds in northwest: male (ku ) with greatly enlarged testes ( × mm.), mile north of st. francis, cheyenne county, june , , h. b. tordoff. no subspecies recognized. _spizella breweri._ brewer sparrow. common transient in west. five specimens known: four males, morton county, april to may , , richard and jean graber; one specimen (sex?), finney county, may , , marvin d. schwilling. subspecies in kansas: _s. b. breweri_ cassin. * _spizella pusilla._ field sparrow. common transient and summer resident and uncommon winter resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _s. p. arenacea_ chadbourne, intergrading in east with _s. p. pusilla_ (wilson). _zonotrichia querula_ (nuttall). harris sparrow. common transient and winter resident in east, uncommon in west. no subspecies recognized. _zonotrichia leucophrys._ white-crowned sparrow. common transient and winter resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _z. l. leucophrys_ (forster) common in east, uncommon in west; _z. l. gambelii_ (nuttall) common in west, fairly common in east. _zonotrichia albicollis_ (gmelin). white-throated sparrow. fairly common transient, uncommon winter resident west at least to cloud and sedgwick counties. status in west poorly known; not reported at garden city by marvin d. schwilling. no subspecies recognized. _passerella iliaca._ fox sparrow. fairly common transient and uncommon winter resident in east; probably occurs in west but status there poorly known. subspecies in kansas: _p. i. iliaca_ (merrem); other subspecies may be found in west when specimens become available. _melospiza lincolnii._ lincoln sparrow. common transient and uncommon winter resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _m. l. lincolnii_ (audubon) throughout state; _m. l. alticola_ (miller and mccabe) in extreme west. _melospiza georgiana._ swamp sparrow. common transient and uncommon winter resident in east. western limit of range in kansas not known (rare transient in cloud and finney counties--porter and schwilling). subspecies in kansas: _m. g. georgiana_ (latham), _m. g. ericrypta_ oberholser. _melospiza melodia._ song sparrow. common transient and winter resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _m. m. euphonia_ wetmore, _m. m. juddi_ bishop, _m. m. montana_ henshaw. _rhynchophanes mccownii_ (lawrence). mccown longspur. transient, common in west, rare in east, and winter resident, uncommon in west, rare in east. no subspecies recognized. _calcarius lapponicus._ lapland longspur. common transient and winter resident throughout state. subspecies in kansas: _c. l. lapponicus_ (linnaeus) is the common form; _c. l. alascensis_ ridgway occurs uncommonly (specimens from douglas and hamilton counties). _calcarius pictus_ (swainson). smith longspur. fairly common transient and locally common winter resident except in extreme east, where rare. no subspecies recognized. * _calcarius ornatus_ (townsend). chestnut-collared longspur. common transient and winter resident in west, uncommon in east. formerly, at least, occurred in summer in high plains of west; nests found in ellis county in by j. a. allen. no recent records in summer. no subspecies recognized. _plectrophenax nivalis._ snow bunting. winter visitant at irregular and, sometimes, long intervals. no specimens preserved in state since . subspecies in kansas: _p. n. nivalis_ (linnaeus). _transmitted may , ._ index to common names acadian flycatcher, alder flycatcher, american bittern, american coot, american egret, american knot, american magpie, american merganser, american raven, american redstart, american woodcock, arizona jay, ash-throated flycatcher, audubon warbler, avocet, baird sandpiper, baird sparrow, bald eagle, baldpate, baltimore oriole, bank swallow, barn owl, barn swallow, barred owl, bay-breasted warbler, bell vireo, belted kingfisher, bewick wren, black and white warbler, black-bellied plover, black-billed cuckoo, blackbirds, - blackburnian warbler, black-capped chickadee, black-capped vireo, black-crowned night heron, black duck, black-headed grosbeak, black-necked stilt, black-poll warbler, black rail, black tern, black-throated blue warbler, black-throated gray warbler, black-throated green warbler, black-throated sparrow, black vulture, blue goose, blue-gray gnatcatcher, blue grosbeak, blue jay, blue-winged teal, blue-winged warbler, bobolink, bob-white, bohemian waxwing, bonaparte gull, brant, brewer blackbird, brewer sparrow, broad-winged hawk, bronzed grackle, brown creeper, brown pelican, brown thrasher, buff-breasted sandpiper, buffle-head, bullock oriole, buntings, - burrowing owl, california gull, calliope hummingbird, canada goose, canada warbler, canvas-back, cape may warbler, cardinal, carolina chickadee, carolina paroquet, carolina wren, caspian tern, cassin kingbird, cassin sparrow, catbird, cedar waxwing, cerulean warbler, chestnut-backed bluebird, chestnut-collared longspur, chestnut-sided warbler, chickadees, chimney swift, chipping sparrow, chuck-will's-widow, cinnamon teal, clark nutcracker, clay-colored sparrow, cliff swallow, common loon, common scoter, common tern, cooper hawk, cormorants, corvids, - cowbird, cranes, crested flycatcher, crossbills, crow, cuckoos, - dickcissel, double-crested cormorant, doves, - downy woodpecker, duck hawk, ducks, - eagles, eared grebe, eastern bluebird, eastern goldfinch, eastern kingbird, eastern meadowlark, eastern phoebe, eastern wood pewee, eider, english sparrow, eskimo curlew, european widgeon, evening grosbeak, falcons, ferruginous rough-leg, field sparrow, finches, - flamingo, florida gallinule, flycatchers, - forster tern, fox sparrow, franklin gull, fulvous tree-duck, gadwall, geese, - glaucous gull, goatsuckers, golden-crowned kinglet, golden eagle, golden-eye, golden plover, golden-winged warbler, goshawk, grasshopper sparrow, gray-cheeked thrush, great blue heron, greater prairie chicken, greater scaup duck, greater yellow-legs, grebes, green heron, green-tailed towhee, green-winged teal, groove-billed ani, grosbeaks, - ground dove, grouse, - gulls, - gyrfalcon, hairy woodpecker, harris hawk, harris sparrow, hawk owl, hawks, - henslow sparrow, hermit thrush, herons, - herring gull, hooded merganser, hooded oriole, hooded warbler, horned grebe, horned lark, horned owl, house finch, house wren, hudsonian curlew, hudsonian godwit, hummingbirds, ibises, - inca dove, indigo bunting, jaegers, jays, - juncos, kentucky warbler, killdeer, king eider, kingfisher, kinglets, king rail, kites, kittiwake, ladder-backed woodpecker, lapland longspur, lark, lark bunting, lark sparrow, laughing gull, lazuli bunting, least bittern, least flycatcher, least sandpiper, least tern, leconte sparrow, lesser prairie chicken, lesser scaup duck, lesser yellow-legs, lewis woodpecker, lincoln sparrow, little blue heron, loggerhead shrike, long-billed curlew, long-billed dowitcher, long-billed marsh wren, long-eared owl, longspurs, - long-tailed jaeger, loons, louisiana heron, louisiana water-thrush, macgillivray warbler, magnolia warbler, magpie, mallard, man-o'-war-bird, marbled godwit, marsh hawk, mccown longspur, meadowlarks, - mexican cormorant, mississippi kite, mockingbird, mottled duck, mountain bluebird, mountain plover, mourning dove, mourning warbler, myrtle warbler, nashville warbler, nighthawk, northern phalarope, northern shrike, northern water-thrush, nuthatches, old-squaw, olive-backed thrush, olive-sided flycatcher, orange-crowned warbler, orchard oriole, oregon junco, orioles, osprey, oven-bird, owls, - painted bunting, palm warbler, parula warbler, passenger pigeon, pectoral sandpiper, pelicans, phalaropes, - philadelphia vireo, pied-billed grebe, pigeon hawk, pigeons, - pileated woodpecker, pine grosbeak, pine siskin, pine warbler, pine-woods sparrow, piñon jay, pintail, piping plover, pipits, plovers, pomarine jaeger, poor-will, prairie falcon, prairie warbler, prothonotary warbler, purple finch, purple gallinule, purple martin, quail, rails, - ravens, red-backed sandpiper, red-bellied woodpecker, red-breasted merganser, red-breasted nuthatch, red crossbill, red-eyed towhee, red-eyed vireo, redhead, red-headed woodpecker, red-necked grebe, red phalarope, redpoll, red-shafted flicker, red-shouldered hawk, red-tailed hawk, red-throated loon, red-wing, ring-billed gull, ring-necked duck, ring-necked pheasant, road-runner, robin, rock dove, rock wren, roseate spoonbill, rose-breasted grosbeak, ross goose, rough-legged hawk, rough-winged swallow, ruby-crowned kinglet, ruby-throated hummingbird, ruddy duck, ruddy turnstone, ruffed grouse, rufous-crowned sparrow, rusty blackbird, sabine gull, sage thrasher, sanderling, sandhill crane, sandpipers, - savannah sparrow, saw-whet owl, say phoebe, scaled quail, scarlet tanager, scissor-tailed flycatcher, screech owl, scrub jay, semipalmated plover, semipalmated sandpiper, sharp-shinned hawk, sharp-tailed grouse, sharp-tailed sparrow, short-billed dowitcher, short-billed marsh wren, short-eared owl, shrikes, shoveller, slate-colored junco, smith longspur, snow bunting, snow goose, snowy egret, snowy owl, snowy plover, solitary sandpiper, solitary vireo, song sparrow, sora, sparrow hawk, sparrows, - spotted sandpiper, sprague pipit, starling, steller jay, stilt sandpiper, summer tanager, surf scoter, swainson hawk, swallows, - swallow-tailed kite, swamp sparrow, swans, swift, sycamore warbler, tanagers, tennessee warbler, terns, thrashers, thrushes, - towhees, townsend solitaire, townsend warbler, tree sparrow, tree swallow, trumpeter swan, tufted titmouse, turkey, turkey vulture, upland plover, varied thrush, veery, vesper sparrow, violet-green swallow, vireos, - virginia rail, virginia warbler, vultures, - warblers, - warbling vireo, water pipit, water-turkey, waxwings, western flycatcher, western grebe, western kingbird, western meadowlark, western sandpiper, western tanager, western wood pewee, whip-poor-will, whistling swan, white-breasted nuthatch, white-crowned sparrow, white-eyed vireo, white-faced glossy ibis, white-fronted goose, white-necked raven, white pelican, white-rumped sandpiper, white-throated sparrow, white-winged crossbill, white-winged junco, white-winged scoter, whooping crane, willet, williamson sapsucker, wilson phalarope, wilson snipe, wilson warbler, winter wren, wood duck, wood ibis, woodpeckers, - wood thrush, worm-eating warbler, wrens, - wright flycatcher, yellow-bellied flycatcher, yellow-bellied sapsucker, yellow-billed cuckoo, yellow-breasted chat, yellow-crowned night heron, yellow-headed blackbird, yellow rail, yellow-shafted flicker, yellow-throat, yellow-throated vireo, yellow warbler, [illustration: fig. . map of kansas showing names of counties.] university of kansas publications, museum of natural history institutional libraries interested in publications exchange may obtain this series by addressing the exchange librarian, university of kansas library, lawrence, kansas. copies for individuals, persons working in a particular field of study, may be obtained by addressing instead the museum of natural history, university of kansas, lawrence, kansas. there is no provision for sale of this series by the university library which meets institutional requests, or by the museum of natural history which meets the requests of individuals. however, when individuals request copies from the museum, cents should be included, for each separate number that is pages or more in length, for the purpose of defraying the costs of wrapping and mailing. * an asterisk designates those numbers of which the museum's supply (not the library's supply) is exhausted. numbers published to date, in this series, are as follows: vol. . nos. - and index. pp. - , - . index. pp. - . *vol. . (complete) mammals of washington. by walter w. dalquest. pp. - , figures in text. april , . vol. . * . the avifauna of micronesia, its origin, evolution, and distribution. by rollin h. baker. pp. - , figures in text. june , . * . a quantitative study of the nocturnal migration of birds. by george h. lowery, jr. pp. - , figures in text. june , . . phylogeny of the waxwings and allied birds. by m. dale arvey. pp. - , figures in text, tables. october , . . birds from the state of veracruz, mexico. by george h. lowery, jr., and walter w. dalquest. pp. - , figures in text, tables. october , . index. pp. - . *vol. . (complete) american weasels. by e. raymond hall. pp. - , plates, figures in text. december , . vol. . . preliminary survey of a paleocene faunule from the angels peak area, new mexico. by robert w. wilson. pp. - , figure in text. february , . . two new moles (genus scalopus) from mexico and texas. by rollin h. baker. pp. - . february , . . two new pocket gophers from wyoming and colorado. by e. raymond hall and h. gordon montague. pp. - . february , . . mammals obtained by dr. curt von wedel from the barrier beach of tamaulipas, mexico. by e. raymond hall. pp. - , figure in text. october , . . comments on the taxonomy and geographic distribution of some north american rabbits. by e. raymond hall and keith r. kelson. pp. - . october , . . two new subspecies of thomomys bottae from new mexico and colorado. by keith r. kelson. pp. - , figure in text. october , . . a new subspecies of microtus montanus from montana and comments on microtus canicaudus miller. by e. raymond hall and keith r. kelson. pp. - . october , . . a new pocket gopher (genus thomomys) from eastern colorado. by e. raymond hall. pp. - . october , . . mammals taken along the alaskan highway. by rollin h. baker. pp. - , figure in text. november , . * . a synopsis of the north american lagomorpha. by e. raymond hall. pp. - . figures in text. december , . . a new pocket mouse (genus perognathus) from kansas. by e. lendell cockrum. pp. - . december , . . mammals from tamaulipas, mexico. by rollin h. baker. pp. - . december , . . a new pocket gopher (genus thomomys) from wyoming and colorado. by e. raymond hall. pp. - . december , . . a new name for the mexican red bat. by e. raymond hall. pp. - . december , . . taxonomic notes on mexican bats of the genus rhogeëssa. by e. raymond hall. pp. - . april , . . comments on the taxonomy and geographic distribution of some north american woodrats (genus neotoma). by keith r. kelson. pp. - . april , . . the subspecies of the mexican red-bellied squirrel, sciurus aureogaster. by keith r. kelson. pp. - , figure in text. april , . . geographic range of peromyscus melanophrys, with description of new subspecies. by rollin h. baker. pp. - , figure in text. may , . . a new chipmunk (genus eutamias) from the black hills. by john a. white. pp. - . april , . . a new piñon mouse (peromyscus truei) from durango, mexico. by robert b. finley, jr. pp. - . may , . . an annotated checklist of nebraskan bats. by olin l. webb and j. knox jones, jr. pp. - . may , . . geographic variation in red-backed mice (genus clethrionomys) of the southern rocky mountain region. by e. lendell cockrum and kenneth l. fitch. pp. - , figure in text. november , . . comments on the taxonomy and geographic distribution of north american microtines. by e. raymond hall and e. lendell cockrum. pp. - . november , . . the subspecific status of two central american sloths. by e. raymond hall and keith r. kelson. pp. - . november , . . comments on the taxonomy and geographic distribution of some north american marsupials, insectivores, and carnivores. by e. raymond hall and keith r. kelson. pp. - . december , . . comments on the taxonomy and geographic distribution of some north american rodents. by e. raymond hall and keith r. kelson. pp. - . december , . . a synopsis of the north american microtine rodents. by e. raymond hall and e. lendell cockrum. pp. - , figures in text. january , . . the pocket gophers (genus thomomys) of coahuila, mexico. by rollin h. baker. pp. - , figure in text. june , . . geographic distribution of the pocket mouse, perognathus fasciatus. by j. knox jones, jr. pp. - , figures in text. august , . . a new subspecies of wood rat (neotoma mexicana) from colorado. by robert b. finley, jr. pp. - , figures in text. august , . . four new pocket gophers of the genus cratogeomys from jalisco, mexico. by robert j. russell. pp. - . october , . . genera and subgenera of chipmunks. by john a. white. pp. - , figures in text. december , . . taxonomy of the chipmunks, eutamias quadrivittatus and eutamias umbrinus. by john a. white. pp. - , figures in text. december , . . geographic distribution and taxonomy of the chipmunks of wyoming. by john a. white. pp. - , figures in text. december , . . the baculum of the chipmunks of western north america. by john a. white. pp. - , figures in text. december , . . pleistocene soricidae from san josecito cave, nuevo leon, mexico. by james s. findley. pp. - . december , . . seventeen species of bats recorded from barro colorado island, panama canal zone. by e. raymond hall and william b. jackson. pp. - . december , . index. pp. - . *vol. . (complete) mammals of utah, _taxonomy and distribution_. by stephen d. durrant. pp. - , figures in text, tables. august , . vol. . * . mammals of kansas. by e. lendell cockrum. pp. - , figures in text, tables. august , . . ecology of the opossum on a natural area in northeastern kansas. by henry s. fitch and lewis l. sandidge. pp. - , figures in text. august , . . the silky pocket mice (perognathus flavus) of mexico. by rollin h. baker. pp. - , figure in text. february , . . north american jumping mice (genus zapus). by philip h. krutzsch. pp. - , figures in text, tables. april , . . mammals from southeastern alaska. by rollin h. baker and james s. findley. pp. - . april , . . distribution of some nebraskan mammals. by j. knox jones, jr. pp. - . april , . . subspeciation in the montane meadow mouse, microtus montanus, in wyoming and colorado. by sydney anderson. pp. - , figures in text. july , . . a new subspecies of bat (myotis velifer) from southeastern california and arizona. by terry a. vaughn. pp. - . july , . . mammals of the san gabriel mountains of california. by terry a. vaughn. pp. - , figure in text, tables. november , . . a new bat (genus pipistrellus) from northeastern mexico. by rollin h. baker. pp. - . november , . . a new subspecies of pocket mouse from kansas. by e. raymond hall. pp. - . november , . . geographic variation in the pocket gopher, cratogeomys castanops, in coahuila, mexico. by robert j. russell and rollin h. baker. pp. - . march , . . a new cottontail (sylvilagus floridanus) from northeastern mexico. by rollin h. baker. pp. - . april , . . taxonomy and distribution of some american shrews. by james s. findley. pp. - . june , . . distribution and systematic position of the pigmy woodrat, neotoma goldmani. by dennis g. rainey and rollin h. baker. pp. - , figs. in text. june , . index. pp. - . vol. . . life history and ecology of the five-lined skink, eumeces fasciatus. by henry s. fitch. pp. - , pls., figs. in text, tables. september , . . myology and serology of the avian family fringillidae, a taxonomic study. by william b. stallcup. pp. - , figures in text, tables. november , . . an ecological study of the collared lizard (crotaphytus collaris). by henry s. fitch. pp. - , figures in text. february , . . a field study of the kansas ant-eating frog, gastrophryne olivacea. by henry s. fitch. pp. - , figures in text. february , . . check-list of the birds of kansas. by harrison b. tordoff. pp. - , figure in text. march , . more numbers will appear in volume . vol. . . speciation of the wandering shrew. by james s. findley. pp. - , figures in text. december , . . additional records and extensions of ranges of mammals from utah. by stephen d. durrant, m. raymond lee, and richard m. hansen. pp. - . december , . . a new long-eared myotis (myotis evotis) from northeastern mexico. by rollin h. baker and howard j. stains. pp. - . december , . more numbers will appear in volume . the ranche on the oxhide * * * * * officers of the national council honorary president, the hon. woodrow wilson honorary vice-president, hon. william h. taft honorary vice-president, colonel theodore roosevelt president, colin h. livingston, washington, d. c. vice-president, b. l. dulaney, bristol, tenn. vice-president, milton a. mcrae, detroit, mich. vice-president, david starr jordan, stanford university, cal. vice-president, f. l. seely, asheville, n. c. vice-president, a. stamford white, chicago, ill. chief scout, ernest thompson seton, greenwich, connecticut national scout commissioner, daniel carter beard, flushing n. y. national headquarters boy scouts of america the fifth avenue building, fifth avenue telephone gramercy new york city finance committee john sherman hoyt, chairman august belmont george d. pratt mortimer l. schiff h. rogers winthrop george d. pratt treasurer james e. west chief scout executive additional members of the executive board ernest p. bicknell robert garrett lee f. hanmer john sherman hoyt charles c. jackson prof. jeremiah w. jenks william d. murray dr. charles p. neill george d. porter frank presbrey edgar m. robinson mortimer l. schiff lorillard spencer seth sprague terry july st, . to the public:-- in the execution of its purpose to give educational value and moral worth to the recreational activities of the boyhood of america, the leaders of the boy scout movement quickly learned that to effectively carry out its program, the boy must be influenced not only in his out-of-door life but also in the diversions of his other leisure moments. it is at such times that the boy is captured by the tales of daring enterprises and adventurous good times. what now is needful is not that his taste should be thwarted but trained. there should constantly be presented to him the books the boy likes best, yet always the books that will be best for the boy. as a matter of fact, however, the boy's taste is being constantly vitiated and exploited by the great mass of cheap juvenile literature. to help anxiously concerned parents and educators to meet this grave peril, the library commission of the boy scouts of america has been organised. every boy's library is the result of their labors. all the books chosen have been approved by them. the commission is composed of the following members: george f. bowerman, librarian, public library of the district of columbia, washington, d. c.; harrison w. graver, librarian, carnegie library of pittsburgh, pa.; claude g. leland, superintendent, bureau of libraries, board of education, new york city: edward f. stevens, librarian, pratt institute free library, brooklyn, new york; together with the editorial board of our movement william d. murray, george d. pratt and frank presbrey, with franklin k. mathiews, chief scout librarian, as secretary. "do a good turn daily." in selecting the books, the commission has chosen only such as are of interest to boys, the first twenty-five being either works of fiction or stirring stories of adventurous experiences. in later lists, books of a more serious sort will be included. it is hoped that as many as twenty-five may be added to the library each year. thanks are due the several publishers who have helped to inaugurate this new department of our work. without their co-operation in making available for popular priced editions some of the best books ever published for boys, the promotion of every boy's library would have been impossible. we wish, too, to express our heartiest gratitude to the library commission, who, without compensation, have placed their vast experience and immense resources at the service of our movement. the commission invites suggestions as to future books to be included in the library. librarians, teachers, parents, and all others interested in welfare work for boys, can render a unique service by forwarding to national headquarters lists of such books as in their judgment would be suitable for every boy's library. signed [illustration: james e west] chief scout executive. * * * * * the ranche on the oxhide [illustration: "the most indescribable antics were gone through." _page ._ _frontispiece._] every boy's library--boy scout edition the ranche on the oxhide a story of boys' and girls' life on the frontier by henry inman late captain united states army brevet lieutenant colonel author of the old santa fé trail illustrated by charles bradford hudson [illustration] new york grosset & dunlap publishers (macmillan's standard library) copyright, , by the macmillan company. set up and electrotyped. published july, . reprinted december, ; december, ; october, ; june, . new edition september, ; august, september, ; march, june, ; july, . norwood press j. s. cushing & co.--berwick & smith co. norwood, mass., u.s.a. to my grandson george inman seitz contents chapter i taking up a "claim" in kansas--the trail from leavenworth--animals seen en route--prairie chickens--building the cabin--the cosy sitting-room--animals found in the timber and on the prairie--why the creek was named "oxhide" page chapter ii the house is finished--building corrals--the hounds--their fight with a lynx--its hide given to gertrude--the immense herd of buffalo--capture four calves--get their ponies in a strange manner--breaking them page chapter iii the boys go fishing for the first time--an idea suddenly strikes rob--rob's quest and luck--the island of willows--rob's big cat--joe's tussle with a panther cub--kills him--is wounded--skins the animal, and gets home at last--gives the beautiful robe to his mother page chapter iv boy and girl life at errolstrath ranche--their pets--the girls encounter a big prairie wolf--joe to the rescue--death of the ferocious beast page chapter v the friendly pawnees camp on the oxhide--old "yellow calf," the chief--joe is named "the white panther"--joe goes hunting with the band--he learns the language--hunting with the boys of the tribe page chapter vi the story of the massacre on spillman creek--scouts go to the rescue--joe and rob talk over the horrid work of the savages--the dog soldiers--charley bent--place of rendezvous--party starts out--joe's opinion is asked page chapter vii arrival of cavalry on the elkhorn--a deer hunt--what the scouts saw--the story of the two little girls--the dead and wounded--men hidden in the brush--an indian legend--arrival of the infantry--the deer hunt in the morning--death of the deer page chapter viii mr. tucker passes the night at errolstrath--he tells some stories of hunting big game in the rocky mountains--sagacity of the female bighorn--the american cougar--the bear and the panther--the rabbit hunt--how the boys trained their hounds page chapter ix indian raids--kate is missing--"buffalo bill's" opinion--"buffalo bill" finds her little basket--the soldiers return to the fort without finding her--grief of the family page chapter x how kate was captured by the indians--the band ride rapidly southward--at the indian village--her determination to escape--teaches the squaws--is treated kindly page chapter xi thanksgiving day at errolstrath--kate's return--custer's battle with "black kettle"--kate tells her story--the origin of indian corn--a wolf hunt with general custer--a wolf story by the colonel page chapter xii a wolf hunt--two snake stories--terrible struggle with a mountain wolf--a mail rider eaten--the old trapper's experience with four of the fierce beasts page chapter xiii joe, rob, and the old trapper--general custer arrives at the rendezvous--the wolf dens--first tussle between the hounds and a wolf--cinch's great battle page chapter xiv a wild turkey hunt--the trip to mud creek--the turkey roost--the shooting begins--counting the number killed--joe sells turkeys page chapter xv how the robin came to kansas--mocking-birds--eaten by snakes--joe loses his tame elk--the last of the wolves--finding the quail's nest--joe builds a cage for them--raising chickens page chapter xvi the pawnees return--antelope hunt with the indians--joe misses--white wolf--talk of a wild horse hunt--the sand-hill cranes--their weird cotillion page chapter xvii wild horses--joe sleeps in white wolf's tent--camp on the walnut--wolves and lynxes--kill an elk--the chase--capture of the black stallion--white wolf's skill--breaking the horses page chapter xviii the last herd of buffalo--the stampede--the soldiers in full chase--joe gets two cows--hauling in the meat--rattlesnakes page chapter xix the indian horse-race--kate's pony wins--the trade with the pawnees--the dances at night--the indians say good by to the family--noble action of white wolf page chapter xx conclusion retrospective--the old trapper passes away--mr. and mrs. thompson are dead--general custer and colonel keogh are killed--errolstrath belongs to joe and rob page the ranche on the oxhide chapter i taking up a "claim" in kansas--the trail from leavenworth--animals seen en route--prairie chickens--building the cabin--the cosy sitting-room--animals found in the timber and on the prairie--why the creek was named "oxhide" in - , immigrants began to rush into the new state of kansas which had just been admitted into the union. a large majority of the early settlers were old soldiers who had served faithfully during the war for the preservation of their country. to these veterans the government, by act of congress, made certain concessions, whereby they could take up "claims" of a hundred and sixty acres of the public land under easier regulations than other citizens who had not helped their country in the hour of her extreme danger. many of them, however, were forced to go out on the extreme frontier, as the eastern portion of the state was already well settled. on the remote border several tribes of indians, notably the cheyennes, kiowas, comanches, and arapahoes, still held almost undisputed possession, and they were violently opposed to the white man's encroachment upon their ancestral hunting-grounds, from which he drove away the big game upon which they depended for the subsistence of themselves and their families. consequently, these savages became very hostile as they witnessed, day after day, the arrival of hundreds of white settlers who squatted on the best land, felled the trees on the margin of the streams to build their log-cabins, and ploughed up the ground to plant crops. late in the fall of , robert thompson, a veteran of one of the vermont regiments, having read in his village newspaper such glowing accounts of the advantages offered by kansas to the immigrant, decided to leave his ancestral homestead among the barren hills of the green mountain state, and take up a claim in the far west. the family, consisting of father, mother, joseph, robert, gertrude, and kate, after a journey by railroad and steamboat without incident worth recording, arrived at leavenworth on the missouri river, the general rendezvous in those early days for all who intended to cross the great plains, through which a railroad was then an idle dream. in that rough, but busy town, mr. thompson purchased two six-mule teams, two white-covered wagons called "prairie schooners," together with sufficient provisions to last a month, by which time he thought he should find a suitable location on the vast plains whither he was going. a few cooking-utensils of the simplest character, together with a double-barrelled shot-gun and a spencer rifle, constituted the entire outfit necessary for their lonely trip of perhaps three hundred miles, before they could hope to find unoccupied land on which to settle. one monday morning, bright and early, the teams pulled out of the town, mr. thompson driving in the lead, and joe, who was the elder of the boys, in the other. gertrude rode with her father and mother, and kate and rob with their brother joe. their course ran over the broad trail to the rocky mountains, on which were then hauled by government caravans, all the supplies for the military posts in the indian country. their route for the first two weeks passed through deep forests extending for a long distance from the bank of the great river. the whole family were charmed with the new and strange scenes they passed as they rode slowly on day after day, scenes so different in their details from those to which they had been used in the staid old region they had left so far behind them. the boys and girls, particularly, were in a constant state of excitement. they marvelled at the immense trees as they passed through groups of great elms and giant cottonwoods. the gnarled trunks were vine-covered clear to their topmost branches by the magnificent virginia creeper, or woodbine, as it is called, the most beautiful of the american ivies, and which grows in its greatest luxuriance west of the missouri river. on the ends of the huge limbs of the lofty trees as they branched over the trail, the red squirrels sat, peeping saucily at the travellers as they drove under them, and the blue jay, the noisiest of birds, screeched as he darted like lightning through the dark foliage. the blue jay is the shark of the air; he kills, without any discrimination, all the young fledglings he can find in their nests while their parents are absent. although his plumage is magnificent in its cerulean hue as the sun glints upon it, and he has a very sweet note when sitting quietly on the limbs of the oak, which he loves, yet his awful screaming as he flies--and he is ever on the wing--is far from pleasant to ears not trained to listen to his harsh voice. occasionally a gaunt, hungry wolf--they are always hungry--would skulk out of the timber and then run across the trail, with his tail wrapped closely between his legs. he would just show a mouth full of great white teeth for a moment, as he sneaked cowardly off, the rattle of the wagons having, perhaps, disturbed his slumbers on some ledge of rock near the road. prairie chickens, or pinnated grouse, were seen in large flocks as soon as the open country was reached. they were far from wild in those days; you could approach near enough always to get a good shot at them, for civilization was to them almost as strange an experience as it was to those beasts and birds on robinson crusoe's island. joe was already quite proficient with the shot-gun, and he often handed the lines to rob, and stopping the team, got out and walked ahead of the wagons to stalk a flock of the beautiful game, which had been frightened away from their feeding-ground by the rattle of the teams. for a long time grouse was a part of every meal until the party became really tired of them. mrs. thompson was a famous cook, and they were served up in a variety of ways, but the favorite style of all the family was to have them broiled before the camp-fire on peeled willow twigs. rob always regarded it as part of his duty to procure these twigs, as he was the handiest with a jack-knife or hatchet. the weeks passed pleasantly for the children, but the old folks were becoming very anxious to settle somewhere, for the winter, as they thought, would soon be coming on. they did not know then that that season in kansas is usually short, and that the three or four months preceding it is the most delightful time of the whole year. so after travelling nearly two months on the broad trail to the mountains, examining a piece of land here and another there, they camped early one afternoon on the bank of oxhide creek, in what is now ellsworth county, and so delighted were they all with the charming spot, that they made up their minds to seek no further. their "claim," as the possession of the public land is called, included a beautiful bend of the little stream which flowed through the one hundred and sixty acres to which they were entitled by being the first to settle on it. they discovered in the very centre of a group of elms and cottonwoods a large spring of deliciously cool water, and the trees which hid it from view were more than a century old. the magnificent pool for untold ages had evidently been a favorite resort of the antelope and buffalo, if one could so judge from the quantity of the bones of those animals that were constantly ploughed up near by when the ground was cultivated. no doubt that the big prairie wolf and the cowardly little coyote hidden in the long grass and underbrush surrounding the spring got many a kid and calf whose incautious mothers had strayed from the protection of the herd to quench their thirst. the beautiful creek flowed at the base of a range of low, rocky hills, while two miles northward ran a magnificent stretch of level prairie, beyond which ran the smoky hill river. to their ranche, as all homes in the far west are called, the thompsons gave the name of errolstrath. it had no special significance; it was so called merely because "strath" in scotch means a valley through which a stream meanders. it comported perfectly with the situation of the place, and "errol" was added as a prefix for euphony's sake. in this picturesque little valley mr. thompson, with the assistance of his boys, began at once the construction of a rude but comfortable cabin, fashioned partly out of logs and partly of stone. the house outside gave no hint of the excellence of its interior, or the cosy rooms which a refined taste and culture had felt to be as necessary on the remote frontier as in the thickly settled east. the largest division of the house was an apartment which served as the family sitting-room. in one corner of this, they built diagonally across it, after the mexican style, an old-fashioned fireplace, patterned like one in the ancestral homestead in vermont. up its cavernous throat you could see the sky, and in the summer, when the full moon was at the zenith, a flood of bright light would pour down on the broad hearth. in the winter evenings the family gathered around the great blazing logs, whose yellow flames roared like a tornado as they shot up the chimney. the mother sewed, the girls were engaged with their studies, and the boys either listened to their father as he told of some experience in his own youthful days, played chess, or were busied with some other intellectual amusement. this large room was also furnished with a small but well-selected library. it was a source of much pleasure to the family, as the country was not settled up very rapidly, and the members were thrown entirely upon their own resources for amusements. the following spring and summer many newcomers arrived and took up the choicest lands in the vicinity, until there were several families within varying distances of errolstrath. some were only three miles away, others twelve, but in that region then, all were considered neighbors, no matter how far away. the children had lots of fun, for the rare sport differed entirely from that which their former home in the old east had furnished. the dense timber which grew by the water of the oxhide like a fringe, was the home of the lynx, erroneously called the wild cat, squirrels, badgers, and coons. the wolf and the little coyote had their dens in the great ledges of rock that were piled up on the hilly sides of the valley. the great prairie was often black with vast herds of buffalo, or bison, which roamed over its velvety area at certain seasons. the timid antelope, too, graceful as a flower, and gifted with a wonderful curiosity, could be seen for many years after the thompsons had settled on the creek. they moved in great flocks, frequently numbering a thousand or more, but now, like their immense shaggy congener, the buffalo, through the wantonness of man, they have been almost annihilated. joe thompson, the eldest child, about fourteen, was a rare boy, strongly built, and possessed of a mind that was equal to his well-developed body. he was a born leader, and became one of the most prominent men on the frontier when the troublous times came with the savages, some years after the family had settled on oxhide creek. robert, the second son, was a bright, active, muscular fellow, two years younger than joe, but he lacked that self-reliance, energy, and coolness in the presence of danger which so strikingly characterized joe. gertrude and kate were respectively ten and seven years old, and were carefully instructed by their estimable mother in all that should be known by a woman whose life was destined, perhaps, to the isolation and hardships of the frontier. they were both taught to cook a dinner, ride horseback, handle a pistol if necessary, or entertain gracefully in the parlor. to employ a metaphor, theirs was a versatility which "could pick up a needle or rive an oak!" in some of her characteristics gertrude resembled her brother joe; she was braver and cooler under trying circumstances than kate, who was more like rob. both were rare specimens of noble girlhood, and their life on the ranche, as will be seen, was full of adventure and thrilling experiences. it may seem strange that a stream should be called oxhide, but, like the nomenclature of the indians, the name of every locality out on the great plains is based upon some incident connected with the scene or the individual. as this is a true story, it will not be amiss to tell here why the odd-sounding name was given to the creek on which the thompsons had settled. some years before the country was sought after by emigrants, the only travellers through it were the old-time trappers, who caught the various fur-bearing animals on the margins of its waters, and the miner destined for far-off pike's peak or california. a party camping there one day, on their way to the pacific coast, discovered a yoke of oxen, or rather their desiccated hides and skeletons, fastened by their chains to a tree, where they had literally starved to death. it was supposed that they had belonged to some travellers like themselves, on their way to the mines, who had been surprised and murdered by the indians. the savages must have run off the moment they had finished their bloody work, without ever looking for or finding the poor animals. thus it was that the stream was given the name of oxhide, which it bears to this day. chapter ii the house is finished--building corrals--the hounds--their fight with a lynx--its hide given to gertrude--the immense herd of buffalo--capture four calves--get their ponies in a strange manner--breaking them it was quite late in the season, towards the end of october, when the stone and log cabin was completed and ready for occupancy. the family had meanwhile lived in their big tent which they had brought with them from the missouri river. they had carried in their wagons bedding and blankets, a table and several chairs, enough to suffice until the arrival of their other goods, which had been stored at leavenworth while they were hunting for a location. at the end of two months after their settlement on the oxhide, a freight caravan arrived with their things, much of it the old-fashioned furniture from the homestead in vermont. this caravan was en route to fort union, new mexico, the trail to which military post ran along the bank of the smoky hill river, not more than two miles from the ranche. joe and rob were constantly busy helping their father to make matters snug for the winter, building a corral for the cows, a stone stable for the horses, and a chicken house for the fowls, of which they had more than a hundred, plymouth rocks and white leghorns, the best layers in the world. up to that time they had not had as much time for sport as they wished for. they had been kept too busy, until long after the cold weather set in, when all the streams were frozen over and the woods were bare and brown. a near neighbor who had taken a fancy to the bright lads when they first arrived in the country, had given them two fine greyhounds, which they named bluey and brutus; the former on account of his color, and the other because they had recently been interested in shakespeare's play of "julius cæsar," which their father had read to them. with these magnificent animals they had lots of fun during the long months of the winter, hunting jack-rabbits, digging coyotes out of their holes in the ledge above the banks of the creek, or fighting lynxes and coons in the timber. one bright day they were out among the hills with their hounds, which had run far in advance of their young masters, when suddenly the boys' ears were startled by a terrible commotion in a wooded ravine about a hundred yards ahead of them. the dogs were barking furiously, sometimes howling in pain, and they could see the dust flying in great clouds. in a few moments all was still; the turmoil had ceased, a truce evidently having been patched up between the belligerents. the boys hurried on and presently came to a sheltered spot where the timber had been apparently blown down by a small tornado many years before; and there as they came up to it, in a triangle formed by the trunks of three fallen trees, a space about ten feet square, they saw the hounds holding a great lynx at bay! the cat was standing in the apex of the triangle, crowding her body as closely as she could against the timber so that the dogs were unable to attack her without getting a scratch from her sharp claws. her hair was all bristling up with battle, and the dogs had evidently tried several times to drive her out of her almost impregnable position, but each attempt had ended in themselves being driven back discomfited. as soon as the hounds saw the boys, however, their courage rose, and bluey, the oldest dog, at an encouraging "sic 'em!" from joe, made a sudden dash, caught the ferocious beast by the middle of the back and commenced to shake her with the awful rapidity for which he was noted, and in a few seconds she was dropped dead at joe's feet. bluey first became famous as a shaker several months before his encounter with the lynx. one morning rob got up very early for some reason, and went into the chicken house, and as soon as he entered it he saw a skunk half hidden under one of the beams of the floor. he did not dare to call bluey, who was sleeping on a pile of hay a few feet away, for fear the animal would take the alarm and run off. so he quietly went to where the dog was, and lifting him bodily in his arms carried him to the chicken house and held his nose down to the ground so that he could see or smell the skunk. in an instant that skunk was caught up by the neck and the life shaken out of him before he could have possibly realized what was the matter with him. "by jolly!" said rob, a favorite ejaculation with him when he was excited, as he saw the cat lying perfectly still where bluey had dropped him. "i say, joe, what a set of teeth and a strong neck old bluey must have to shake anything as he does! why, if he could take up a man in his jaws, the fellow would stand no more chance of his life than that lynx!" "the hound," replied joe, "has a strong jaw and a powerful neck; but he lacks the intelligence of some other breeds. his brain is not nearly as large as that of a newfoundland, a setter, pointer, or even a poodle. hounds like bluey and brutus run by sight alone; they have no nose, and the moment they cannot see their game they are lost. you have often noticed that, rob, when a rabbit gets away from them in the long grass or in the corn stalks. they will jump up and down, completely bewildered until they catch sight of the animal again. now, with the other breed of hounds, they hunt by scent; the moment they get wind of anything they run with their noses close to the ground and commence to howl. the greyhound, on the contrary, makes no noise at all." joe skinned the lynx, assisted by rob, and after throwing the carcass in the ravine where the battle had been fought, slowly walked back to the ranche, followed by the dogs, that kept close to their heels, tired and sore from the struggle just ended. "let us give the hide to gert after we tan it, to put at the side of her bed; you know she is fond of such things," said rob. "all right," replied joe. "we'll do it, and if we have good luck in getting other animals, we'll just fill her room with skins. won't that be jolly?" mr. thompson had but two teams of horses on the ranche, and they could not often be spared from work, for the mere amusement of the boys. it was a constant source of regret to them that they did not have ponies of their own. on their way home the oft-repeated subject came up again. both joe and rob felt keenly that they were obliged to go where they were sent, or desired to go themselves, on foot. how to obtain the coveted little creatures was a source of continual worry to them. "i do wish that we had ponies," began rob for the hundredth time, "so that we could go anywhere in a hurry; don't you, joe?" "father would buy them for us if he felt that he could afford it; and he means to as soon as he can see his way clear. i heard him tell mother so, several times when she wished that we had 'em," replied joe. "maybe," continued he, "some band of friendly indians will come along after a while; it's nearly time for the pawnees to start out on their annual buffalo hunt. when they come up here, we may be able to trade 'em out of a real nice pair. they are always eager for a 'swap'; so old man tucker told me the other day, and he is an old indian trader and fighter. he has lived on the plains and in the mountains for more than forty years; so he knows what he is talking about." "golly! couldn't we have lots of fun," he continued, "with old bluey and brutus, after jack-rabbits and wolves, if we only had something to ride?" "couldn't we, though!" answered rob. "i tell you, joe, it's awful hard work to climb over these hills on foot; we can't begin to keep up with the dogs; can't get anywhere in sight of 'em. you know that, and i just bet that we lose lots of game; don't you?" "oh! i know it," said joe; "for the hounds become discouraged when they find themselves so far away from us. often, when i'm out alone with them, brutus will come back to hunt me instead of hunting rabbits. sometimes i can't get him to go on after bluey; he, the old rascal is more cunning; he gets many a rabbit we never see, and eats it. that is what makes him so much fatter than brutus, though he does twice as much running. did you ever think of that, rob?" that night when the tired boys went to bed, they little dreamed that they were to have something to ride sooner than their fondest hopes had flattered them, and from an entirely different source than the indians. before the sun's broad disc rose above the harker hills next morning, although its rays had already crimsoned the rocky crests of the buttes which bounded the little valley of the oxhide on the west, rob had risen without disturbing his brother. he was always an early riser; he loved the calm, beautiful hours that usher in the day, and was the first one of all the family out of bed on the ranche. he took the tin wash basin from its hook outside of the kitchen door, and started for the spring, only a few yards away, to wash himself. just as he arrived there, chancing to look towards the hills, he saw that the whole country, upland and bottom alike, was black with buffaloes. in his excitement, he threw down the basin, and ran back to the house as fast as his legs could carry him. he rushed into his father's room, and unceremoniously seizing him by the shoulder, waking him from a sound slumber, shook him, and shouted as loud as he was able:-- "father, get up! father, get up! the whole country is alive with buffaloes, and the nearest one is not a quarter of a mile away. quick! father." mr. thompson roused himself, and instantly got out of bed and dressed himself quicker than he had ever done since he had lived on the ranche. he threw on only clothes enough to cover him, for he had already caught some of his boy's enthusiasm. he told rob to go to the closet, bring him a dozen bullets and his powder-flask, while he commenced to wipe out the barrels of his two old-fashioned rifles and the spencer carbine, that always hung on a set of elk antlers fastened to the wall of his bed-chamber. as rob had declared, the whole region was literally dark with a mighty multitude of the great shaggy monsters, grazing quietly toward the east. there were thousands in sight, and for just such a chance mr. thompson had been anxiously waiting to get a supply of meat for the family. of course, every member of the household got up as soon as rob had ended his noisy announcement. hurriedly dressing, they rushed out under a group of trees that grew near the door, and watched mr. thompson crawling cautiously round the rocks as he drew nearer and nearer to the yet unconscious herd. in a few moments he was lost to sight, and almost immediately they saw the herd raise their heads simultaneously. the family then knew that mr. thompson had been discovered by the wary animals, for the alarmed buffaloes began their characteristic quick, short gallop, and the boys were fearful that their father had not gotten within range and that there would be no meat for breakfast. but at the instant they were expecting to be disappointed, the loud crack of a rifle echoed through the valley once, twice, then a short silence; three, four times. as the sound of the discharges died away, they saw their father climb to the summit of the divide, in full view of all, and wave his hat. then they knew he had been successful, and eagerly watched him as he came slowly down the declivity toward them. when he had come within hailing distance he cried out that he had killed four fat cows; one for each shot. then the boys and girls took off their hats, and, vigorously waving them, gave three hearty cheers. just beyond the cabin and corral, which latter was surrounded by a stone wall nearly five feet high, was a single hill whose summit was round, and to which had been given the name of haystack mound, because at a distance it exactly resembled a haystack. when the buffaloes had started to run eastwardly, this mound cut off some of the animals of the herd, about three hundred in all, the majority going south of it, the smaller number north, which brought them near the house. seeing the family standing there, they suddenly turned and rushed right over the corral; the gate was open, and a few dashed through it, but the most of them leaped over the wall. the buffalo is not easily stopped by any ordinary obstacle when stampeded; he will go down a precipice, or up a steep hill; madly rushing on to his destruction, in order to get away from the common enemy, man. rob saw the buffaloes first as they were turned from their course by the mound, and when they began to rush over the wall of the corral and through its gate, he shouted to joe:-- "come, joe, let's try to shut some of them in; maybe there are calves among them. if there are, we can keep 'em in, for the little ones can never mount that wall on the other side." instantly acting on the suggestion, both boys ran as fast as they could to the corral, and succeeded in closing the entrance just as the last of the herd was leaping over the far wall. as rob had surmised, four calves remained inside, too young to follow their mothers over the wall. both he and joe were nearly wild with excitement at their luck in having been able to shut the gate in time to corral the baby buffaloes. they were about to rush to the house to tell the rest of the family of their wonderful capture, when joe chanced to look into the door of the rude shed that was used to shelter the stock in stormy weather, and saw jammed against the farther wall two animals that were too small to be full-grown buffaloes, and too large for calves. it was so dark in the corner where they were that he could not make out at first what kind of animals they had caught. he called rob, who crawled nearer to where the beasts stood huddled against each other, trembling with fear at their strange quarters. in another moment, as soon as rob's eyes became used to the dim light, he came bounding out with the speed of a comanche indian on the war-path, and catching joe by the shoulders was just able to gasp:-- "by jolly, joe, they're real ponies!" they were so astonished for a few seconds that they stood paralyzed before they ventured in the shed to take a good look at the little animals. they boldly went in, and the moment the ponies saw the boys they made a break for the outside and vainly attempted to dash over the wall. their frantic efforts, however, were of no avail; they could not make it: they were regular prisoners, and rob and joe were almost out of their senses with delight. after their excitement had somewhat subsided they went to the house and brought out all the rest of the family to see the cunning little animals. they lost all their interest in the buffalo calves now that their brightest dreams of owning ponies of their own were realized. the diminutive beasts which the boys had so successfully corralled were sorry-looking animals enough. they were so dirty, thin, angular, and their coats so rough, so filled with sand-burrs and bull-nettles, that it was hard to determine what color they were. all the family made a guess at it. kate said she thought they were mouse-color, while gertrude believed they were gray. joe thought they were brown, and rob white. mr. thompson, however, who knew more about horses than his boys, told them they were bays, but it would take a few days of currying and brushing up to determine which of the family had guessed correctly. there was evidently lots of life in them, for they cavorted around the big corral, prancing like thoroughbreds. that afternoon, when they had taken care of the buffaloes which mr. thompson shot, and had stretched their robes on the corral wall to cure, the ponies were roped by mr. thompson, who could handle a lariat with some degree of skill, and halters were put on them. they were nearly of a size, and both of the same color, so they could hardly be distinguished from each other, but on a closer examination it was discovered that one of them had a white spot on his breast. this was the only apparent difference between them, so the boys drew lots to see which should have the one with the white breast. their father selected two straws, one shorter than the other, and holding them partly concealed so that only their ends showed, told rob to draw first. he got the longer straw, and so became the owner of the pony with the spot of white on his breast. in less than two weeks, through kindness and good care, they were changed into clean, sleek, beautiful bays, just as mr. thompson had said they would be. in a month the boys could ride them anywhere, and the acme of their happiness was reached. the animals had strayed from some band of wild horses and had drifted along with the herd of buffaloes, as was not infrequently the case in the early days on the great plains. chapter iii the boys go fishing for the first time--an idea suddenly strikes rob--rob's quest and luck--the island of willows--rob's big cat--joe's tussle with a panther cub--kills him--is wounded--skins the animal, and gets home at last--gives the beautiful robe to his mother the winter, contrary to their expectations, was not a severe one. the family had been used to the long, dreary, cold months of a new england winter, and were agreeably surprised when april arrived with its sunny skies, delicious breezes, and wild flowers covering the prairies. one morning, when his father was just starting for the little village of ellsworth, six miles distant, for a load of lumber, rob asked him to buy some hooks and lines. "father," said he, "oxhide creek is just full of bull-pouts, perch, cat and buffalo fish. joe and i want to go fishing to-day, if you return in time." mr. thompson told the boys that he would not forget them, and as he drove off, they took their spades to dig in the garden as their father had directed them to do while he was away. both joe and rob worked very industriously, anxious to make the time slip away until their father's return, when, if he was satisfied with what they had done, they knew he would let them go fishing. just before twelve o'clock mr. thompson came back. the boys had worked for more than three hours, but it seemed only one to them, so quickly does time glide along when we are engaged in some healthful labor. when mr. thompson saw how faithfully his boys had worked, he told them, as he handed to each a line and some hooks, they might have the afternoon to themselves and go fishing if they wished to, but must wait until they had taken the lumber off the wagon and eaten their dinner. the boys were all excitement at the idea of going fishing. when they sat down to dinner they hurried through it, asked to be excused, and went out and unloaded the lumber before their father had done eating. when they returned to the house and told their father they had unloaded the boards and run the wagon under the shed, he said they might go, but were to be sure to return in time to do the chores. they took a spade from the tool-shed and an old tomato can their mother had given them, and started for the creek, where in the soft, black soil of its banks they dug for white grubs for bait. they were not very successful, however. they turned over almost as much soil as they had dug in the garden that morning, but found only three or four worms; not enough to take out on their excursion. they were disgusted for a few moments, fearing that they would have to give up their fishing, so stood staring at each other, their faces filled with disappointment. at last an idea struck rob. he said:-- "i'll tell you what we'll do, joe. i read in one of father's books the other day about the indians out in oregon catching trout with crayfish. it said that the savages commence to fish far up at the head of the stream, lifting, as they walk down, the flat stones under which the little animals hide themselves. they look like small lobsters, only they are gray instead of green. then they break them open and use the white meat for bait. the book said they catch more trout in an hour than a white man will in a week with all his flies, bugs, and fancy rigging." "let's try 'em for luck," answered joe. "i don't know whether there are any crayfish in the oxhide, but we can go and find out; and if there are, i guess cat and perch will bite at 'em as well as trout." "all right," said rob, the look of disappointment instantly vanishing from his face as he listened to his brother's suggestion. "but i tell you, joe," continued he, "we've got to have poles. you go up to that bunch of willows yonder," pointing with the old can he held in his hand, to the bunch of willows growing as thick as rushes on a little island in the creek, about an eighth of a mile from where he stood; "and here, joe, take my line and hooks, too. fix yours and mine all ready for us, while i go and hunt for the crayfish. i know where they are; i saw a whole lot crawling in the water near the house the other day." the two brothers then separated,--joe, jack-knife in hand, going toward the willows, and rob to the creek with the tomato can. as soon as rob arrived at the bank of the stream, he took off his boots and stockings, rolled his trousers above his knees, tied the can around his neck with a string, and waded in. the creek was not at all deep, and the water as clear as crystal. he could see shoals of perch dart ahead of him, and many bull-pouts rush under the shadow of the bank as he waded toward the island of willows. in the bed of the creek were hundreds of flat rocks; some that he could easily lift, others so large that he could not budge them. the first stone he turned over had three of the coveted crayfish hidden under its slimy bottom, and excited at his luck, he quickly caught them. so many were there as he lifted stone after stone, that he soon filled the tomato can, and by that time he had arrived at the willows. joe was anxiously waiting for him with two handsome rods, at least ten feet long, the lines already attached and the hooks nicely fastened to their ends. "golly! rob, you must have had awful good luck," said joe, as he looked at the can full of struggling crayfish. "pshaw!" answered rob. "why, joe, i could have got a bushel of 'em; the oxhide was just swimming with 'em." "let's go to that little lake that was so nice where we went swimming last autumn," suggested joe. "i know there are lots of cats in there; big ones, too." "all right, joe," said rob, as he commenced to put on his stockings. when he had got his boots on, the two boys walked briskly toward the so-called lake, which was a mere widening of the creek, forming quite a large sheet of water, where they arrived in about seven minutes. it was a very delightful spot. the whole surface of the water was shaded by the gigantic limbs of great elms a hundred years old, growing on its margin, and all around the edge was a heavy mat of buffalo grass, soft as a carpet. it required only a dozen seconds or so for the boys to unwind their lines, bait the hooks, seat themselves on the cushioned sod, and cast the shining white meat in the water. there they anxiously waited for results, as the catfish is not game like the trout, but is slow and deliberate in all its movements. the trout rushes at anything that touches the surface of the water, but the catfish carefully investigates whatever comes within reach of its great jaws, before it opens its ugly mouth to take it in. in a few minutes, rob felt a tremendous tugging at his line, and in another instant he skilfully landed a large channel cat on the grass at his feet. "look, joe, look! see what a big one i've caught," said rob, as he dexterously extracted the hook from the creature's great mouth, and then held the fish at arm's length so that his brother could have a good look at it. rob's catch weighed at least four pounds, and no wonder he was delighted at such success, as it showed considerable skill to land a fish of that size. joe had not yet had a nibble, and a shade of disappointment began to creep over his face when suddenly, just as he was about to go over to examine his brother's catch more closely, he was nearly jerked off his feet by a tremendous pull at his own line. he recovered himself immediately, and by dint of a hard struggle, hauled in a cat that was almost as big again as that which rob had caught. it was joe's turn to yell now; he held up the big fish as high as he could,--its tail touched the ground even then,--and sung out:-- "i say, rob, just look at this, will you? yours is only a minnow alongside of mine. when you go fishing, why don't you catch something like this?" unfortunately, at the instant he was so wild with excitement, he stood on the very edge of the bank, and so absorbed was he in the contemplation of the great fish, that his foot slipped and both he and the cat were thrown into the water at the same moment. the cat made a terrible lunge forward when it found itself once more in its native element, and before you could say "jack robinson," was out of sight. if ever disgust was to be seen on a boy's face, that face was joe thompson's; he only glanced at the water, did not say a word; his feelings were too sad for utterance. rob looked over at his brother and sarcastically said, as he held up his cat and stroked it:-- "i say, joe, who's got the biggest fish now?" in an instant he saw that he had touched joe in a tender spot; he was a very sensitive boy, so rob quickly added: "well, never mind, joe. you remember what mother often says to us, 'there is as good a fish in the sea as was ever caught,' and i'll bet there's just as big cats in here as the one you lost. try again, joe, but stand away from the edge of the water with the next one you haul out." joe, thus encouraged and comforted, sat down again in his old place, threw his line to try once more, and in the excitement soon forgot his misfortune. in less than three hours the boys caught more than a dozen apiece, none so large, however, as that which escaped from joe. it was now nearly six o'clock, the sun was low in the heavens, and as they had as many fish as they could conveniently carry, they decided to go home. arriving there in a short time, they at once went to work at their chores. their customary evening's task was to drive the cows into the corral, feed the horses and their own ponies, and bring water from the spring for their mother, so that it should be handy when she rose in the morning. while joe and rob were at their work, their father cleaned some of the fish, which their mother then cooked for supper, and they certainly tasted to the young anglers better than ever did fish before. while at the table they related every little incident that had befallen them on this their first angling expedition in the new country. after that very successful excursion the brothers sometimes spent whole mornings or portions of the afternoons at some place on the creek or river, when the work on the ranche was not pushing, and so expert did they become with hook and line, that the family was never at a loss for a supply of fish during the proper seasons. joe was a close observer of nature, and he very quickly learned the habits of all the animals, birds, and fish that were common to the region where he lived. being the eldest son, too, he was intrusted with a small but excellent rifle and a shot-gun which his father bought one morning in the village, on the fifteenth anniversary of his birthday. he would get up very early in the morning and with his pony and the hounds have many a lively chase after the little cottontail rabbit or the larger "jack," improperly so called, for it is really the hare. the rabbit burrows in the ground, while the jack-rabbit does not, but makes his nest on the top, in a bunch of grass, or in the holes in the rocky ledges of the bluffs that fringe nearly every stream on the great plains. out on the open prairies the grouse congregated in large flocks at certain seasons, and in every covert in the woods the quail could be found. joe had really handled a gun long before he left vermont, but the superior chance for practice out on the ranche soon made him a magnificent shot; consequently the table at the ranche was never without game if the family desired it. beside the smaller game i have mentioned, there were immense herds of buffalo and antelope, and in some places in the deep woods was the only long-tailed specimen of the genus felis on the continent,--the cougar, or panther. all the wildcats, so called, are lynxes, with short tails. with one of the first mentioned joe once had a severe tussle, which nearly proved disastrous to him. it happened in this way. one afternoon in november shortly after the cabin was finished and the family had moved in, he was out on the range with his father's horse, the spencer carbine, and about twenty rounds of ammunition. even at that early stage of his life at errolstrath he was always careful never to ride far away from home, without taking a gun with him; for he was always sure to see something in the shape of game worth killing for the table; and as its main support in that particular very soon depended on his prowess as a hunter, he was always on the lookout. joe had ridden a long way from the cabin. he had really forgotten how far away he was and was becoming very thirsty, for the day had been warm, so he commenced to hunt for water. he was riding along the bank of the smoky hill in the thickest of the timber which grows on its banks, and by certain signs he had studied since he had lived on the ranche, knew that he was near some springs, though he had never been in that vicinity before. he got off his horse, slipped the loop of the bridle-rein over his left arm, slung the carbine across his right shoulder, and cautiously walked on. there was, of course, no trail or path at the base of the bluffs along which he was travelling, so he stopped at the mouth of every ravine he came to, hoping to find a pool of water, or to discover some hidden spring whose source was high up among the great rocks that towered above his head. presently he arrived at a depression in the earth in the bottom of a gully, evidently made by the claws of some animal, for beside those marks were the imprint of foot-tracks. joe intuitively guessed they were those of a panther, as he had been told by the old trapper, tucker, that that animal knows by instinct when the water is near the surface, and scratches with his claws until he reaches it. joe knew, too, that the panther was not a very large one; his footprints were too small; so he did not feel at all alarmed at their sight. on the contrary, boy-like, he was delighted at the idea of a possible tussle with one of the dreadful creatures, and he thought that if he could succeed in killing it he would add another feather to his cap by taking its hide home. joe felt himself equal to a possible struggle. he knew that he was fully armed, and at once examined his carbine, took out the knife which he always carried in his belt for skinning, and finding everything in perfect order, he was really anxious to find the animal that had been digging for water only a little while before his arrival at the spot. a few rods further on, in the same ravine, he saw a little pool of water, evidently clear and cool, and after looking cautiously all around him, dipped the rim of his hat into the pool before him and indulged in a long drink of the delicious fluid. then after having satisfied his thirst, he stood still for a few moments undecided as to what course he should pursue. [illustration: "with one vigorous thrust of his knife he struck the animal's heart."] he concluded that if he was to remain and fight the panther if the animal made his appearance, it would be best to tie his horse to a sapling a short distance from the pool. after doing this he placed a fresh cartridge in his carbine and walked slowly on, following the beast's tracks, which had grown plainly visible a few paces from the edge of the water, and which soon led him into a rocky cañon. joe came in sight of the panther much sooner than he expected. as he was turning the sharp projecting corner of a mass of rocks which formed the walls of a ravine, there was the panther sitting on a shelf of sandstone, not forty feet away from him. he was busy licking his paws cat-fashion, his ears cocked as if listening, and his small green eyes turned toward the intruder, but evidently not much concerned at the sight of his greatest enemy, man. joe was rather taken aback at first, but as the brute was only a little over half-grown, and appeared so indifferent to his presence, he uncocked his carbine, which he had a moment before hastily cocked, and both boy and panther stood quietly gazing at each other for ten seconds before either made any demonstration. presently the panther rose and turned sideways toward joe, and edging up toward the top of the ledge, gave vent to a low growl, and showed a beautiful set of long, sharp teeth, evidently intending to let joe know that he wasn't afraid of him. this movement on the part of the panther somewhat excited joe, and cocking his carbine again, he deliberately took aim at the place where the heart of the beast should be, as the animal had now turned its left side toward the young hunter. quick as a flash joe pulled the trigger, but the ball glancing upward, only grazed the end of the beast's shoulder-blade and shattered it, the panther at the same instant tumbling over on its side. this made joe yell with delight, for he thought he had killed it at the first shot. the panther lay on the ground only for about ten seconds when the aspect of affairs for joe was suddenly changed. the brute staggered to its feet, and, maddened with rage and pain, made for the boy. although the beast was evidently very lame from the effect of the shot, joe saw to his amazement that he was far from dead, and for a moment his usual presence of mind forsook him, and he made a bolt for his horse, feeling that the dreadful animal was close to him. in his fright he dropped his carbine, but in another moment was on his horse, who, on being so unceremoniously mounted, and seeing the panther, gave a wild snort and a desperate kick which sent joe heels over head to the ground, and then dashed down the trail for home! joe was now all alone, on foot, and with nothing but his knife to defend himself from the attack of the panther, who was almost upon him as he got up from the ground after having been so hurriedly tossed from his saddle. although the panther was lame and bleeding profusely, he waddled along as best he could toward joe, his mouth wide open and his great jaws covered with froth in his rage. joe was somewhat bruised by his fall, and seeing very quickly that he could not escape a tussle with the beast, made up his mind that he would fight him to the best of his ability. there was no other chance, for the panther was now upon him, trying to get at him so that he could claw and bite at his leisure. but joe, who had now gained his normal coolness, turned deliberately, and facing the savage brute, whose hot breath he could feel, with one vigorous thrust of his knife he struck the animal's heart and fortunately killed him instantly. in the close struggle the panther was so near joe, that in his death throes, having fallen right on top of the boy, his sharp claws tore the sleeve of his coat off and scratched a goodly piece of flesh from his arms, as with one convulsive shudder the ferocious animal had rolled over dead. there was never a more delighted boy than joe, despite his really painful wounds, and rising with some difficulty to his feet, he went back for his carbine, and returned with it to the dead panther. he picked up his knife which had fallen on the ground when the fatal thrust was given, deftly skinned him, suspended the beautiful hide to a limb of a cottonwood tree to keep the wolves from it, and then turned away and followed his trail towards the ranche. of course, in a little while he began to grow stiff in his arms from the severity of his wounds, and not knowing exactly how far he was from the cabin, he was disturbed, not so much for himself as at the thought that when the riderless horse arrived there it would alarm his parents. joe was correct in his conjectures. as the horse dashed up to the stable without his rider, both his father and mother were terribly frightened. they plucked up courage, however, and immediately saddling another horse, led back on his own trail the one joe had ridden, and soon came up to where joe was resting at the side of a large spring, and suffering considerably with the pain caused by his wounds. they all arrived at the cabin by sundown, with the skin of the panther, joe's father having gone back to the tree where the boy had hung it. that was a red-letter day in joe's young life. he had to tell again and again how he happened to come on the panther and his awful fight with the enraged creature. joe soon recovered under the devoted nursing of his mother; his arm healed nicely, but a good-sized scar was left where the panther had dug its sharp claws into the flesh. the hide was smoke-tanned, and for many years afterward adorned the floor at the foot of his mother's bed. chapter iv boy and girl life at errolstrath ranche--their pets--the girls encounter a big prairie wolf--joe to the rescue--death of the ferocious beast as the months rolled on, the family, particularly the children, grew more and more delighted with their new home in the wilderness. the boys and girls had an abundance of leisure; for though their father exacted the most prompt obedience, he was not a hard task-master. he allowed his children every indulgence compatible with reason, and only certain portions of the day were devoted to work. they all studied under their father's personal supervision, for no schools had yet been established in the settlement. for the boys, there were the cows to be driven to and from their pasture, morning and night, and it was their duty to milk them, too. then the horses were to be fed, and in season they worked in the large garden, on which their father prided himself. the girls helped their mother in every household duty, and relieved her of many cares as she grew older. so the children of errolstrath ranche had a good time--a much better time than generally falls to the lot of those families in only moderate circumstances, as were the thompsons. before they had resided on the ranche a year, the boys and girls had become possessed of a variety of pets. gertrude had a coon; kate, an antelope; rob, a prairie dog; and joe, an elk. the antelope was caught when young by joe, and the hounds, bluey and brutus, under the following circumstances: although one of the most timid and swift of all the ruminants on the great plains, it is also one of the most inquisitive. whenever it sees something with which it is not familiar, its curiosity overpowers its usual fear, and it will approach very near to the object that has excited its attention. now joe had learned from old tucker, the trapper, just how the indians act, when out hunting the antelope, to draw the herd within range of their arrows. he said that sometimes one or two of the savages would stand on their heads and shake their legs in the air; then again, they would hold up a blanket, no matter what color, and wave it slowly, when the herd, or at least a number from it, would gradually walk toward the indians who were lying flat on the ground, and thus become easy victims to their swift, unerring arrows. it was this knowledge of the antelope's prominent characteristic that enabled joe to secure one for his favorite sister. he was out very early one morning when he noticed a large herd with many kids among it, about half a mile distant. he was well aware that his dogs, swift as they were, would be no match for the beautiful creatures in a trial of speed, so he resolved to resort to the indian method. ordering his hounds to lie close, he tied his white handkerchief round his head, and taking off his overalls, he began to move his body slowly backward and forward, at the same time vigorously waving the overalls in the air. in a few moments, just as he expected they would, he had the satisfaction of seeing first one, then another, look up and gaze steadily at the strange object. presently, about half a dozen of the does with their little ones by their sides, commenced to move cautiously towards him. when they had approached sufficiently near, he started the hounds after them, and after a short, lively chase they caught a fine kid, which, of course, could not keep up with its mother. they captured it without injury, for they had been trained not to mouth their game. as there were a dozen cows on the ranch, there was an abundance of milk, with which kate used to feed her little pet from a bottle. the pretty creature throve rapidly, and soon became as affectionate as a kitten, following its mistress everywhere like a dog. the big gray wolf, that ghoul of the great plains, understands full well the inordinate curiosity of the antelope, and knowing that it is impossible for him to catch one of the fleet animals by the employment of his legs alone, he effects by cunning what he could never accomplish by the best efforts of his endurance. the wicked old fellow, when he discovers a bunch of antelopes in the distance, rolls himself into a ball, like a badger, and tumbles about on the grass until some of the deluded animals come near enough for him to spring on them. gertrude's coon was caught by both the boys, assisted by bluey and brutus. they dug him out of his nest under the roots of a huge elm tree near the cabin, one day in the early springtime, when the warm sun had just begun to thaw him after his winter's hibernation. he was "'cute" and mischievous as he could be, stealing anything on which he could get his tiny paws. whenever gertrude called him,--his name was tom,--he would run to her as fast as he could, jump on her back, and sit on her shoulders for an hour at a time, when she was sewing or doing something which did not require her to move about. he lived on any scraps from the table, always rolling his food in his paws before he ate it. the prairie dog, the property of rob, was accidentally captured by gertrude one morning when she and kate were out gathering wild flowers. she actually stumbled on him as she stooped to pick a sensitive rose. the little creature had somehow become entangled in the convolutions of the vine, and thus became an easy prey. it fought like a tiger at first, and tried to bite with its sharp teeth everything that came near it. it was soon tamed, however, and became a regular nuisance at times, for it would run under your feet in spite of the many pinches it got by being stepped upon. it tripped up the boys and girls a dozen times a day, as it was allowed the freedom of the house and the dooryard. gertrude gave it to rob, who had often expressed a desire to own one, and had failed a hundred times, perhaps, to capture one by drowning it out of its hole. the elk was given to joe by old tucker, and in a short time grew to be as big as a young mule. joe broke him to harness, and used to drive him hitched to a little cart which his father, with the boy's help, improvised out of an odd pair of wheels and a dry-goods box. he was kept in the corral with the cows and horses, and became very tame, but sometimes attempted to use his sharp front hoofs too freely. he was forbidden the precincts of the dooryard and the house, for he came near cutting kate in two once, all in play, but too rough a kind of affection for a repetition of it to be allowed. the wild raspberries grew in great profusion near every ledge of rock in the vicinity of the ranche. about a mile and a half from the house, however, there was a specially favored spot for them, where the vines were more dense and the berries of large size and delicious flavor. in the second week of june, the second year of their residence on the creek, rob, who had been up the valley herding the cows, reported that evening, upon his return, that the berries were ripe and that there were bushels of them. the next morning, immediately after breakfast, gertrude and kate left the house with a tin bucket each, intending to go up to the ledge and gather raspberries. they were dressed lightly,--kate in a white muslin skirt, and her sister in a lawn. as the nearest way to the place where the berries were to be found lay by a trail on the other side of the oxhide the girls crossed it near the cabin, and as there was neither log bridge nor stepping-stones, they took off their shoes and stockings and waded it. after reaching the other side and putting on their shoes and stockings, they wandered slowly through a little flower-bedecked prairie, beyond the margin of timber which fringed the creek, to make a short cut to where the raspberries grew, for the oxhide made a sweeping curve to the northeast, nearly in the shape of half a circle. both loving flowers, they gathered great bunches of the sensitive roses, anemones, and white daisies, growing everywhere in such profusion. this occupation consumed a great deal of time, for they naturally loitered, charmed by so much floral beauty around them. it was fortunate they did, as the sequel will show, and they did not arrive at the ledge of rocks until nearly ten o'clock--more than two hours after they had left home. it was intensely hot, and after gathering their buckets full of the delicious fruit, they sat down on a shelf of the ledge which projected over the creek. they dabbled their bare feet in the stream as it flowed in murmuring rhythm over the rounded white pebbles, while they ate their lunch of cake brought from the ranche, and the red berries so sweet in the wildness of their flavor. having satisfied their hunger, kate said to her sister: "gert, we ought to fill up our buckets again. if we go home empty-handed, mother will think we have been making pigs of ourselves." "there's time enough for that yet," replied gertrude. "this cool water feels so delightful to my feet that i believe i could sit here and dabble in it until dark. don't you think it's delicious, kate?" "yes," answered kate, "but i want to get home before dinner, because joe said that he would go with me down to the village this evening. i am going to ride his pony, and he will ride rob's." "well," said gertrude, "if we must, we must. mother loves raspberries so; they are her favorite fruit, you know; and if we did not take her a bucketful back with us, i should never forgive myself, though perhaps she would not say a word." "let us commence right now," imploringly said kate. "i want to get back as soon as i can." both girls rose languidly to do as they proposed, but there did not seem to be much energy in their motions. just as gertrude had taken her pail from its place in the rocks, their ears were greeted by a low growl, which seemed to come directly from underneath the shelf on which they had been sitting. they looked at each other, and their faces blanched as another snarl and a howl, nearer than before, came to their ears, and both recognized the familiar sound they had so often heard when lying in bed at night, as that of a wolf. those predatory brutes frequently made their nightly rounds in the vicinity of the corral, trying to get at the young calves, and they might be heard in the timber, watching for a chance to secure some of the fowls shut up in their house of stone near the barn. gertrude, who was really very brave under ordinary circumstances, immediately stood still, and looking all around her, she suddenly met the gaze of a large, gaunt she-wolf at whose side were standing six little ones! generally the wolf, like nearly all other wild animals, will run instantly at the sight of a human being; but the maternal instinct is so wonderful that, when they have young, they will die in defending their offspring from any supposed danger. this instinct was shown in this instance. the fierce animal had crept out of her den at the sound of voices, and believing that her cubs were in jeopardy, she made a frantic dash toward the now thoroughly frightened girls, who hastily scrambled to the summit of the ledge. fortunately for them, the wolf is a poor climber, but with a savage bound toward the base of the flat rock on which the girls had a moment before been sitting, she arrived at it the same instant they had succeeded in reaching an elevation of about twelve feet above the level of the water. just as kate, who was not as collected as her sister, was being dragged up by gertrude, the wolf made a desperate leap and snapped at her with his terrible teeth, but failed. it succeeded, however, in catching her skirt in its ponderous jaws, and tore it completely from her waist, and she, almost feeling the hot breath of the infuriated brute, uttered a loud scream and fell fainting in her sister's arms. less than three hundred yards above the ledge of rocks, in a beautiful piece of prairie, joe was herding the cattle, and kate's cry, so full of fear, fell piercingly on his ears. he was aware that his sisters were to go berrying that morning, and he also knew that the sound could only come from one of them. he was lying on the grass under the shade of a big elm with the bridle-rein of his pony in his hand. grasping his rifle, which was at his side, in an instant he had mounted his animal, and digging his heels into its flanks, fairly flew down the creek to where his sisters were held at bay by the wolf. he arrived there in less than three minutes after he heard the scream of alarm, and saw the wolf still persisting in its vain efforts to reach the girls on the summit of the ledge. gertrude was almost paralyzed with fear, and kate lay at her feet in the swoon into which the action of the wolf had thrown her. the enraged beast was too much occupied with the girls to notice that its would-be victims had assistance so near at hand, and joe, as gertrude saw her brother's approach, put his finger to his lips, indicating that she must remain perfectly silent. he dismounted in a second, and putting the loop of the reins over his left arm, dropped on one knee, and taking careful aim, sent a ball crashing right through the brain of the wolf, which instantly fell dead in its tracks. joe then rushed down to the creek and filled his hat with water. he then climbed hurriedly up to the rocky steep again and threw the water into kate's face as she still lay prone on the ledge at her sister's feet. kate soon revived, and after staring around her for a few seconds in a dazed way, she smiled and said:-- "oh, joe, you have saved us!" and rising to her feet, forgetful of her wet face, she kissed him half a dozen times. while his sisters were adjusting their dresses and recovering from their terrible fright, joe killed the young wolves with the butt of his rifle, and then taking his knife from his belt commenced to skin the old one. it did not require much time to perform the operation, for he had long since become an adept at such work. he then threw the beautiful hide over the withers of his pony, and walked home with his sisters. arriving at the cabin, the girls had much to tell about their wonderful experience and lucky escape from the jaws of the wolf, which would certainly have torn them to pieces if it had not been for joe's timely arrival. the hide, which was an immense one, was first tacked to the side of the stable, and when dried, joe smoke-tanned it until it was as soft as a piece of silk. he gave it to kate as a memento of her awful experience with its former owner. she used it as a rug at the side of her bed, and often said that for a long time whenever she stepped on it, the scene in which it played such an important part was brought vividly to her mind. chapter v the friendly pawnees camp on the oxhide--old "yellow calf," the chief--joe is named "the white panther"--joe goes hunting with the band--he learns the language--hunting with the boys of the tribe the pawnees and kaws, tribes of indians long at peace with the whites, and whose reservations were in the eastern part of the state, frequently made incursions into the buffalo region two hundred miles from their home in the valley of the neosho, on their annual hunt for their winter's supply of meat. the valley of the oxhide was one of their favorite camping-grounds, and from thence they radiated in bands to the plains, where the vast herds of the great shaggy animals grazed in the autumn months, on their curious elliptical march from the yellowstone to the southern border of texas. every autumn these indians camped in the timber only about a mile from errolstrath ranche, and it was very natural that the boys, especially joe, should often visit their temporary village, as it was decidedly a new sensation for them. the tepees, or lodges, built in a conical shape out of long poles covered with well-tanned buffalo hides, were a never-ending curiosity to joe. the chief of the band, yellow calf, an old man nearly eighty years of age, took a great fancy to joe from the moment he first saw him. as soon as he became acquainted with his character he called him "white panther," after the strange nomenclature of the north american savage. the indians noticed immediately that joe was different from the majority of white children they had met, and his quickness of motion was the reason they named him as they did. his readiness in acquiring their language, which he almost mastered in a few months, astonished them. then joe was always kind and gentle to the band, often bringing food from his mother's table when she could give it to him, especially bread or biscuit, of which old yellow calf was inordinately fond. at the suggestion of the chief, the closest warriors of his council took great delight in showing their new boy friend the use of the bow and arrow. they taught him how to prepare the skins of animals he shot; how to make the robe of the buffalo as soft as a doeskin, and they taught him how to trap beaver, otter, and muskrat, in which valuable fur-bearing animals all the streams abounded. yellow calf would sit for hours talking with joe, learning from him all about the strange inventions of the white man, and their uses. he in turn taught the boy the mysteries of the beautiful sign language, so wonderful in its symbolism; and the manner of trailing, so that in a few months he was as well versed in the methods of following an enemy on the warpath as the savages themselves. the indians frequently took joe with them far up the arkansas valley on their grand hunts after the buffalo. his parents readily gave their consent to his going with his red friends, though he was sometimes absent from home for more than a week. for three seasons the same band of pawnees had their village on the creek, remaining there during the months of september and october of each year. all that time joe continued his intimacy with them, and became more perfect in his knowledge of their savage methods. he could follow the blindest trail by day or night, and the signs of the various hostile tribes were as familiar to him as the alphabet. he had been carefully trained to all this knowledge by the pawnees, who were the hereditary enemies of the cheyennes who still claimed sovereignty over the great plains. once, in fact, when he had been out for a fortnight with his indian friends on a buffalo hunt, the party was suddenly met by a band of cheyennes, and, of course, a battle ensued to which joe was a witness. after the fight that night, when the band camped on the walnut, he saw the dances of the victorious pawnees and learned a great deal about savage warfare. shortly after the advent of the pawnees on the oxhide, and when joe had established his friendly relations with them, although he could shoot fairly well previously, he now began to take a special delight in hunting. every moment he could get to himself, he was off in the timber or out on the prairie with his rifle or shot-gun. he never carried these, however, unless he hunted alone, as on many occasions he was accompanied by one or two of the pawnee boys about his own age whom the band had brought with them; young bucks, not yet old enough to have reached the dignity of warriors. they had to do the work generally assigned to the women, for no squaws were with the band. it is beneath a warrior to do anything but hunt, eat, smoke, and go to war; for idleness is the predominant characteristic of the men of every savage race, and the pawnees were no exception. while they were encamped on the oxhide the warriors scarcely ever left the delightful place except, of course, when summoned by their chief to the hunt. they sat all day in the shadow of their lodges, puffing lazily at their pipes and relating over and over again the stories of their feats in personal encounters with their enemies, the cheyennes. the north american indians are very assiduous in teaching their boys all that becomes a great warrior,--how to ride the wildest horses, and how to hunt and trap every variety of animal used in the domestic economy of their families. the very moment a son is large enough to handle them, bows and arrows are constantly in his hands. as the indians had only a few poor rifles, whenever joe went out with his dusky young companions on a hunt, he, too, took nothing but his bow and arrows which the pawnees had given him, for he did not want his boy friends to feel his superiority when armed with the white man's weapons. the number of squirrels, rabbits, and game birds he killed in a single day would have astonished a city-bred boy. the pawnee warriors, flattered by joe's preference for their society to that of his white neighbors, made him the very finest bows and arrows of which their skill was capable. they looked forward to the day when he should develop into a great warrior, and hoped, too, that the time would come when, becoming tired of civilization, he would let them adopt him into the tribe. one morning, to the surprise of joe, the old chief despatched a runner back to the reservation with orders to his squaws to make a complete suit of buckskin for his young white friend. in about two weeks when the messenger returned to the camp with the savage dress, joe, of course, was delighted with his quaint and really beautiful costume. it was made out of the finest doeskin, elegantly embroidered with beads; the seams of the coat-sleeves and trousers were fringed in the most approved savage fashion, while the moccasins were exquisitely wrought with the quills of the porcupine, gayly colored. there were also given the boy all the adjuncts of a warrior,--a tomahawk, medicine-bag, tobacco-pouch, powder-horn, bullet-sack, flint and steel, and, last of all, a magnificent calumet manufactured of the red stone from the sacred quarry in far-off minnesota. joe had never mentioned to any of the family, not even to rob, what was in store for him from the pawnees. to make the surprise greater to the household, when he was ready to put on the new suit, he got one of the warriors to decorate his face in royal savage style, and thus metamorphosed, he walked into the cabin one noon, just as the family were about to sit down to dinner. none of them recognized him, and when he began to talk in the pawnee language, not a word of which any of them could understand, his father motioned him to take a seat at the table and eat, as he had often done to the real pawnees on their many visits to the ranche. at last joe could contain himself no longer, and he cried out in his exultation over the farce he had enacted: "father, mother, rob, and you girls, don't you know me?" "no!" they all answered simultaneously, but immediately recognizing his voice, now that he spoke english, his mother said that she had never suspected for a moment that the horrid-looking, paint-bedaubed creature before her could be her own child. then all had a good laugh over the manner in which joe had deceived them, but his father insisted that he must go and wash the paint from his face before he thought of sitting down to eat with christian people; he could allow it in the case of a real savage, because they did not know any better. joe was very hungry, for he had been out hunting grouse on the hills all the morning, and was tired, too, so he hastily obeyed his father's injunction. he ran to the spring, and by vigorously rubbing at the various colors, he at last succeeded in getting his face clean. in a few moments he returned to the dining-room looking like himself again, but very stately, by reason of his brand-new suit; and the family could not help staring at and admiring him. then, when he had taken his place at the table, he was obliged to tell how he had happened to acquire such a fantastic dress, and explain the use of each curious article belonging to it. gertrude and kate both hoped that he would not wear the handsome clothes every day, and his mother suggested that he must never go to the village in such a savage dress. his father said nothing, but evidently regarded his boy with pride. in reply to the various comments, joe told the family that he intended to wear the indian costume only on extraordinary occasions. if ever the cheyennes, kiowas, comanches, or arapahoes broke out, he would certainly wear it, for when those savages saw him, they would think he was a great warrior, and be careful how they bothered him. the family little thought, as he uttered his playful remarks, how soon that uniform would be worn on a mission fraught with danger to themselves and the whole settlement. chapter vi the story of the massacre on spillman creek--scouts go to the rescue--joe and rob talk over the horrid work of the savages--the dog soldiers--charley bent--place of rendezvous--party starts out--joe's opinion is asked the family had lived on their comfortable ranche on the oxhide for nearly three years. during the whole of this period the valley had been most happily exempt from any raid by the hostile indians farther west, who for all that time had made incursions into the sparse settlements not a hundred miles away, devastating the country from nebraska on the north to the border of texas on the south. general sheridan had been ordered by the government to the command of the military department of the missouri, with headquarters at fort leavenworth. the already famous general custer with his celebrated regiment, the seventh united states cavalry, was stationed at fort harker, recently established on the smoky hill, about four miles from errolstrath ranche, so the settlers on the oxhide, and through the valley, felt comparatively safe from any possible raid by the savages into that region. one beautiful sunday afternoon in the middle of the may following the autumn in which joe had received his present of a full indian dress from the friendly pawnees, the family were sitting on the veranda of the cabin. dinner was long since over, and mr. thompson was reading aloud from their weekly religious journal, when a horseman suddenly appeared, coming toward the ranche on the trail which led from the mouth of the oxhide where it empties into the smoky hill. he was hatless and coatless, his long hair was streaming in the wind, and his heels were rapping his horse's flanks vigorously, and its breast and shoulders were covered with foam from the desperate gait at which it was urged. the reading was instantly suspended, and every eye strained toward the unusual object coming toward the house at such a breakneck speed. "i wonder who that is, and why he rides so fast," inquired mr. thompson, addressing himself to no one in the group in particular. "something unusual must have occurred," suggested mrs. thompson; "some one of the neighbors taken ill suddenly, maybe." "it's no one we know," spoke up joe. "i never saw that man before," the individual under discussion having come near enough now for his features to be distinguished, "nor the horse he's on, and i know every man and horse in the whole settlement. there's some trouble not far away, i think, or he would not run his animal that way." in less than three minutes more, the stranger horseman rode up to the front of the house and jumped off his horse. hurriedly tying him to the hitching-post, he ran up the steps of the veranda, and in the most excited manner, his eyes wearing a wild look and his breath coming with great difficulty, told mr. thompson, who had walked forward to meet him, that the indians had completely destroyed the little settlement of spillman creek that morning about daylight. he alone, as far as he knew, had escaped the massacre. he said that luckily he happened to be down in the timber, getting some wood for his morning fire, and the savages did not see him. he had his pony with him, and when he saw the indians all dressed in their war-bonnets and hideously painted, he rode to the river and across country as fast as his animal could carry him. "how many families are there in the settlement?" inquired mr. thompson. "about ten," answered the stranger; "forty individuals, perhaps, and all of them, i feel satisfied, have been murdered and their cabins burnt, because i saw the smoke and flames from the trail on the south side of the saline as i rode hurriedly on." "had you no family?" asked mrs. thompson, excitedly, in her sympathy for the unfortunate people who had been so cruelly massacred. "no, ma'am," answered the stranger. "i was living all alone on my claim, which i had taken up only a week ago, on the edge of the timber. my family are still back in illinois, thank god! or they, too, with myself, would have been butchered with the rest, for i would never have left them." "do you think the savages will continue on their raid, and come further down the saline valley?" inquired mr. thompson, who now for the first time since he had been on his ranche, felt a little alarmed for his family. "i don't know," was the reply, "but i'm afraid they will. the elkhorn is fairly settled, but the cabins are widely scattered; the indians know that, and before the neighbors could rally for mutual defence, the savages might be able to murder them in detail. i have come down here to warn the settlers on this creek, and if i can, to get a party to go to the rescue of those on the elkhorn. i stopped at fort harker on my way and reported to the commanding officer the state of affairs, but he said that he had only part of a company of infantry at the post, all the cavalry being out under general custer, looking after the indians 'way up the smoky hill. he suggested that i should come here to inform you people of the danger, and that, if i could muster up a crowd of men, he would furnish all the arms and ammunition necessary for them. he also said that general sheridan was coming to fort harker in a few days to establish his headquarters there, and that a general indian war was imminent." "have you any idea how many of the savages there were in the band that raided spillman creek settlement?" inquired mr. thompson. "i think there must have been about fifty. i counted their pony tracks in the soft mud at the ford of the saline where they crossed it; they were very plain, and i was enabled to come close to their probable number. if you could muster twenty or thirty men, well armed, who are brave, and good shots with the rifle, i believe that if they start for the elkhorn to-day, they could circumvent the savages before they reach the creek, or at least drive them out of the neighborhood. i am ready to go back with them and act as guide, for i know every foot of the country, having spent a whole year out there before i settled upon a location. who are the best men in this settlement, and where shall i go to warn them?" "well," replied mr. thompson, "i am willing to go for one. i guess there will be no difficulty in gathering as large a force as is necessary--good shots, too; for no one will hesitate a moment when it comes to defending his family from an indian raid. it will take a couple of hours to ride around the neighborhood to the several ranches to notify the men. my boys, here, can go to the nearest, while you and i ride to the most remote and get as large a crowd as possible. boys," continued he, turning to his sons, who stood with eyes wide open and mouth agape as they listened with astonishment to the terrible story of the stranger, "get your ponies at once; saddle them as quickly as ever you did in your lives, and ride to the nearest ranches on the creek; up one side and down the other. tell all the folks the dreadful news, and tell them to have the men meet here at errolstrath as quickly as they can, and to bring their rifles with them. all are well armed," said he, turning to the stranger, "and they will respond in a hurry." "now," said mr. thompson, as the boys jumped off of the veranda to carry out their father's order, "i will go with you to old tucker's ranche. he is a man of most excellent judgment, and a trapper; has fought indians all his eventful life on the plains and in the mountains, so we can safely rely on his advice in regard to what is best to be done." looking at his wife he said, "won't you get this man a bite to eat while i'm catching another animal for him? yours is tired out," continued he, addressing the stranger again; "you must have a fresh horse. i've got lots of them." while mr. thompson went to the stable, and the stranger to the spring to wash the dust off himself, mrs. thompson, assisted by gertrude and kate, made ready a cold lunch for the half-famished man, who told them, when he returned to the dining-room, that he had not eaten a morsel since the evening before. by the time he had finished his meal, mr. thompson returned to the front of the house with two animals, and taking the stranger's horse to the stable, after the saddle had been put on the fresh one, he returned to the house. he gave his wife some advice about the boys and their mission, then he and the stranger mounted their animals and loped off at a good gait for the ranche of old mr. tucker, three miles away. the boys had started some while before their father, as it only required a few minutes to catch and saddle their ponies that were picketed in front of the house, on a patch of buffalo grass not twenty yards away. in less than half an hour they were at the nearest ranche, and had delivered their message. they then rode on and made the rounds of the circuit assigned them, relating the bad news as they travelled from cabin to cabin as quickly as their hardy little indian ponies could carry them. while on their mission the boys talked over the story of the massacre, joe explaining many things in connection with the savage method of making a raid on a white settlement. those were things which rob did not fully understand, but with which joe was familiar, having been told all about them by the friendly pawnees. he told rob that he was crazy to go on the little expedition, but did not dare ask permission. "father might be willing, maybe," suggested rob, "though i'm sure that mother and the girls would object." "i'll bet that i can find the trail of the cheyennes, for i know better than any one who is going along, that they were cheyennes who made the attack," said joe. "that man who came down with the news don't know much about indians; i could tell that by the way he talked; he's a 'tender-foot.' he admitted to papa he'd only been in the country a very short time." "by jolly! i'll bet he was scared when he saw those indians," said rob; "he wasn't used to such sights!" "how he must have ridden his horse," said joe. "i never saw an animal so frothy in my life before; did you, rob? you could have scraped a wash-tub of lather off him!" "if the cheyennes have left any kind of a trail after them, i can tell just how many there were of them," continued joe, "but they are ahead of all other indians in covering up their tracks; old yellow calf has told me so a dozen times. i expect that it was charley bent's band of dog soldiers that made the raid." "what are dog soldiers?" inquired rob. "why, the young bucks of a tribe who will not obey the orders of their chief; renegades who will not be controlled by any custom. those indians who have not done anything yet to make them warriors, and who go off on their own hook to murder and steal, and to fire the cabins of the poor settlers, thinking that if they can get a few scalps of women and children they will be recognized by the rest of the tribe as braves. sometimes there are 'squaw-men' among them, that is, white men who have married indian women; generally bad men who have committed some crime where they used to live and dare not go back to where they came from." "who is charley bent?" asked rob. "that is not an indian name, surely!" "i know it isn't," answered joe. "he's a half breed; half white and half cheyenne. his mother was a cheyenne squaw, and his father was colonel bent, one of the most celebrated frontiersmen of his time. charley was well educated in st. louis, but when he returned to his father's home, at bent's fort, way up the arkansas river, in what is now colorado, he threw off the white man's dress and manner of living, joined the indians, and became, in his devilishness, the worst savage to be found in the whole indian country. the united states government has offered a thousand dollars for him, dead or alive. somebody will catch him yet; the army scouts are after him red hot, so the pawnees told me." "i wish the pawnees, lots of 'em, were back on the creek, joe," said rob, continuing the lively conversation they had been keeping up ever since they started from the ranche; "wouldn't they like such a chance to go after their old enemies?" "i expect they will be here sooner than usual, this coming autumn; one of the boys told me so when the band left; but it will be four months yet before we may look for them." "are you going to ask to go with the party to the elkhorn, joe?" asked rob of his brother. "no, i think not. i intend to be still unless some of the crowd drop a hint they'd like to have me along; then i'll speak out." by four o'clock the boys returned to the ranche, having warned twelve families of the impending danger. all the men expressed their readiness to go with mr. thompson and the others to circumvent the savages on their raid. when joe and rob had turned their ponies out to graze and went back to the house again, they found a dozen men there already, waiting for the return of their father and the stranger. the anxious group sat on the veranda, discussing the state of affairs, suggesting to each other what course should be pursued concerning those settlers who would have to remain in the valley with their wives and children. uncle dick smith, as he was familiarly called, an old man with white hair and long white beard, who had had some experience with the savages in his earlier days in wisconsin, suggested that while the scouting party were absent, job wilkersin's stone corral would be the best place for the settlers to rendezvous in case the indians came down into the valley of the oxhide. after some discussion, however, it was agreed to let the question remain open until mr. thompson and the other men should arrive. a short time before sundown a group of horsemen could be seen coming down the trail from the north. they were those for whom the crowd at errolstrath were anxiously looking. when they rode up to the house, headed by mr. thompson, they dismounted, fastened their horses to trees, and after a hurried meal which the girls had been getting ready during their father's absence, they all adjourned to the lawn outside of the veranda, and the subject was renewed as to what those should do who were compelled to remain behind on the oxhide. mr. wilkersin was among them, and as he stated his house was the largest in the neighborhood, and his big stone corral a grand place for defence in case the savages continued on their raid, it was agreed to rendezvous there. twenty determined men in the corral could keep off a hundred indians, and besides there was food enough at his house for every one who should go there. he further said that he would be glad to assist his friends thus much in trying times like these. rob, who was familiar with the location of every cabin in the settlement, was immediately despatched on a fresh horse to call on the people and communicate the result of the conference. he was to tell them where to go in the event of the indians coming into oxhide valley after the scouting party had left for the elkhorn. there were about thirty men who were obliged to remain at home; too old to undertake the fatigue of the long night's ride contemplated. they were all excellent shots, many of them having been pioneers in the settlement of the states east of the mississippi when they constituted the far west. when all the men who could be mustered for the expedition had arrived at errolstrath, there were about fifty. old man tucker was unanimously chosen for their leader, with the title, by courtesy, of captain. he was a man nearly sixty-five years old, but had been early recognized by the settlers of the valley as one to whom they could look whenever the affairs of the neighborhood demanded the exercise of good judgment or sound advice. he was well educated, having graduated at yale, but after graduation a quarrel with his father resulted in his drifting out on the frontier, where his life had been that of a trapper and hunter. he was as active as any of the young men, so his age in this case did not militate against him. he was the best rifle-shot in the valley, and if, like davy crockett, he failed to hit a squirrel in the eye, "it didn't count!" the stranger from spillman creek was named alderdyce, as he had informed mr. thompson while on the trip with him, and, as many of those who now met him for the first time desired to hear his story, he related the details of the horrid massacre again. at its sickening recital a majority became impatient of delay, and wanted to start on the trail of the savages at once, although the whole valley was flooded with the golden glow of sunset. joe stood modestly in the crowd, eagerly drinking in the awful story told by mr. alderdyce, and he noticed how anxious the scouting party was to get away. he knew that this would be the height of absurdity until night had closed in, and in all probability would defeat the very object of the expedition, so he ventured to suggest that it would be better to wait until after dark. old mr. tucker knew as well as the boy's father that joe's judgment in matters relating to savage methods when on the war-path was far in advance of his sixteen years. his ideas and opinions commanded a consideration his age did not otherwise warrant, so the keen observation he had developed since his intimacy with the pawnees, and the astuteness he had imbibed from them, caused mr. tucker to ask the boy's reasons for his suggestion. joe replied hesitatingly: "i believe it's better to wait until dark. the runners, as their spies are called, of the hostile band, are, i honestly think, at this moment stationed on some of the highest points of the valley. they are watching to learn if there will be any demonstration made against the raiding band from this settlement. if this is true, and i believe it is, they should not be permitted to see our party start out. if they do discover that a number of mounted men are riding on the prairie, they will hang on their trail, keep the main band warned of every movement, and you could not effect anything. in that case you might as well stay at home." upon these hints so forcibly thrown out by joe, nearly every one at once coincided with his opinion, and the captain decided to act upon the boy's judgment. joe, who was always an attentive listener, rarely obtruded his ideas into the conversation of his elders; in reality he was of rather a reticent disposition, a trait generally indicative of bravery, but he was ever ready to venture an opinion when asked for it, fearlessly and in great earnestness. so during the discussion of the supposed details of the morning's massacre, captain tucker asked him what he thought of the probability of the savages coming down to the elkhorn from the scene of their raid on the spillman. "well, mr. tucker," replied joe, "distance is never considered by an indian. if a band start on a raid and are successful at the beginning, they will keep on a dozen miles or five hundred; it makes no difference to them; they'll wear out any animal but a wolf. if the massacre was complete, as mr. alderdyce thinks, they will probably keep right on murdering, scalping, and firing the cabins, until they get a setback. my own opinion is that they will go down to the elkhorn or some other place where there is a settlement, and if successful again, will continue on and come to the oxhide, perhaps, now they have tasted blood. but if they have met with a repulse anywhere, or learn that the united states troops are after them, they may abandon their raid and be now a hundred miles on the trail to their village." joe was evidently fidgety; he wanted to go along, and as the captain and his father had questioned him so earnestly on such important matters, he thought he had a right to be one of the party; still, he said nothing until captain tucker, noticing the boy's anxious countenance, asked him if he would like to go with them. joe answered very quickly in the affirmative, but it was with much hesitancy that his parents gave their consent. the neighbors gathered at the ranche, however, importuned very earnestly in his favor, declaring that the success of the expedition might depend materially upon their decision whether the boy should go or not. of course, to resist such an appeal was out of the question, coming as it did almost unanimously from their friends, so joe was permitted to accompany the party. hurriedly did the delighted boy go out to the corral and saddle his favorite pony, a coal-black little animal, very swift, full of endurance, sure-footed as a mule, and as obedient to the touch of its young master's hand and legs as a well-trained circus horse. soon returning, he tied him with the other animals to a tree and then went into the house to prepare himself for the venturesome trip. coming back on the veranda in a few moments dressed in the buckskin suit given him by the old chief yellow calf, he looked the very impersonation of a veteran frontiersman, and but for his childish face might have passed for a veritable army scout. he slung his rifle across the horn of his saddle; its complement of bullets in his pouch he fastened to the cantle, while the powder-flask was suspended by a cord thrown over his shoulder. he also carried his flint and steel, thinking he might have occasion to use it, and with a small lantern was ready for whatever he might be called upon to do. as the welcome darkness would not come for an hour yet, the party kept their animals concealed in the thick timber near the cabin. they sat quietly in the shadow of the veranda, so that if there were any of the hostile spies in the vicinity, as joe had suggested there might be, they would not be able to observe any unusual demonstration on the place, as the house was completely masked by the giant trees surrounding it. [illustration: "he looked the very impersonation of a veteran frontiersman."] by eight o'clock it was dark enough to venture out, and the party quietly mounted their horses, and strung out in single file down the narrow trail leading from the ranche to the ford of the smoky hill. tucker, joe, and alderdyce were at the head of the line. every one was familiar with the trail as far as the river, for it was the main travelled track to the village of ellsworth. it was six miles from errolstrath, and contained a general store, a blacksmith shop, and the post office for all the surrounding country. the ford crossed the smoky hill about two miles east of the little hamlet, but the party did not follow the trail up the river. they took a shorter cut over the hills bordering the stream where there was a series of buffalo paths running northward in the direction they wanted to go. they thus saved a détour of three or four miles, an important consideration where time was of the greatest consequence. the buffalo paths all came out on the other side of the high divide separating the saline from the smoky hill. a short distance beyond the summit of the ridge, and down a gradual slope, was one of the valleys of the several tributaries which gave the many-branched stream called the elkhorn, its suggestive name. after the party had forded the smoky hill, the country was unknown to all excepting alderdyce and joe. the latter had often accompanied the pawnees on their hunts as far as the saline and paradise creeks, twenty-five miles from the oxhide. all had been travelling up to that point in groups of twos and threes on the flat river bottom, but now again they strung out in indian file, following joe and alderdyce slowly up the divide and down on the other side. they then all moved out more rapidly into a short, quick lope as the ground was more level for several miles. at the end of the level stretch they halted, as they were approaching the beginning of the limestone region. following joe's advice they dismounted and muffled the hoofs of their horses with gunny sacks which they had brought for that purpose, in order to prevent the sound of the animals' feet from being heard by any of the savage runners. this wise precaution was frequently employed by the scouts of the army with general sheridan during his celebrated winter campaign against the allied tribes of the plains, when the troops were obliged to travel at night through the enemy's country. it was soon after they had passed the limestone region that a heavy rolling prairie, over which the trail ran up one slope and down another of the rocky divides, separated the narrow intervales between. most of the time it was a hard, killing pace for the poor horses, as they had travelled for hours continuously without a halt, excepting to muffle their feet. the settlement must be reached before daylight, or perhaps it would be too late to thwart the murderous schemes of the indians, who always chose the early hours of the dawn in which to commit their atrocities. at that time when sleep oppresses most heavily, life and death were the issue, and the tired animals could not be mercifully spared. would they be able to hold out with ten miles of the same cruel lope ahead of them, before the breaks of the main elkhorn would be reached? there was an hour more of severe riding, during which the heels of the riders and the sharp sting of the quirt were often called into requisition to urge the jaded animals on to their hard duty. they were flecked with foam, their nostrils distended, and they were almost worn out when the terribly earnest men rode down the last divide into the grassy bottom of the first branch of the main elkhorn. the faintest streaks of the coming dawn were beginning to show themselves; the summits of the twin mounds, capped with white limestone, already reflected the rosy tinge of the rising sun, which was still far below the horizon of the valley. the beautiful intervales, through which the party urged their horses, were covered with buffalo grass, and at the farther end, not quite half a mile distant, the fringe of timber bordering the creek could be distinguished as its dark contour cast a still blacker shadow over the sombre valley. there the party halted for a few moments to reconnoitre. captain tucker again had occasion to interrogate joe. he inquired of the young trailer what would be the first acts of the savages when they arrived in the valley of the elkhorn, if indeed they came at all. "well, mr. tucker," replied the boy, "the first thing the indians would do--they'd hide themselves in the timber; lie down in the grass, probably, and then send out one or more of their runners, the very best they had with them, to sneak around and watch for a chance to make a break together on the cabins. then, if the outlook was favorable, and none of the settlers were stirring, they'd go from cabin to cabin, murdering, scalping, and firing the buildings as fast as they could." "well, then," said the captain, as he took both of the boy's hands in his own, and gazed into his bright face, "you know that all the settlers on the oxhide, and your own folks, too, say that you are as much of an indian as if you had been born in a tepee, so far as savage education is concerned. now, i've been talking to your father, and he agrees with me; i want you to do some dangerous work, or at least it is somewhat risky. you are the only one among us all who can do it as it should be done. it is this. while we remain here in the shadow of the timber to blow our animals and graze them a little, i want you to cross the creek on foot, and go up to spillman ford with alderdyce, who will show you where it intersects this branch of the elkhorn, and try to discover, if you can, by the dim light, any signs of indians. i'm inclined to think they have not come down into this valley at all. but i want you to find out where they are, if possible. if you do not find any track of them, after we have rested our horses and warned the settlers of the danger, we will all go on to the scene of the massacre, and there you will be sure to learn where they have gone." joe and alderdyce turned over their horses to one of the men who were on guard watching the animals while they fed on the rich buffalo grass, and then started on foot for the ford of the elkhorn leading to spillman creek. it was about a mile, and during the walk, joe and alderdyce talked over the affair of the morning. joe asked his companion to tell him exactly what the commanding officer had said to him when he reported the massacre to him at fort harker. "well, joe, i will tell you just what he told me. he said that general sheridan had ordered a company of custer's regiment of mounted troopers to be sent to the elkhorn valley and to remain there until the settlers were advised to come in, or the proposed indian war was ended." "now i have an idea," said joe to him. "we shall not find any indians on this trip; the cavalry have already started for the valley, and the savages have got wind of it and have gone back to their village, probably, a hundred miles south of the arkansas. but, anyhow, we'll go on up to the ford and learn what we can." when they reached the crossing, not a sign of a pony's hoof could be discovered, and both gave a sigh of relief as they now knew that none of the savages had come down towards the elkhorn. they hurried back to their party, and joe reported that he had not seen a sign. "good enough," said captain tucker, as he listened to the good news. "now, men," continued he, turning and addressing himself to the party who had gathered near him to learn what report joe and alderdyce might bring, "we will remain here for another hour, and after warning some of the prominent settlers in the valley, we will go up to the head of spillman creek and see what is to be discovered there. who knows but some one may be found hidden in the brush, not daring to come out. we may be able to save a life or two yet." chapter vii arrival of cavalry on the elkhorn--a deer hunt--what the scouts saw--the story of the two little girls--the dead and wounded--men hidden in the brush--an indian legend--arrival of the infantry--the deer hunt in the morning--death of the deer just as the sun appeared above the top of the twin mounds, joe, who could not keep quiet when among the timber or on the prairie, was scouting around on his own hook, while the remainder of the party was lying on the grass eating the cold breakfast they had brought from errolstrath. suddenly he rushed down to them, and yelled at the top of his voice:-- "the cavalry are coming! i saw the gleam of their carbines on the ridge about a mile away toward the trail to fort harker." every man was on his feet in an instant; and sure enough, in a few minutes they heard the clanging of sabres and the sound of the hoofs of approaching horses. presently a fine-looking set of men wearing the fatigue uniform of the united states cavalry, splendidly mounted on sleek bay animals, swung around the point of timber where captain tucker and his scouts from the oxhide valley were standing. the trumpeter sounded the "halt," and in another moment the horses, in obedience to the signal, stood still as if petrified, while the commander of the troop, colonel keogh, of custer's famous regiment, rode forward and talked with captain tucker, whom he had at once recognized as the leader of the scouts. they conversed for some moments, each giving the other what information he had of the movements of the indians. then the colonel told captain tucker that his orders were to camp on the elkhorn with his company, and scout through the valley, protecting the settlers. he said that a detachment of infantry was also ordered to the creek, and was to remain there, while he with his mounted men would move from point to point, and thus prevent the savages from making another raid in that part of the country. he thanked captain tucker for the promptness with which he and his neighbors had responded to the appeal of alderdyce. he said that now the cavalry were there the men might go home feeling assured that no more attacks were to be feared from the indians, and that general sheridan would soon have enough soldiers under his command to whip thoroughly the allied tribes, and force them to a peace which they would be glad to keep. captain tucker told the colonel how bright joe was in relation to indian affairs, and what a great hunter he had already become. after colonel keogh had himself conversed with joe, he took a great fancy to him. he told him that he was going on a deer hunt just as soon as he was settled in camp, and the infantry had arrived, and he invited joe to be one of the party. joe thanked the colonel, and spoke modestly of the compliments which had been paid him by captain tucker. he promised that he would certainly go on the hunt with him, and be delighted to do so. he spoke up boldly: "when do you expect to go, colonel? i know there are lots of red deer and elk, too, on the elkhorn, and this is a good time to find them; i've been here with the pawnees often." the colonel said: "the infantry, in all probability, will reach the creek some time this evening, as they were getting ready for the march when i left fort harker with my troop. suppose, joe, we say the day after to-morrow? you can remain here with me; i have buffalo robes, and you shall have a bed in my tent. so go and ask your father at once and come back to me as quick as you can and report his answer. you'll find me somewhere about the camp. my tent is not yet put up, but you will know it when it is, by its similarity to an indian tepee. it is called a 'sibley,' and was patterned after the sioux lodge by its inventor, an officer of the army of that name." joe, wild with delight, ran off to find his father, to whom he told of the invitation, and finding that no objections were made, thanked him for his permission to remain. captain tucker had informed the colonel that as his men and animals were sufficiently rested, and the horses filled with the rich grass, he intended to go to the scene of the massacre with alderdyce, to find whether any of the settlers were hiding and not daring to show themselves, or if any of the wounded were still living. should he find any of the latter, he would return by way of fort harker and notify the commanding officer, so that he might send an ambulance for them and medical assistance. telling his men of his intentions, they immediately brought in their horses and saddled them. they then mounted, and rode slowly west toward spillman creek, which was about seven or eight miles from the elkhorn. joe, of course, went with them, as they wanted him to find out which way the indians had gone after committing their devilish deeds. he intended to leave the party at the ford of the elkhorn on its return, and to join colonel keogh. in about two hours the party arrived at the mouth of spillman creek, and the first evidence of the acts of the savages confronted the men. riding up to a small cabin which the indians had not consigned to the torch, no doubt having missed it on their fiendish rounds, they discovered two little girls crouched in one of its dark corners. one of them was only six years old, and her sister but eight. they were very bright for their age, and told a wonderfully sad story of their escape from the indians. they said that a big band of savages rode up to their home very early in the morning; that their father and mother were not yet out of bed. the indians killed both of them, and after setting the house on fire, threw the children on their ponies and rode off. coming to the top of a high hill, they saw a company of soldiers in the distance, and they then dropped them on the prairie and hurried away as fast as their ponies could run. the girls were not hurt at all. they wandered on, frightened nearly to death, and seeing the cabin down in the valley, they went to it and slept there all night. they had waked very early in the morning, and on going out of doors, saw the wild grapes growing on the vines at the creek; they ate some for their breakfast, but soon hearing the sound of horses' hoofs, and thinking the indians were coming to look for them, they crawled back into the corner where the scouts had found them. captain tucker and the rest of the scouts were in a dilemma at first when they found themselves with the two little orphaned children on their hands; and they did not know exactly what to do. but soon joe's excellent judgment manifested itself. he proposed that one of the men should be sent back to colonel keogh's camp to tell him of their discovery, and ask him to send his ambulance out to take the children to fort harker, where they would be cared for by the kind ladies of the post. the suggestion was acted upon at once. every man volunteered to go, so it was left to the captain to select one. this he did, started him off, and left mr. thompson to stay with the little girls until the arrival of the ambulance. he and the others of the party then rode up on the valley of spillman creek, as the savages appeared to have confined their atrocities to that narrow region. as they were riding close to the bank of the stream, about three miles from where they had found the two girls, they saw a wagon with the horses still attached. as they came up to it for a closer examination, two men, both of whom were known to alderdyce, came out of the underbrush. they had a story to tell, too. early in the morning they were on their way to examine a claim on the spillman, when they perceived at only a short distance from them, what appeared to be a body of soldiers. they were all dressed in blue blouses, and were marching four abreast just as the cavalry do. the men stopped for a moment to get a closer view as they rode up the divide, when to their horror they discovered the supposed soldiers to be a band of indians. they turned their team about, and made for the nearest timber on the creek and hid themselves. next morning they still decided to remain in ambush until they saw some white people. they had plenty of food with them, so they had remained until they were discovered by captain tucker's scouts. learning that all was safe, they climbed into their wagon, whipped up the team, and drove away. presently the scouts came to the remains of a cabin, partly destroyed by fire, where they discovered the dead bodies of a man and woman, probably husband and wife. these they decently buried and rode on. they next found the body of a young man, dead in his field, where he had evidently been at work when the savages surprised him. he was murdered with his own hatchet, which was found by his side, his face having been chopped until it was not recognizable. his body was interred too. it is useless to relate all that the scouts saw on their mission of discovery up the spillman. in all, thirty bodies were found, and some dozen or more persons who had been wounded and had managed to hide after the savages had supposed them to be dead. during the next twenty-four hours these were gathered and taken to the hospital at the fort. some recovered, but the majority died. the party returned to colonel keogh's camp, because they had discovered so much that it was thought best he should know. when they arrived there they learned that the little girls had been sent to the fort under an escort of a squad of the troopers, and they also found mr. thompson in the camp waiting for them. after winding their horses for about half an hour, all returned to errolstrath, with the exception of joe, who remained to go on the proposed hunt when the infantry arrived. colonel keogh's tent was already pitched, and joe sat in there with him discussing the atrocities on spillman creek and the deer hunt. "colonel," said joe, "you know that deer have no gall-bladder and the antelope no dew-claws. did you ever hear the indian legend about the reason?" "i know the deer have no gall-bladder and the antelope no dew-claws, but i don't think i have ever heard the reason. what do the indians say about it, joe?" "well, old yellow calf, the chief of the band of pawnees which has camped on our creek ever since we have lived there, told me that a long time ago a deer and an antelope met on the prairie near the great bend of the arkansas. at that time both animals had a gall and dew-claws. they fell to talking together and bragging how fast each could run. the deer claimed that he could outstrip the antelope, and the antelope that he could beat the deer. they got awfully mad at each other, and finally determined they would try their speed. the stakes were their galls, and the trial was made on the open prairie. the antelope beat the deer and took the deer's gall. the deer felt very unhappy at his defeat, and he became so miserable over it, that the antelope felt sorry for him, and to cheer him up took off both his dew-claws and gave them to the deer. ever since then the deer has had no gall-bladder, and the antelope no dew-claws. "i met some kaws once, and i told them what the pawnees had told me about it, and the chief of that band said the story the pawnees had told was only partly correct. the kaw chief's version was that after the antelope had won the race, the deer said to him, 'you have won, but that race was not fair, for it was over the prairie. we ought to try again in the woods to decide which of us is really the faster.' so the antelope agreed to run the second race, and on it they bet their dew-claws. the deer beat the antelope that time, because he could run faster than the antelope through the timber, over the fallen trunks of trees, and in the thick underbrush, and he took the antelope's dew-claws." "well, joe, that is a very funny story; i never heard it before." then, looking out of the front of his tent, the colonel turned to joe, and said, "there comes the company of infantry, so we may go on our hunt to-morrow." joe ran out and watched the infantry as they filed into the timber. it was after sundown, but far from dark. the men were soon settled in their tents, their camp-kettles bubbling over the fires, and preparations in full swing for their evening meal. joe wandered among the troops and soon picked up an acquaintance with them. they admired his indian suit, and earnestly listened to the tale of his adventures with the pawnees. presently he was called by the colonel's orderly to come to supper. he went back to the sibley tent, where he sat down at the table with colonel keogh and his two lieutenants. their simple table was improvised out of the end gates of two of the wagons, and the cook, a colored soldier, had managed to provide an excellent meal, and as joe was very hungry, he did ample justice to it. when the trumpets and the bugles sounded the retreat, joe went out with the colonel, who inspected the men to see that everything was in good order for the night. they then returned to their canvas quarters, where the colonel smoked his pipe, and again discussed to-morrow's hunt with the boy. they were to make a very early start in the morning, so, as soon as "taps" had sounded, which meant that all lights must be put out and the soldiers retire to their tents, the colonel suggested to joe that he had better go to bed, while he would sit up a while and write out his report to the commander at fort harker. calling in the orderly, the colonel told him to fix up a sleeping-place for the boy. the man spread four heavy buffalo robes on the floor of the tent, and putting two blankets on top, the bed was ready for joe, who tumbled into it and was soon fast asleep. when the trumpeter sounded the reveille, at the first streak of dawn the next morning, the colonel, who had already risen, called joe, who bounded out of his soft bed like a cat. breakfast was ready in a few moments, and after he and the colonel had eaten, and the latter had given his orders to the officer who was to command the camp during his absence, joe and he started out on foot for the hunt. the night had been cold, and although it was the middle of may, the white rime of the late frost covered the earth. it was a good omen, as the sharp footprints of the animals could be more easily distinguished. carefully examining their rifles and cartridges as they walked briskly on, they soon struck the main branch of the elkhorn, and continued along its margin in a southerly direction for a mile or more, when they came to a little opening. there joe suddenly stopped, and turning to colonel keogh, who had on the instant also halted, said, "doesn't that look a little deerish, colonel?" the colonel, though a good shot and hunter, could distinguish nothing out of the ordinary after scrutinizing the ground to which the boy had pointed. the earth looked the same everywhere in the colonel's eyes. "here!" said joe, as, noticing the bewildered appearance of his new friend, he turned over a fallen cottonwood leaf with his foot. there the colonel saw, after carefully stooping down, the very faint impress of a hoof. "is that a fresh track, joe?" he asked. "you may be sure it is," replied joe, "and only about an hour old!" "well, i want _that_ deer," said colonel keogh, enthusiastically. he rose from a stump on which he had been sitting for a few moments, with his rifle across his knees, and started quickly for a little patch of box-elder not a hundred yards distant. "hold on, colonel!" said joe, cautiously; "the deer isn't there now. don't you see his hoof-marks point the other way? look, here's where he's nibbled the grass," pointing with his rifle to a strip of bunch-grass in the opposite direction from the box-elders. "let's go on, colonel; deer don't stay long in one spot so early in the day, and if we don't get a move on us, it may be hours before we can get a shot at 'em." they trudged on for about a mile and a half, walking side by side, the colonel telling the boy some of his experiences in the war of the rebellion. suddenly joe, touching the colonel's shoulder, said, "hark!" in a hoarse whisper, at the same instant elevating his head like a stag-hound that has just winded game. in another minute they heard a rustling as though something were stepping on dead leaves. "there's a buck deer in there, and a big one, too," said joe, in a whisper, as he pointed to a bunch of upland willows whose slender tops were oscillating slowly as if disturbed by a gentle breeze, though there was not a breath of wind blowing. "he's probably got a half dozen or more does around him, and if we are mighty careful, we may both get a shot." the willow copse was on the top of a little knoll, and the ground was smooth on the side of it where the colonel and joe stood. here and there at intervals were great trees, but without any underbrush to snap under their feet as they quietly trod over the soft, black soil. at joe's suggestion, he and the colonel separated, widening the distance between them to about twenty paces, colonel keogh on the right of joe. they crept on as silently as savages on the trail of an enemy, and soon arrived at the base of the elevation, which was only some fifty yards to its crest. there they noticed that the dark earth had been cut up in every direction by the sharp, delicate foot-marks of the creatures supposed to be in front of them. a significant glance rapidly passed from one to the other as they drew nearer their quarry. at that juncture, just as they reached the edge of the copse, each masked himself behind a good-sized cottonwood, which seemed to have grown where it did for their especial use. the colonel in his enthusiasm could not repress the remark in a whisper to joe:-- "look there, joe. there's a dozen deer!" sure enough, right in front of them were a dozen fat does lying down ruminating their morning meal. the old buck, the guardian of the whole herd, was standing up as if watching over his charge, and stamping the ground with his sharp hoofs to drive off the buffalo gnats that swarmed thickly around him. in another instant, at a signal previously agreed upon, a low whistle from the colonel, the rifles of the hunters were discharged simultaneously, and all but two of the terribly frightened animals bounded off through the timber. before the echoes of the pieces had died away, joe was among the struggling deer with his hunting-knife, cutting their throats while they were yet in their death throes. the stately buck had been the colonel's game, and he asked joe to take its head to the ranche so that the pawnees, when they arrived in the autumn, could preserve it with its magnificent set of antlers, which he desired to keep as a trophy of their hunt. it was but a little more than two miles to camp, and they did not have to wait more than an hour for a wagon to arrive, as the driver had been told by the colonel to start the moment the sharp double report of the rifles reached his ears. the dead animals were soon loaded into it, and the proud hunters walked leisurely alongside of it, back to camp, arriving there before eleven o'clock. the deer were skinned by joe. the meat was cut up into saddles and haunches, and hung on the limb of a great tree, to secure it from the prowling wolves, who already scented blood and began to make their appearance on the bluffs, so keen is the nose of that vicious and cowardly brute. the colonel had brought with him from the fort, half a dozen hounds, among them some of general custer's celebrated animals, but they were left tied up in camp that morning, as the colonel had decided to make a still hunt the first day, and to chase with the dogs the next. that evening, just as all were about to roll themselves up in their blankets, a scout arrived from fort harker with the intelligence that the cheyennes and the kiowas, under the leadership of the bloodthirsty sa-tan-ta, the notorious war-chief, had made a raid upon the settlements near council grove, and custer was leaving at once for the field with his regiment. as colonel keogh's company was part of it, he must return to fort harker immediately, and another detachment of colored infantry were on their way to take its place on the elkhorn. all was bustle in a few moments. tents were struck, and in less than an hour the cavalry command was on its way, joe riding at the head of the column with the colonel. they arrived at fort harker long before daylight, and joe bade the colonel good by and rode on to errolstrath, where he pulled up his pony just as his father and rob were coming out of the house to go to the spring to wash themselves. the boy was gladly welcomed back by all the family, and they sat at the table for more than an hour after they finished eating their breakfast, listening to joe's experiences at the scene of the massacre, and his hunt with colonel keogh. chapter viii mr. tucker passes the night at errolstrath--he tells some stories of hunting big game in the rocky mountains--sagacity of the female bighorn--the american cougar--the bear and the panther--the rabbit hunt--how the boys trained their hounds. that evening many of those who had acted as scouts under captain tucker came to errolstrath, where, on the shady veranda they discussed their trip and the possibilities of a prolonged indian war. the kiowas had inaugurated hostilities by their raid on the settlements near council grove. general sheridan had already established his headquarters at fort harker, and every preparation was going on at that post for a winter campaign against the allied tribes. after the group on the porch had talked matters over for about two hours, they all went to their respective homes excepting old mr. tucker, whom the family had invited to stay all night. as it was but eight o'clock when the others left, joe and mr. tucker turned to the subject of hunting big game, and the latter told some of his own adventures when he was a trapper in the rocky mountains many years ago. as joe had never seen the bighorn of that region, mr. tucker related an adventure he once had when hunting for a pair of young ones. he was up in the yellowstone range, not very far from the scene of custer's unequal battle with sitting bull, in which the general's entire command was annihilated by the savages. "my camp was on the green river," began the old man, "and one morning while i was out baiting my traps, i noticed a she bighorn that i knew would soon have little ones. i was determined to have a pair of kids, as i had a sort of a small menagerie at my camp, but it contained no bighorn. so i started to follow her trail and stay with her until her kids were born, when i intended to capture them and make pets of them. "i followed her for about two weeks, and was sometimes compelled to creep cautiously after her in my stockinged feet. my stockings were clumsy things made of buckskin, not such stockings as you buy. one evening being so near her, and obliged to climb a steep mountain, i took out my knife and cut off all the silver trimmings of my buckskin suit, so that nothing could jingle and scare her. "at last, after tracking her day after day, i came upon her den, where she had brought forth two kids. it was the very top of one of the tallest peaks in the wind river mountains, in a sort of cave about five feet deep, worn in the side of an enormous rock. when i first got a sight of the kids, they were nearly two weeks old, and were jumping and playing as all of the goat or sheep family are wont to do. "they were alone, but their mother was on the brink of a precipice, within a hundred yards of them, carefully looking down into the valley below to see if she could discover anything hostile. they are great watchers. the old one had not seen me, and i had made a détour to the very summit of the mountain, where i could see that there was a trail which the mother used to travel in going to and from her young ones. i felt sure that once at the mouth of the cave or hole in the big rock, i might easily capture the kids, for which i had footed it so many miles and followed so many days. "before i reached the entrance of the den the old one caught a glimpse of me, and in an instant, filled with the courage which the maternal instinct always prompts, she was upon me and trying to get the sharp point of her crooked horns into my legs to toss me over the precipice which formed one of the walls of the mountain. the trail on which i was standing was narrow and slippery. i had left my rifle on the top of the divide, and was in a mighty tight place, for the female bighorn is almost as dangerous as a tiger when enraged and solicitous for the safety of her little ones. "i fought off the infuriated mother with my hands and feet as well as i could, but the rage of the brute increased terribly every second. just then she caught sight of her kids, and leaving me, she rushed toward them and ran around them several times, as if telling them she wanted them to do something in her great trouble. "the distance from the wall of one mountain to the precipice of the other was but eight feet. both had originally been but one mountain, but ages ago some great convulsion of nature had split them apart, and had left a huge fissure between them at least two thousand feet deep, with walls as smooth as glass. "the old one ran back and forth from the precipice to the kids several times, showing them as plainly as if she could talk that they must make the leap to escape from their natural enemy. at last, as if the whole matter was understood, the mother flew back to the edge of the cañon, the little ones hot in her tracks, and then all three made the jump, just clearing the frightful gorge by half the length of the young ones. "i was dumfounded for an instant, but soon recovered my senses and went for my rifle, but the coveted animals were far out of range on the top of the twin peak. i then returned to my camp on green river more than a hundred miles away, disgusted and worn out, and never again attempted to capture the kids of the bighorn in the fashion of my first venture." joe and the rest of the family, remembering joe's scrap with the young panther, asked the old man if he had ever had any fight with one of them. he said that he had, and would tell them all about it. then they would go to bed, as it was very late for the ranche folks to be up. "i remember the day you had that tussle with a young panther, joe, and i tell you that you got off mighty luckily; the chances were that the animal would have made mincemeat of you if it hadn't been for that thrust with your knife. "the california lion, puma, or panther, as the animal is indifferently called according to locality, once had a very extensive range on the north american continent. it could be found from the adirondacks to patagonia, but now, like nearly all of our indigenous great mammals, is relatively scarce, and is rapidly following the sad trail of the buffalo. "although sometimes called a lion, he in nowise resembles either his african or asiatic namesake. he is more nearly related to the tiger in his habits, though lion-like in color. he is the puma or american cougar of the naturalists. he is really a long-tailed cat, and the only true representative of the genus felis on the continent. "he is a splendid fellow, too, with sleepy green eyes, skin as soft as velvet and beautifully mottled, and teeth half an inch long and sharp as razors. his paws measure four inches across, and his limbs are as finely proportioned as a sculptor could desire, while all his muscles are as brawny as a prize-fighter's. his breast is broad, and his body as flexible as a snake's. he is an active climber and generally drops or springs upon his prey from a limb where he has carefully secreted himself. like the majority of wild beasts, he generally runs from man, excepting when cornered, or in the case of a female with kittens when suddenly met; then her motherly love presents itself as strongly as in any other animal. "the cougar attains its greatest size in the rocky mountains, where its body reaches a length of four feet ten inches, and its tail from two to two and a half feet. "the american panther has one inveterate foe, the bear. the grizzly and the panther are mortal enemies. the famous trappers i have known, such men as kit carson and lucien b. maxwell, have told me that in these animals' frequent combats, the panther generally comes out victor, and that in their early trapping days they often came across the carcass of a bear which had evidently met its death in a lively encounter with a mountain lion, as they called it. "carson once related a contest of that character which he had accidentally witnessed. a large deer was running at full speed, closely followed by a panther. the chase had already been a long one, for as they came nearer to where he stood, he could see both of their parched tongues hanging out of their mouths, and their bounding, though powerful, was no longer as elastic as usual. the deer having discovered in the distance a large black bear playing with her cub, stopped for a moment to sniff the air, then coming nearer, he made a bound with head extended, to ascertain whether the bear had kept her position. as the panther was closing with him, the deer wheeled sharply around, and turning almost upon its own trail, passed within thirty yards of its pursuer. the panther, not being able at once to stop his career, gave an angry growl and followed the deer again, but at a distance of some hundred yards. hearing the growl, the bear drew her body half out of the bushes, remaining quietly on the lookout. soon the deer again appeared, but his speed was much reduced, and as he approached the spot where the bear lay concealed, it was evident that the animal was calculating the distance with admirable precision. the panther, now expecting to seize his prey easily, followed about thirty yards behind, his eyes so intently fixed on the deer that he did not see the bear at all. not so the bear; she was aware of the close proximity of her wicked enemy, and she cleared the briars before her and squared herself for action, when the deer with a powerful spring passed clear over her head and disappeared. "at the moment the deer took the flying leap the panther was close upon him, and was just balancing himself for a spring, when he perceived, to his astonishment, that he was now face to face with a formidable adversary. not in the least disposed to fly, he crouched, lashing his flanks with his long tail, while the bear, about five yards from him, remained like a statue, looking at the panther with her fierce, glaring eyes. "they remained thus a minute: the panther agitated, and apparently undecided, and his sides heaving with exertion; the bear perfectly calm and motionless. gradually the panther crawled backward until at the right distance for a spring; then throwing all his weight upon his hinder parts to increase his power, he darted upon the bear like lightning and forced his claws into her back. the bear then, with irresistible force, seized the panther with her two fore paws, pressing it with the weight of her body and rolling over it. carson said that he heard a heavy grunt, a plaintive howl, a crashing of bones, and the panther was dead. "the cub of the bear came after a few minutes to learn what was going on, examined the victim, and strutted down the hill followed by its mother, who was apparently unhurt. the old trappers used to claim that it was a common practice of the deer, when chased by the panther, to lead him to the haunt of a bear; but i won't vouch for the truth of the statement. "i have killed several of the creatures," continued mr. tucker, "but never had a very serious tussle, excepting once, up in what was then called the klikatat valley, in washington territory. i had been out after elk, but had not seen any, and was going up a very narrow, rocky ravine looking for their tracks. when i arrived at the head of the little cañon, i heard a snarl. casting my eyes in the direction of the sound, i saw, to my dismay, a she panther on a flat ledge under a clump of dwarf cedars, with three kittens alongside of her. "the enraged beast was in the attitude of springing, when i caught sight of her. i had no time to pull my rifle to my shoulder or jump aside. the ravine was so narrow that there was not room enough between the jagged walls to raise the piece and take aim. so quick were the cat's movements that she was almost upon me, her mouth wide open and her claws unsheathed ready for business. i was calm, for i had trained myself never to become excited under danger, and just as she jumped for me i cocked my piece, stuck the muzzle down her throat, and pulled the trigger as she fell upon my shoulder. "the shot killed her instantly, but not before she had ripped some of the flesh off my arm as she rolled to the ground. it was a remarkably close shot, and a lucky one for me too. i skinned her, but was so sore that i had to return to my camp and dress my wounds, which healed in a few days." when the story was finished, they all went to bed. mr. tucker promised the boys and girls he would remain over the next day and go on a rabbit hunt which they had planned for the morning. it proved to be a glorious day as the sun rose next morning in a cloudless sky. breakfast was out of the way by six o'clock, and the boys saddled their buffalo ponies, as they called those which they had captured out of the herd; their sisters' ponies also were saddled. gertrude had a very gentle animal which her father had traded for with the pawnees, but he was blind in one eye, and she called him bartimæus, or barty for short. he was hard to catch, but when caught was a quiet, easily ridden animal. kate's was an iron-gray which had been born on a neighboring ranche, and especially broken for her benefit. he was of that small breed peculiar to texas, and his power of endurance was phenomenal. on a long journey, with only the wild grass to subsist on, they soon wear out the pampered steed of the stable. the relation between ginger and his young mistress was remarkable for the confidence and affection each had in and for the other. he was now five years old, and kate had trained him herself, but had never used whip, spur, or severe curb during her long and patient training. consequently ginger responded cheerfully and promptly to her every command. his education had been based upon gentleness and affection. her love for him was reciprocated in a manner bordering upon human intelligence, thus confirming the theory that kindness is more effective in subordinating the brute creation to our will than the club or kindred harsh measures. kate's pony had never been confined by fence or lariat; he roamed at will all over the beautiful prairie or in the timber surrounding errolstrath. yet day or night, in sunshine or in storm, if kate required his services, she had only to go and call him, and if within the sound of her voice, he would come galloping up to her, neighing cheerfully. when he arrived where she stood, bridle in hand, waiting for him, he would affectionately rub his nose on her arm or shoulder, and submissively follow her to the house. if he happened to be a long way off when she went to seek him, she would jump on his bare back and ride him home. he was always rewarded on these occasions with a lump of sugar or salt, of both of which he was very fond. in the three years of their companionship neither girl nor pony had ever deceived each other: his sugar or salt was never forgotten, nor had he once failed to respond to her summons. it made no difference when kate wanted to go anywhere, whether she mounted ginger bareback and bridleless, or with saddle. under either condition she was perfectly at her ease, and he equally obedient to her voice, by which alone she frequently guided him. he was as fleet as the wind, and more than once kate had run down a cottontail rabbit in a spirited chase over the prairie. she had christened him ginger, not because there was the slightest resemblance to that spice in his color, but rather for the "spice" in his nature. mr. tucker rode his favorite large roan horse, which he had brought to the ranche with him, and which had carried him so bravely on the long and wearisome trip to the elkhorn. the happy little party left errolstrath about seven o'clock, followed by the old hounds bluey and brutus, which were as anxious as their young masters for the excitement of the impending chase. they rode down the oxhide under the shade of the elms which fringed its border, until they arrived at the open prairie a mile from the ranche. there the dogs were ordered ahead, and began to run, eagerly looking out for a sight of any foolish rabbit, cottontail or jack, that might be out on the level stretch of country over which the hunters were now loping. they had not gone on half a mile before they started a big jack from his lair of bunch-grass, where, probably, he had been taking a late nap. with a characteristic bound, jumping stiff-legged for a moment, he fairly flew over the short buffalo sod, the dogs after him with every muscle strained to overtake him before he could hide in some tall weeds, or clump of plum bushes which were scattered throughout the prairie at intervals of five or six hundred yards. ever since they had come into possession of their ponies, joe and rob had trained bluey and brutus in such a manner that they scarcely ever failed to secure any game they hunted. the rabbit is a very swift creature, and has a fashion, when pursued, of suddenly doubling on his own tracks. being so much smaller than a hound, he can perform the feat a great deal quicker than a dog, and if the latter is not trained to know just what to do under such circumstances, and just how to run, the rabbit almost invariably slips away from him. bluey and brutus were taught not to keep close to each other when on the run after rabbits. one of them, generally the younger, when they first started out for a hunt, remained far enough away from his mate to make the turn when the rabbit did, without forging ahead of him, as the foremost hound was sure to do, by the sheer momentum of his rapid running. then, the hound in the rear had plenty of room and time to make the turn as soon as the rabbit, and was right upon him, as close as was the head dog when he doubled on his tracks. then the old dog would recover himself and take his place behind the one that was now ahead, ready for the same tactics whenever the rabbit made another attempt to escape by again doubling on himself. so the race was conducted until the rabbit was caught. that was effected by the dog which happened to be ahead when he came near enough to thrust his long nose under the animal's belly and toss him high in the air, catching him in his mouth as he came down. "admirable!" said mr. tucker, as bluey, who happened to be ahead, tossed the rabbit up and caught him as he fell toward the ground. "i tell you, boys, that's as fine a piece of work as i ever saw done by any hounds i have run with. you must have taken a great deal of pains to teach them to do their work so splendidly?" "it took a long time," said rob, who had really given more attention to training bluey and brutus, than had joe, who had spent more of his spare hours in the camp of the pawnees. "i sometimes almost gave up, they were so stupid when i first tried to teach them, but by degrees they understood what i wanted, and now i will put them against any hounds in the settlement for doing good work." "i must admit," said joe, "that all they can do is to the credit of rob; he has more patience with animals than i have, though you know, mr. tucker, that i am never cruel. i know that you can accomplish more with a dumb brute by kindness than you can with a whip." by noon the hounds had caught ten rabbits--six cottontails and four jacks--and, of course, were played out when the party turned back on the trail to errolstrath. here they found dinner waiting for them, and they all ate heartily, the delightful exercise having made them as ravenous as coyotes. the hounds were not forgotten; they had a rabbit each for their dinner, after eating which, they went to their accustomed beds on the shady side of a haystack near the corral, and slept all the rest of the afternoon. mr. tucker left for his ranche about an hour after dinner, promising to come to visit the family again soon. the family were worried about the impending indian war, and when three o'clock had arrived his mother sent joe up to fort harker to find out if there was any news of custer and the troops under his command, who had gone after the kiowas. chapter ix indian raids--kate is missing--"buffalo bill's" opinion--"buffalo bill" finds her little basket--the soldiers return to the fort without finding her--grief of the family it was after dark when joe returned from his mission to fort harker. he had been very kindly received by the officers, who had heard all about him from colonel keogh. the commanding officer told him that he wanted him to warn the settlers on the oxhide that the war had really commenced; that general sully had had a great fight on the arkansas, and that it could not be considered as a victory. he told him also to tell the people on the creek that at any moment they might be visited by a hostile band, notwithstanding that they were in such close proximity to the post. "you know yourself, my man, that the indians have a faculty of going anywhere they want to go, and all the troops in the army might be fooled in regard to their movements. they are here to-day, murdering, and taking young girls captive, and a hundred miles away to-morrow. "tell the settlers," continued he, "that they must be on the lookout. i have not enough troops to put on guard on every creek. i wish i had; then there would be no danger of any sudden and unexpected raids. why, do you know, joe, that only yesterday, a band of dog-soldiers made an attack on wilson creek, sixteen miles from here, and killed two men who were at work in their hayfield? "it was reported to me about three hours after the affair had occurred, and i sent a company up there, but as they were only infantry,--i have no cavalry now at the post,--the indians were soon out of reach. "i want you to tell the settlers on the oxhide to particularly watch their girls. the indians will get some of them if they possibly can. they don't always murder them, but hold them in a terrible slavery in hopes of getting a heavy money ransom from the government for their release." joe related to his parents all the conversation he had with the officers at fort harker, and early the next morning he and his father rode through the settlement, warning the people to be on their guard. only ten days afterward, when the family at errolstrath were just going to sit down to supper, it was discovered that kate was missing. gertrude went up to her room, supposing she might be reading there, for she was a great devourer of books, but she did not find her. the boys hunted for her in all imaginable places on the ranche where they thought she might possibly be, but could not find her. when joe and rob returned from their fruitless quest, the family were too thoroughly frightened to think of eating. mr. thompson mounted his horse and started to make the rounds of the nearest neighbors to learn whether she was visiting any of them. he returned to the ranche long after dark, but brought no news of her whereabouts, and found every member of the family in tears, and his wife nearly crazy. he was told that kate's pony had come home, riderless, to the corral while he was absent, and a small sumac bush to which his reins were tied, had been torn up by the roots and was dragging at his feet. none of them could conjecture where she could be. "my god!" exclaimed her mother, "if the indians have captured her and carried her off, what shall we do?" "something must be done at once," said mr. thompson. "joe, get your pony quickly, and we will hurry to the fort to learn whether any indians have been seen or heard of in this vicinity to-day. if so, we will get the commanding officer to send out a squad of soldiers immediately. you must go with them, joe, and trail the savages if you can find any signs of them." joe and his father rode as rapidly to fort harker as their animals could carry them; went to the commanding officer's private quarters, as the business offices were closed after night, and reported to him the terrible anguish which the family were suffering. they immediately adjourned to the adjutant's office, and the commander sent his orderly for the officer of the day. when he made his appearance, he asked him whether any reports had been received concerning indians being in the vicinity. he replied that no such report had been received by him, and it was his belief that none of the hostile savages were in the immediate country. at that moment, buffalo bill entered the room. he was chief of scouts at fort harker, and had just returned from some perilous mission to one of the military posts on the arkansas, and was coming from the stable, to report to the adjutant. he was told of the mysterious disappearance of mr. thompson's daughter kate, and the opinion of the famous indian fighter and courier was asked as to what he thought of the matter, as no indians had been reported in the vicinity. "well," said bill, "because you gentlemen have received no report of the savages, it does not follow that none have been here. _i know that they have been here, and to-day._ as i crossed bluff creek on my way here this afternoon, about six o'clock, i saw in the distance a band of indians, numbering about ten or twelve, riding rapidly south. i hid myself in a ravine so that they should not discover me, but i got a good look at 'em with my field-glass. i think they were comanches, though i can't be certain of that; they might have been cheyennes or kiowas; they were too far off to be made out exactly. now, you ask for my opinion as to what has become of the gentleman's daughter. i believe those indians have her; because they were riding so fast toward their villages, and they are, you know, all south of the canadian. "but don't let mr. thompson worry too much; the simple fact that she is a prisoner among them is bad enough. if among the kiowas, and the chief, kicking bird, is in the village when the band arrives with the girl, he will not allow her to be harmed. he is a cunning old fellow, and knows the value of money. he will have good care taken of her, and get a heavy reward from the government for ransom. if she should fall into the village of sa-tan-ta, god help her! he is the worst demon on the trail; but anyhow, i don't think they will harm her, as they will want a ransom." "well," said the officer, "i am sorry that i have no cavalry at the post, but i will send a detachment of the infantry after them in six-mule wagons. i imagine it will be a useless task to try to catch up with them if, as buffalo bill says, they were going as fast as they could to their village on the canadian. lieutenant hale," said he, turning to the adjutant, "make a detail at once of thirty men, and send them out under a couple of non-commissioned officers on the trail of the savages, if it can be found. anyhow, some sign may be discovered that will tell us whether the girl is with them." then turning to joe, he said: "i wish that you would go with the detachment, for you are the best trailer in the whole country, not excepting our chief scout here, buffalo bill, and he's the prince of all frontiersmen." "well," said buffalo bill, "i've just come off a pretty hard trip, but i volunteer to go with the party; if i can do anything in a case of this kind, fatigue doesn't count." "thank you, bill," said mr. thompson. "i will return to errolstrath and tell my family what has been done, and your favorable opinion that the savages won't harm her: that will be a comfort at least. good night, gentlemen," said he; and he went out and untied his horse from the hitching-post, and rode slowly home. the night was quite dark, though there was a little moonlight, but the detachment did not get away from the post until long after midnight, as there was so much delay in hitching up the teams and turning out the soldiers who had gone to bed. by the time the little train of three wagons arrived at bluff creek, where buffalo bill had seen the indians, the day was just breaking. they could not travel to that point from the fort very rapidly on account of the rough nature of the trail. it was nothing but a series of rocky hills after they had crossed the smoky hill, and was constantly becoming rougher as they approached bluff creek, which was well named on account of its high bluffs. the party halted at the ford where they supposed the savages had crossed, and began to look for indian signs. pony tracks were plainly visible in the soft earth where the trail led down to the water, and buffalo bill dismounted and examined them carefully. he then asked joe to get off his horse and count the hoof-marks. joe did so, and both he and the famous scout agreed that there must have been about a dozen of the savages. crossing the creek, followed by the wagons, joe and he ascended the hill on the other side. they had not proceeded a quarter of a mile when buffalo bill picked up from the trail a small par-flèche basket, which joe immediately recognized as belonging to his sister. "look here, mr. cody, there is her name which i carved myself when i gave it to her. now we know for a fact that the savages have captured her. i know why ginger came home with that little sumac bush fastened to his bridle. kate must have tied him to it, and when the indians swooped down on her, the pony broke loose and tore up the little tree by the roots in his fright, for he was always scared out of his wits at the sight of an indian." the little detachment of soldiers rode on for a dozen more miles, when the mules showed unmistakable signs of fatigue. they could not be made to travel faster than a walk, notwithstanding the persuasive efforts of the blacksnake-whips in the hands of their drivers. so both buffalo bill and joe reluctantly decided that it was no use to follow the indians any farther. they knew the habits of the savages so well, that they were now probably a hundred miles ahead of them, for they always took loose stock along with them so as to change animals when their own horses became leg-weary. very reluctantly, then, the cavalcade was turned round and headed for the fort, where the party arrived at about one o'clock. buffalo bill, as chief of scouts, reported the result of the trip to the commanding officer. all were depressed at the failure of the expedition, but it was impossible that it should have turned out differently, and when joe arrived at errolstrath and related the story of the finding of kate's basket, the grief of the family knew no bounds. all felt keen anguish at the absence of their favorite, and at her sad fate. there was nothing to be done except to wait patiently for some action on the part of the government in ransoming her if she was alive. the family settled themselves into a calm resignation, but the sun did not seem to shine so brightly, nor the birds to sing so sweetly as when the pet of the household was there. even her antelope appeared to partake of the general gloom; it evidently missed its loving young mistress, and would wander around the house, disconsolately seeking her. chapter x how kate was captured by the indians--the band ride rapidly southward--at the indian village--her determination to escape--teaches the squaws--is treated kindly immediately after dinner on the day that kate was missed, she bethought herself that the raspberries might be ripe. she wanted to surprise her mother and sister, but as will be seen, was surprised in such a manner that she never forgot it as long as she lived. without saying a word to her mother or gertrude, she took out of her room a little basket made of par-flèche,[ ] given to joe by the pawnees, and by him presented to her. she went out to the pasture, caught her pony, ginger, saddled him, and rode out to the fatal raspberry patch where once she had such a terrible encounter with a she-wolf. it was a fortunate thing that both the girls had learned to ride, for a sad fate would have been in store for her had she not been a thorough horsewoman. arriving there in less than half an hour, she tied ginger to a sumac bush, and to her delight found that the berries were quite ripe, and was soon absorbed in the task of filling her basket. suddenly, with the rush of a tornado, and uttering the most diabolical yells, a dozen comanches, dressed up in their war paint and eagle feathers, swooped down on the unsuspecting girl as a hawk swoops down on a chicken. before she realized where she was, one of the red devils, leaning over from his pony, caught her by the arms and tossed her in front of his saddle, and in another instant the whole band was dashing away southward as fast as their little animals could be urged. of course, she fainted for a moment, but strangely held on to her basket. when she had recovered from her first shock, the indians endeavored to make her understand by signs that they were not going to hurt her. in fact, they treated her with a sort of savage kindness. the great feather-bedecked brute made her as comfortable as he could in front of him, as he pounded the pony's flanks with his moccasined heels to urge it on as fast as possible. they rode rapidly on, staying for nothing, crossed bluff creek, and reached the arkansas river that night. they waited there for an hour to allow their ponies to graze, and themselves to eat and smoke. they rode on again until daylight the next morning, when the sand hills of the beaver came in sight. there they halted for breakfast, and shared with the now relatively calm girl their dried buffalo meat, and bread made of ground-roots. that evening they arrived at their village on the canadian, more than two hundred and fifty miles from the oxhide. kate was turned over to the squaws, who treated her with the kindness innate in all women, because she was only a little girl. had she been a young woman, that monster jealousy, which makes his home even in the rude tepee of the savage, would have made her lot entirely different. she was allotted to the lodge of an old squaw, the old chief white wolf's fifth wife, whose duty was to guard her and see that she did not attempt to escape. the savages, as buffalo bill had suggested, simply wanted to keep her until the government should offer a ransom for the little captive, so it behooved them not to abuse her. as the days rolled on in their weary length, the white captive became more reconciled to her fate. she had never given up the hope that the officers at fort harker would soon send out the troops to seek her, and that she would be restored to her dear errolstrath home and her parents. at the same time, as she was a most excellent horsewoman, she always thought that if the worst came to the worst, she would make her escape and again ride the long distance she had ridden in coming to the village. when she had regained her self-control on her dreadful journey, she had looked around her and had taken such observations as she could of the lay of the country, the timber, and the general aspect of the trail. even then, in all the terrible excitement of her capture, she thought of escaping at the first opportunity that offered itself. she indelibly imprinted every tree, rock, and ford on her mind, so that the long ride over the trail to the village was like a photograph on her brain to be taken out of its storehouse whenever required. in a very few days she had so ingratiated herself in the good opinion of the women of the village, that they really took a fancy to her. she willingly helped them in all the daily tasks heaped upon them by their hard masters. she learned readily how to tan the different furs which were brought into the place after a hunt, made moccasins, herded the ponies in her turn, and even became such an adept in cooking that she was soon permanently assigned as cook for the occupants of the tepee in which she was lodged. then she was spared the dirtier and harder labor which fell to the lot of the indian women, for she had been brought up by her excellent mother to perform all kinds of work in which a white woman is supposed to become proficient, and now it served her in a way that was never dreamed of. the indians occasionally had flour, but knew of but one way to prepare it. they made a kind of gruel, by boiling, and adding a little salt. a most unpalatable dish! she made bread and biscuit, which she baked in the most primitive way, on a piece of thin iron before the coals of the camp-fire; but then the food was so different from that to which the savages had been accustomed, that no one was permitted to prepare the meals for the lodge where she made her abode, but the white fawn, as they began to call her. like constantinople, every village is overrun with dogs, and they are the most vigilant guards that can be imagined. no one may hope to approach an indian lodge, or a group of them, without being saluted by a chorus of the most unearthly barking and howling from the canine cataract that is sure to pour out the moment a strange footstep is heard. kate, always a lover of pets, immediately began to cultivate the friendship of the dogs of the village. there was, however, something more in her method than mere natural affection for the brute creation; she had an object in view. she knew that when the time arrived for her to attempt to escape, the dogs must be thoroughly attached to her, so that they would regard any movement she might make without the slightest suspicion. this she soon effected, and in a short time every miserable cur in the village was her faithful ally. the intense interest which she took in the herd of ponies may be imagined, for in one of them, at some time in the near future, was concentrated her hope of escaping from the hateful village. she had noticed a little roan pony which seemed to her to possess that power of endurance that would be so necessary when she started on her long and lonely journey to the beloved oxhide. she knew that he was the swiftest animal of the hundred or more in the bunch, for she had watched him often when the dusky warrior who owned him rode away on the hunt. she had read in some favorite magazine at the ranche, that in the old tales of english minstrelsy, the roan horse was the favorite color of the heroes of those stories, and she selected that animal out of the herd to carry her away. so, whenever she could, surreptitiously, she petted him, and he became so attached to her that he would follow her like a dog. the savages watched her very closely, and she dared not think of leaving the village for many long weeks. at last she appeared to be so pleased with her new associations that their vigilance relaxed somewhat, and their eyes were not always upon her. she very rapidly learned the language of her captors, and then, as she could talk to the women, who were really kind to her, her isolation did not seem so hard to bear. the principal food of the savages was dried buffalo meat, and, as it would keep sweet for a long time and was very nourishing, she hid portions of her rations in the hollow of an old elm that stood near her tepee, for use on the trip when the time arrived for her to run away. the clothes which kate wore when she was stolen soon began to show the hard service to which they had been subjected, and finally she had to resort to the blanket for a general wrap like her female associates. she had patched her civilized dress until it was like joseph's coat, of many colors, but she tenaciously clung to it, determining that she would wear it home, if she was fortunate enough ever to return. so she took it off and carefully stored it with her buffalo meat in the hollow of the old elm. she soon became aware that the savages were at war with the whites, for often when the warriors went away dressed up in their feathers and hideous paint, they came back with their ranks decimated, and then there was wailing and howling in the village. she knew, also, that general custer, whom the indians called the crawling panther, was gradually outwitting them, for she heard the sobriquet they had given him often mentioned in their talks around the camp-fires. footnote: [ ] par-flèche is the tanned hide of the buffalo, without the hair. the indians make baskets and boxes of it in which to pack their provisions and other articles when they move their villages. chapter xi thanksgiving day at errolstrath--kate's return--custer's battle with "black kettle"--kate tells her story--the origin of indian corn--a wolf hunt with general custer--a wolf story by the colonel five months had made their sad passage at errolstrath ranche since kate was carried off by the indians. it was now november, and thanksgiving, that day so sacred to every new englander's heart, was rapidly approaching; it lacked but one week of its advent. notwithstanding the sadness which still hovered over errolstrath, the great healer, time, had poured balm into the wounded hearts. there still remained the tender remembrance of the light which the absent one always brought into the house, and the parents still strove to fulfil their obligations to those who were left to them, so thanksgiving was kept as it had been ever since the settlement of the family on the ranche. the mince pies had been baked, the cider bottled, and all that was lacking to make up the complement of the great dinner was a turkey. as, however, the woods were full of them around errolstrath, no uneasiness was felt in regard to the presence of the magnificent bird when he was wanted. joe, upon whom the family depended to keep the larder well supplied with game, intended to go and kill a wild turkey the next day. thanksgiving came the second day following on the twenty-fifth, so there was ample time to procure the principal dish for the coming event. joe had long since ceased to hunt for mere amusement. he had become a veritable pot-hunter, not in the general sense in which the word is used, that is, a man who only kills his game on the ground, but he hunted only when the family needed a change of diet, and desired some kind of game. it was rob's duty that month to bring the cows home and milk them, a duty at which the boys took turn and turn about each month. that evening he was returning home with his charge, and was riding, as usual, one of the buffalo ponies. as he was going along the bank of the oxhide, in the long grass which grew in some places higher than a man's head, his animal suddenly stumbled with both feet, into a prairie dog's hole, and rob was incontinently thrown over his head, falling into the long grass without receiving any injury. as he started to his feet again, he felt something struggling in his hands, for he had involuntarily clutched at the ground when the pony so unceremoniously tumbled him off, and to his great surprise, he discovered that he had accidentally caught a large wild turkey! he held on to the bird manfully, although it tried its hardest to get away from him; and holding it by the legs, he walked on to the corral and drove the cows in. then, still leading his pony, he arrived at the house, and called his mother and gertrude out, exclaiming:-- "i've got the turkey for thanksgiving, and i didn't have to shoot it, either!" joe, hearing the noise, came down from his room, and learning what had caused the racket, said:-- "by jolly, rob, you are a lucky dog; but if any one read of the way you caught it, they wouldn't believe it. i never heard of such a thing before. i sha'n't have to hunt one to-morrow now, and i'm glad of it, for i want to go to the fort to try to find out how the indian war is coming on." "well, joe," said his mother, "as you needn't shoot one now, suppose you kill and pick it while rob is milking, then hang it up somewhere so that the lynxes can't get it, and in the morning gertie and i will get it ready for the oven." joe then took it from rob, who was still holding the struggling creature by the legs, and taking it to the woodpile, he chopped off its head, then he picked it, and hung it up in the smoke-house as the safest place until his mother was ready for it in the morning. thanksgiving day opened clear and cool, but not at all cold, for november in kansas is one of the most delightful months in the whole year. the indian summer is then at its height, and the amber mist hangs in light clouds on every hill, giving to all objects a smoky hue. this mist rests particularly on the bluffs bordering that stream to which general john c. fremont gave the name of "the smoky hill fork of the republican." he first saw it in the late autumn of , when on his exploring expedition to the rocky mountains, and it is into that river that the oxhide empties itself only a short distance from errolstrath ranche. it was intended to have dinner served promptly at noon, and mrs. thompson had so announced to her husband and children, who were all anxious for twelve o'clock to strike. about ten, while she and gertrude were busy in the kitchen, the boys out in the yard, and mr. thompson in the timber, marking some trees he planned to cut down, there rode up to the front porch a strange-looking figure on a roan pony which was evidently nearly blown in consequence of the pace at which it had been driven. the strange object was seemingly a girl, but she was one mass of rags over which was thrown a red blanket, indian fashion. her hair was unkempt, and she sat crossways on her animal, like a savage. mrs. thompson, hearing the sound of a horse's hoofs on the buffalo sod in front of the house, went out with her dish-cloth in her hand to see who the intruder might be. looking at her, she at first thought one of the pawnee boys had come for joe, but when she heard in a sad and apparently disappointed tone a voice which she could never have forgotten: "my heavens! mamma, don't you know me?" she recognized it as that of her lost daughter kate. the cloth dropped from her hand, and she fell prone upon the porch, overcome by the shock. just as gertrude, who had heard her mother's smothered groan, ran out with a tin dipper of water to dash into her face, kate dismounted, and rushing to where her mother was lying, she threw her arms around her neck and began to sob violently. it was then that gertrude, for the first time, saw her sister kate, and she, too, immediately fell upon her lovingly, and for some moments there was weeping, laughing, kissing, and hugging. the boys, in the back part of the house, and their father in the stable, hearing the voices, hurried to the veranda, and in another second all were kissing and hugging the ragged girl, each one trying to outvie the other in their joy at the return of the pet of the household. they fairly dragged kate into the sitting-room, where, for a few minutes, they looked at her in a dazed sort of way. her mother was the first to come to her senses. "the first thing to do," she said, "is to get some decent clothes on the child; then as soon as mr. tucker comes we will have dinner. oh! my, what a thanksgiving it will be!" kate was soon made comfortable in clean linen, and a dress of her sister's, for she had outgrown all that were of her own wardrobe five months before. at this moment mr. tucker rode up to the door, and allowing rob to take his horse to the stable, the old man walked into the house. he was the only invited guest on the thanksgivings at errolstrath. all his family were long since dead, and he was alone in the world; besides, being a new englander, he had not forgotten how to appreciate the most important festival of yankee land. he was wonderfully taken aback when he saw that kate had returned, and he congratulated her with his eyes full of tears; for he was a man with a warm heart, though his early life in the days of the old trappers had given him a rough looking exterior. kate looked like the dear kate of old, as all sat down to a real thanksgiving dinner. she was much browner than when she left errolstrath, because of her constant outdoor life in the indian village. "oh! kate," said her mother, as the happy girl took her accustomed place at the table, between her father and gertrude, "how earnestly i have prayed that you might be restored to us; i felt at times almost in despair, but the thought of the good god's promises to the patient, cheered me up, and i knew that in his own time my prayer would be answered. what a different thanksgiving this is from what we all have expected, when we thought of kate's vacant chair! only think, we have never yet been separated on this blessed day during all the years we have lived at errolstrath! but we little thought that we should be together to-day." "we have much to be thankful for," said mr. thompson; "excellent crops, good luck with our stock, and to cap the climax, our beloved kate is restored to us." the thanksgiving dinners at errolstrath were composed of those conventional dishes which make up the celebration of the festival in new england, and the one at errolstrath that day was perfect in its resemblance to those of the old homestead in vermont. while they were discussing the good things on the table, kate was told how rob had got the turkey for the dinner, and also how matters had progressed at the ranche during her absence, for she was very anxious to know. her father said that he had raised the largest crop of corn since he had been on the creek; that the wolves had carried off two calves from errolstrath, but that many of the neighbors had suffered a great deal more from their depredations, and that a grand wolf hunt was contemplated by the whole neighborhood, for something had to be done to thin out the ravenous creatures. gertrude told how many chickens she had, but joe gave them all the best news they had heard for a long time. "i was over at fort harker yesterday," he said, "and i heard that general custer had attacked the camp of black kettle, the cheyenne chief, on the washita in the indian territory, and completely wiped them out. the war is ended, and the savages are suing for a peace which general sheridan says they will be sure to keep this time. the commanding officer told me that custer would soon arrive at the fort, and that the settlers need have little more fear; that they may go anywhere now without expecting to lose their hair. he said that sheridan had been promoted to the rank of lieutenant-general for the brilliant success of his winter campaign, and that he would shortly be at fort harker on his way to washington." "well, that is glorious news," said mr. tucker. "no more stealing pretty little girls from their homes, eh?" when joe had finished his joyous piece of intelligence, the family adjourned to the big sitting-room, and kate was asked to tell the wonderful story of her capture and escape. she seated herself in her favorite chair, an old boston rocker, brought from vermont and nicely cushioned at the back, and was making ready to begin, when her mother said:-- "what in the world, kate, possessed you to go away from the house that day and to tell none of us where you intended to go?" "why," answered kate, "i remembered that you were very fond of raspberries, and i thought that, as they must be ripe, i would saddle ginger and go up to the patch to get some, for i wanted to surprise you. i took my little indian basket--" [illustration: "i had nearly filled my basket."] "buffalo bill found your basket on the trail the other side of bluff creek ford," interrupted joe, "and that is how we came to know that the indians had captured you." "i remember now," said kate, "that i held on to it for a long time and then dropped it. i don't know why i kept it in my hand. well, as i was saying, i rode out to the patch, tied ginger to a sumac bush, and began to pick the berries, which were ripe as i had expected. i had nearly filled my basket when with a dash that nearly frightened me out of my senses, a band of indians came from the other side of the big ledge, and before i knew where i was, i found myself in front of a horrible-looking savage, and the whole band started south as tight as their ponies could go. i remember hearing ginger give a snort, as he jerked up by the roots the bush i had tied him to, and fairly flew towards the ranche--" "there, mother," said joe, "that's just what i told you when ginger came home with the sumac fastened to his bridle!" "oh, if i could only have jumped on ginger's back," continued kate, "before the indians had got me, they never would have had the ghost of a chance of catching me. but they came upon me before i had the least idea they were anywhere near. "we rode all that afternoon, halting for a few moments, long after dark, for the indians to change ponies, as they had some loose ones with them. we kept on at a good gait all that night, until about daylight, when we stayed for more than an hour on the other side of the arkansas river, to graze the ponies among the sand hills, and for the indians to eat their breakfast. they were quite kind to me; gave me some dried buffalo meat, and brought me some water from the stream in a horn, and tried to make me understand that they did not intend to harm me. "of course, i was frightened at the idea of being carried off by the horrid savages, but i tried to keep my senses, and watched every tree and rock on the trail. i looked at the sun to learn which way we were going, and determined in my mind that i would escape at the first opportunity. "on the tops of the highest points of the hills, i saw the stone monuments, which joe had often told me were placed by the savages on their travels from place to place, as marks to show where water and wood are to be found." "yes," said mr. tucker; "you can see those piles of stones on every hill about here; and from them you can always see water or timber, indicating where to camp." "they were to be seen on every divide we crossed," continued kate; "and besides, i saw lots of the compass-plant, or rosin-weed, the leaves of which, joe had told me, always pointed north, so i felt satisfied if i could ever escape, i would have no trouble in finding my way back to the oxhide.[ ] after a long, wearisome ride, until the next morning, we arrived at the canadian river, which the indians called the 'mai-om,' or red, and on the bank of which was the village consisting of about a hundred lodges. "there i was turned over to the women, who treated me very decently, and i immediately began to study the language, for i knew that that would help me in getting into their good graces. i willingly took hold of the work which falls to the lot of the squaws in every camp, and taught them how to cook after the white style. you may imagine i had plenty to do, for the warriors liked the biscuit i used to make, and they sometimes had a good deal of flour for which they had traded with the white men who bought their furs. "i made friends of the dogs in the village, and there were hundreds of them, some of them miserable curs, but they could make more noise than a pack of wolves; and i thought if i could teach them to know me, they would not bother me when i attempted to run away; for you know that they are the most watchful animals imaginable. at night, not the slightest sound escapes their well-trained ears, and at the approach of a human being, they set up the most terrific barking and howling you ever heard. well, i soon made friends with every one of them, and i could go around the village after dark, and they would not utter a growl. "i watched very closely the large herd of ponies,--there were more than two hundred belonging to the village,--to find out which one of them was the fleetest, and had the most endurance. i picked out the little roan i rode here, and, joe, i will make him a present to you; for if you had not taught me so much about plants, and the methods of the indians, and before all things else, taken such pains with me when i wanted to ride a pony, i never should have been able to run away and come home safely." "thank you, kate," said joe. "we have kept ginger just as finely as ever for you, and he is the best pony in the whole country, i don't care how many the indians may have." kate went on with her wonderful experience. "near the tepee where i slept i found an old elm tree that had a great hollow in it near the roots, and i determined to make it my storehouse for the food i should need when i ran away. i did not, of course, begin to hide anything in it until i had been in the village for over four months. then i used to save little by little of my portion of the dried buffalo meat, as i knew that it would keep for a long time without spoiling. "we ate all sorts of things that at first rather disgusted me; puppy-stew, for instance. now, mother and gertrude, don't laugh; i really soon learned to like it, though i never expect to be compelled to eat it again. it is the cleanest thing the indians have, if you will only get over the natural prejudice against eating dog. why, just think, the puppies are only sucklings when they are eaten; they have tasted nothing but their mother's milk, and the mothers are fed on buffalo meat only. "i suppose that you, mother and gert, want to know how puppy-stew is prepared? well, when the little things are rolling fat, as round as a ball of butter, the old woman who has charge of the lodge takes them up and feels them all over, and if satisfactory, she chokes them to death by literally hanging them to a tree with a buffalo sinew. when dead, they are singed before the fire, just as you singe a fowl; the entrails are taken out, and then the flesh is boiled in a pot, and eaten as hot as possible. the savages, particularly the old squaws, can take up in their buffalo-horn spoons, meat which would scald a white person to death, and swallow it without the slightest difficulty. i suppose that that, and their constant brooding over a smoky fire in the tepees, makes them look so old and wrinkled at an early age. they are the most horrid-looking witches you ever saw, and they would need no 'fixing up' to play the part in macbeth." "talking of curious dishes eaten by the indians," said mr. tucker, "up in oregon, where i was trapping a good many years ago, the squaws make what i call indian jelly-cake. they take the black crickets, roasted, which form a large portion of their subsistence, and make a kind of bread of them, after having ground them on a flat stone. they then spread on it the boiled berries of the service tree or bush, and if it was not manipulated by their very dirty hands, it would be very palatable." "the indians of the great plains," continued kate, "live almost exclusively on meat; they gather a few berries sometimes, but their principal diet is buffalo meat. "after i had been in the village for over four months, i began to think of trying to escape. my clothes were becoming more ragged every day, and i was obliged to resort to the blanket as a covering, though i kept what i had worn there as long as i could. "one day there was a great feast in the village, with dancing and carousing, which the warriors kept up until long after midnight, and consequently slept very soundly. now, thought i, is my time. so after i found out that the old squaw with whom i lodged was sound asleep, i crept up, and looked out to see what kind of a night it was. the moon was low down in the western heavens, but bright enough for me to see the trail, so i determined to make the attempt. i took a piece of buffalo robe for a saddle, and went out to the herd to catch the pony on which i had had my eyes for such a long time, and had petted whenever i was not watched. the dogs, of course, had come out of their holes to see what was going on, having heard my almost noiseless footsteps; but recognizing me instantly, they did not set up their customary howl. they went back to sleep without making any trouble, and i walked out to the herd about a quarter of a mile away, and soon found the little roan i wanted. he came up to me without a neigh, luckily, and i fastened the piece of robe on him, tucked the dried buffalo meat, which i had taken from my hiding-place, into my bosom, and jumping on, started at a pace which, if i had not been a good rider, would have tossed me off before i had gone half a dozen yards. "the pony seemed to know just what i required of him, for he ran on a good lope, with his belly almost touching the ground, and in a little while i had crossed the ford of the canadian, and was going up the divide on the other side as fast as i dared to force him. i took a glance at the north star to get my bearings, for i dared not follow the broad trail, as the indians would be sure to track me, and struck across the country, up one hill and down the other until day began to break. then i stayed a few seconds at a small branch to let my pony drink and to take a swallow myself, and on i went, not daring to let him graze yet. "mile after mile the noble little fellow carried me until late that afternoon. of course i watered him at every creek i came to, but did not halt until it had grown quite dark. then i took him about a mile down into a piece of timber, unsaddled him and let him graze for more than an hour. i kept my ears open, fearing every moment to hear the sound of ponies' hoofs, for i felt confident that the indians would follow me the moment they discovered that i was gone. "when i thought he had sufficiently rested, and i had eaten a small piece of the meat, i mounted him again and started on a lope northward. i kept the little gallop, changing into a brisk walk once in a while, until i could see by the daylight the long silvery line of the arkansas, looking like a white snake in its many windings. then i felt pretty safe, after i had stopped and watched the trail back as far as i could, which was for more than two miles. i could see nothing like dust, nor hear a sound, so i began to hope that i had really escaped, and my heart began to feel lighter than it had for many a long month. "i crossed the arkansas, which the indians call 'mit-sun,' meaning big, and it was up to my pony's breast, but he struggled through splendidly, though i got my moccasins wet, for the water came to my knees. i did not mind that, as i had often got wet through in the canadian where we used to go swimming almost every morning while at the village. the squaws are very fond of the water in that way, but are not so clean with their hands as i would many a time have liked them to be. "on the other side of the divide separating the arkansas from the smoky hill, i halted in a box-elder grove to rest my roan, and rest myself, for i was nearly worn out. i felt very safe then, for i knew that i was approaching the settlements on plum creek, and if i had known, what joe has just told us, that the war was over, i might have been at my ease all the way from the arkansas. "early this morning i came to bluff creek, at the very spot where i had crossed with the indians, and how my heart fluttered when i knew i was so near dear errolstrath! from that creek i rode slowly, as i knew i had nothing to fear from the indians, for the settlements were too thick, and besides it was daytime, when the indians rarely attack. "i often got off my pony when it grew too dark to see, to feel the leaves of the compass-plant, that i could always find without much hunting on every hill. now, mamma and father, don't you think that i have made a famous ride?" "we all think so," said her father; "it is one of the most remarkable on record, and we rejoice more than even you can imagine, to have our dear daughter back again, well as ever, after such an experience." "why don't the indians raise corn?" inquired rob, in a general way; "it is so easily grown out here on the plains." "some of the tribes do," replied mr. tucker. "the sioux and the mandans have always had their corn-fields, but as usual the women have to do all the work. do you know, rob, that the corn is a native plant of north and south america, yet it has never been found wild?" "do tell us about it," said mrs. thompson; and kate asked if there were not some legend connected with it, "for there is not a thing that they eat, without its wonderful story." "certainly," replied mr. tucker. "there is a beautiful legend among the sioux, which i learned from them when i was among them in , and as it is not late yet, if you like, i will tell it to you." "do! do!" all exclaimed in chorus. "of course," began mr. tucker, "among the indians the origin of corn is wrapped up in the supernatural legends of the race, of which there are several, differing materially, however, in their details. strange as it may seem, nowhere in all the vast domain of both americas, has a wild species of corn been discovered; and yet the inhabitants of these continents have used it from the earliest times, of which even history has no record. yet, at some time in the unchronicled past it must have grown wild. an unknown benefactor of his race--one whose name not even tradition preserves, excepting in unintelligible myths--saw somewhere, the feathery tassels and glossy blades with their silken ears amidst the foliage of a sedgy river bank, and owing to his first care, the wild plant, after many ages, has become the maize of commerce, and the king of all the cereals of the nineteenth century. "when columbus found the new world, corn was the staple food of all tribes of indians from the far north to the extreme south, who attempted to cultivate the soil at all. "the celebrated père marquette, the catholic priest who passed his life among the savages, met with it at every point, on his memorable journey down the mississippi river, in . it has been exhumed from tombs of a greater antiquity than those of the incas of peru. darwin discovered heads of it embedded in an ancient beach that had been upheaved eighty-five feet above the sea-level. "that indian corn is indigenous to america, has never been questioned by botanists, for europe knew nothing of it until columbus returned home from our shores. "longfellow has poetically told of one of the indian traditions of the origin of corn, in his _hiawatha's fasting_. "the legend was first transmitted to the white men by rattlesnake, and strange to say, he was a chief of the kansas or kaw tribe of indians. he related it on an island at the mouth of the kansas river, in , as is recorded in the old french manuscript of an early traveller. "it states that a band of a hundred kansas indians in returning from a successful raid on the shawnees, of whom they had taken several prisoners, halted on the island, taking advantage of the thick timber which grew in groups, as a convenient spot to torture their captives. "père marquette, whom the indians called 'the white prophet,' happened to be there most opportunely; for through the respect and veneration in which the monk was held, he saved the lives of the hapless shawnees, who were set at liberty. that evening while eating their supper of cooked hominy, the good priest asked for the legend which told of the origin of indian corn, and rattlesnake gave it, as he said he had often heard it at his mother's knee. "it is the same story the sioux told me, but i will follow the language of the old manuscript, for i have often read it. "once when the world was young, and there were but few red men in it, there was a chief whose wife bore him many children. every summer added one and sometimes two to his family. they became so numerous that the father could not give them sufficient food, and the hungry children were continually crying. by great patience and skill in hunting, however, the chief at length raised a large family, until his eldest son reached the stature of manhood. "in those days the red men all lived in peace and friendship. there was no war, and no scalp-locks hung from the doors of the lodges. the eldest son had the fear of the great spirit in his heart, and, like his father, he toiled patiently in the chase that he might assist in procuring food for his brothers and sisters. "in those days all of the promising young men, at their entrance into manhood, had to separate themselves from the tribe, and retire into the forest, to see if the great spirit would grant them some request. during this time there was to be neither eating nor drinking, but they were to spend the hours in thinking intently on the request they were making of the manitou. "when the young man had gone a long distance in the forest, he began to pray to the great spirit, and to ask for a favor which he had long cherished in his heart for the occasion. he had often felt how frequently the chase had disappointed the red men, and how often their families had gone to sleep hungry, because they had no meat. he had always determined when his fasting and dreaming hour should come, that he would ask the great spirit to give the red men some article of food more certain than the meat obtained in the chase. "all that day the youth prayed, and thought of his request, and neither water nor food entered his mouth. "at night, with a bright hope in his young heart, he lay down to sleep. soon he had a vision. he saw a magnificently attired youth coming toward him. he was clad in robes of green, and green plumes hung gracefully about his comely countenance. "'my dear young friend,' said the stranger, 'the great spirit has heard your prayer, but the boon you ask is a great boon; and you must pass through a heavy trial of suffering and patience before you will see the realization of your wish. "'you must first try your strength with me, and suffer nothing to enter your lips until i am overcome, before you will receive your reward. come, the night wears apace, let us wrestle amid the trees.' "the chief's son had a big heart, and knew no fear, so he closed with his graceful antagonist. he found him endowed with muscles like the oak, and he had the wind of a wolf, that never was exhausted by effort. long and long they wrestled, but so equal was their strength that neither could claim any decided advantage. 'enough, my friend, for this time. you have struggled manfully. still resist your appetite, give yourself up wholly to prayer and fasting, and you will receive the gratification of your desires. farewell until to-morrow night, when i will return to wrestle with you again.' then the young visitor, with his green plumes waving over his head, took his flight toward the skies, the green and yellow vestments with which he was clad expanding like wings. "when the indian awoke, he found himself panting like a stag when chased by the wolves, and the perspiration dropped from his body; yet his heart was light, for he knew a sign had come from the manitou. although he was very hungry that day, and some berries and grapes tempted him sorely, he refrained from touching them, resisting successfully these natural desires. "night came, and the young indian closed his eyes in sleep; and lo! there was a continuance of his former vision. he saw coming toward him the graceful being he had seen on the previous night. the silken wings of green and gold swept through the air with great velocity, and the green plumes on his head waved rhythmically in their beauty. "they again wrestled, as before, and although the indian had neither eaten nor drunk, he felt his strength greater than in the previous conflict; and he obtained some signal advantage over his celestial competitor. they were struggling together when the morning commenced to look upon the world, and he of the green plumes thus addressed the indian youth:-- "'my friend, on our next trial you will be the victor. now, listen how i instruct you to take advantage of your conquest. when my efforts cease i shall die. strip me of my yellow garments and bury me in soft and new-made earth. visit my grave week by week, for in a little time i shall return to life in the form of a plant, which you will readily recognize by its resemblance to me. let no weeds or grass be near me to keep the dew and sunshine from my green leaves, and once a month draw the fresh earth to my body, that it may grow and strengthen. when ears have shot from my side, and the silk which shall fall from their tops commences to dry, then pull the ear, strip it of its garments as you will strip me when i am dead. place the milky grains before the fire which will cook the outside, without destroying any of the juicy substance. then all the race of man will have a sweeter and stronger food than they have ever known before. there shall be no more hunger upon the earth excepting among those who have a lazy spirit, or whom the bad manitou claims as his own.' "when the indian awoke, he felt very weak from hunger, and it required all the resolution of which he was master to restrain the gratification of his appetite, but he passed the day in fasting and prayer, and at nightfall laid himself down to sleep. "true to his promise, his friend of the green plumes again appeared in his trance, and again the wrestle commenced. the young indian was exceedingly weak from his long fasting, but when engaged in the conflict he felt his heart grow big within him; his arms became as strong as the young oaks of the forest, and after a short struggle he threw his antagonist to the ground. the young indian stood by the side of his adversary who said that he was dying, and told him to remember the instructions he had given him. the young indian accordingly stripped the body of its vesture of mingled green and yellow, and carefully digging a grave, deposited it in the soft earth. he thought that the earth adhered to his hand in a strange manner, and at that moment he awoke, and found in his hand a seed such as he had never before seen. "the indian then knew that the manitou had heard his prayer, and that the grain was the body of his friend. he then went from the forest to the prairie, made soft the earth, and planted the strange seed sent to him in his dream. "he then returned to his father's lodge, and the whole family were anxious to know if he had received any sign from the great spirit, but he evaded all inquiries and kept his important secret. every morning, before the sun's bright rays had looked upon the earth, he was beside the grave of the seed, and carefully kept the grass and weeds away. "on the morning of the ninth day, the faithful youth saw a green plant shooting from the earth, and as he gazed on its green blades, he knew at once the friend with whom he had wrestled. "once each month he drew the fresh earth to the stalks, which grew day by day until they far overtopped his own stature, and then there began to protrude from their sides the shoots from which a mass of silken fibres issued. in a short time the plant began to dry, as had been foretold to him, and then he invited his father, mother, brothers, and sisters to the spot and showed them what the great spirit had sent him at his fasting season. he then pulled one of the two ears and roasted it before the fire. "the whole family tasted the new food, and they liked it. the other ear was kept for seed, and in a few years the red man had plenty of the new food which the manitou had sent him." "that is a beautiful story," said mrs. thompson, and the others all agreed with her. "kate, you must be very tired; don't you want to go to bed and sleep like a christian once more?" "no," replied the young girl, "my muscles are 'like the oak trees in the forest,' as were those of the indian who got the corn from the spirit with the green wings. besides, it's only seven o'clock, and i want to look at you all for some time yet." before eight o'clock, buffalo bill and colonel keogh came over from the fort, as they had heard from some one from oxhide that kate had come home, and they wanted to see her. they were both surprised at her excellent condition, and bill ventured the remark that the indians had certainly used her much better than they would have used him had he been in her place. "i've no doubt of that," said mr. tucker; "they would have had a roasting frolic if they had caught you instead of our little friend kate!" "well," said colonel keogh, "the war is ended, and i guess we have had the last trouble in kansas that we shall ever have. the indians are going peacefully to their reservations, where the government will feed them, which is cheaper than fighting them, at anyrate! general custer is at the fort, and he has heard so much of joe that he wants to see him, and take him on a wolf hunt in a day or two." "i'll go, colonel, for sure, for they are carrying off calves and hogs every night from some of the ranches on this creek," said joe. "talking about wolves," said colonel keogh, "i never saw so many together in all my life as i did after the battle of the washita. we found the bunch of ponies belonging to the indians, numbering about twelve hundred, and general custer ordered them all to be killed, as a necessity, to prevent other savages from getting them. a plains indian without a horse to ride is as helpless as a child. he won't walk, and it was thought that by killing all the ponies we found, it would cripple the savages as effectually as if we killed the same number of warriors. the bunch was driven into a narrow cañon near their camp, and as they huddled against the high rocky wall, a detachment of the cavalry was detailed to shoot them. we camped near there for a few days, and at night the wolves would congregate there to feed upon the dead bodies of the ponies. i suppose they came from a distance of a hundred miles, for you know a wolf thinks nothing of going that far for a good meal. it happened to be the time of the full moon, and just after nightfall a lot of us used to go and ride on top of the bluff to watch the wolves come to the feast. i think it is no exaggeration to say that five thousand of the hungry creatures gathered there every evening, as long as any flesh remained on the bones of the slaughtered ponies. such snapping, snarling, growling, and fighting was never heard before. you could hear them for two miles easily. some of them were so pugnacious and ravenous that they actually killed and devoured each other! i do not believe such a scene was ever witnessed before or will be again." "you have all heard that sheridan has been promoted to be lieutenant-general, and sherman to be general, as grant has been elected to the presidency?" said buffalo bill. "sheridan received notice on kansas soil of his well-deserved promotion, and it makes the place classic ground. i will tell you how it was. of course, official notice of the promotion was daily expected, as it had been seen in the papers from washington, but the mails were very irregular in the vast uninhabited region south of the arkansas. it was carried by the scouts from fort hays, the nearest railroad point, and they also took despatches to the scattered military posts that had been established temporarily, in the form of camps, cantonments, or wherever a detachment of troops happened to be. early one morning general sheridan, accompanied by two officers of his personal staff, left camp supply in the indian territory for fort hays, to take the railroad for washington, where he had been ordered to report. when the party had arrived at the foot of a high mountain, just on the border of this state, they saw far ahead of them on the trail made by the troops in going into the field, a dark object moving rapidly toward them. as the distance between them lessened, they noticed that it was a horseman whose animal, flecked with foam, and with distended nostrils, was straining every muscle to reach the ambulance. in a few moments the sound of the horse's hoofs were distinctly heard on the hard trail, and when he had approached near enough, its rider, the excited scout, recognized sheridan among the occupants of the ambulance. he rose in his stirrups and waved his hat in one hand, while in the other he held up a piece of yellow paper, crying out at the top of his voice:-- "'hurrah for the lieutenant-general!' the paper he handed to sheridan was a telegram from the president, informing him of his promotion." "well," said colonel keogh, looking at the old-fashioned clock in the corner of the room, "i had no idea it was so late. it's nearly ten. come, cody; we must get back to the fort." then saying good-night to all, with an admonition to joe not to forget the wolf hunt, of which he said he would send him word, they mounted their horses and rode off. mr. tucker was to remain until morning, so they all retired, after having passed one of the most cheerful thanksgivings in their lives. footnote: [ ] the compass-plant, or rosin-weed, as it is commonly called, is the _silphium laciniatum_ of the botanists. it is found in luxuriance on every hill-top on the great plains, and resembles an immense oak leaf, which, while growing, always points its thin edges north and south, consequently broad surfaces east and west. chapter xii a wolf hunt--two snake stories--terrible struggle with a mountain wolf--a mail rider eaten--the old trapper's experience with four of the fierce beasts the allied tribes of the plains, now thoroughly whipped into subjection by the gallant sheridan and his intrepid subordinates, custer and sully, went sullenly to the reservations recently established by the government in the indian territory, and "white-winged peace" once more spread her pinions over the fair land of kansas. the settlers could go from one village to another with perfect immunity from sudden attacks by savages hidden in some ambush on the trails, so the state made phenomenal strides toward a greater civilization. crops were enormous in their results when the virgin soil was turned to the sun, but the wolves, especially in the vicinity of errolstrath, seemed to increase with the prodigality of jonah's gourd. they became so persistent in their nightly depredations at the ranches, that only by a concentrated effort of the neighborhood to exterminate them could stock-raising be made profitable. a few days after colonel keogh's visit to errolstrath on that happy thanksgiving when kate had come back safely to her home, an orderly from fort harker dismounted in front of the house, bearing a note to joe from general custer. it stated that the general proposed to hunt the wolves the day after to-morrow, and desired him to invite mr. tucker, the old trapper, and as many more of the neighbors who were good shots, as would like to go. he wanted the party to meet him at the mouth of the oxhide as early as seven o'clock. from this point he intended to go to the general rendezvous of the beasts in the limestone region, down the smoky hill. as soon as dinner was over at errolstrath, joe saddled his pony, and started for mr. tucker's ranche three miles away, to invite him to come over to stay all night and join custer and the others of the party on the morning of the hunt. rob was at the same time told by his father to get his pony and deliver general custer's invitation to as many of the neighbors as he could reach, and return by sundown. he left promptly on his mission, but went in a direction exactly opposite from that of his brother. when he had loped along about a mile up the oxhide, his attention was attracted by a curious noise which seemed to come from the bank of the stream. he rode his pony through the brush toward the strange sound, and what was his surprise to see two snakes fighting right on the extreme edge of the water where the bank was only just above its level. one of the reptiles was a black water-snake, and the other a bull-snake nearly twice as thick round as his opponent, but not quite as long. the bull-snake had his tail firmly wrapped around a sunflower stalk, and the other had his attached to a big weed. each had hold of the other by the middle and was trying to pull in an opposite direction. it was evidently the intention of the black snake to drag his antagonist into the water and drown him, for he is a good swimmer, while the bull is not, and the latter was just as determined that his enemy should not get him into the stream. they were both stretched to their utmost tension, and as rob said, when he told about them on his return, he expected every moment to see them break in two; for both were drawn out as thin as a clothes-line. at last the hold of the bull-snake gave way, and the impetus, like the snapping of a whip, threw them both into the water. now the black snake had a decided advantage, for he was in his element, and he immediately exerted every muscle to draw his antagonist's head under. finally, after a severe struggle he succeeded in holding him there for a few moments, and when he let go, the bull-snake's dead body rose to the surface. then the black snake gave a few shakes to his tail and darted off under the water, apparently not the least injured by his death-struggle with his larger antagonist. both boys returned to errolstrath before sundown, and as it was rob's month to take care of the cows and milk them, he went promptly about his business. joe, after taking mr. tucker's horse to the stable, and feeding the other stock, returned to the house, and sat in the big room, talking to his guest for half an hour, until supper was announced. supper being cleared away, all adjourned to the sitting-room again, and the boys and girls proposed that the old trapper should relate some more of his experiences in the rocky mountains, when he was a young man; a request with which he cheerfully complied whenever he passed a night at errolstrath. after all were comfortably seated in their accustomed places, rob told of his adventure with the two snakes on the bank of the oxhide, when joe, after his brother had finished, remarking that coincidences were curious, stated that he, too, that same afternoon, had had an adventure with three snakes--one more than rob. "when i reached the broad military road to fort sill," said he, "at the crossing of mud creek, i noticed some distance down the trail a terrible commotion. the dust was flying as if it had been twisted around by a whirlwind, and by looking steadily i could see something moving on the bare earth, where the grass is all worn off the road. i rode slowly up to the moving object, ready for any emergency, when i discovered three bull-snakes, two of them of immense size, the third one not so large. they had a half-grown cottontail among them, and were fighting bravely for the sole possession of the little creature, which was already nearly dead. i thought i would stay to see the fun, so i whipped the smaller one, and one of the larger of the reptiles away. they went hissing into the grass, as i applied my riding-whip to them pretty lively. then i sat still on my pony to watch the single snake enjoy the meal i had so opportunely provided for him. "presently he began to wind his long body around the rabbit, and i could hear the bones of the poor thing crack as the muscular pressure was applied. he then gradually unfolded himself, turned his head toward the muzzle of his prey, dislocated his jaws, and commenced to take in the rabbit. "little by little the rabbit, which was much larger than the snake's body, disappeared, until it was entirely enveloped by the reptile. then he coolly reset his jaws, and after a series of hisses--perhaps he was thanking me for my kindness in interfering on his behalf--he crawled away into the thick grass. i let him go, mr. tucker; for we never kill a bull-snake, they are such good hunters for gophers, mice, and even rabbits, which are becoming such a nuisance here. i saw several wolves, of course; you can't go a mile anywhere without seeing them, but as i carried no gun with me i did not try to interview any of them." "i expect to have a good time the day after to-morrow," said the old trapper, "and it will recall some of my own experiences with them years ago." "oh, do tell us about it!" said kate; "i just love hunting adventures." "all right, kate; you have grown into a kind of savage since your life with the indians, eh?" "i heard lots of wonderful stories from the warriors when they sat around the fire at night, but they told such abominable yarns that i didn't believe them. they can stretch a thing pretty well, i tell you," answered kate. "begin, please, mr. tucker," said rob, who was as interested as any of the family. "well, then," said he, "i will tell you of the brave deed of a mexican, which occurred a good many years ago, when i was down in southern california. "he was a native, and named amador sanchez, well known in the sierra nevadas as a brave and successful hunter. he had a terrible fight with one of those great shaggy, gray mountain wolves. the struggle lasted for several hours, and ended by both combatants being laid prostrate on the ground. they were so completely exhausted as to be unable to reach each other from want of sheer physical strength. in that condition they passed one whole night. on the following morning, when the mexican had recovered sufficiently to be able to creep to his shaggy antagonist, he found him dead. "the terrible conflict grew out of the mexican's daring attempt to save the life of a boy who was about to be torn to pieces when the mexican attacked the wolf. "at one time the wolf had the youth under him in such a way that it was impossible for sanchez to plant a ball in any vital organ without imperilling the boy's life. nothing daunted, however, with both revolver and rifle, he succeeded in lodging several bullets in other parts of the savage beast. still the enraged brute clung to the unfortunate child, using every endeavor to tear him to pieces and horribly mangling every part of his body. at this juncture, the brave mexican hunter could no longer refrain from active effort. he dropped his pistols and rifle, drew his sheath-knife and slung-shot; then winding his blanket around his left arm to protect it, he rushed in and compelled the animal to turn upon him, and so gave the boy a chance to escape. "wounds were freely given and returned, but the wary sanchez fought with much dexterity and determination. the wolf finally became so mad with rage and pain, that he closed in upon the mexican and threw him headlong upon the ground, where he remained almost senseless for a few moments before recovering his breath. "instead of following up his advantage, the beast, doubtless believing his enemy dead, because he did not move, commenced to examine and lick his own bleeding wounds. the spirit of the intrepid mexican, however, was up, and he determined to conquer the wolf or die. "early in the struggle, by a blow from his slung-shot, sanchez had succeeded in breaking the brute's lower jaw, and that was unquestionably the fortunate wound which eventually gave the victory to the mexican. "sanchez renewed the fight as soon as he felt himself sufficiently rested, and, by adopting some curious tactics, in which he was materially assisted by a clump of trees, he succeeded in putting some heavy blows with his knife right into its vitals. at this, the wolf was aroused again to an unendurable madness, and, gathering himself for one grand effort, he bit at the mexican's head and once more felled him to the earth. from this final attack, and his previous loss of blood, the brave man fainted dead away. how long he remained in that state he could not tell; but when he became conscious again, he found that the victory was on his side, for the wolf had breathed his last. "the poor boy, as soon as the battle was decided, as he supposed at the cost of his friend's life, started for the village, arriving there late the following afternoon. upon hearing his story, a party of well-armed men immediately went to the scene of the struggle, to bury their brave comrade. they were guided by the boy, who was able to ride a pony. "arriving at the spot about midnight, they found sanchez in a most pitiful condition. his flesh was terribly mangled, his clothes were torn to ribbons, and his back and shoulders were one mass of lacerated wounds, inflicted by the sharp teeth and claws of the wolf. "although he received the most delicate care and assistance at the hospital from those noble women, the sisters of charity, it was many weeks before he was able to resume his occupation of hunting. even then he owed his life to his wonderful recuperative powers and his iron constitution." "what a terrible time he must have had," said kate. "the gray wolf is an awful animal to be attacked by. do you know that they very frequently go mad, and then many savages are bitten, and die a horrible death from hydrophobia? one of the warriors was bitten while i was down in the indian village. he had a hand-to-hand tussle with the wolf, and although he was only slightly bitten, he died raving." "yes, they are bad brutes to deal with," said the old trapper, "particularly those huge fellows that hunt in packs; a man has not the slightest chance with them. i know that in oregon, about twelve years ago, the mail rider for the military posts of forts dallas and simcoe was caught in the mountains by a pack of them, and nothing of him or his animal was found excepting the letter sack, the hoofs of his horse, and some buttons, with other portions of the rider's clothing." "have you ever had a personal encounter with any of the terrible beasts?" inquired mrs. thompson. "oh, yes!" replied the old man. "i'll tell you all about it." "in , i tried to ranche it in the central portion of washington territory. i had no neighbor nearer than thirty miles. i was a little lonesome at first, because it was really the first time i had been without partners, and i saw my neighbors but once in a whole year. "i remember that i started to visit john elliott. i felt that i needed company, and he and i had trapped together some years before, and were well acquainted. "towards evening, i started for my thirty-mile walk. it was in december, and of course, cool, with a magnificent full moon to light my trail through the deep forest and over the prairie. "i had gone about two miles, i think, and as i neared a small lake, and was tramping along the edge of the water with my rifle carelessly swinging in my left hand, i suddenly heard a growl that startled me, and stopping at once, i saw a great wolf standing with his paw buried in the carcass of a red deer, and his mouth full of its flesh. the brute was not chewing, for his jaws were motionless, and he looked at me as if deciding which was the better meal for him, that which he had under his feet, or i. he was an immense animal. i don't think i have ever seen a larger wolf. if i had left him alone and gone about my business, he would not have troubled me. they are generally cowards, and will run at the sight of man, unless provoked or cornered, or are running in packs, when they will fight to the death. "i, like the fool that i was, raised my rifle, took a quick aim at him, and pulled the trigger. he jumped at the instant i fired, and although i aimed at his heart, i missed it and hit him in the upper part of the fore leg. then with his mouth wide open, showing his white teeth, and the froth running down the sides of his cheeks in his rage, he came for me with a howl, which i thought was answered by about fifty more in the timber. "it didn't take me ten seconds to get up into the fork of an oak tree which stood only a few feet away. by the time i was safely settled in my seat, there were four more of the great grizzled beasts right under me, smacking their chops and whining as if their mouths watered for a taste of my flesh. if i could have talked to them in their own way, i would have suggested that they go and feast off of the deer which still lay intact. "then, as i could not make them go away by mere suggestions, i loaded my rifle and shot one of them as dead as the deer. that made more food for the others, as they will eat each other under certain circumstances, but that particular time was not one of them. i didn't blame them, for the brute i had killed was a long, gaunt, miserably thin, mangy-looking creature that seemed as if he had not had anything to eat for a month. "the refuge i had sought from the ravenous beasts was but a sapling, and i expected it every moment to break with my weight. presently, i heard the crotch begin to split, and letting my rifle drop, i was quick enough to catch my arms and legs around the trunk of the tree, and hold on for life until i could draw my knife and shove it into my belt ready for use. "having accomplished this, i watched my chance, and if there ever was such a scared wolf as the one round whose back i wound my arms when i fell, i'd like to see him! "we rolled on the ground together, and the other three just backed off to watch the fight, and a pretty moonlight tussle it was. he got my body under him at last, and i thought i was done for. "i felt a little faint when he sunk his teeth into me, but he didn't seem to like the hold he had, so he pulled his teeth out of me, tore my coat, shirt, and flesh, then seized my fur cap and shook it for a moment, which was a lucky mistake for me on his part. i felt his wet lips on my forehead, and had just time to let go my hold on his throat and clutch my knife, when he seized my cap again and made an attempt to swallow it. his throat was in no condition to get it down, however, for my knife-blade was through his jugular, and the point of it in his spinal marrow, and in another minute he was dead wolf! "i bled considerably when i got up, but i wasn't weakened a bit. the whole affair had occurred in half a minute, and i was ready for the other three, who now all attacked me together. i caught up my rifle and struck one of them across the nose and floored him. as he picked himself up i seized him by the hind foot and fell upon him. if the first wolf was frightened when i tumbled on him from the tree, this one was more so. i can never forget the awful howl he gave as i stood up on my feet again, and swinging him into the air, struck one of the remaining two a terrible blow with his body. "the first one i had wounded was scared at the novel fight, and tucking his tail between his legs, vanished into the woods, and i was left with only two on my hands. i caught up one of them as i had caught the other, and his comrade took to his heels and was soon out of sight. "the one i held by the heels, i swung twice around my head and then let him fly. the centrifugal force, as they used to call it at college, forced out his wind, and his scream, as he shot through the air, was diabolical. he went fully a rod into the water, and his howl only stopped when he struck it. i was weak and faint now from the tremendous exertion. the beast came up again, and struck out for the shore. when he reached it, he did not dare to approach me, but stood there as if petrified. "at last he began to move off. i followed him slowly, and saw that he was getting tired. presently he stopped again and tried to climb on the top of a shelving rock, but he was very weak, and just as he was making the attempt a second time, i raised my rifle and sent a bullet into his heart. "i was now rid of all my foes, but too weak to walk much further, so i went back to my cabin and gave up my proposed visit until i was recovered from my wounds." "well," said joe, "that beats my fight with the panther. we sha'n't have any such trouble on the day after to-morrow, though, for we shall have a big enough party to fight a whole mountain full of them." it was long after ten o'clock when mr. tucker had finished the thrilling story of his fight, and then the family all retired--some of them to dream of wolves, bears, and panthers perhaps. chapter xiii joe, rob, and the old trapper--general custer arrives at the rendezvous--the wolf dens--first tussle between the hounds and a wolf--cinch's great battle the morning of the wolf hunt came at last. before six o'clock, mr. tucker, four near neighbors, and the two thompson boys rode out from errolstrath toward the appointed rendezvous, at the mouth of the oxhide. as all dogs work better on an empty stomach, the hounds, brutus and bluey, had not been fed that morning, so that their appetites for the chase should be keen. the little party from the ranche arrived at the mouth of the oxhide before the contingent from fort harker. they did not have to wait many minutes, for they soon saw a cloud of dust on the smoky hill trail, and presently the general's four great hounds came bounding along. closely following them was custer on a magnificent animal. colonel keogh rode his favorite horse, comanche, which had been wounded in the battle with the cheyennes, on mulberry creek, when the command had a doubtful victory under general sully. comanche was destined to become more celebrated a few years later, when he and a single crow indian were the sole survivors of the unequal fight with the sioux under the notorious sitting bull. it was there that custer and all of the famous troopers with him went down to annihilation, in the valley of the rosebud. the general and colonel keogh greeted the party, and they rode on at a slow pace. they wanted to save the wind of both the horses and dogs, for the supreme moment when the wolves should give them all the excitement they might desire. about seven miles from errolstrath, the smoky hill makes a grand sweep to the southeast, the curve forming nearly half a circle. bordering the river at that point is a series of immense limestone bluffs whose scarped sides come down to the water. the plateau which crowns the bluffs is honeycombed with holes, the dens of the big prairie wolf. they intended literally to beard the ferocious beasts there, for the wolf prowls by night and remains in his lair in the daytime. the general, the colonel, the old trapper, and the boys were in front, while the hounds trailed after the horses, and were not allowed to advance until the word was given for them to do so. custer's dogs were of rare breed, and had been presented to him by some english or scotch nobleman. they were rough in coat, muscular, fleet of foot, and fully able to cope with the biggest wolf that dared tackle them. the zigzag trail leading to the summit of the high bluff where the business was expected to begin, was reached about half-past seven, and the tedious ascent was commenced. arriving on the top at a point where a heavy belt of timber skirted the edge toward the river, they all halted to rest a few moments before they went out into the open where the wolves were. an occasional low growl and a snarl were wafted by the breeze toward them, where they were concealed among the great trees. the hounds listened with ears cocked up, and uttered a whine now and then, as they gazed wistfully into their masters' faces. they were impatient for the fray like the charger who "smelleth the battle afar," but the time had not yet come for them to do their work. the morning was deliciously cool. the ground was just covered with a slight coating of frost, making friction enough to insure safety for the horses. they would be called upon to do some hard running, and the rough plain where the wolves were, was sandy and treacherous, from the constant digging and scratching of the quarrelsome beasts themselves. "a perfect day for the fun," said the general, turning to the old trapper, who had dismounted and was cinching his saddle a little tighter. "yes, general," replied he, "we could not have a better morning. the wind is just right for the dogs' noses, though i suppose those beautiful hounds of yours run both by scent and sight?" "they are fine specimens of their species, not very graceful or beautiful, perhaps, but for muscle and endurance, i don't believe that there is a wolf on the plains which can get the better of one of them in a fair fight. they have had several tussles single-handed, but so far have come out without anything more serious than a few scratches. their jaws are as powerful as a bull dog's, and they hold on with all that animal's tenacity. i look for some fine sport to-day; there will be some lively coursing if we succeed in getting the wolves out of their holes." "bluey," said joe, who was sitting on his pony alongside of custer, "is a great fighter; he has had three or four tussles with wolves, and came out on top every time. he has the most wonderful shaking powers i ever saw in any dog, and he has whipped two or three bull dogs in the neighborhood. they all give him a wide berth now, whenever they see him coming. brutus is quite a young hound yet, and although he is good with rabbits, and did some splendid work when we had that fight with the lynx, he has never really shown what he can do. i guess he'll have a chance to show his mettle to-day." "i advise all of you to cinch up your saddles," suggested the general, "as mr. tucker has already done, for you don't want to be tumbled off by a loose cinch. we'll make a break for the wolves in a few minutes; the hounds are uneasy, and i guess our horses are sufficiently rested now." when the last saddle was cinched up, custer gave the word "forward," and the party moved out of the timber. the hounds cavorted around when they saw signs of active work, but they were restrained from rushing too far ahead by a word from their masters. the hunters rode slowly at first, until they had emerged from the timber. they then broke into a lope, separating to a distance of about fifty yards from each other. custer was on the right, followed by the old trapper and joe; while rob and colonel keogh with the others of the party brought up the left. although they were out of the standing timber, there were a great many fallen trees scattered over the ground, and they were obliged to jump over these, as they could not afford to waste the time to go round. there was one immense black walnut trunk over which all had gone very easily excepting colonel keogh and rob. when these two reached the obstacle, rob's buffalo pony took it flying, but as comanche rose to make the leap, the effort burst the cinch of the saddle, and the colonel was thrown. he fortunately struck on his feet and held on to the bridle reins, so the animal did not get away. his orderly rushed up, and it did not take more than five minutes to change saddles, and give the colonel a mount again. by that time custer and the others were far in advance, for they had increased their pace as the hounds sighted their quarry. some were in full cry, the rest silent, according to the habits of their species. a huge wolf had come out of his hole to learn what the thud of the horses' hoofs meant, had seen the dogs, and immediately bristled up ready for battle. the lean and hungry-looking brute stood motionless, awaiting the arrival of the pack of hounds. the hair along his spine stood erect like a mad cat's, and his tail swelled to twice its normal proportions. they were heading for him with tongues out and their long necks stretched, ready for the impending battle. in another instant, when the shock came, there was a chaotic whirlwind of wolf, dog, hair, and blood, accompanied by snarls, growls, and squeals. this cyclone of enraged canines was enveloped in a cloud of dust which fairly obscured the combatants for a few seconds; but when it settled there was a dead wolf, literally torn to shreds, and a hound or two limping along, nearly _hors de combat_, after the terrible struggle. the noise of the fight caused a dozen or more of the denizens of the bluff to crawl out of their dens and look around to learn what was meant by this invasion of their sacred precincts. some just poked their heads up, and all you could see were their great ears. others came up bristling with fight, and some, the cowardly ones, giving one look at the party of horsemen and the pack of hounds, tucked their bushy tails between their legs, and scooted off over the plateau, yelping like whipped curs! in a moment, spying those wolves that had apparently accepted the wager of battle, the dogs made a grand rush for them, some in pairs, some singly. general sheridan owned a magnificent smooth-haired hound, named cinch, from the fact that round his belly was a dark circle, resembling a saddle-cinch. he was a very powerful animal, and had been brought with the pack by general custer, on account of his well-known staying qualities. cinch had selected a monstrous beast, a little larger than himself, as his victim, and forthwith attacked him singly. the wolf stood firmly at the mouth of his den, awaiting the approach of cinch with a sort of self-satisfied look, as though he would tear to pieces that civilized specimen of his own genus. with a growl and a snapping of their great white teeth they came together. how the hair did fly as they bit whole mouthfuls out of each other! it was an awful struggle for canine supremacy. every one of the party abandoned his quarry elsewhere--although bluey was making a glorious fight with another monster not a hundred yards away, and the rest of the pack were hard at work on a number that had attacked them in concert--to witness the battle royal between cinch and the largest wolf that they had ever seen. at last cinch succeeded in getting a firm hold on his shaggy antagonist's throat. it proved to be a "knock-out," for when cinch had done with him, the wolf was stretched out dead. the hound himself did not escape without serious wounds. his fore paws were bitten through and through. one of his eyes was badly torn, and great pieces of hide hung in strings from several parts of his body. he was nearly done for, so badly hurt, that the general told one of his orderlies to take the poor dog on the saddle in front of him, and carry him back to the fort for repairs. they then turned their attention to bluey. by the time they came up to him he had just finished his antagonist as completely as had cinch. the wolf was dead, and the old hound was busy licking his own wounds, of which he had many. the rest of the pack which had been fighting together had killed four, but two of their number had succumbed to the fierce attacks of their opponents, and were dead. joe and rob were delighted to know that bluey and brutus were all right after the several battles, excepting a few bites which would soon heal. in taking an inventory of the number of wolves killed by the hounds, they found seven in all. their hides were so badly torn that they were not worth skinning, so their carcasses were left just where they fell. it was considered a good morning's work, as it was but eleven o'clock when cinch had put the finishing touches on his victim. the men were tired after their rough ride, and the hounds slowly followed, tongues out, and many of them limping fearfully. in this way they rode together back to the mouth of the oxhide, then separated and went to their respective homes. chapter xiv a wild turkey hunt--the trip to mud creek--the turkey roost--the shooting begins--counting the number killed--joe sells turkeys when mr. tucker, joe, and rob arrived at errolstrath, it was just one o'clock. the family had kept dinner waiting, and everything was ready to put on the table by the time the horses were fed and the hounds' wounds rubbed with witch-hazel. mrs. thompson used to prepare this remedy herself, and she considered it the best thing in the world for injuries. at dinner the boys and the old trapper entertained the family with an account of the morning's hunt, telling them how splendidly both bluey and brutus had behaved in company with such thoroughbreds as custer's hounds, and especially with general sheridan's famous cinch, who was supposed to be the finest animal of his kind in the country. they all adjourned to the broad veranda after dinner was over, excepting the girls who had to clear up the things. mr. tucker said that colonel keogh had told him that some of the officers' families who had just come from the east to fort harker were very desirous for wild turkey, which they had not yet tasted. "he wanted me to ask you, joe, if you cannot soon get them a few. i know that this is the very best time to hunt them, so let you, and rob, and me go to that roost on mud creek this evening. it's full moon to-night, and we shall never have a better chance." "all right," promptly spoke up both of the boys. "we'll have to take our ponies," said joe, "for it's fully six miles. i was down there the other afternoon, and i should think that hundreds roost there." "what time ought we to leave here?" inquired rob. "you know that my month to herd and milk the cows is not out yet, and i want to do my work before i go; not that father would not do it willingly for me in a case of this kind, but i don't care to bother him; he has enough to do with the other stock." "oh!" said joe, "we need not get away from here until long after supper. the birds won't come to their roost until it is nearly dark, and as we always have supper at six, and can ride down to mud creek easily in an hour, you will have ample time to do your chores, rob, without hurrying a bit." "tell us something about the wild turkey, mr. tucker," said rob. "you know all the habits of our beasts and birds." "well, rob," said the old trapper, "the wild turkey is one of the indigenous birds of america. he once flourished from the most remote eastern boundary of the united states to every part of the far west. now, through the wantonness of man, he is rapidly disappearing, as is nearly all of our large game. there are still plenty here in kansas. the wild turkey makes his haunts in the timber, and being gregarious birds they keep together in large flocks, and roost in the same place for years, if not disturbed. all of our domestic turkeys have come from the wild stock, but the wild ones are still larger than the tame ones in many instances. i have shot them in nearly every place in the country where i have hunted. they are stupid in refusing to leave their roosts at night when shot at. they persistently fly back again to the same trees, when they could just as easily fly away out of danger. in such times they are almost as foolish as the sage hen, which in my opinion is the most stupid bird that flies. you can shoot at them until you hit them, if it takes a week; they won't move." just as the sun sank behind the hills beyond the oxhide bluffs, joe, rob, and mr. tucker left errolstrath for the turkey roost on mud creek. the old trapper rode joe's buffalo pony, while joe mounted the little roan which had brought his sister so safely from the indian village; rob rode ginger, which kate had kindly loaned him for the occasion. they followed the trail up the creek for about a mile, then turned abruptly east over the hills toward fort sill military road, then over the open country for another mile, until they arrived at the head of mud creek. the moon had risen in a cloudless sky, and it shines nowhere so brilliantly as in our mid-continent region. every tree and bush cast a shadow, and the trail over the prairie was lighted up with a golden sheen, so soft and mellow that you could have seen a pin where the grass had been shorn away. when they arrived at the edge of the woods in the centre of which was the resting-place of the birds, they tied their ponies to saplings, and then quietly walked on into the timber. as soon as they had come in the vicinity of the roost, they squatted on the ground behind the friendly shelter of a large elm, and waited for the coming of events. they did not have long to wait. before they had been there a half an hour, two large flocks came stealthily walking down the deep ravines leading into the sheltered bottom where great trees stood in thick clumps, under whose shadow were the unmistakable signs of an immense roost. at the head of each flock, as it unsuspiciously advanced, strutted a magnificent male bird in all the pride of his leadership. upon his bronze plumage the moon's rays glinted like a calcium light, as its soft beams sifted through the interstices of the bare limbs of the winter-garbed forest. when the leader of the flock had arrived at the spot where his charge had been accustomed to roost, he suddenly stopped, glanced cautiously around him for a few seconds, then apparently satisfied that all was right, he gave the signal--a sharp, quick, shrill whistle. at that instant, every bird, with one accord and a tremendous fluttering of wing, raised itself and alighted in the topmost branches of the tallest trees. in a few moments more, numerous flocks having settled themselves for a peaceful slumber, the old trapper said to the boys: "now is our time; let's begin!" joe had his little ballard rifle, that had never yet played him false on his hunts with the chief of the pawnees; rob had a shot-gun, and mr. tucker his never-failing old-fashioned piece which he had carried for twenty-five years. they fired at first almost simultaneously, but after the first discharge each fired on his own hook. the turkeys fell like the leaves in october. the birds not killed at the first fire did not seem to have sense enough, as mr. tucker had said, to escape from their doom. they flew from tree to tree at every shot, persistently remaining in the immediate vicinity of the roost, with all the characteristic idiocy of the sage hen. when it was time to think of going home, they gathered up their birds, and found they had killed fourteen--more than an average of four apiece. it was all they could do to pack the birds on their ponies, and they were compelled to walk them all the way to the ranche to keep the birds from falling off. the next morning joe took the turkeys to fort harker, where he disposed of them at a fair price, and received many thanks besides, for his prompt action in response to colonel keogh's request to go hunting for them. chapter xv how the robin came to kansas--mocking-birds--eaten by snakes--joe loses his tame elk--the last of the wolves--finding the quail's nest--joe builds a cage for them--raising chickens the winter was short, and soon came april, with its sunny skies. the robins, wrens, blue jays, and the mocking-birds made the woods melodious with their sweet notes. the violets by the brook side under the shade of the great trees were the first harbingers of the beautiful season, and the dining-table was made odorous with their blue blossoms at every meal. both kate and gertrude loved flowers, and never failed to gather three times a day, a large bowl full of these poems of springtime. mr. tucker surprised them one evening by paying them a visit after a solitary hunting expedition up the creek. the boys soon persuaded him to stay the night, and tell them a story until bedtime. "what shall it be, hunting or fighting?" said mr. tucker, turning to joe. before her brother could speak, gertrude answered for him. "tell us that legend about the robin, that you have promised us so often." "yes, the robin," said joe. so they all settled into comfortable positions, and mr. tucker told them the following story:-- "the delaware indians claim that the robin followed them to kansas. he has been in the eastern part of the state only since the establishment of their reservation within its limits, according to the legend of the tribe. "the delawares, you know, were those indians with whom william penn made a treaty, the provisions of which were religiously kept for many years. "among the delawares the robin is sacred. from the gray-headed chiefs to the papoose just freed from the thongs of his hard cradle, they all listen with superstitious love and reverence to his warbling. the bird was once the favorite son of a great sachem of that powerful tribe, changed by the manitou, but still loving man, and evincing it always by building his nest and singing near his abode. "once there was, ages ago, a great chief among the delawares, who then lived in the far east. he was distinguished for his wisdom in the council, and his success in war. he had many wives, but they brought him daughters only, and he, as well as his nation, was dissatisfied, for he desired a son who should succeed to the honorable position of his father. "one day when the chief was walking through the village, a dove lit on his shoulder, and then flew and nestled in the bosom of a young indian maiden to whom it belonged. she was the daughter of the medicine-man of the tribe, and her father declared that the dove was a messenger from the great spirit, who had thus shown by that sign that the two should be one. "the news imparted by the medicine-man was agreeable to the chief, for the girl was beautiful and virtuous. he married her, and she became the favorite wife, who, in due time, greatly to his and the joy of his people, presented him with a son. the boy was called is-a-dill-a, and he grew up different from all the youth of his age; for he was fond of peace, would not mingle with the crowd who tortured prisoners doomed to death, and his father thought him a coward. one day the father upbraided his son for his peaceful inclinations, and is-a-dill-a answered:-- "'great chief of the mighty delawares, my liver is not white, nor would my blood chill like snow before the enemy, but is-a-dill-a prefers to gather the wild blossoms which grow upon the prairie, and chase the deer among the cliffs, to lying in ambush for the red man, and sending an arrow into his heart; the great spirit, who is father of all the red men, has told me in my dreams to love them all.' "his father was about to respond angrily to the utterance of a homily so unbecoming a great warrior's son, and the future chief of a powerful tribe, when he saw a huge black bear approaching him with angry demonstrations. the chief was armed, as usual, with bow and arrows, and a stone axe. is-a-dill-a, without any weapons, was ordered by his father to climb a tree, that he might escape the danger of the impending conflict. the chief, then resting upon one knee, and fixing a selected arrow to his bow, aimed at the eye of the bear, when only a few feet distant. the oscillating motion of the beast's head prevented it from taking fatal effect, and the arrow struck the skull, which was too thick and hard to be penetrated. the now infuriated animal, with a savage growl, sprang upon the chief who dealt it a fearful blow with his stone axe, but was seized in the ponderous paws of the bear, and a mortal struggle ensued. in a moment the chief was bleeding from a hundred wounds, and the animal's mouth was already at his throat, when is-a-dill-a picked up his father's axe, dealt the beast a powerful blow over the eye, which completely destroyed it, and continued the work until the exhausted animal fell to the earth. but in his death agonies the bear succeeded in embracing is-a-dill-a and tearing him dreadfully, so that he lay insensible by the side of the dead brute. "the chief was the first to recover from the swoon in which he had fallen from loss of blood, and as he saw the body of his son lying beside that of the immense bear, it was some time before he could connect the circumstances, for it appeared impossible for a boy of his age to perform such an exploit. he was bitterly grieved, when he thought how pure was the filial affection of his son, and bitterly regretted the reproaches he had often heaped upon him who was so worthy of honor and affection. he crawled to his son's body,--for he believed him dead,--but feeling that the heart was still beating, with much effort and great pain he succeeded in getting some water from a little spring near by, and applied it to the forehead and lips of the insensible is-a-dill-a; in a few moments he gave a deep sigh, looked at his father with a glow of recognition, then again became unconscious. "fortunately at this moment, three squaws who had been gathering berries, approached, and seeing the condition of the chief and his son, hastened to the village for assistance. by careful nursing, both recovered, and the boy became the object of admiration and reverence; for since his exploit with the bear, none dare dispute his courage, which is the greatest virtue among the indians. "as i have already told you, it is necessary for all promising youths to retire into some solitary place, and submit to a long fast, that they may propitiate the great spirit. in a few years, is-a-dill-a expressed his desire to attempt the ordeal. the chief made everything in readiness, and soon is-a-dill-a was alone in his little lodge in the wilderness, upon his bed of skin. he looked up with great confidence to the great spirit, and felt that the light of his countenance would rest upon him. every morning his father visited him, and encouraged him to persevere, by appealing to his pride, his ambition, and his noble instincts. the ninth day came and passed, and also the tenth; on the morning of the eleventh is-a-dill-a was dying with weakness, and his full, rounded muscles had shrunk and withered from the prostrating effects of the terrible ordeal. "'father,' said the almost expiring youth, 'i have fasted eleven days, a longer time than man ever fasted before; the great spirit is satisfied; give me something to eat that i may not die.' "'to-morrow, my son, before the bright sun rises, i will bring you venison cooked by your mother; fast until then that your name may become mighty among the great chiefs of the delawares.' "the old man departed, proud of the fame his son would acquire; and the next morning, before the sun had risen, he was at the lodge of is-a-dill-a, with a supply of the most tempting food, but he stood motionless before a strange sight within the lodge. there was a youth with golden wings and most beautiful features, having a halo of light around his head, painting the breast of is-a-dill-a with vermilion, and his body brown. then, in a moment, the winged youth was changed to a dove, and is-a-dill-a to a strange and beautiful bird, and they both flew through the door of the lodge to a tree, and the strange bird thus addressed the chief of the delawares: "'father, farewell. the great spirit, when he saw that i was dying from hunger, sent a messenger for me, and i am changed to this bird. i will always preserve my love for man, and will build and carol near his dwelling.' "the two birds then flew away, but every morning the robin, during the lifetime of the chief, sang from the large oak tree that overshadowed his lodge. "when the delawares moved west of the missouri, the faithful descendants of the strange bird followed them, and that is how the robins came to kansas." the mocking-bird, that sweetest of our feathered songsters, is indigenous to the central region of the great plains, and his notes are heard when the day breaks. he seeks the highest points upon the dwellings, the ridge of the house, the barn, or the top of the windmill, if there be one, where, like the aztecs of old, or their lineal descendants, the pueblo indians of new mexico to-day, he greets the coming god in the east. like the robin, the mocking-bird loves the companionship of man. he builds his nest near their dwellings, in the garden, the orchard, or the trees close by. kate and gertrude had made several attempts to get hold of some little ones in their nests, but there was always something that seemed to thwart their plans. last year they found a nest in a grapevine in the garden, and they watched it zealously day by day, from the laying of the last twig by the parent birds, to the hatching of the two white eggs. they saw the fledglings develop from week to week, until they were nearly large enough to be taken from the nest, when one morning, on going as usual to watch the progress of the little birds, what was their horror to see a snake swallowing the last one. the other they knew, by the swelled body of the reptile, was hopelessly gone! their disgust and sorrow may be imagined, and as it was too late in the season to think of finding another nest with young ones in it, they were forced to abandon their quest until another spring. this april they were successful. a pair had built their nest in the vine-covered summer-house, a rustic little place that mr. thompson had erected out of the wild grape, for a retreat in which his wife and daughters might sit in the afternoons when they did not care to go as far as the deep woods. no harm came to the fledglings this time, and they were placed in a handsome cage bought by the girls from the proceeds of the eggs laid by their own brown leghorn hens. the birds soon became very tame, and made the house resonant all day long with their brilliant notes. they knew the girls the moment they came near the cage, and would stretch their wings and gently pick at their fingers when they put them between the wires. they were a constant source of pleasure, for the girls loved pets of all kinds, and taught them to return their affection by means of gentleness and constant kindness. joe lost his elk this spring, and he was greatly disturbed by it. he had made arrangements with an old hunter, living near fort harker, to go out to the saline valley and capture another young one. he intended to break them both to harness, and expected to have a unique team to drive. the elk was so tame that he permitted it to roam at will through the woods on the margin of the oxhide, where it browsed on the small bushes or grazed on the luxurious grass which grew in such profusion on the creek bottom. it always returned to the corral at night for its feed of corn, but one evening it failed to come up as usual. he wandered through the woods, looking for it, when, happening to come upon a camp near the mouth of the oxhide on the trail westward, he saw to his indignation, that the emigrants, a very ignorant set from missouri, had butchered his elk. he gave them a talking-to that was more emphatic than choice in its language. they told him they thought it was a wild one, but he became disgusted at their falsehood, and asked them if wild elks had blue ribbons on their necks as his had, and he pulled it from the hide which was lying near their wagons. the girls had sewed it on the elk for him not a week ago. he saw that the party was such a miserable set that he could do nothing with them, so he had to leave the place, as mad as a wet hen, and abandon his idea of ever having an elk team. it was a relief for the family to feel that they could now go where they pleased without fear of marauding bands of indians. the winter campaign had most effectually settled their propensities for murdering and scalping the settlers, so both the girls and boys made trips to the neighbors, and went on fishing excursions, or hunted whenever they cared to. even the wolves, which had been such a terror to the whole neighborhood, had been so successfully thinned out in several "surrounds" by the men living on the various creeks, that the raspberry patch was no longer infested by them. kate and her sister went up there one morning, not expecting, of course, that the berries would be ripe as early as april. as neither of them had visited the place since kate's capture, and everything was now perfectly safe, they thought they would like to go there again. when they arrived at the well-remembered ledge of rocks, kate pointed out to gertrude the exact spot where she was standing when the savages swooped down on her; and they climbed to the top where they were attacked by the wolf. they found the vines full of blossoms, promising a beautiful crop in june, and while strolling along the bank of the stream they suddenly came upon a quail's nest in which twenty-five eggs were just hatching out. as the quail runs the moment it breaks from the shell, the girls determined to take the little ones home and bring them up as they did their chickens. the old birds made a terrible fuss. they would run a short distance from the nest, and pretend to be very lame; apparently being hardly able to move. they thus tried to induce the girls to catch them--a ruse adopted by many other birds when their young ones are in danger. but kate and gertrude, who were well posted in the tricks of animals and birds, paid no attention to the antics of the old quails, but were intent on catching all of the little ones they could. even then it was a hard job, for the baby quails run almost as fast as the parents, and hide in the grass where they lie quiet until all danger is past. they succeeded, however, in getting all but four of them, and walked hurriedly back to errolstrath with the tender things in their aprons. "if i didn't know they were quails," said kate, "i should think that they were young brown leghorn chickens. did you ever see such a resemblance, gert?" "they do look exactly like the brown leghorns, and do you know, kate, that when i first saw a brood of leghorns, i thought they were young quails." "i expect we shall have little trouble in raising them, for jenny campbell had as many as a dozen of them in her cellar all last summer. her brother caught them as we did these, in the spring, just as they were coming out of their shells. they will eat small grain like chickens." "well, we won't keep them in our cellar," said gertrude; "we'll get joe or rob to build us a big cage out of lath, and then we can make them as tame as the mocking-birds." "do you purpose to eat them?" inquired kate. "certainly; why not? mamma and papa love them broiled on toast, and so do i. i don't expect to make such pets of them that when the time comes to eat them, i shall think so much of them that i can't do it; and you must not either, kate." the girls arrived safely at the ranche with their charge, and joe being begged to make a cage, set about it at once, and had it ready in less than an hour. the birds were put in it, and it was set on the veranda, where the little things could get plenty of air and sunlight. they picked up millet seed as readily as an old chicken, when gertrude threw in a handful to them. in a few days they were contented in their confinement and became very tame. kate and her sister intended to raise a great many chickens this spring, and they set as many as forty hens; for their eggs and young broilers brought a good price at the fort and in the village. they had excellent luck at hatching time, but as the little ones began to grow, when the girls counted them every morning they found their number decreasing day by day. they could not divine the cause at first, so rob was set to watch, and discover, if he could, what caused their disappearance. some hens that had fifteen or sixteen would come around the yard next morning with only six or seven. they had three cats: one named dame trot, a pure tabby; one called mischief, a white and gray; and tortoise, because of her color. tortoise had a litter of kittens which she kept under the front porch. joe had suspected that the cats knew something of the disappearance of the little birds, and told rob to keep his eyes on them. as he sat one evening on the veranda he saw tortoise suddenly spring from behind a cherry tree and catch one of the young leghorns in her mouth and carry it to her nest under the porch. rob immediately crawled there, and to his surprise found the heads of more than twenty chickens. he ran into the house and told of his discovery. his father said that the cat must be killed at once; for when a cat gets a taste for chickens, it is impossible to break it of the habit, and joe was commissioned to put the guilty tortoise out of the way. kate cried and was in great distress, for tortoise was her cat, and she begged her father to put off its death until to-morrow morning, when she would go and spend the day with jenny campbell. she could not bear to stay and see her favorite cat killed. her request was granted, and tortoise had a respite until morning, but she was shut up in a box so that she could not get any more of the chickens. when morning came, kate got rob to saddle ginger, but before she started she begged joe to bury tortoise in some out of the way place where she would never find her grave. joe promised he would, and when his sister was out of sight down the trail, he took the cat out of her prison and went to the woodpile, and with one stroke of the axe cut off her head. then he took her down into the woods and buried her under a bunch of wild plum bushes, where no one would ever see the grave. after the death of tortoise the chickens throve admirably, and no more were ever missed by reason of the cats having caught them. chapter xvi the pawnees return--antelope hunt with the indians--joe misses--white wolf--talk of a wild horse hunt--the sand-hill cranes--their weird cotillion the pawnees camped on the oxhide that autumn earlier than usual, as one of the boys of the tribe had said they would. the band arrived the first week in september, and joe was again in his element. he spent every spare moment in the camp, but, much to his regret, learned that his old friend yellow calf was dead; he had died about a month before of sheer wearing out. he was nearer ninety than eighty, which he had given as his age to joe. one of the younger of the principal men had been made chief in his place. he had been with the band every season when they camped on the creek, and also was a firm friend to joe, so the boy had lost nothing except the presence of the old fellow who thought so much of him. one morning about the middle of april while the indians were still on the oxhide, and joe as usual was in the camp, a warrior came in and reported a large herd of antelope on the smoky hill bottom; he said there were at least eight hundred of them. he proposed to joe that they should go after them, and the boy agreed without any hesitation. the chief told them they had better take about half a dozen of the men with them; for if the antelope were out on the open prairie, they could not get near enough to them without a great deal of trouble. if they had some one to drive the herd toward them while they hid themselves in the tall grass, they could entice a number within range by using the usual strategy. joe and the indian, whose name was the white wolf, started, taking with them seven men of the band as drivers. when they got out into the opening beyond the timber on the oxhide, they discovered the large herd unsuspiciously grazing about two miles away. the seven indians were then ordered to make a détour far beyond the animals, at least a mile from the far side of them, while joe and white wolf secreted themselves in a large patch of bunch-grass. this was out on the prairie about a hundred rods distant from the timber, and was pointed to by white wolf so that his men would understand exactly what was required of them. joe and the indian who had remained behind with him, then walked leisurely toward the bunch of tall grass. they had plenty of time to prepare themselves, as it would take at least an hour before the indians could get beyond the herd to move it. on the way to the prairie joe had stopped at the ranch, to borrow the spencer carbine for white wolf, while he took his little ballard rifle, that was only good for about a hundred and fifty yards, while the spencer would carry a ball five hundred. they reached their hiding-place in plenty of time, for they lay there fully fifteen minutes before they saw a commotion among the antelope. the herd were observed to raise their heads as if they winded danger, and then making a few of their characteristic stiff-legged bounds, they stood alert as if preparing for flight. joe knew by this that the animals had been startled by the indians, though he could not see a sign of one of them. the herd at first ran as swiftly as they could in an easterly direction, then they began to slacken their pace, and a few, having recovered their courage, commenced to nibble gingerly at the short buffalo grass again. at this juncture white wolf tied a white rag around his head, and, standing on his knees, began to sway his body backward and forward with a steady oscillating motion. presently the antelope saw him, and a few of them stopped short to gaze at the strange object. in a few moments four or five of the inquisitive creatures moved slowly forward again, still attracted by the swaying white figure of the savage, which so excited their curiosity. presently, as they came closer and closer, joe told white wolf not to fire until they came within range of his little gun. soon the proper distance was attained, and joe, drawing up his piece, said:-- "now, white wolf, fire away!" their pieces were discharged simultaneously; it seemed like a single shot, so accurately had the triggers been pulled together. two of the graceful creatures rolled over on their sides, one white wolf's, instantly killed, while joe's was sprawling out, every limb quivering like an aspen leaf. both hunters dropped their guns and started out to cut the throats of their game, joe was in the act of placing his hand on the neck of the one he had fired at, when, to his surprise, it jumped to its feet and ran off to join its not faraway companions, and the astonished boy never saw it again! which was the more surprised, the boy or the antelope, it would be difficult to determine. he turned to the savage, who was bewildered, too, and asked him what in the world was the cause of the animal's recovery after he had shot him. "i aimed at his heart as he stood broadside toward me," said joe, "and i don't know what it means." "you only grazed him," answered white wolf. "we indians often catch wild horses in that way, when we can't get them in any other." of course, they conversed in the pawnee tongue, for the savage did not understand a word of english. "oh! i know what you mean, white wolf," said joe. "i just grazed his spinal cord with the ball; it paralyzed him for a moment, that's all. yellow calf told me how the pawnees used to catch wild horses in that way, down on the cimarron bottom, when the tribe lived on the republican river." "i'm soon going down there with some of my warriors. a kaw brave told me the other day that there are a good many wild horses there yet; will you go, too?" asked white wolf of his young friend. "i'll go if my father and mother are willing, and i guess they will be," replied joe. "i should so like to see a herd of wild horses. i have seen nearly all the other animals that live on the plains and in the timber, but have never seen wild horses, because they don't range as far east as oxhide creek. there are lots of them in nebraska though, farther north, mr. tucker says." as the prairie was too level for the hunters to hope to get near the antelope again, now that they had discharged their pieces, and as the other indians were coming up to them, they decided to go back. one of white wolf's men packed the dead antelope on his horse, and they all rode slowly toward errolstrath. when they arrived there, white wolf insisted that joe take half of the game. to this at first the boy did not agree, but as the chief insisted so persistently, he finally consented. so the antelope was divided fairly, one portion was carried into the house, and the other to the indian camp down the creek. at dinner joe told his father that white wolf was going to the cimarron bottom in a few days to try to capture some wild horses which, so he learned from one of his kaw friends, were roaming on the salt marshes of that region, and that the chief wanted him to go with him. mr. thompson said that he had not the slightest objection now that the war was over and there was nothing to be feared from the savages, but he told joe that if any animals were captured, he ought to be entitled to a share. "i have made that all right with white wolf already, father," said joe. "he agrees to give me as great a proportion as his other warriors are entitled to. he hopes to capture at least one apiece, as the kaw who told him about the herd said there were three or four hundred of them down there." as soon as dinner was over, joe jumped on his pony and loped off to the indian camp to tell white wolf that he could go to hunt wild horses with the band. the chief said that he was glad of it, and that they would start by the first of the week. it was now thursday, and that would give them all plenty of time to make ready. he told joe that he would let him have a pony out of his herd, so that he could save his own the hard trip, for there would be severe work for all the ponies. joe started back to the ranche, and when he arrived at the foot of haystack mound, on the side of it farthest from the corral, he saw a squadron of sand-hill cranes circling around near the ground, and as he knew they were going to alight, he pulled up his pony. after turning loose his animal, which he knew would run right to the corral, he hid himself in the plum bushes which grew all over the bottom, to watch the strange antics of those curious birds. they dance a regular cotillion when on the ground. they chassez backward and forward, and waltz around, keeping time in a rude sort of way as they go through the mazes of their weird movements. presently they all came fluttering down, about forty of them, and immediately began their laughable capers. joe had witnessed their performance a hundred times, but he could never resist looking at it again whenever the opportunity offered. they danced for more than half an hour, and then seeming to have enjoyed themselves sufficiently, they took flight, and soon were but as a wreath of dark blue far up in the sky. joe returned to the house, and puttered around until supper was ready. at the table he told of his stopping at haystack mound to witness the antics of a flock of cranes that had alighted on the sand knoll near there, and said he could sit and look at them all day. of course all the family had witnessed the performance of the cranes often, for in the season scarcely a day passed that a flock did not make its appearance somewhere on the ranche. kate said, "i used to watch them on the canadian when i was in the indian village, and they were about the only things that i laughed at while there. after i had been there about a month and had got pretty well acquainted, one of the boys gave me a young crane for a pet. he became so tame that he would follow me all over the village. "i kept him three months, when one morning, as i was walking down to the river with him, i saw him suddenly stop, put his head on one side, look up at the sky, and running a few steps, fly away. i watched him until he was out of sight. it was a flock of his own species that he had seen, and i did not even begin to hear their croaking until he was far out of sight." chapter xvii wild horses--joe sleeps in white wolf's tent--camp on the walnut--wolves and lynxes--kill an elk--the chase--capture of the black stallion--white wolf's skill--breaking the horses the pawnees remained on oxhide creek later than usual this spring. as they wanted to go on a hunt for the wild horses on the cimarron bottom, they had to wait until the grass grew enough to furnish pasture for their own ponies on the trip. about the middle of april, white wolf told his warriors that he would start in a few days. a runner was despatched to errolstrath, to tell joe the band would leave in a short time, and to be ready at a moment's notice. the runner said that when white wolf started he wanted to be off very early in the morning, so as to make the arkansas the first night. joe, all anxious for the exciting trip, persuaded his mother and sisters to bake up a lot of bread, and boil hard a couple of dozen eggs for him. he told them that that would be all he wanted, as they intended to depend upon the chase, indian fashion, for everything else; and as the country they were going over was full of buffalo, antelope, and elk, they would not suffer from lack of food. he cleaned his father's spencer carbine, bought a box of cartridges for it, and told kate that he intended to ride the roan which she got from the indians and had given to him. he thought the animal was better than any the pawnees had in their herd, though white wolf had said that he could ride one of theirs. the night of the third day after the runner had come to tell joe to get ready, another one came to the ranche and said that white wolf and the warriors would start in the morning. he told him that he had better come to the camp with him, and stay there that night, so that there would be no delay about getting off early in the morning. so joe got his things ready, tied a couple of blankets to the cantle of his saddle, his lariat to the horn; slung his carbine over his shoulder, and buckled his belt of cartridges around his waist. he then bade good by to the family, jumped on his pony, which he had named comanche, after the tribe which had captured kate, and rode with the runner who had come for him, to the pawnee camp a mile distant. arriving there, joe found everything in confusion. some of the warriors were picketing their riding animals near the tepees, allowing the loose ponies to run at large, as they will never leave the main bunch. others were packing their wallets of par-flèche with dried meat for the journey. white wolf was sitting in the door of his lodge, smoking his pipe and giving general directions to his warriors. at last everything was straightened out to the satisfaction of the chief, and then all adjourned to their several tepees to make ready their arms and ropes for the work that was to be done when they reached the cimarron. joe slept in the lodge of the chief that night, and before the dawn was fairly upon the world, the warriors were up, saddling their ponies, taking down their lodges, and packing their traps on the backs of the animals designated for that purpose. then after a hastily swallowed breakfast of dried buffalo meat, at a signal from white wolf, the party mounted, and the cavalcade rode southwest at a gentle lope, the pack animals in front, in charge of two warriors. joe rode alongside of white wolf in the centre of the column, and they talked of the probability of finding the herd of wild horses on the salt marsh where they were going. they pulled up about noon to graze their animals and to have a smoke, which is the first thing an indian does when he halts: it is of more importance to him than eating. the big bend where the pawnees wished to cross the arkansas was seventy-two miles from the oxhide, near the famous pawnee rock, on the old santa fé trail. when the sun was about two hours high, they could see, three or four miles distant, the white contour of the sand hills which border the great silent, treeless stream, and the indians knew that their camping-ground was near. it was to be in the timber at the mouth of the walnut, less than two miles from the spot where they would strike the arkansas. before it had grown fairly dark, the heavy timber on the walnut was reached, and the party halted, turned their animals loose, took another smoke, and then prepared for the night. around the camp-fire, white wolf and several of the oldest warriors told how that region once belonged to their tribe. their largest village had been two hundred miles farther north, on the republican, and many times they had come down to where they were now camped, to hunt the buffalo, or steal horses from the cheyennes, their hereditary enemies. they told how they were once a powerful nation, but the white man had stolen their lands, and now, only a small band, they were obliged to live on a reservation set apart for them by the government. it was a wild region where joe now found himself. all night long could be heard the cry of the lynx, which sounded like that of an infant. the wolves howled in the timbered recesses of the creek, but joe slept well, rolled up in his blankets in the chief's lodge, and it was morning before he thought he had been asleep an hour. at the first streak of dawn, the indians were out. white wolf said that the mouth of the walnut used to be a favorite place for elk. they might still haunt the stream; he would send out some of his hunters, and perhaps they would have elk for their breakfast. he selected two of the warriors, who started out on foot to see if they could find any game. joe, of course, accompanied them. they stalked cautiously as only an indian can--joe had mastered the art perfectly--along the bank of the stream, not a stick breaking under their feet, nor the sound of the rustle of a dead leaf being heard, so quietly did they tread. at last, arriving at a bend of the creek, where the timber grows the thickest, the indian in the lead stopped abruptly, put his hand out behind him, the sign for the others to halt, and taking joe's carbine from the boy's shoulder, got down on his belly and crawled forward as noiselessly as a snake. suddenly he raised the gun, and seeming to take a careless aim, pulled the trigger, and immediately joe and the other warrior saw four elk rush past them, down the prairie, and out of sight. as he turned to joe and the other warrior, telling them at the same time to come on, the indian who had fired said in his own language, "we'll have elk for breakfast now." they followed him into the timber, and there, not thirty yards from where he had stood when he fired the carbine, was an elk, about two years old, dead as a stone wall! the work of skinning the elk did not take more than ten minutes, and it was cut up into conveniently sized pieces, and each one of the hunters packed his portion to camp, less than a mile distant. when they arrived they found the fire burning briskly, for white wolf and the other warriors had heard the report of the gun, and they knew that something in the shape of game had been secured, for mazakin and trotter, the two indians whom the chief had sent out, were unfailing shots. the meat was soon cut into slices, and each man cut a twig fork upon which he stuck a slice, and every one became a cook for himself. joe produced a loaf of his bread, and with water alone for drink they made an excellent meal. when they had finished, the sun was just rising like a great molten ball out of the horizon of the far-stretching level prairie. the ponies, standing ready, were mounted, and the party moved out, crossed the arkansas at pawnee rock, and continued a southwesterly course all day. by sundown they arrived at the cimarron, a clear, babbling stream, where the water was a little brackish, and which the cheyennes call ho-to-oa-oa (buffalo). there were no trees at this part of the cimarron in those days, and they were obliged to pitch their camp on the sandy bank of the river. the grass was luxurious, and their animals fairly revelled in it. they soon filled themselves and lay down, as if they realized the hard work which would be their portion for the next few days. there were plenty of fish in the river, and as joe had thoughtfully brought some hooks and lines, he and white wolf with two of the other warriors took dried buffalo meat for bait, and soon caught all they wanted for their supper. the next morning they broke camp at daybreak, and rode for a grove of timber just visible in the far-distant western horizon, where white wolf said he believed they would find some wild horses. they always take shelter at night in timber if any is to be found, and wander out on the prairie in the morning to graze. the party arrived at the grove by two o'clock, and established their permanent camp, as they saw the unmistakable signs that a herd of wild horses made it their nightly rendezvous. their lodges were put up in the southern edge of the grove, away from the trails of the animals. the indians kept very quiet all day, sitting in the shadow of their lodges, smoking and talking. they did not even build any fires, but contented themselves with their dried buffalo meat and the bread which joe had brought, for fear of making the slightest disturbance, and thus preventing the wild horses from returning to their usual nightly resting-place. every once in a while, either white wolf himself or some of the other warriors would venture out of the timber and gaze long and anxiously over the vast prairie, in hope of seeing something of the bunch, which they knew was grazing somewhere not many miles away. once the chief thought he saw in the distance, moving objects which he took for horses, for he was noted far beyond any other member of his band for his keen sight. he was right in his conjectures, for before half an hour had passed from the time he had first riveted his attention, the bunch--for such it was--had swung around, broadside to, and, approaching nearer the timber, could be counted. there were over forty animals, led by a magnificent black horse which the chief said he would try to capture. it was a beautiful sight, and joe stood transfixed as they kicked up their heels, and raced after one another like a group of school children, little suspecting that, before the sun went down the next evening, many of them would be ridden by the indians who were now gazing at them so covetously. night seemed to be very slow in coming to the band of pawnees, who smoked and smoked incessantly, to pass the long hours before darkness would invite the herd to seek its bed-ground. at last after dark, by the light of the crescent moon, they saw the animals, led by the coal-black stallion, cautiously walk into the timber about a mile from the pawnee camp. when the neighing and pawing had ceased, the hunters wrapped themselves in their blankets and buffalo robes, intending to be up before it was light, and surprise the herd before it was ready to go out to graze. the ponies were securely picketed, saddles, girths, and bridles examined, buffalo-hair lariats overhauled, and all made ready for an early start on the hard day's ride. long before the sun had showed the faintest indication of his coming; while the stars were still shining brilliantly, the indians and joe were up, and hastily breakfasting, or taking their matutinal smoke. they then mounted their ponies, and stealthily walked the animals in the direction of the slumbering bunch of wild horses. when they had arrived within a few hundred yards of the place where the handsome creatures were still unconsciously resting, one of the indians and joe, who was as good as the best man among them, dismounted and crawled forward in the brush to reconnoitre. they returned in a few moments and reported to white wolf that all was quiet, not a single horse's ear had they seen pricked up, so the animals had not as yet been warned of danger. white wolf then gave his orders, making such disposition of his forces as would cause the herd to be surrounded when the warriors had approached near enough to use their lassoes. so quietly did the ponies do their duty, that when the herd was awakened to hear and see their enemies almost upon them, the lassoes of several of the warriors had done their work. as the others bounded away with astonishing speed, out of the timber and over the prairie, a spirited chase commenced. the pawnees urged their ponies to their greatest capacity, the manes and tails of the wild horses in front were flying wildly in the air, while their hoofs were beating the hard sod, showing how tightly strung were the muscles of the frightened animals. the pawnees were obviously gaining upon the fugitives, quick-footed though they were. the chief came up with the leader, the splendid black stallion, and began to swing his lasso around his head, gradually enlarging the circles by permitting the rough buffalo-rope to slip gently through his fingers. a sudden movement at the same instant plunged the stallion into an increased speed, when, white wolf thumping the flanks of his mettlesome pony, it dashed quickly forward, and the pawnee threw his lariat with unerring skill around the neck of the black horse. the bunch was thrown into a panic, when the members of it saw their leader tumble to the ground, and wheeling round in their course, they were completely surrounded by their pursuers. at least ten were lassoed by the same number of pawnees, including joe, who had long ago become an expert with the rope. the remainder of the bunch not yet caught were kept together by the rest of the indians, who were continually circling around them, so that not one escaped, and at the end of an hour the whole forty were lassoed, and tied fast by the legs. some fifteen of them were not desirable animals, and these were turned loose again. the business of breaking them in began when they had driven the remaining twenty-five to their camp down on the farther edge of the grove. the frightened animals, notwithstanding their fetters of rawhide, kicked up the earth, shook their heavy manes, curved their necks, and, with eyes that seemed all afire, gazed tremblingly at their captors. as white wolf wanted the black stallion for his own riding, he began with him. it took four of the stoutest pawnees to hold the fiery creature by a long lasso; this had the effect of partial strangulation, which weakened and temporarily overcame the wonderful power of the spirited creature. violent were his plunges as he tried to free himself from the grasp of his captors. his terrific leaps only served to draw the lariat tighter around his neck; his breathing became more and more difficult, and might have been heard for the eighth of a mile. his heart beat as if it would burst from his heaving chest, and his veins stood out in great ridges along his quivering flesh. at last, overwhelmed by his agony and fear, powerless with suffocation, he fell, and for an instant lay upon the ground without sense or motion. the lariat was immediately loosened around his neck, and as consciousness returned to him, his already glazed eyes became bright again, the fresh air dilated his nostrils, and his tremendous chest rose and fell. in ten minutes he was on his feet, but how different he appeared from the magnificent animal which had stood in all his native pride and dignity at the head of his band. he was weak, hardly able to stand, his great head drooped, and his eyes were without that natural brilliancy which had so markedly characterized them; he appeared only the ghost of his former self. like a monarch who had been dragged from his throne, who has been scoffed at by those whom he had previously despised, he was destined to become the slave of man. as soon as the horse somewhat recovered from his exhaustion, he was mounted by white wolf, who kept his seat, notwithstanding the animal's terrific efforts to throw him, and forced him to run round and round in a circle. if for a moment the horse showed the slightest manifestation of flagging or obstinacy, white wolf would give him an awful blow over the head with his heavy buffalo-hair rope. gradually he became more passive, and in less than half an hour from the time when the chief had mounted him, he was declared broken, and was led away to be picketed with the rest of the indian ponies. the remaining twenty-four horses were all subjected to the same course of discipline; some giving up in a few moments, others as obstinate as was their leader. before dark all had been sufficiently subdued to suit a savage's idea of gentleness, and the party went to bed that night elated over their wonderful success. the next morning they started for home, camping at the same place on the walnut. from there to the oxhide, they made two night halts instead of one, as on their outward trip. joe's share of the capture was three beautiful ponies. under the discipline of the kindness which always prevailed at errolstrath, these were made in a few weeks almost as gentle as tame horses. chapter xviii the last herd of buffalo--the stampede--the soldiers in full chase--joe gets two cows--hauling in the meat--rattlesnakes the last big herd of buffalo ever seen in the valley of the oxhide visited their ancient feeding-grounds during that same spring of , when joe hunted wild horses on the cimarron with the pawnees. one morning, shortly after his return to errolstrath, an immense number of the shaggy ruminants came tearing across the smoky hill, below the fort. they rushed up toward the soldiers' barracks, and dashed wildly through the post, over the parade-ground, and on toward the oxhide. in a moment the whole garrison was in full chase, enlisted men and officers, and a fusillade ensued, which sounded at a distance like a general engagement of troops. the firing was heard on the oxhide, and several of the pawnees who happened to be out on the highest bluffs saw the herd coming. one of their number hurried to their camp and notified the other warriors, who immediately mounted their ponies and got ready for the chase. joe and rob were hunting rabbits with their hounds that morning on an elevated plateau, and they, too, saw the cloud of dust raised by the great herd, as it came thundering through the smoky hill bottom. forgetting all about rabbits and everything else, they rushed to the house for their guns. in a few moments they joined the indians, who were coming at a breakneck gait toward the on-rushing mass. the buffalo, wild with fear and excitement at their proximity to the cabins of the settlers, were on a general stampede. when buffalo are stampeded, they become absolutely blind, and rush without any aim into anything that is in their path. some of the frightened beasts that now had reached errolstrath ranche, dashed through the front yard, leaping over fences and gates as easily as a greyhound. in their mad career they knocked down the milk-pans, water-buckets, and other things that stood near the kitchen door. kate was standing on the wash-bench, trying to get a good look at the buffalo as they came tearing along, and before she was aware of the fact, she found herself sprawling on the ground. an old bull that was separated from the rest of the herd had come dashing round the corner of the house, and striking the end of the bench with his leg, sent kate headlong. she picked herself up unhurt, and rushed into the house, almost as badly scared as when the cheyennes had swooped down on her. she gathered her wits in a moment, and with her mother and sister stood on the back veranda, where they could all see the herd now far up on the hills, and still running in their madness. the indians, soldiers, and officers were shooting at the frenzied beasts as they ran among them, regardless of consequences. now and then they toppled one of the huge animals over, but the white men in their excitement missed oftener than they hit, while the pawnees rarely failed to bring down their game. the party on the porch at errolstrath watched the herd and hunters until nothing but a cloud of dust could be seen far in the distance, yet the yelling of the pawnees could still be faintly heard long after the buffalo had vanished from sight. by noon, indians and whites slowly retraced their course down to the creek bottom, the pawnees going to their camp, the soldiers to the fort, and the boys, joe and rob, home. "how many of the buffalo were killed after all that terrible yelling and shooting?" asked their mother. "well, not nearly as many as ought to have been," answered joe. "i never saw such a mixed-up mess in all my life. enough cartridges were used to have killed five hundred, but the men from the fort were as excited as the buffalo, and they didn't hit an animal once in a hundred shots, and then when they did, half the time the ball struck them where it had no more effect than if you had hit them with a stick! "the pawnees killed more than all the others; they got twenty-five, and have gone to camp for ponies to pack the meat on. i don't think that fifty buffaloes were killed in all. i got two, both of 'em cows, and i must take the wagon out and haul 'em in. we will have enough meat to last us a long while, but we shall have to smoke most of it." "where did the herd go?" inquired kate. "most of the animals kept right on toward the east, while some of them turned round and travelled south. i suspect that the settlers on plum creek flats will have a good time with them, as a part of the herd that went south was headed for there. i tell you," continued joe, "you've got to keep a clear head on your shoulders when you go after buffalo. most of those fellows from fort harker are recruits, and are fresh from the east; they never saw a buffalo before, and i don't wonder they were excited." "i never saw so many rattlesnakes," said rob, "as i did on that big stony prairie where we killed the majority of the buffalo. i guess i counted fifty if i did one. i think that the stamping of the buffalo must have frightened them out of their holes." "it's very lucky that the rattlesnakes out here are not so venomous as those back east," said mrs. thompson; "more than twenty persons have been bitten by them in the neighborhood since we've lived here, and a little whiskey soon cures it." "do you remember, gert," said kate, "when you nearly sat down on one that was curled up on that stump you were going to take for a seat in the woods last autumn, and he rattled just in time?" "i guess i do," answered her sister. "there's one thing i like about a rattlesnake: he always gives you good warning that he is around. he doesn't ever take you unawares, like some animals, a bull dog for instance, that says nothing, and takes hold of you before you know it." "their skins make pretty belts and hatbands," said rob. "the cowboys on the big cattle ranches kill hundreds of them while they are out herding, and tan the skins to put around their hats. i saw a whole set of jewelry that was made out of the rattles and mounted with gold wire. one of the boys was going to send it to texas to his sister." "well, they may be odd," said mrs. thompson, "but i certainly shouldn't like to wear them." "i like the furs of animals better than anything for ornament, either to wear or to have in my room," said kate. "i guess it would make a city girl envious to see my chamber with all its beautiful skins that joe and rob have given me. one of these days i mean to have papa send some of those otter and beaver skins to kansas city, and get them made up into a cape and muff." "he will," said her mother. "i was telling your father only the other day when we were up in your room, that it was a pity so many magnificent skins should be tacked around the walls, and lying on the floor, just for ornament, when there are enough there to make us all a set of winter furs. he said he would send them off in a few days, so i think you will have your wish gratified before long." the boys were sent with the wagon to bring back the meat of the two cows that joe had killed, and about noon they returned. the robes were very fine ones. joe asked the pawnees to tan them for him, and when they were finished, which would be in about a week, he intended to make them a present to his father and mother for their bedroom. the buffalo meat was cut up that evening, by mr. thompson, and on the next day was smoked with corn-cobs, which are always used for that purpose out west. while getting the meat ready, mr. thompson told the boys that he wouldn't be at all surprised if, when they wanted buffalo again, they would have to go miles away for them, as the country was becoming so thickly settled that the herds might never come as far east as the oxhide. "of course," continued he, "the antelope will remain with us a long time yet, but even they will become scarcer each year, and then they, too, will disappear, for it seems that the great ruminants of the plains cannot live with the white man as they can with the savages. the latter have no permanent home, but congregate in temporary villages in the winter, and as soon as spring opens, they are off again, living on horseback and depending upon the chase for their existence. it has ever been so with the indian since the landing of the pilgrims, in . the white man has dogged their footsteps as they themselves follow the deer. one of the facetious old bishops of new england, i forgot his name now, said: 'the puritans, when they landed on plymouth rock, first fell upon _their knees_, and then upon the _aboriginees_!' it appears to be the fate of the red men to vanish before the onward march of the whites." "i feel sorry for the indians, father," said joe. "i tell you it would have made you almost weep to hear white wolf, that night we camped on the walnut, relate in his sorrowful manner how powerful his tribe once was, before the white man took their lands away from them." "i have a warm spot in my heart for the indian," said mr. thompson, "but it is their fate, i suppose, and cannot be helped. you cannot civilize the old ones, and the only hope is in taking the rising generation away from their tribal affiliations when young, and teaching them to live like the whites." chapter xix the indian horse-race--kate's pony wins--the trade with the pawnees--the dances at night--the indians say good by to the family--noble action of white wolf the pawnees having remained on the oxhide much longer than in any previous season, they began to make preparations for departure. joe asked the chief to give a dance with his warriors at the ranche, for his parents and his sisters to see how the indians enjoy themselves. white wolf said he would be sure to do so the night before they left. to-morrow, they were going to have a horse-race, and, should his father be willing, they would use that long, level stretch of prairie between the house and the creek. it was a distance of about four miles, the usual length of a race-course with the indians. white wolf said that the wagers would be ten horses, and that if young panther wanted to bet, he would make one with him. joe replied that neither he nor his father approved of betting, but that both of them dearly loved to see horses run. "if i believed in betting, though," said joe to the chief, "i would bet that my sister's pony, ginger, can outrun any pony you have." the chief smiled, and told joe that if he would not bet, he might ride that pony in the race, and if he came out ahead, then he would know whether his sister's animal was the fastest. joe agreed to it, and when he returned to errolstrath he obtained kate's permission to ride ginger in the race the following day. mr. thompson had readily given his consent to the indians to use the trail in front of the house as a race-course. joe went down to the camp that evening and told the warriors that they might have the use of the course. white wolf then said: "we will be up there by the time the sun is so high," pointing with his hand to where the sun would be at eight o'clock. "all right," replied joe; "we will be ready for you. the folks can sit on the porch and see the whole length of the course. be sure to come promptly." when joe returned to the ranche, he announced that he wanted to get up very early in the morning, and as rob was always the first one in the house out of bed, he asked him to call him the moment he awoke. rob, as usual, was out before sunrise. he promptly called his brother, who lost no time in dressing, washing at the spring, and going out to the pasture to catch ginger. he led him to the corral, gave him a most vigorous currying, after which he fed the pony an extra ration of oats, to give him heart for the race. shortly after breakfast was out of the way, kate, who was on the veranda, feeding the mocking-birds, came rushing into the sitting-room, crying, "the pawnees are coming; i can hear their tom-toms beating; they will soon be here!" all the family went out, and sure enough, there were the indians all dressed up in feathers, and painted in every imaginable savage manner. white wolf had a row of white dots on one cheek, flanked on each side by a streak of vermilion, while the other was green and blue. he had on a war bonnet with eagle feathers sticking in it around the upper edge, making it look like a grotesque crown. down his back dragged a long trail of buffalo hair plaited into his own, and at every few inches for its whole length (it reached the ground when he walked) there were fastened bright metal disks nearly as big as the top of a tomato can. around his wrists were a dozen or more brass rings, and on his bare ankles he wore as many rings of the same material. he had an embroidered buffalo robe thrown gracefully over his shoulders, half concealing his coat of beaded buckskin. his leggings were of the same stuff, and were also gayly decorated with colored porcupine quills deftly woven in them. the other warriors were similarly dressed and painted, but wore only one eagle feather in their bonnets, which was the distinguishing feature between them and their chief. following the warriors were the boys of the band, each riding a pony, and leading others which had been wagered on the race. the race animals were ridden by their owners, and came after all the others; among them was the wild coal-black stallion that white wolf had captured on the cimarron. he looked like himself now, as he proudly pranced along, his mouth frothing as he champed on his rawhide bit, and his neck arched as he stepped like a thoroughbred over buffalo-grass turf leading to the house. several of the warriors had tom-toms in front of them, which they were beating vigorously with a stick as they rode proudly along. the tom-toms, or drums, are made of tanned buffalo hide stretched over a willow hoop, and the sound resembles that of a drum, but as the pounding is simply a continuous series of strokes without any variation, it is not music, but a very monotonous noise. when the band had arrived at the house the indians dismounted, and after a series of "hows?"--their customary salutation--to the family on the veranda, they dismounted and began to converse among themselves in an excited manner. presently one of the warriors started on a run toward the creek. he soon returned with some sticks, and then he and another warrior began to mark out the course. this took them some time, and while they were at the work, the boys who were to ride the race began to cinch up their buffalo-hide saddles, and prepare themselves for the impending struggle. joe was already prancing about on ginger, and he could hardly hold the spirited little beast, so anxious was it to be off, as if it perfectly understood the meaning of all the preparations. the indian ponies, too, seemed to enter into the spirit of the thing, for they also commenced to cavort around, and it was with much difficulty that their riders could restrain them from bolting down the track. at last everything was in readiness, the animals in place, joe on the outside of the four who were to run. the animals were all jumping up and down, stiff-legged, and bucking with all their strength to throw their riders. in a few moments white wolf gave the signal, and away they darted like meteors. ginger kept his place well, the black stallion leading for the first half-mile until a big roan of one of the warriors took the lead; then ginger made a dash ahead. for a moment it was nip and tuck which would keep the lead, but when the second mile was half run, the animals began to show their powers of endurance. some flagged, others were far behind, and ginger and the roan were going relatively slower; when all at once, just as the home stretch was reached, ginger took a spurt and seeming to gain his second wind, like a pugilist in the ring, came in forty feet in advance of the roan, the black stallion twenty feet behind him. the other ponies were so far away, that if they had been running on a white man's course they would have been declared "distanced." such a shout went up from the veranda of the house, where the family were sitting, as they saw ginger dash ahead, and joe caught the sound of it as the wind wafted the pæan of victory to his ears. white wolf was disappointed in the result. he thought that his black horse had great powers of endurance, and as soon as they were assembled in front of the veranda, he offered kate five of the best and youngest of his horses in exchange for ginger. kate hesitated for a moment, but considering that ginger was now nearly eight years old, and after consulting with her father and joe, she decided to make the swap. as the chief owned the roan that had really won the race,--ginger being a mere outsider just to test joe's belief that he was the fastest animal,--white wolf was, in fact, the winner, and took the ten ponies that were wagered. with the assistance of her father and brothers, kate selected five of the best and youngest of the chief's bunch, including the roan. the indians then returned to their camp, promising to come up that evening and give a series of dances, as they intended to start for their reservation the next morning. after they had left the front of the house, and joe had taken the five new ponies to the corral, he told kate that he would now let her have cheyenne back, and he would take the roan, as the latter was too large a horse for her to ride. kate agreed readily to the proposition, so she once more owned the little animal that had brought her so safely from the indian village. when the family had finished their supper, joe and rob, with a team of work horses, dragged several large logs from the creek to the front of the house to make a big bonfire, for the pawnee dance. shortly after dark the redskins came up with their best toggery on, and when joe, who had donned his indian suit for the occasion, told white wolf he was ready, the indians commenced to circle around the great fire of logs, in their savage fashion. some of them jumped stiff-legged like an antelope when he is first startled. others, bending nearly double, shuffled in pairs, each one on his own hook, trying to see which could make the most ridiculous postures, for they have no regular figures, but keep admirable time to the drumming on the tom-toms. when the first dance was finished, they gave a representation of the scalp dance. the chief crept along the ground, putting his ear close to it, in the attitude of listening on the trail of the enemy, then waving his hand for his warriors to come on, they rushed into a supposed indian camp, and went through the simulation of killing their victim, and wrenching off his hair with their knives. the motions, which at times were really graceful, were carried on in perfect unison with the monotonous pounding of the drums. the next dance was named "make the buffalo come." the medicine-men, who claim to possess mysterious powers, tell the warriors to dance, for that will make the buffalo come, and then they can get their meat. the crafty old fellows are sure never to order the dance until about the season that the animals come to that part of the country where the tribe may happen to be. they are kept dancing night after night until the buffalo really make their appearance, then the medicine-men claim that they brought them by their incantations and the wonderful power of their medicine. for this dance, white wolf's warriors and himself covered their heads with the skin of a buffalo's head, horns and all, so that they looked like a lot of men with the heads of that animal as part of their anatomy. it was a long dance, and during its performance, the most indescribable antics were gone through. the family were well pleased with the entertainment, and when it was over, mrs. thompson invited the indians into the sitting-room, where the girls had prepared a little supper for them, consisting of cake and lemonade. the latter was new, and created quite a sensation, but joe told them it was not fire-water, and they might drink a barrel full without becoming crazy. at midnight when the dances and the supper were over, the pawnees rode back to their camp, delighted with their evening's entertainment. the next morning joe was down at the indian camp very early to see his dusky friends make ready for their departure. the chief told him that they had camped on the oxhide for the last time; the whites had taken up all the country, and the buffalo would come there no more. now when they needed buffalo meat, they would be obliged to go out as far as the walnut, and in a few more years there would be no buffalo at all. his people would have to take the "white man's road" if they expected to live. he and the other warriors made their youthful friend some presents, and told him that they had to go by the house to take the trail down the smoky hill fork to their distant home. he said that they would stop a moment at the ranche to say good by to all the people who had been so kind to him and the tribe every year since they had camped on the creek. joe returned to errolstrath, feeling very sad, because he had become much attached to the indians, and he knew that he would miss them so much, and feel lonely for a long time. he told the family that the pawnees would come soon to say farewell, and that they must be sure to be out on the veranda when they came. by nine o'clock, kate, whose ears were well trained to faint sounds, through her vigilance when a captive in the cheyenne camp, came into the house from the porch where she had been attending to her birds as usual, and said the pawnees were coming; she could hear the tread of their ponies' hoofs. then the family took their places on the veranda, as they had promised joe. presently, slowly coming up the trail, with white wolf in the lead, the band of pawnees were seen approaching the house. arrived in front, they all halted, and with their usual "how? how?" saluted the family. all came down from the porch to shake hands, when ginger, who with the other ponies was running loose in the bunch, came up to kate and, neighing affectionately, began to rub his nose against her arm and shoulder. the salutation of her once favorite pony was too much for the warm-hearted girl, and she burst into tears as she returned the animal's love for her by throwing her arms around his neck. "oh, father!" said she, "why did i ever consent to part with ginger? i am so sorry now. i would give worlds to have him back again." white wolf, noticing her weeping, asked in his own language why the little squaw was feeling so badly. joe told him how she loved ginger and how sorry she was she had ever consented to give him up. white wolf then said: "tell her she shall have her pony again. i am a chief and do not like to see the white squaws cry." he dismounted from his animal, and going up to kate, took ginger's foretop in his hand; then taking hers, he pressed into it the bunch of hair. ginger neighed when the rude ceremony of returning him to his former mistress was over, seeming to understand just what had been effected. kate took the chief by the hand and thanked him as earnestly as she could find language to express herself, which, of course, had to be interpreted by joe. then rob brought from the stable the five other ponies that had been given for ginger, and after a few more parting salutations the pawnees rode down the trail. ginger was restored to his stall in the stable, and kate was the happiest girl in the settlement that day. chapter xx conclusion retrospective--the old trapper passes away--mr. and mrs. thompson are dead--general custer and colonel keogh are killed--errolstrath belongs to joe and rob twenty-nine years have elapsed since the events related in this story. the indians, buffalo, and antelope have all disappeared. there is no longer any frontier. granite monuments mark the dividing line between great states. the children of this generation will never know by experience the hardships, the perils, and the amusements which so conspicuously characterized the life of joe, rob, gertrude, and kate at errolstrath. general custer, colonel keogh, and nearly all of the famous cavalry regiment commanded by the great indian fighter went down to their death in the awful massacre at the battle of the little bighorn, or rosebud, as it is sometimes called. the old trapper, mr. tucker, who was such a warm friend of the family, has long since passed away. mr. and mrs. thompson are buried in the quiet cemetery on the hill, near the ranche. kate and her sister have been married for many years and still live in kansas, but not at the dear old home. errolstrath belongs to joe and rob. it is now a large ranche, comprising many thousand acres. where the buffalo and the antelope used to roam in such vast herds are to be seen, peacefully grazing, hundreds of mild-eyed jerseys and the broad-backed durhams. a new house with all modern improvements has been erected on the site of the old one. on its broad veranda may be seen every evening in summer the children of the two brothers, to whom, as the shadows lengthen, they tell of their own early experiences when they too were children and when the ranche was far out in the wilderness of the great central plains. the shrill whistle of the locomotive may be heard at the ranche as the palace trains with their load of living freight dash along the bank of the smoky hill, toward the rocky mountains. ellsworth has grown to be a beautiful town with electric lights and all the appliances of our wonderful nineteenth century civilization. the moon shines as brightly and the birds sing as sweetly as of yore around errolstrath, but of all the familiar faces that knew it so many years ago, only those of joe and rob may be seen. even they are bearded, their hair is slightly mixed with gray. they are growing old; but the laughter of their merry children serves to keep green the memory of their own happy childhood. * * * * * transcriber's note: obvious punctuation errors were corrected. page , "lighting" changed to "lightning" (like lightning and forced) page , "lightedl" changed to "lighted" (prairie was lighted) page , "th" changed to "that" (and mellow that) page , "n" removed from text at start of new paragraph. original read (n when the leader of the) page , on the line below the previous note, "hu" changed to "the" (the spot where his) books by george bird grinnell published by charles scribner's sons the wolf hunters. illustrated. mo, _net_ $ . blackfeet indian stories. illustrated. mo, _net_ $ . beyond the old frontier. illustrated. mo, _net_ $ . trails of the pathfinders. illustrated. mo, _net_ $ . blackfoot lodge tales. the story of a prairie people. mo, _net_ $ . pawnee hero stories and folk tales. illustrated, mo, _net_ $ . the wolf hunters [illustration: "then come a puff of smoke and the prairie was afire." [page ]] the wolf hunters a story of the buffalo plains edited and arranged from the manuscript account of robert m. peck by george bird grinnell _illustrated_ charles scribner's sons new york::::::::::::::::::::: copyright, , by charles scribner's sons published september, [illustration] introductory note in the days of the buffalo, wolfing was a recognized industry. small parties--two or more men--with team, saddle-horses, and camp outfit, used to go out into the buffalo range, establish a camp, and spend the winter there, killing buffalo and poisoning the carcasses with strychnine. the wolves that fed on these carcasses died about them, and their pelts were taken to camp, to be stretched and dried. the work was hard and not without its dangers. storms were frequent, and often very severe, and the indians were bitterly opposed to the operations of these wolf hunters, who killed great numbers of buffalo for wolf baits, as well as elk, antelope, deer, and other smaller animals. on the other hand, in winter the indians did not usually travel about very much. the following pages describe the adventures of mr. peck and two companions--all recently discharged soldiers--during the winter of - . robert morris peck was born in washington, mason county, kentucky, october , . at the age of seventeen--november, --he enlisted in the first cavalry, and the following year was sent to fort leavenworth and took part in the cheyenne and other campaigns. he was discharged in , and not very long afterward became a wagon-master, in which capacity he served in the army of the frontier. mr. peck died march , . g. b. g. july, . contents chapter page i. tom's plan ii. we get our discharges iii. we find an outfit iv. back to the buffalo range v. we meet doubtful characters vi. standing off the jayhawkers vii. jack takes a prisoner viii. tom's strategy ix. buffalo near the big bend x. why satank killed peacock xi. we reach fort larned xii. our camp on walnut creek xiii. killed by the indians xiv. satanta's story xv. wild bill visits us xvi. tom locks the stable door xvii. volunteer troops at larned xviii. bill returns from his scout xix. a night in the kiowa camp xx. we trade with indians xxi. jack's close call xxii. satank arrives xxiii. surrounded by kiowas xxiv. captain saunders' fight xxv. we part from friends xxvi. back to god's country illustrations "then come a puff of smoke and the prairie was afire" _frontispiece_ facing page "five minutes to get out of range! now, git!" "it must have been the work of injuns" "go to tom" the wolf hunters chapter i tom's plan "well, men, what will we do?" said jack flanagan. "we can re-enlist or go back to the states and each hunt his job, or we can try to get something to do where we can all three stick together." "let's stick together if we can," said i. "now, hold on, men," advised tom vance, "until you hear what i have got to say. i have been thinking a lot about what we'd best do, and last night i think it come to me." "tell us what it is, tom," said jack eagerly. "'tis yourself has the wise head on his shoulders, and i'd like to hear your plan." we were three soldiers of company k, first cavalry, whose terms of service were about to expire, and we looked forward with much eagerness to the time when we should again be our own masters instead of being subject to military discipline. of course, we could re-enlist for another five years, and the government offered inducements to do this. a soldier who re-enlisted within three months before the expiration of his term received a discharge three months in advance of its expiration, with furlough for that length of time and three months' extra pay. at the expiration of that time he was expected to report to his company or, if unable to do that, at the nearest military post. failing to report for duty on time, he was regarded as a deserter. tom vance had served for three enlistments and jack flanagan for two. i was at the end of my first five years. we were at fort wise,[a] colorado territory, and it was the summer of . the civil war was just beginning. "what is your plan, tom?" jack repeated. "well, men," said tom, "as i say, i thought of it last night, and i believe that we can spend the winter somewhere out here in the buffalo range hunting wolves and can make a good stake doing that. we all know something about the plains and something about wolf hunting, and if we can raise the money needed for the outfit, i believe we can make a go of it. the indians are pretty quiet now, but, of course, we know something about indians and know that they've got to be looked out for all the time, but i guess we'll be safe enough. what do you think of it?" "it's sure a fine plan," said jack, "if we can carry it through; but how much money is it going to take?" "it's a great scheme, tom," i added, "and it seems to me there ought to be money in it; but have we the capital?" "we'll have some money," said tom, "but, of course, we've got to sail pretty close to the wind and to cut our coat according to our cloth. when we get our 'final statements' cashed we ought to have about two hundred dollars apiece. this ought to buy us a good team of ponies and camp outfit, with supplies for the winter. at outfitting towns like saint joe, leavenworth, kansas city, or independence there are chances to buy a good team and camp outfit in the fall from people who are coming in from buffalo hunting, and get them cheap, too. "we ought to go to one of those towns, look out for such hunting parties, and, if we can find what we want cheap, take it in; then we can strike out for the plains by the old santa fé road, select a location in about the thickest of the herds, build us a cabin or dugout, and get ready for winter." jack and i agreed that the plan was sound, and tom then asked us for any ideas or suggestions that we might have. we both felt, however, that his fifteen years' service had given him so much experience that he was much more likely to think of the necessary points than we, and we had far more faith in his judgment than in our own. we asked him to go ahead and give us the further details of his plan so far as he had thought them out. "first," tom said, "we must get what we absolutely need, and if we have any money left after that we can buy luxuries. for grub we'd better take about the same as government rations--flour, bacon, beans, coffee, sugar, rice, and salt. a sharp's rifle and a colt's navy apiece, with plenty of cartridges, will be all the arms we'll want, and, besides the clothing we already have, each man ought to have a good suit of buckskins. these are better than any cloth for wear and to keep off the wind. we can make overcoats, caps, and mittens out of furs as soon as we take a few pelts and dress them. most of these things we can get here before we are discharged. the first sergeants of the cavalry companies often have some of these things over and will sell them to us for very little money." "how about tobacco and pipes?" asked jack. "tobacco don't come under the head of general supplies, and, as peck don't use it, every man will have to buy his own tobacco." "how about whiskey?" asked jack, for he had a weakness for liquor. tom answered him quickly: "there'll be no whiskey taken along if i am to have any say in the plans for the expedition. when we leave the settlements you'll have to swear off until we get back again; and that reminds me that when we get our 'final statements' cashed it will be a good idea for you to turn over your money to peck, all except a small allowance for a spree, if you must have one." jack was forced to yield to the decision of the majority that whiskey should form no part of our supplies. "seems to me," i began, to change the subject, "that we've got to decide on where we'll go. where do you think we'd better locate our winter camp, tom?" "as to that, i haven't quite made up my mind," said he, "but it must be somewhere near the centre of the buffalo range and not too far from the santa fé road. fort larned is about the middle of the range this season, and i've thought some of pitching our camp on walnut creek, about twenty miles north of the fort." "it's now toward the last of august," continued tom, "and our time will be out in september. we can call for our discharges now any time that we see a chance to get transportation into the states. it'll take us about a month to reach the missouri river if we go by bull train, and that'll be about the first of october. allowing about ten days to fit out for the return, it'll take us the rest of october to go back to the neighborhood of fort larned. we won't want to do much wolf skinning before the middle of november, when the winter coat begins to get good, but there'll be plenty of work to keep us busy, building, fitting up camp, and getting ready for the cold weather. it won't do for us to have our camp too close to fort larned or the santa fé road, for around there buffalo and wolves will be scarce, but we want to be near enough to call for our mail occasionally. besides that, if indians should be troublesome it's a good thing to be nigh to uncle sam's soldiers." "they say," put in jack, "that there's plenty of otter and beaver in walnut creek." "yes," replied tom, "we'll be apt to find some of them, but they're nothing like as plenty as they used to be. all those timbered creeks used to have lots of beaver and otter in them, and we'll find some of them, but our best hold will be wolfskins. they are plentiest and easiest to get. we'll take a few steel traps along to try for otter and beaver. we'll take anything we can in the way of fur." chapter ii we get our discharges the next day tom came to me looking rather serious, and i saw that he had something on his mind, and when he had gotten me alone he explained what this was. "i've been thinking it over, peck," he said, "and i've pretty near made up my mind that we'd better drop jack and either pick up another man or else you and me go it without a third man. i am afraid that jack's fondness for liquor will get him into trouble and so make trouble for us. i hate to go back on him, for he's a rattlin' good fellow when he is out of the reach of whiskey, but, when he can get it, he's a regular drunkard." "that's so, tom," i answered; "but when we get started back to the plains we'll soon have him where he can't get whiskey, and then he'll be all right. i think we can manage him by making him turn over all his money except a few dollars to you or to me, and when his money is gone we'll see that he gets no more. if we can get him to promise that after he gets through he will let liquor alone, he will do it. jack prides himself on being a man of his word." "well," said tom with some hesitation, "we'll take him then, but we must have a fair and square understanding with him and fire him if he don't come to time and behave like a man. we can't fool away time with a drunken man." besides being an all-around good fellow, jack had a fiddle and could play it and could also sing. on these musical accomplishments i counted for much enlivening of our lonely winter's work. when spoken to about binding himself to let whiskey alone, jack readily promised that after one little spree when we got our pay he would swear off entirely till the wolf hunting trip was over. he was willing to turn over his money to tom or to me when we should be paid off, reserving only a few dollars for the "good time" that he had promised himself. we now began trading with the indians for the skins needed for our buckskin suits, and as we got them we smoked them, using for this purpose a large dry-goods box, to the bottom of which, on the inside, we tacked the hides in place. the box was then, turned over a little smothered fire in a hole in the ground. we found that this way of smoking skins was an improvement on the indian method, smoking them more quickly and evenly and giving them a more uniform color. in the agency for the five tribes--cheyennes, arapahoes, kiowas, comanches, and prairie apaches--was at fort wise, and, as the time approached for the indian agent to make the annual distribution of gifts from the government, the tribes would come in to receive their annuities. our trading with the indians had to be done quietly, because the post sutler had the exclusive privilege of all indian trade on the post reservation, and, by order of the commanding officer, no one else might carry on any traffic with the indians. from one of the cavalry first sergeants we each bought a rifle, revolver, and some cartridges, and such additional soldier clothing as we needed. these purchases were, of course, illegal. it was a serious offence for any non-commissioned officer or soldier to sell government property. on the other hand, it was very frequently done. a few days later tom came into the quarters and gleefully exclaimed: "i've struck it. a bull train is corralling about a mile above the post, and the wagon-master has agreed to haul us into the settlements. it is one of majors & russell's outfits going back empty, and the wagon boss agrees to take us and let us work our passage, for he is shorthanded. the train will lie over here to-morrow to get some work done, and that will give us time to get our discharges, draw our rations, and say good-by to the other men." "but, tom," said jack, "how can we work our passage in a bull train when ne'er a one of us knows anything about driving bulls?" "i told the wagon boss that," answered tom, "and he said it made no difference, that he had other work that any greenhorn could do--night herding or driving the cavvy-yard. we're to get our plunder out at the side of the road as he pulls through the post. now, as that is settled, let's put on our best jackets and go over to the captain's quarters and ask for our discharges." "well, tom," said jack, "we'll let you do the talking for us, for likely enough the 'old man' will give us a lot of taffy and try to persuade us to re-enlist. you can give him our reasons for not taking on again better than me and peck." before long we had marched briskly across the parade-ground and lined up in front of the captain's door, with tom in the post of honor on the right. the captain opened the door and stepped out, when we all three saluted, and as he returned it he asked: "well, men, what's wanting?" standing rigidly at attention, jack and i kept silence while tom spoke, saying: "we've called, sir, to see if the captain would be so kind as to give us our discharges so we can take advantage of the chance to go into the states with the bull train that's camped in the bottom yonder." "why, yes; certainly," said the captain slowly; "but i had hoped that you men would re-enlist in time to get the benefit of the three months' extra pay with furlough. you are pretty sure to re-enlist sooner or later, and it would be better for you to take on in your old company. it looks as if the war would continue for some time yet, and, as we will probably all be ordered into the states soon, there will be good opportunities for well-trained soldiers to get commissions in the volunteers." "we're very grateful to the captain for his good opinion, but we've concluded to go down into the buffalo range and put in the winter skinning wolves," said tom. "next summer, if we take a notion to re-enlist, we'll hunt the old company up." "all right, men," said the captain, apparently not wishing to seem unduly anxious about the matter; "you may go to the first sergeant and tell him i order your discharges and final statements made out." thanking him, we saluted and marched off. the documents were made out in due course and handed to us by the sergeant, with compliments on the good service we had all performed and the expression of a hope that when we had "blowed in our money" we would go back to the old company. for some hours we were busy packing up, happy in the feeling that we were once more citizens. we spent some time shaking hands and bidding good-by to every one, and in some cases the partings were rather moving. chapter iii we find an outfit when the dusty bull train came rolling along the road past the garrison it found us waiting. our property was stowed in an empty wagon, and, again shouting good-bys to the comrades who had come out to see us off, we began our tedious, dusty, dirty march with the bull train. at that time majors & russell, of leavenworth, kansas, had the contract for transporting government supplies to all frontier posts. mr. majors had the reputation of being a very religious man, and in fitting out trains required all wagon-masters and teamsters to sign a written contract agreeing to use no profane language and not to gamble or to travel on sundays. at starting he furnished each man with a bible and hymn-book, and exhorted him to read the gospel and hold religious services on the sabbath. this statement is regarded by many people of the present day as an old frontier joke, but it is actual fact. the wagons--called prairie-schooners--were large and heavy and usually drawn by six yoke of oxen to the team. when outward bound they were loaded at the rate of one thousand pounds of freight to the yoke. twenty-five such teams constituted a train, in charge of a wagon-master and assistant, who were mounted on mules. the travel was slow, dusty, and disagreeable beyond description. at camping time the trains corralled across the road, a half circle on either side, leaving the open road running through the centre of the corral. [illustration: _bull train corralled for camp._] our route was down the arkansas river on the north bank, but the train itself did not go to the water. that used for cooking and drinking was carried along in casks, which were replenished at every opportunity. the detail of this travel, while interesting, cannot be given here, but on the journey we learned a great deal that was absolutely new to us. on the first night out from fort wise we were awakened by a bull-whacker, who brought to our bed two men who had asked for us and who proved to be deserters. we felt the sympathy for them which the average soldier feels for a deserter, gave them a little money and some rations, and recommended them to hurry on, travelling at night and lying hid in the daytime. they went on, as advised. the next morning a sergeant and two privates from fort wise galloped up behind us and stopped to speak to us, asking if we had seen a couple of deserters. we gravely told them that we had seen no such men and suggested that they might have gone west from fort wise. the sergeant made a perfunctory search of the wagons and then went on, to camp a little farther along and kill time until it was necessary to return to the post. in those days such pursuing parties often overtook the deserters they were after, gave them part of their rations, and sent them along on their road. at the big timbers, on the arkansas, we met with a large band of cheyenne indians on the way up to fort wise to receive their annuities; and when we reached the santa fé road, where it crossed the arkansas, coming from the cimarron river by the sixty-mile dry stretch called the _jornada_, we saw a government six-mule train, travelling east, just going into camp on the river bank. here, we thought, was an opportunity to get along faster and travel more comfortably if we could arrange for a transfer to the mule train. its days' drives were about twice as long as those of the bull train, which seldom exceeded twelve miles a day. we therefore sent tom back to the mule train, and he found in the wagon-master of the train an old acquaintance, who cheerfully agreed to take us on to fort leavenworth without charge. next morning, as the mule train passed us, we bade good-by to our kind but dirty friends the bull-whackers and tumbled ourselves and our baggage into one of the empty mule wagons and went on. at the santa fé crossing of the arkansas, we had begun to see a few buffalo; and the herds grew larger as we went on until we reached pawnee fork, near fort larned, which seemed to be about the centre of their range. after we passed the fort their numbers decreased until we came to the little arkansas, where we saw the last of them. our old company, k of the first cavalry, had built the first quarters at larned, in . when we passed it, in the autumn of , it was garrisoned by two companies of the second infantry and one of the second dragoons and was commanded by major julius hayden, second infantry. after joining the mule train tom, jack, and i made it our business to keep the outfit supplied with fresh meat while passing through the buffalo range. we also killed numbers of ducks, geese, brant, and sand-hill cranes, borrowing the wagon-master's shotgun for bird hunting. this suggested to us that a good shotgun would be a useful part of our equipment for the winter's work. [illustration: _mule train camped in park_] in due time we reached fort leavenworth, received our pay from our old paymaster, major h. e. hunt, and then went down to leavenworth city, two and a half miles from the fort. we stopped at a boarding-house kept by an old dragoon who had a wide acquaintance among citizens and soldiers and who could and would be useful to us in getting together our outfit. the war between the states was now in full blast, and blue cloth and brass buttons were seen everywhere. several of our former comrades had enlisted in the volunteers, and some had obtained commissions. according to our previous understanding, i had been chosen as treasurer and bookkeeper for the expedition and began to keep accounts of receipts and expenses. each man turned into a common fund, to be used in the purchase of an outfit, one hundred and fifty dollars--making a common capital of four hundred and fifty dollars. the balance of each man's money was left in his hands to use as he saw fit, except in the case of jack, whom we had persuaded to turn over all his money to me. jack begged ten dollars from me to go off and have a good time, and tom advised me to give it; but he warned jack that he would probably bring up in the lockup and declared that if he did so he should stay there until we were ready to start. both jack and i had so much respect for tom's greater age and experience that we never thought of taking offence at his scoldings. for two days tom and i were busy going about from one stable to another, hoping to find a ready-made camp outfit, team, and wagon offered for sale cheap. nothing like that had as yet been seen. we had heard nothing of our irishman, and i was getting a little uneasy about him and asked tom if i should not go to the police station, pay jack's fine, and get him out. tom agreed, and expressed some sorrowful reflections on the blemish to jack's character which his love for liquor implied. as expected, jack was found behind the bars. he had evidently received a terrible beating, part of it from a gang of toughs who had tried to rob him, and the remainder from the police who had finally, with much difficulty, arrested him. i was obliged to pay a fine of twenty dollars to get jack out. a further search of leavenworth city failed to show us what we wanted, and we were getting discouraged. to buy a team and a camp equipment at the prices that were asked would take all the money we could raise and still leave us poorly prepared for our expedition. we were considering the possibility of doing better in kansas city and saint joe and had half decided to go to those places when one day jack came rushing in, exclaiming: "i've struck it. i've struck just the rig that we want. a lot of fine-haired fellows from the east have just got in from a buffalo hunt with a splendid outfit they want to sell. they will take anything they can get for it, because they are going back east on the railroad and are in a hurry to get off; and who do you think i found in charge of the outfit but wild bill hickock?[b] bill told me he'd been hired by three fellows to buy the team and rig up the whole equipment for them, and he'd been their guide. he says it's a dandy outfit. he don't know how much they'll ask for it, but says they don't care for money and will give it away if they can't sell it. they've left bill to get rid of it. it's over yonder on shawnee street, and we'd better look it over and see what sort of a bargain we can make." by this time we were all heading for jim brown's livery stable. there we found the wagon in the back lot, and the team, a good pair of mules, in the barn. when we had looked over the well appointed rig and made a rough estimate of its probable value we began to fear that the owners would ask more than we could pay for it. wild bill was absent. i asked: "what do you think of the outfit, tom?" "it's one of the best camp equipments i ever saw," replied tom, "but i am afraid it's too rich for our blood. those mules and harness alone would be cheap at two hundred and fifty dollars. the wagon is easy worth another hundred dollars, and there is no telling what the camp outfit cost. they must have let bill fit things up to his own notion, and bill never did know the value of money. it may be, as bill said, that they don't expect much for it and they'll let us have it cheap as dirt. we'd better be quick, if we can, before some one else snaps it up." "here comes wild bill himself!" exclaimed jack; and sure enough, that first of frontier scouts, in beaded buckskins and with his long, tawny hair hanging down his back, came striding through the barn to meet us. bill confirmed what jack had told us, and said that as these young men seemed to have more money than they knew what to do with he had rigged up as good an outfit as he knew how. he continued: "the wagons, mules, harness, camp outfit, and some grub left over is for sale, but their riding horses are not for sale. they are to be shipped on the cars back to new york. they've got a couple of pretty fair broncos which they got here at starting, and they'll sell you them, or throw them in for good measure. what will you give me for the whole lot?" tom asked if he was willing to let us unload the wagon and look at its contents, to which bill assented. we found it an extraordinarily complete camp outfit, with many duplicate parts for the wagon, a sibley tent, a sheet-iron cook-stove, a mess-chest, and a complete mess-kit, or cooking outfit. there was a large amount of provisions left over. the wagon and the animals were good and the broncos had saddles and bridles. while we were unpacking the wagon bill told us something about the trip, which, from the point of view of the hunters, had been very successful, though commonplace enough as bill saw it. when the examination was completed bill asked: "what do you think of the outfit, tom, and what will you give me for the whole caboodle?" "it's a good rig, and no mistake," replied tom with a seemingly hopeless sigh, "but, bill, i am afraid we haven't money enough to buy it. the outfit was all right for your purposes, but we'll have to buy a lot more things and must have some money left after buying a team and camp outfit. to buy your outfit would clean us out." "well," said bill, "make a bid of what you can afford to give, not what it's worth. they do not expect to get what it's worth." "it sounds like a mighty small price, bill, and i'm ashamed to make you the offer," said tom hesitatingly, "but two hundred dollars is as much as we can afford to give and still buy our other truck. would your men consider such a bid as that?" "boys, that does seem like giving the outfit away, and until i see my men i won't say whether they'll take it or not, but i'll talk for you a little and help you out all i can. they told me to sell the rig for whatever i could get, and i'll tell them that two hundred dollars is the best offer i have had--it's the only one; if they say it's a go the outfit is yours." as we stood on a corner near the levee awaiting bill's return we heard the long, hoarse whistle of a steamboat, and saw one approaching from down the river, though still some distance away. a little later bill came hurrying out of the hotel and gladdened our hearts by telling us that our offer had been accepted. his men were to take the approaching steamer to saint joe, and he must hurry back to brown's stable and help get their fine hunting-horses aboard the boat. i counted him out the two hundred dollars, which he stuffed in his pocket without recounting. we had bought for two hundred dollars an outfit worth at least five hundred dollars. we soon had the six fine horses on board the boat. bill went up to the cabin to turn over the money we had paid him. soon the steamer's big bell clanged, and just as the deck-hands were about to pull in the gangplank, bill came running out and turned and waved good-by to his employers, who stood on the hurricane-deck. in the autumn of there was no railroad in kansas, and the nearest point to reach the cars going east from leavenworth would have been weston, six or eight miles above, on the missouri side of the river. the railroad from saint joseph east was patrolled by union soldiers, to protect the bridges and keep it open for travel. chapter iv back to the buffalo range as we started back up-town bill exclaimed gleefully: "well, boys, what do you think? when i offered them fellows the money you paid me for the outfit they would not take a dollar of it, but told me to keep it for an advance payment--a sort of retaining fee--for my services next season. they're coming out again next spring with a bigger party and made me promise to meet them here and go with them." after bill left us tom said: "bill never did know the value of money. he could just as well as not have had the whole outfit that he sold us or, if he didn't want to keep it, could have sold it for twice what we paid him for it. but he's a free-hearted, generous fellow and never thought of it. he's brave as a lion; never was known to do a mean or cowardly trick; a dead shot. i am afraid, though, that he will die with his boots on, and die young, too." when we got back to the stable we found jim brown, the proprietor, there, and tom told him that we had bought the wagon, mules, broncos, and so forth, and would pay his charges before taking them away, as soon as wild bill came around to confirm the sale. "now, men," said the veteran, when we reached our boarding-house, "we're beginnin' to see our way toward gettin' out of this town, an' the sooner the better, i say; but we've got to do some more plannin'. i'll give you my plans, an' if you can suggest better ways, all right. to-morrow mornin' we'll pay our bills, an' then we'll hitch up an' pull out onto that open ground out t'other side of broadway and camp there an' go to work gettin' ready to leave here. in camp we can overhaul the outfit an' see just exactly what more we need." "nothing could be better," chipped in jack. "same here," i added. "now tell us what to do to get ready for travelling?" "hold on," said tom, "i've got another suggestion to offer. we're going to have a heap heavier load than them hunters had, an' i'm in favor of gettin' a pair of lead harness an' spreaders an' putting them broncos on for leaders an' work four going out. we'll want to take about five months' supplies for ourselves an' what grain we can haul to help our animals through the winter, an' all that will make too much of a load for the mules alone. we can't afford to feed our stock full rations of grain, but they ought to have some to help 'em through the worst weather an' keep 'em from gettin' too poor." "that's a good idea; but what if the mustangs won't work?" suggested jack. "it's a common trick with their sort to balk in harness, though they may be good under the saddle." "i know that," replied tom, "an' so we want that question settled right here. ef one or both of 'em refuses to pull we'll trade 'em off for something that'll work." on going over to the stable next morning before breakfast to give the team a rubbing down, i found jack there ahead of me, hard at work with currycomb and horse brush, grooming the stock. brown told us that bill had called and said he should let us have the outfit when we came for it. after breakfast, while tom went down street to a second-hand store and bought lead harness and spreaders for the mustangs, jack and i harnessed the mules and put all our belongings into the wagon. we were delighted to find that the broncos when hitched up walked away like old work horses, which they evidently were. moving out shawnee street, beyond broadway, where there was open ground for camping, we made camp near a little creek and, after unloading the wagon, gave everything a general overhauling to determine what more we needed to fully equip us for the trip. we had noticed a nice-looking black shepherd dog around brown's stable that we had supposed belonged to brown; but now discovered that it was the property of wild bill. the dog seemed to be very intelligent and his owner prized him highly. after establishing our camp our commander, old tom, gave his orders, as occasion suggested, and jack and i promptly executed them. "one of us must always be in camp," said the old man, "for we don't know what prowler might come along an' steal somethin' if we ain't here to watch things. now, for to-day, i'll be camp guard while you youngsters do the foraging. first thing, jack, you an' peck light out an' hunt up some wood to cook with." as the camp-stove would be so much handier and more economical of fuel than an open fire, we had taken it out of the wagon and placed it on the ground, with the mess-chest near by--just behind the wagon--and, after pitching the tent, moved the stove inside. jack and i skirmished along the creek, and each gathered an armful of wood which we broke up into stove lengths, while tom busied himself overhauling the mess-chest and cooking utensils. when we had finished our job tom gave another order: "now, while you're restin' jack, you take the two mules, an', peck, you take the two broncos, an' go back up the street to that blacksmith shop just this side of the mansion house an' git 'em shod all 'round. that'll take about all forenoon. an' while the blacksmith is workin' on 'em one of you can stay there an' the other can go to a meat market an' git a piece of fresh meat an' bring it out to camp right away so that i can put it on to cook for dinner. while you're gettin' the meat, bring a loaf or two of soft bread, too. we've got plenty of hardtack in the wagon, but we'd better use baker's bread while we're in reach of it an' save the hardtack to use on the road, in camps where fuel is scarce." leaving jack at the blacksmith's shop to attend to the shoeing of the team, i carried out tom's various instructions. while a kettle of bean soup was boiling tom was busy rearranging things in the mess-chest and wagon. fearing that he might neglect the soup and let it scorch, i asked: "tom, is there any danger of the beans sticking to the bottom of the camp-kettle and burning?" "what do you take me for, young fellow?" he retorted indignantly. "do you s'pose i've been a-cookin' an' eatin' uncle sam's beans all these years an' ain't learnt how to cook bean soup without burnin' it? ef that soup scorches i'll agree to eat the whole mess." "of course you know how to cook 'em," i said apologetically, "but i noticed the beans are gettin' soft and thought maybe while you was busy at something else they might get burnt." "ain't you never learnt how to keep beans from stickin' to the bottom of the camp-kettle?" "no, except to keep stirring them," i replied. "well, i didn't think you'd a-got through five years of soldierin' on the plains without learnin' how to keep beans from burning. now, i'll tell you of a trick that's worth a dozen of stirrin' 'em when you've got somethin' else to do besides standin' by the kettle an' watchin' 'em. when your beans begin to git soft just drop two or three metal spoons into the camp-kettle, then go on about your business, an' long as they don't bile dry they won't burn. you savvy the philosophy of it?" "no, i don't." "well, it's just this: the heat keeps the spoons a-dancin' around in the bottom of the kettle, an' that keeps the beans from settlin' an' burning. savvy? easy as rollin' off a log when it's explained to you, ain't it?" after getting back to camp with the mules and broncos newly shod, we had just taken our seats around our mess-box table when who should ride up but wild bill. he had heard from brown of our move and came out to see how we were fixed. as he reined up near us jack saluted him with: "get down, bill, an' hitch your hoss an' watch me eat." "not by a durned sight, jack; i can do a heap better than that," replied the scout, too familiar with the rough hospitality of the frontier to wait for a more formal invitation; "but if you've got time to watch me eat i'll show you how to do it." he dismounted, tied his horse to the wagon, turned up a water bucket for a seat, and sat down to dinner with us. "the smell of that bean soup catches me." as a surprise, when we had nearly finished tom went to the oven and brought out a couple of nice hot pies. "what a blessin' it is, sure," said jack, "to have somethin' to cook an' somebody that knows how to cook it!" "well," replied tom, "it's better than having a surplus of cooks an' no rations--a state of affairs we all know something about." "i was just a-goin' to remark," added bill, "that i see you've got a good cook in the outfit, an' that's no small help. i always knew tom was a first-class soldier, an' now i've found out another of his accomplishments. boys, i expect to be out to fort larned before long, an' if i ever strike your trail out in that neighborhood i'll sure foller it up an' invite myself to take a square meal with you once in a while." "well, i'll tell ye right now, bill, you'll always be welcome," said jack, while tom and i added: "second the motion." "my special errand out here," said bill as he unhitched his horse and prepared to mount, "was to tell you that when you get ready to lay in your supplies for the trip i think you can do better to buy 'em of tom carney[c] than anywhere else in town. there's where i bought the truck for our trip, an' i found his prices reasonable, an' everything was satisfactory an' packed in good shape. tom's accommodatin', an' reliable, and an all-round good fellow to trade with." while standing by his horse bill's dog had taken post in front of him and by wagging his tail and looking up at his master was trying to attract his notice, seeing which the scout stooped down and began talking to his canine friend and patting him affectionately, which seemed to put the dog in an ecstasy of delight. "bill," said tom, "i've been wondering ef we couldn't manage some way to beat you out of that dog. don't you want to git rid of him?" "no, tom," replied the scout, "money wouldn't buy that dog. but there's been two or three attempts made to steal him from me since i've been here in town--i come pretty nigh having to kill a feller about him just the other day--an', seeing as he's taken such a shine to you fellers, i was thinkin' of gettin' you to take him along with you out to larned an' leave him with somebody there to keep for me till i come out; or maybe you'd keep him with your outfit." "just the thing!" exclaimed jack. "we'll take him along, all right, an' we won't leave him at fort larned, either--we'll keep him till you call for him." "well, boys, i b'lieve he'll be useful to you, for he's a shepherd an' takes to minding stock naturally, an' he's a good all-round watch-dog--one of the smartest i ever saw. i call him 'found,' 'cause i found him when he seemed to be lost. you'll have to keep him tied up for a few days when you leave here; after that, i think, he'll stick to you, 'cause he's been used to lookin' after them mules an' ponies all summer. but, mind you, now, i ain't a-givin' him to you--only lendin' him." "all right, bill; he's your dog," said tom, "an' we'll take good care of him till you want him." thus found became one of us. that afternoon tom began the work of estimating the supplies that we would need for our winter's trip, endeavoring to calculate the quantity of each item of the provisions and from that the weight that we would have to haul in our wagon. as an old soldier, he made his figures on the basis of rations--one man's allowance of each article of food for one day. he said: "we'll make our estimate at about the rate of government rations, but, as we don't have to restrict ourselves exactly to uncle sam's allowance we'll allow a margin in some things to suit our own notions." tom calculated that about four months' rations for three men ought to be enough to carry us from the middle of october to the middle of february, and he told me to make my requisition for four hundred rations of each article and set down the number of pounds' weight of each as i went along. "of breadstuffs," he said, "we ought to take about three fourths flour--three hundred pounds--and one fourth hardtack--one hundred pounds. that'll make four hundred pounds of freight. then, as an extra, a sack of corn-meal--fifty pounds. "as we'll be able to kill plenty of wild meat, two hundred rations of bacon will be enough. at three fourths of a pound to the ration, that will be one hundred and fifty pounds." so he went through the list of beans, rice, hominy, coffee, tea, and sugar, with vinegar, salt, pepper, yeast-powder, together with two hundred pounds of potatoes and one hundred pounds of onions. with some dried fruit and soap the total weight came to one thousand five hundred and forty-one pounds, to which he added one thousand pounds of corn, as feed for the animals during the worst weather. he purposed to take also a scythe and hay-fork and, as soon as we got into camp, to cut hay and make a stack as added provision against bad weather. these things, together with all the camp equipment to be carried, would make a load of not far from three thousand pounds for the animals. to this load i suggested that it would be a good idea to add some interesting books to read at night, and i told him that i purposed to subscribe for some weekly papers which would give the news of current events. wild bill's skill in plains travel was evident in many things about the outfit we had bought. he had fastened straps on the outside of the wagon-box to carry the tent-pole, tripod, and stovepipe, and on the opposite side to hold the axe, pick, and shovel, so that when needed on the road or in camp the tools would be at hand. on the plains one must be prepared to encounter strong winds at any and all times, and often violent storms, and on this account we commended bill's judgment in having selected a sibley instead of a wall tent; for the sibley is in many respects a most serviceable tent. it is conical in shape, like the indian lodge, but in other respects it is far superior to the red man's habitation. it requires but a single short pole which rests on an iron tripod, by pushing together or spreading apart the feet of which the canvas is easily stretched tight or slackened. the aperture at the top for the escape of smoke is provided with a canvas cap which can be shifted so as to keep its back to the wind, thus insuring a clear exit for the smoke. two opposite doors secure at least one entrance and exit away from the wind. its advantages over the wall-tent for withstanding stormy weather and for comfort and convenience are generally admitted by all old campers. [illustration: _sibley tent_] the inventor of this most excellent tent was a private soldier in the second dragoons, whom i often saw at fort bridger, utah, in ' , but whose name i have forgotten. the next day we drove down-town and bought our supplies and on returning to camp loaded the wagon for the trip to the plains, as tom directed. "put the heaviest truck, such as the sacks of corn and flour, in the bottom an' well toward the forward end," said he, "an' such things as the mess box an' stove--that we'll be using a good deal on the road--in the hind end, where they'll be handy to git out of the wagon. the tent an' our bundles of bedding can go on top. the camp-stools, buckets, an' camp-kettles can be tied on outside. an', mind you, everything must be stowed away snug or we won't be able to get our truck all on the wagon." stripping the wagon-sheets off the bows, we packed the wagon to the best advantage, leaving at the hind end a vacant space to receive the mess-chest and stove. replacing the sheets, we tied them down snugly to the wagon-box, all around, to be prepared for rainy weather. tom, who once had served as hospital steward, had learned something of the use of medicines, and during our stay in leavenworth he fitted up a small medicine-chest and stocked it with such remedies as he knew how to use, to be prepared for emergencies. "you may not need 'em very often," he remarked; "you may never need 'em; but, as wild bill says of his pistols, when you do need 'em you'll need 'em bad." as we were to pull out in the morning, wild bill rode out to our camp that evening to take supper with us. the evening was pleasantly passed with music from jack's fiddle, singing by all hands, and wound up by a jig danced by wild bill which astonished and delighted us all. as wild bill was mounting his horse to return to town, tom took the precaution to chain the dog, found, to a wheel of the wagon, to prevent him from following his master. our commander, old tom, had given orders for an early start next morning, and before daylight his call, "turn out, men!" routed us out of our blankets. tom got breakfast, while jack and i fed the team and then groomed and harnessed them while they ate. we intended to feed them well on grain as long as we were in the settlements, where it was plenty and cheap; but after getting beyond council grove there would be no more settlements, and consequently no grain to be bought along the road, and, as the grain we were hauling would be needed later to carry our animals through the cold of winter, they would have to depend on the grass after leaving the settlements. daylight was upon us when we had finished eating, and, all hands turning to, the dishes were soon washed and packed away, the wagon loaded, the team hitched up, the fire put out, and we were off. our team was fat, frisky, and well rested, and walked away with its load with ease; but, following our soldier training in starting out for a long trip, we made short, easy drives for the first few days, gradually increasing them till we reached the maximum--about twenty-five miles a day. shortly after leaving leavenworth we met our old friends the bull-whackers, with whom we had made the first part of our trip on starting from fort wise. they were just getting in with their train, as dirty and jolly as ever. we were gratified to realize that we had gained so much time and avoided so much dirt by transferring to the mule train at the santa fé crossing of the arkansas river. later we met more bull trains and other freighting outfits coming in but found few going west. at this season most people were inclined to seek the friendly shelter and comforts of the settlements rather than to brave the inclemencies and dangers of the bleak plains. among the travellers whom we met coming in was an occasional outfit of "busted pike's peakers," as unfortunate and discouraged miners returning from the pike's peak gold region were called. most of these gave doleful accounts of life and prospects in the colorado mines. for a few days after leaving leavenworth we kept the dog, found, tied up, lest he should go back to his master; but we were all kind to him, and he showed no inclination to quit our company, and when we turned him loose again he contentedly remained with our outfit. we found the roads fine and the weather real indian summer; days hazy, warm, and pleasant, nights cool, and mornings frosty, as is usual on the plains at this the most pleasant time of the year. while in the settlements we indulged in such luxuries as milk, butter, eggs, and so forth, whenever they were to be bought, and we killed plenty of prairie-chickens with our shotgun. these prairie-chickens were very numerous in the kansas settlements, occurring in such multitudes that they were pests to the farmers, eating great quantities of grain. they haunted the settled country or grain-producing parts but were seldom found far out on the plains, though while in the service i saw a few as far west as the big bend of the arkansas. in the army the sibley tent was calculated to hold twelve to sixteen men--crowded pretty close together--but in our sibley, with only the three occupants, there was room for stove, mess-chest, camp-stools, or anything else we might bring inside. found always made his bed under the wagon, where he could keep watch over the animals and act as general camp guard. in order to favor our team we made two drives a day, stopping for an hour or so at noon to turn the animals out on the grass, while we made coffee and ate some cold meat and bread. on our afternoon drive, as night approached, we selected a convenient place and camped, turning out the team--except the flea-bitten gray mare, which we always picketed as an anchor to the rest. after supper, sprawled on our beds in the tent, we talked and spun yarns. tom having served three enlistments--fifteen years--and jack two, while i had only five years' service as a soldier to my credit, i was considered a raw recruit and usually listened while they talked. when in a musical mood, jack got out his fiddle and played and sang. we seldom lit a candle at night, for we had only one box of candles and knew that before us were many long winter evenings when lights would be more needed than now. we had found, rolled up in the tent, an infantry bayonet--the best kind of a camp candlestick. when we had occasion to light a candle we appreciated its convenience. since we first came from the plains into the kansas settlements we had heard much said about jayhawkers. the term jayhawking as used then was a modified expression for theft or robbery, but was applied more particularly to the depredations of gangs of armed and mounted ruffians, who, taking advantage of the turbulent condition of affairs resulting from the war--the civil law being impotent or altogether lacking in many parts of the scattering settlements of kansas--roamed at will through the country, hovering especially along main thoroughfares and helping themselves to other people's property. sometimes they professed to be volunteer soldiers or government agents sent out to gather in good horses, mules, or other property for the use of uncle sam, giving bogus receipts for what they took and saying that these receipts would be honored and paid on their presentation to any government quartermaster--which, of course, was pure fiction. where they failed to get what they wanted by other methods they did not hesitate to use violence, even to killing those who resisted their demands. such were the kansas jayhawkers of those times, whom we had hoped to escape meeting; but we had talked much of the possibilities and probabilities of such an encounter and had decided on certain plans of action to frustrate the probable movements of any jayhawkers whom we might meet. we did not propose to be robbed and stood ready to put up a strong bluff and, if necessary, to fight to defend our property. in view of a possible fight, arms were to be kept in order and ammunition handy. we had nearly reached council grove without encountering any jayhawkers and had begun to flatter ourselves that we were going to slip through the settlements without having trouble with them. at one or two places along the road, however, we had heard that a party of jayhawkers had lately been seen on the route ahead of us, and we had been cautioned to look out for them. chapter v we meet doubtful characters one day, on stopping at a store to buy some feed, just before reaching the crossing of a timbered creek, we noticed two saddled horses hitched to the fence and on entering the store found two well-armed, rough-looking fellows lounging about, one of whom seemed to be half tipsy. the store was also a post-office and presided over by a very old man. while tom and the storekeeper retired to a back room to measure out some grain, the two ruffians began to manifest considerable interest in our affairs, asking many questions, to all of which jack and i, who had left the team standing in the road and walked up to the store, gave rather curt answers. apparently not satisfied with our replies, the drunken fellow staggered out toward our team, remarking to his more sober companion: "joe, let's take a look at their outfit." we paid little apparent attention to them but quietly watched every movement they made, for we began to suspect that these were some of the robbers we had heard of. each of the men carried a pair of revolvers hung to his belt. the most drunken one was a large, swearing, swaggering ruffian who was addressed by the other as "cap." the one named "joe" was smaller and apparently more sober and wore an old cavalry jacket. as they walked around the team we heard an ominous growl from our dog, found. the big fellow stepped back and laid a hand on the butt of one of his pistols, and jack quickly grasped the handle of his own weapon and took a step or two in the direction of the drunken ruffian, keeping his eyes on the fellow's pistol hand. "cap" saw the movement and turned toward jack, still with his hand on his pistol, and remarked with an oath: "mister, ef that dog tries to bite me he dies." "then there'll be two dogs die," returned jack quietly, looking the fellow in the eye. i kept a close watch of the motions of joe, but he made no threatening gestures and seemed waiting to see what his leader would do. "what do you mean, sir?" demanded the drunken blusterer of jack. "i mean," replied the irishman quietly, "that if you keep away from that team and attend to your own business the dog'll not hurt you; but you draw a gun to shoot him, an'--well, you heard my remark." instead of resenting jack's ultimatum, the big fellow turned to his henchman and said: "joe, these men don't appear to have heard of me. tell 'em who i am," and then disappeared into the store. joe stepped up to jack and said in a confidential way: "pardner, you've made a big mistake to talk so insulting to that man, an' i'm afraid you'll have trouble about it. that's captain tucker, one o' the worst men in kansas. i reckon he's killed more men than i've got fingers an' toes. best thing you can do now, is to foller him into the store an' call for the drinks, apologize, like a man, an' make it all up with him, fur he's turrible when he's riled, specially when he's drinkin'." "is that so?" exclaimed jack. "why, he's a bad one, ain't he? i'm right glad to know him." "more'n that," added joe, "he's captain of our company, an' we're the toughest lot that ever struck this country." "where's your company, and how many of you is they?" asked jack. "oh, they's a whole lot of us, an' we're camped down on the crick a couple o' miles from here," was joe's evasive reply. i began to get uneasy. what if jack's rashness should bring this gang of desperadoes down on us? jack was game and would not back down from the stand he had taken. i knew that tom--who was still in the store getting his sack of grain and knew nothing of the trouble we were about to get into--was game, too, and would stand by the irish-man; and if it came to a fight i could at least handle cartridges for them. but what could three of us do against a gang of unknown numbers of these lawless men? "jack, haven't you been a little too brash? you may get us into a scrape if he brings up his men." "ef there's none of 'em more dangerous than their captain there's nothin' to fear. i've studied such fellows all my life, an' i never made a mistake in one of his sort. he's just such another blowhard as that 'bad man from texas' that i swatted in leavenworth. an' on the principle of 'like master, like man,' you'll be apt to find that this big company of desperadoes, if we ever meet 'em, will dwindle down to six or eight windy ruffians like their captain. i believe the three of us could whip twenty of 'em. such fellers don't fight unless they can get the drop, an' we'll see that they don't do that." just as we reached the store door i turned to see what had become of joe, and noticed him still standing where we had left him--as near the mules as found would let him come--intently engaged in writing or drawing something with a pencil on a piece of paper. the paper he held in his hand looked like a yellow envelope, and, nudging jack, i pointed to him. joe seemed to be deeply interested in his work, looking first at the mules and then at his yellow envelope as he marked on it, and did not notice us. i was still wondering what he could be doing when the irishman's quick wit comprehended the situation, and he whispered: "he's copyin' the brands on our mules. we'll hear more of this by an' by." "how?" i asked. "he'll send somebody to claim 'em, on a lost-strayed-or-stolen plea, an' the claimer will prove ownership by showing the exact brands marked on paper before he has been near the mules. i've known that trick played before." as we entered the store the old storekeeper and tom came out of the grain room--tom with a sack of corn on his shoulder, making mysterious winks at us as he moved toward the door, indicating that he desired us to go back to the wagon. the store man cast an inquiring glance at the decanter and then at captain tucker. the latter nodded his head and said: "chalk it down." on the way to the wagon we met joe, who had probably completed draughting our mules' brands to his satisfaction. we told tom of all that had occurred, and i rather expected that he would reprimand jack for acting so rashly, but to my surprise he approved of the irishman's doings. "perfectly right, perfectly right," said tom. "it won't do to give back to such fellows a particle. if we've got to have a brush with them, right now an' here's as good a time an' place as any. we must bluff 'em off right at the start or fight. but we mus'n't forget the old sayin', 'never despise your enemy'; he may turn out a better fighter than you give him credit for bein'. we must watch every move they make an' be prepared to bluff 'em off at every trick they try. jack was right in suspecting that that fellow with the cavalry jacket was copying the brands on our mules. they'll be after trying to prove 'em away from us, ef they can't bluff us." "did you find out anything about them from the storekeeper?" i asked anxiously. "you were in that back room so long i thought you must be pumping him." "yes, i wasn't idle," replied tom, "an' i found out a whole lot. at first the old man was afraid to talk, for he's scared of these fellers, but when i promised him that we would not get him into trouble he let out an' told me all he knows about 'em. "this is the gang we heard about at burlingame and again at a-hundred-an'-ten-mile creek," continued tom. "they came to this neighborhood about a week ago an' have been robbin' and plunderin', an' everybody's afraid of 'em. the old storekeeper says that there are so few able-bodied men left here--most all of 'em having gone off to the war--that the few citizens left can't well make any organized opposition to 'em. this lot is an offshoot from cleveland's gang of jayhawkers that we heard about at leavenworth. it seems, the old fellow says, that this captain tucker was a lieutenant under cleveland, an' they couldn't agree--each one wanted to be boss--so tucker with a few followers split off from cleveland an' started a gang of his own." "well, but did you find out how many there are in this gang?" i asked. "yes. the old man says that they try to make people believe that there is a big company, but from the best information he can get there are only seven or eight." "what did i tell you?" said jack contemptuously. "ef they're no better than these two we're good for that many, easy." "yes," said tom, "ef we don't let 'em get the drop on us i think we can stand 'em off; but we may find 'em a tougher lot than we take 'em for--ef they tackle us for a fight we've just got to clean 'em out, it's a ground-hog case. an' as to killin' 'em, i'd have no more hesitation about it than i would to kill a hostile injun. ef we have to open fire on 'em i want you men to shoot to kill, an' i'll do the same. these jayhawkers have been declared outlaws by orders from the commander of the department, an' the troops are turned loose to hunt 'em down, kill 'em, or break up the gangs wherever they can be found. "the old storekeeper says they've just taken possession of his store," he continued, "helpin' themselves to his liquor or anything else they want, tellin' him to 'chalk it down' an' by an' by they'll settle with him. "a boy from the neighborhood who had been down to their camp to sell 'em some butter told the old man that there was only seven men of 'em an' they had a tent an' a two-horse wagon. the boy said they had lots of good horses, an' the old man thinks they gather in all the good horses an' mules they can find in the country an' now an' then send a lot of 'em in to leavenworth an' sell 'em to the contractors there who are buyin' up horses an' mules for the government. "whatever happens," continued tom, "we must be careful not to compromise this old storekeeper an' his family, for he's very much afraid of these jayhawkers an' cautioned me several times not to let them get a suspicion that he had told us anything about them. "i put an idea in his head, though, which may be the means of ridding this neighborhood of these rascals. i told him to write a letter to general hunter, in command of the department at fort leavenworth, tellin' him the situation out here, an' to request the general to send out a company of cavalry to clean out this gang an' give protection to the farmers an' people travelling the road. "he jumped at the idea an' said he would write the letter right away an' send it in by the mail which will go past this afternoon. i think the general will send the troops immediately, for he is makin' war on these bushwhackers wherever he can hear of them. if the scheme is carried out right the soldiers will be apt to kill or capture this whole gang. i'd like to stay an' help 'em at it, but it will take four or five days, at least, before the soldiers can get here. ef this gang undertakes to make war on us we may have to teach 'em a lesson on our own hook." "well, tom," i asked, "what are your plans for meeting this emergency if you think these fellows are going to give us trouble?" before he could answer me the two jayhawkers came out of the store and, without making any hostile demonstrations, went to their horses, mounted, and rode a little way back down the road we had come, and then, turning across the prairie struck for the timber farther down the creek. they eyed us in passing but said not a word. as they rode past us we noticed that both were mounted on good-looking animals, especially tucker, whose mount was a splendid, large black horse of fine proportions and good movement. chapter vi standing off the jayhawkers while jack and i stowed away the sack of corn and waited for tom's reply to my question, he stood watching the disappearing riders till an intervening rise of ground hid them and then began to unfold his plans. "it's earlier in the day than we generally camp," said tom thoughtfully, "but under the circumstances we must select a camp not far from here an' hang up till we see what they're going to do. ef we try to go on farther they'll think we're running from 'em. we must camp in open ground where they can't get in shooting distance of us without showing themselves in open prairie. "i asked the storekeeper about the lay of the land on the other side of the creek, an' he told me of a good place to camp about a half mile beyond the ford, where there's an abandoned house out in the prairie an' a good well. the family who owned the place got scared out and moved into topeka to stay till times get better. there's where we'll camp; so let's get there an' get prepared for action in case this outfit gives us a call. they won't let us go by without trying some bluff game on us an' maybe a fight. "i don't think there's any need of it here," added tom as he looked toward the timber at the crossing of the creek ahead of us, "but, to be on the safe side, while i drive the team, jack, you an' peck may take your guns and form a skirmish line ahead of me as we go through the timber." we did so, but, finding no sign of an enemy, as we again came out on the prairie we joined the wagon and rode up to the abandoned house and camped in a good, defensible position. there was no grass close to the house whereon to picket our team, but some hay that had been left in the barn made a good substitute. finding the inside of the house littered with waste and rubbish left by the recent occupants, we pitched our tent near the wagon, as usual, camping by the house merely to secure a defensible location in open ground with wood and water convenient. we were confident that we would receive a call from the jayhawkers and hurried our dinner, keeping an anxious lookout back along the road toward the store, which was now hidden from us by the timber. after we had cleared away the dishes tom ordered: "now, men, see that everything is prepared for action. see that all arms are in good working order, an' have a good supply of ca'tridges handy." such orders were hardly necessary, for we made it a rule at all times to keep our arms in good shape and cartridges convenient. "here they come!" exclaimed jack in great glee, and, looking toward the store, we could see a party of mounted men just coming out of the timber at the creek crossing. as soon as the announcement was made tom brought the field-glass to bear on them and began counting: "one, two, three, four, five, six, seven--all told." then he added: "they would likely leave only one man back to take care of camp; so eight is about the full strength of the gang, just as we heard." passing the glass to me, he added: "as soon as they get in hailing distance i'll halt 'em, an' you men will be ready to enforce my commands. ef they don't halt at the first command i'll halt 'em again, an' maybe the third time, but not more. an' when i give the command, 'fire!' remember your old training--aim about the saddles an' let em' have it, an' don't waste your ca'tridges. let each one of us try to see how many saddles he can empty." to me this sounded serious, but the veteran was as cool about it as if giving instructions to a squad of soldiers on skirmish drill. jack always seemed happy when there was a good prospect of a fight before him. i must admit that i began to feel a little squeamish as the jayhawkers drew near us, but i was somewhat reassured by the firm and fearless demeanor of my comrades. as the jayhawkers approached it was seen that all except the leader, "cap" tucker, carried rifles, carbines, or shotguns in addition to their pistols. all seemed to be well mounted, but tucker was particularly conspicuous by his fine black horse. they followed the main road till opposite the house where we were and then turned and rode toward us at a walk. as soon as they had approached within easy hail tom took a few steps toward them and, bringing his sharp's rifle to a ready, sung out: "_halt!_" jack and i moved up in his rear and came to the same position. the jayhawkers did not seem to be expecting such a manoeuvre on our part and did not promptly obey tom's first command; but by the time he had repeated "_halt!_" in a louder tone they took the hint, and tucker quickly ordered his men to stop. turning to us, he called out in a tone of indignant surprise: "what do you mean?" "just what i say," replied tom. "ef you men have any business with us, one of you--and only one--can advance an' make it known. the rest'll stand where they are." turning and speaking a few words to his men, tucker then rode up to us. as the big captain halted a few feet from us he demanded angrily: "what do you men mean by drawing your guns on us an' halting us this way?" "in these doubtful times," replied tom, "we don't propose to allow a party of armed men to enter our camp without first finding out who they are an' what's their business with us. will you please tell us what yours is?" "why, certainly," returned the big ruffian. "we are free rangers looking up stray an' stolen stock an' also gathering in good hosses an' mules fer the government. have you any objections to that?" "not in the least," said tom, "but we have no stray or stolen stock an' no horses or mules for sale, an' i don't see as you have any further business with this outfit." "the reason why we've made this call on you is this," answered tucker. "a short time ago one of my men had a fine pair of mules stole from him an' trailed 'em down nigh to leavenworth where he lost track of 'em. i learned from the old storekeeper over the crick yonder that you men had lately bought your mules in leavenworth, an' when i went back to camp an' mentioned this matter to bill sawyer he got to thinkin' about it, an' he thought that possibly you might of bought his mules without knowin' they was stole; an' so i jes' brung him an' a few more of the boys over to look at your mules." while the captain was making his little speech jack gave me an occasional wink, which seemed to say: "listen to what's comin'." "now, pardner," continued the jayhawker, "we ain't in the habit of spending much time arguing about a matter of this kind, an', as i tol' you before, we're a-gatherin' up mules an' hosses fer the government, an' whenever we find any that suits we just take 'em, givin' an order on uncle sam, an' he foots the bill. but to show you that we're dealing on the square with you men about these mules, ef they ain't ours we don't want 'em. now, i'll make you a fair proposition. the man that lost the mules i'm talking about is out yonder, an' he's never seen your mules yet. he's got the brands marked down on a piece of paper. now, ef you're honorable men an' willing to do what's right i don't see how you can help accepting my proposition, which is this: i'll call bill sawyer up here an' let him show his brands as they're marked down on that paper afore he's ever had a chance to see the brands on your mules, an' ef the brands he's got marked down is the same as what's on them mules, why, it's a plain case that they must be his mules. now, what do you say to that?" tom gave no sign that he was "onto their game," but merely said: "call your man up, but only him--no more." tucker rode out a few steps toward his gang and called: "bill sawyer, come here!" and then returned to us, while william sawyer, who seemed to have been rehearsed in his part, came trotting up with alacrity, feeling in his inside pocket for the paper that he seemed to know--although he had been out of hearing distance of us--was to be called for at this stage of the game. as sawyer left his chums they all gathered about joe--he of the old cavalry jacket--and seemed to be holding an earnest consultation. as sawyer reached us i had time to notice that he wore a green patch over his left eye--or the place where the eye had been; a villainous grin added devilishness to his sinister countenance. in his hand he held the same old yellow envelope that jack and i had seen joe using to copy the mules' brands on. taking the old envelope triumphantly from his man, tucker passed it to tom with a confident air as he demanded. "now, let's compare the brands marked on that paper with the brands on them mules." and he turned his horse as if to ride around on the other side of our wagon, where the mules were tied. "'twon't be necessary--wait a minute," returned tom as he passed the old envelope to jack and me with the query: "do you men recognize that paper?" "yes, we've seen it before," we both answered. "what do you mean?" demanded tucker in assumed astonishment. "just this," replied tom, looking sternly at the jayhawkers' captain. "this little joke of your'n has gone about far enough. these two men," pointing to jack and me, "stood an' watched that feller you call joe--that sneaking coyote out yonder who wears the old cavalry jacket--take this ol' yellow envelope out of his pocket an' copy on it the brands of our mules while the team was standin' in front of the store, when joe had no idea he was bein' watched. now, i don't want to hear any more of this foolishness. mr. jayhawker, ef you've any other business with us please state it. ef not this meeting stands adjourned." seeing that his deception was detected and that the scheme failed, tucker apparently concluded to try a bluff on us. "if you won't listen to reason," said he, "we'll show you what we can do in another line. i'm satisfied that them's sawyer's mules an' we're going to have 'em. it'll leave you fellows in a bad fix to break up your team by taking the mules, but i'm willin' to do what's right. you give the mules up peaceably and i've got a pair of good, old chunky ponies down to camp that i'll sell you cheap. you may have 'em fer a hundred dollars. i'll just call the boys up an' we'll take the mules along with us now, an'----" "oh, no you won't," interrupted tom in a quiet but firm tone as he began fingering the lock of his rifle. "why, pardner," exclaimed tucker in apparent astonishment, "you don't mean to say you'd be so foolish as to compel us to use force? i've got some forty odd men over to camp. ef you don't give up them mules peaceably i'll go an' bring the whole company, an' then--well, you'll have to pay fer the trouble you've put us to, in course." a smile of contempt spread over tom's visage as he replied: "trot out your company an' try to take them mules an' we'll show you what we'll do for you." jack and i were keenly alive to all that was going on and, while watching the five ruffians out on the prairie, were prepared to meet any threatening move any of them might make. being out of hearing of the argument, the squad on the prairie seemed to be growing restless. one of them called out to tucker as though soliciting an order to charge on us: "_cap, don't you want us up there to settle that matter? ef you do, jes' say the word!_" tucker hesitated before answering and looked about our camp as though calculating the chances. the notion--if he entertained it--was quickly dispelled by tom, who growled out: "you give 'em the order to advance an' it'll be the last one you'll ever give. we've got the deadwood on you two fellers an' we'll give a good account of them others, too, ef they attempt to come on." tucker acknowledged the situation by shouting to his men in the offing: "_no! no! stay where you are!_" then, turning to tom, he continued: "now, pardner, i've got one more last proposition to make you, to save you trouble, an' that is this: we'll take them mules over to our camp an'----" "that'll do," interrupted tom. "i've heard enough of that. you'll never take them mules to your camp, or anywhere else, while i'm alive. you know that neither you nor this other feller has any more right to them mules than i have to the horses you're ridin'. i don't want to hear any more of your nonsense. the best thing you two can do is to git away from here. if i see one of you in range of our rifles again he's liable to git a hole in his hide. five minutes to get out of range! now, git!" tucker turned his horse and, calling, "come on, bill," they started to join their waiting comrades. after a few steps the captain turned in his saddle and, with a threatening nod to tom, said: "i'll see you later." "ef you do it won't be good for you," retorted tom. tucker and sawyer joined the others, and without further demonstration they moved off sullenly back along the road toward the store and soon disappeared in the timber. [illustration: "five minutes to get out of range! now, git!"] "they ain't done with us yet," said tom musingly. "'tain't likely that they'll make an open attack on us while we're in this camp because they can't well get the drop on us here. the most natural thing would be fer 'em to slip past us to-night, or go 'round an' get ahead of us, an' lay for us in the timber at the crossing of some creek on the road ahead. i think that one of you men might as well slip over into the timber yonder, near the store, an' by keeping out of sight an' watchin' them you may be able to guess what they're going to do. they'll be certain to stop awhile at the store an' fire up on the ol' man's whiskey, an' then's the time they'll be apt to be careless about talking their plans over, an' after they've settled on what they intend to do they'll go on to camp to get their suppers. after they go on to camp, ef you'd slip into the store an' have a talk with the old man maybe he could tell you what they're up to." "that's just to my notion, tom," said jack. "i was just a-thinkin' of goin' on a little spying expedition after them fellers. i think i can find out what their game is, an' by all that's good an' bad, i'll not come back till i do." so saying, taking his revolvers and shotgun, jack struck out down a ravine that led to the creek and was soon out of sight, while tom and i busied ourselves attending to the stock and other camp duties. chapter vii jack takes a prisoner jack had been gone a couple of hours and it had become quite dark, when our dog found, by growling, pricking up his ears, and looking toward the road, gave notice that some one was approaching. on listening closely we could hear some one coming, but the tramping sounded like that of a horse. we had made no light after dark, for we did not intend to cook any supper and our experience in the indian country had taught us to dispense with lights when in the vicinity of an enemy. as soon as we were assured that the coming party, whoever they were, were making for our camp, tom whispered: "get your gun an' follow me." with that he took his rifle and, advancing stealthily for several paces toward the approaching persons--whose voices we could hear--he squatted down in a patch of weeds on the path leading to the road while i followed and did the same. we had chained the dog to a wheel of the wagon lest he should rush on the newcomers before we could find out who they were. we had scarcely got settled in the position we had taken when we discerned two dark bodies nearing us that seemed to be a man on foot and, just behind him, a mounted man. letting them come on till they were within a few feet of the muzzles of our rifles, tom's voice suddenly rang out: "_halt! who comes there?_" we could now see plainly that there were but two persons, a footman and a mounted man, and heard a prompt response from the horseman, in the unmistakable voice of our irishman, as they both suddenly stopped. "jack, with a prisoner!" this sounded agreeable but mystifying, but the speaker enlightened us by adding: "i've captured tucker, the jayhawker, and his horse." we all moved back to our tent and struck a light to take a look at jack's captures and hear his explanation. but the irishman declined to talk in the presence of his prisoner more than to answer a few commonplace questions. by the light of the candle we saw jack had tied the prisoner's arms together at the elbows, behind his back, with the end of the jayhawker's lariat, while with the other end securely fastened to the horn of his saddle he had been driving the fellow before him. the desperado seemed now very crestfallen and by no means pugnacious and had nothing to say. "what are you going to do with him, jack?" i asked in hearing of the captive. "oh, make a 'spread eagle' of him on a hind wheel of the wagon till morning i suppose, an' then take him down to the timber an' hang him an' be done with him," he replied as he began to put the first part of this programme into execution. the "spread eagle" is made by requiring the prisoner to stand with his back against a hind wheel of a wagon; his arms are then stretched out on each side and tied by the wrists to the upper rim of the wheel, while his ankles, with feet spread apart, are tied in like manner to the bottom of the wheel. the prisoner can ease himself a little by sitting on the hub of the wheel, but this affords an insecure and uncomfortable seat. as soon as we had securely spread the big jayhawker on the wheel, jack left me to watch him, with a caution to see that he did not work himself loose, while he unsaddled and picketed out the fine black horse he had captured. when this was accomplished he called tom and me off to one side, far enough to be out of hearing of the prisoner, taking the precaution to place the light near the open tent door where it would shine on our "spread eagle," so that we could see if he made any effort to free himself, and then jack gave us a detailed account of his trip. "when i got to a place in the timber where i could see the store, i saw that the jayhawkers' horses was all hitched to the fence an' i knew they was inside. pretty soon they all comes out an' mounts, an' all except this man tucker struck out toward their camp. after seein' them off, tucker mounted an' struck off in a different direction, up the creek like. i couldn't make out what he was up to, but i thought i would go in an' have a chat with the storekeeper as soon as the coast was clear. i went in an' had quite a talk with the ol' man, an', sure enough, he had heard enough of their talk to make sure that their plan was about what tom had guessed it would be. they would go back to their camp an' wait till after midnight, an' then mount an' take a circuit 'round our camp, pass, an' git ahead of us, an' lay for us in the timber at the crossing of the next creek, which the old man says is only a mile and a half from here. tucker had concluded that while he sent his men back to camp he would ride over the route they intended to take an' look at the lay of the land so as to be able to place his men to the best advantage to get the drop on us. "in going to the place he had kept up the creek for a piece an' then circled 'round across the prairie to the little creek so's not to be seen or heard by any of us here; but in comin' back he had followed the main road, 'cause he knew it was too dark by that time for any of us to tell who he was as he passed along the road. "i was just comin' out of the timber, after crossin' the creek this side of the store, on my way back to camp, when i spied him a-comin' down the hill toward me at a walk, an' i squatted down so's to get him 'tween me an' the sky, to get a better view of him, to make sure it was him; an' then i made up my mind to take him in right there. "so i got back behind a tree right beside the road, an' when he got nearly to me i stepped out with both barrels cocked an' called out to him to halt. he pulled up, sudden like, with a jerk, an' asked: 'what's up? what's up?' "'don't you make a motion toward your pistols,' says i, 'or i'll put two big loads of buckshot into you.' i wasn't more'n six feet from him, an' he must have seen that he had no show to get away or draw a gun. 'now,' says i, 'do just as i order you, an' don't you try any foolishness, or i'll fill you full of lead. first thing,' says i, 'unbuckle that belt an' drop belt an' pistols in the road.' he did so, at the same time saying: 'pardner, i reckon you've mistook me for somebody else. who do you take me fur and who are you, anyway?' "'i've made no mistake,' i answered. 'you're tucker, the jayhawker, an' i'm jack, the giant-killer'--an' wasn't that a big bluff? 'now,' says i, 'back out a step till i pick up your guns.' "he did so, an' i kept a close watch of him while i gathered in his battery an' buckled the belt around me over my own. "then i commanded, 'dismount!' which he did like a little man, an' i made him tie his horse to a tree; an' then i undone his lariat from his saddle an' made him turn his back to me while i tied his elbows together behind his back with one end of the lariat; an' with the other end made fast to the horn of the saddle, with a good holt of it in me fist, i mounted his fine horse an' druv him before me, as you saw. "an now what are we to do with him? no doubt he deserves hanging, as they all do, but it ain't my style to kill a helpless prisoner an' i know you nor tom wouldn't do such a thing, though i told tucker, comin' along--just to keep him well scared up that we would hang him in the mornin', sure as fate, as soon as it was light enough to see how to do a good job of it; an' i b'lieve he's afeard we're going to do it, for he's been mighty serious ever since. ef we was nigh to any of uncle sam's sogers we could just turn him over to them, an' they'd fix him, sure, for the order is out fer these jayhawkers to be exterminated to death or druv out of kansas, an' the sogers is huntin' 'em down wherever they can hear of 'em. by the way, the ol' storekeeper told me that he had sent off that letter, by the mail that went past this evenin', to general hunter, at leavenworth, askin' him to send a few sogers out along the santa fé road to look after these fellers." while jack had been telling us all this we had been standing far enough away from the prisoner so that we were sure he could not hear what was said. tom, while apparently listening to jack, asked no questions and offered no suggestions but seemed wrapped in his own thoughts, and i knew, from often having seen him in a similar revery, that he was studying out some "strategy," as he would call it, to spring on our enemies, the jayhawkers. when jack came to a pause tom began: "men, we can't afford to fool away much more time with these robbers. an idea struck me when i saw that big fellow tied to the wagon wheel, an' i've been ponderin' on it ever since, an' if we can carry out the scheme i think i see a way of running a bluff on him an' his gang that will scare 'em out of this neighborhood, an' that will be the next best thing to killing 'em an' we won't have to stay here. now, listen an' i'll give you a hint of my plan. we'll go into the tent, where we'll be close enough to him for tucker to hear what we're saying ef he listens right sharp, an' i know he'll do that. i'll give you two men a little talk that'll go to show that instead of our being what we've represented ourselves to be--that is, three wolf hunters goin' out to the buffalo range--we are really three soldiers disguised this way an' sent out here to do a little detective service on purpose to locate this gang of jayhawkers, an' that the company of cavalry to which we belong is coming on close behind us, ready to swoop down an' gobble up the gang as soon as i give 'em the word. an' then, when we git tucker to take this all in we'll manage to let him escape an' carry this news to his gang; an' ef i ain't badly mistaken they'll pack up an' pull out from here as quick as they can get away. now, mind you, i'm sergeant in charge." "be the powers o' mud," exclaimed jack. "that's a fine scheme if we can only make it work, ef it pans out the way you've planned it. tom--or sergeant, i should have said--i'll always think that a great general was sp'ilt when they made only a private of you. now go ahead with your rat killin' an' let's be tryin' it on." as our conference ended we strolled back to the tent and tom began giving orders for guarding our prisoner through the night. "now, men, we'll divide the night into three parts, like a 'running guard,' an' each one of us'll take a third of the night to stand post. an', mind you, don't go to sleep on post or the prisoner might git away. i guess we'll let jack take the first watch, an' you, peck, can come on for the middle tour, an' you may call me up for the last turn. ef you think you won't git sleepy you might bring out one of the camp-chairs an' take a seat where you can keep a close watch of the prisoner; but ef you find yourself gittin' the least bit drowsy you must get up an' walk about, for it won't do for the sentry to go to sleep to-night." "why, fellows," whined the big jayhawker, "you shorely don't mean to leave me in this fix all night, do you? i don't see how i can stan' it so long." "well, as to that," said jack with a fierce look of assumed heartlessness, "ef it'd be any accommodation to you we might be able to rig up some sort of a gallows out about the barn an' swing you off to-night so's you wouldn't have to stan' there all night. come to think of it," he continued, turning to tom and me, "that would be a good scheme for us as well as to put the prisoner out of his misery, fer ef we hang him to-night instead of waitin' till mornin' we'll save ourselves the trouble of standing guard over him, an' that's quite an item. what do you say to it?" but tom and i decided that with no better light than a candle, which the wind might blow out, the jayhawker might escape, and if he didn't we would not be able to do a good job of hanging with so poor a light. and the prisoner concluded that he would try and worry through the night on the wagon wheel rather than put us to so much inconvenience. chapter viii tom's strategy calling us inside the tent and changing our bayonet candlestick to a position where it would be protected from the wind, while the light would still shine on the prisoner through the open tent door, tom, in a low voice, began giving us the talk that we intended tucker should overhear. "now, men," began the old man, "the objects of our expedition are so nearly accomplished that i thought i'd better explain the situation to you more fully so that you will clearly understand the parts you are to play in our future movements. everything is working out, so far, just as the captain planned it. i don't believe that anybody along the road or any of these jayhawkers suspects us of being soldiers or anything else but jest what we've told 'em, that we are three wolf hunters goin' out to the buffalo range. there's nothin' military about our team an' camp outfit except the sibley tent an' our rifles, an' lots of citizens use them; an' laying aside our uniforms an' puttin' on these new buckskin togs makes us look like three tenderfeet tryin' to imitate frontiersmen. i must give our captain credit for long-headedness, for 'twas him planned the whole expedition." "an' i give the captain credit," interrupted jack, "for selectin' a sergeant, among all the non-coms of the company, who could carry out his plans to the letter." "thanks," returned tom with a wink. "an' the two privates that were selected to go with the sergeant shows that our captain knows his men." "now," continued tom, "ef things turn out as they look now, i think our trip'll end right here, for we've got our game purty nigh bagged. the captain, with the company, has kept just far enough behind us to keep out of sight, an' to-night they're about ten miles back on the road; an' ef he gits the message i sent to him this afternoon, which i'm sure he will, they ought to be here, or over about the store, rather--for there's where i promised to meet 'em--a little after midnight." i could see that our prisoner was taking a keen interest in tom's remarks, craning his neck forward and turning an ear toward the tent door in an attitude of attentive listening. "i have arranged with the boy," continued the old veteran, "who carried my message back to the captain, to guide the company up to the store an' to meet me there not later than two o'clock to-night. an' this boy has been down to the jayhawkers' camp an' knows the lay of the land all around there; an' when i join the captain an' company the boy is to guide us all to the camp, or nigh enough so that the captain can string the company all around 'em; an' as soon as it's light enough we'll close in on 'em an' make sure that nary one gits away. from what jack says, they are all pretty full of whiskey an' will be apt to sleep sound, an' it'll be an easy matter to gobble the whole caboodle." "sh, sergeant," i said in a loud enough whisper for the prisoner to hear. "don't talk so loud--the jayhawker might hear you." "oh, i don't think he could hear what i say, 'way out there; but it won't make much difference ef he does, fer he'll never live long enough to profit by what he might hear, for he's pretty nigh as good as a dead man right now. his time's short." tucker had dropped his head forward--in our direction--as far as he could lean, and had closed his eyes as if asleep, but was trying to catch every word that was said. "but, sergeant," i asked tom, "what will the captain do with the jayhawkers after he takes 'em in--take 'em back to leavenworth as prisoners?" "not much," replied the old man. "he has his orders from general hunter to exterminate these jayhawkers wherever he can catch 'em--to shoot or hang 'em; an' you know our old captain is jest the man that'll take delight in carryin' them orders out to the letter. we've heard complaints enough from people along the road to satisfy the captain that these rescals are entitled to no mercy, an' you bet they'll get none from him." "but, sergeant," inquired jack, "what will we do with this feller? hang him in the mornin'?" "no; unless he should try to get away, according to my orders, we'll have to keep him till the company gits here an' then turn him over to the captain. it'll only delay his hanging a little while, for the captain'll fix him quick enough. but ef he should accidentally get loose an' run, why, shoot him, of course." "well, i'm sorry," said jack, "that we can't hang him ourselves as soon as daylight comes, fer i promised him that, an' i always like to make my words good." "now," continued tom, "i want you two men to keep a close watch of him an' give him no chance to give us the slip, for that'd spoil all our plans." "we'll see that he don't get away." "well, as i've got to meet the captain an' company over at the store a little after midnight, i'll lie down an' try to git a little sleep, an' you an' jack'll have to divide the time between you, guardin' the prisoner, for, of course, i'll not be able to get back here till some time after daylight, an' when i come it'll be with the company. i guess," added tom after a pause, "i'd better ride the jayhawkers' horse over to meet the company; he'll make a better mount for me than one of our broncos." "yes, do so," said jack; "he's a good one, i think." then he added pleadingly: "but, sergeant, is they no way we could fix it so that me an' peck could go with you on this round-up? s'pose we go out to the barn an' hang this feller to-night, or shoot him, an' say he tried to run--then we could all go." "no," replied tom decidedly, "that won't do at all. remember the old saying, 'it's a good soldier that obeys orders,' an' we've got our orders to hold any and all prisoners we may chance to take and turn 'em over to the captain. much as i'd like to have both of you along, you must stay an' take care of the camp an' prisoner. but i'll speak a good word to the captain fer you, an' i think i can safely promise that you'll both be made corporals as soon as there's vacancies in the company." "well," said jack sorrowfully, "i suppose we'll have to stan' it; but i hate like blazes to break my promise to the jayhawker, for i told him he could depend on bein' hung at daylight." "but, sergeant," i put in, "won't the jayhawkers down at their camp, waiting for their chief, suspect something wrong when he don't show up?" "no, it ain't likely. they were all pretty full on leaving the store, jack says, an' they'll be apt to go right to sleep on gettin' to camp an' think no more about it till mornin'. an' ef they do happen to miss him they'll think he got too drunk to git back to camp an' so laid out some'ers. "now, jack," said tom in concluding this conversation, "you may as well put that candle out an' take post outside where you kin keep an eye on the prisoner. an', peck, you'll take a turn around camp, to see that the animals are all tied securely, an' then turn in, an' you an' me'll be tryin' to get what sleep we can afore it's time for us to go on." as we came out of the tent the captive seemed to be just rousing up from a nap he pretended to have been taking and whined: "men, would you mind loosenin' these strings around my wrists and ankles a little mite? they're cuttin' into my flesh." "well," replied tom compassionately, "we don't want to torture a man unnecessarily. it'll be enough to put him to death properly, when the time comes, without keepin' him a-sufferin' so long. loosen up them cords a little, jack. there won't be much danger of his gettin' away, without you should go to sleep, an' i know you won't do that." jack complied with tom's instructions with apparent reluctance, grumbling as he did so. he purposely slackened the cords on the wrists so much that the man would probably be able to slip his hands out of them, seeming to rely on his watchfulness and shotgun to prevent the possibility of an escape. then bringing out a camp-chair, the irishman sat down with the shotgun across his lap while i made a tour of the camp as directed. then joining tom in the tent, i put out the light and we pretended to turn in for a sleep. in reality we lay down near the open tent door, where, having the prisoner between us and the white wagon cover, we could see every motion he might make, for it had been arranged that jack should apparently go to sleep in his chair and let the jayhawker have a chance to get away. jack had prudently taken his seat far enough from the prisoner so that the latter could not, after freeing himself, spring upon him and seize his shotgun, and tom and i, in anticipation of such an effort, lay down with pistols ready to defeat the move should it be attempted. we had chained the dog far enough away to be out of reach of the jayhawker, for fear that he might catch the fugitive and thus spoil our scheme. tucker remained in his fixed position on the wagon wheel an exasperatingly long time before he began to make any move toward freeing himself, and he remained so still that i began to think that he had fallen asleep in spite of his uncomfortable position. after manifestly keeping awake for a reasonable time so as to give his actions a semblance of reality, jack began to nod in his chair, and finally let his head drop against the back of his seat, very naturally, but in a position that would enable him, through nearly closed eyes, to watch every move of the prisoner; and then the irishman began to snore. tom and i responded by doing our share of hard breathing, and now the captive began to show some signs of life. in the dim light i could see him--silhouetted against the white wagon cover--leaning over to his left and working his right arm as if slipping the hand out of the loop that held it to the wheel. when that hand was free he resumed his original position, kept perfectly still for a moment, and, when apparently assured that we were all still asleep, he dropped his free right hand slowly to his waist and carried the hand to his mouth, evidently having drawn his pocket-knife and opened a blade with his teeth. instead of untying the bonds on his other hand and ankles he had concluded that the quickest and quietest way was to cut them. after replacing his right hand in its former position on the wheel, watching jack closely for a moment, and listening intently to our steady, hard breathing, he quietly reached over with the knife in his free hand and cut the string that held his left wrist to the wheel; then replacing both hands on the wheel again for a moment as if tied, he looked earnestly at jack and then turned an ear toward our tent door. assured by our snoring that we were all asleep, he reached down and cut the cords that held his ankles, after which he gave another earnest look at jack, took a step out from the wheel, and no doubt intended to steal quietly out to his horse and mount him; but as soon as he started from the wagon the dog gave an angry growl and sprang the length of his chain toward the escaping jayhawker. knowing that his flight would now be discovered, tucker quickly darted around the wagon, to get out of the range of jack's shotgun, with found lunging on his chain and barking furiously. jack sprang to his feet, calling to the fugitive, "halt! halt!" as he rushed around the wagon, followed by tom and me, only to see the form of the jayhawker disappearing rapidly in the darkness. still calling out "halt! halt!" jack let off one barrel after another of his shotgun, but high over the head of the retreating ruffian, merely to accelerate his speed. tucker made no attempt to get his horse and was probably only too glad to get away with a sound carcass. after chasing him out on the prairie a little way, calling excitedly to one another to mount and follow the fugitive and try to head him off at some point toward the jayhawkers' camp--all to impress tucker, in case he heard us, of the earnestness of our pursuit and our anxiety to recapture him--we returned to our tent to chuckle over the success of tom's strategy. "'tain't likely," observed tom, "that he'll fool away time hanging around here to try to get his horse. he's scared bad, for sure, an' no doubt b'lieves every word of that yarn i got off about the company of cavalry; but, to be on the safe side, jack, you'd best bring the black horse up here an' tie him to the wagon wheel that his former master jest vacated, an' then turn found loose, an' i'll guarantee no prowler'll come nigh our camp without our gettin' due notice of it." "holy smoke," exclaimed jack, still commenting on the jayhawker's escape, "didn't he run! when i run 'round the wagon after him i could have shot him easy, ef i'd wanted to, fer he lost so much ground a-zigzaggin' as he run, to keep me from hittin' him when i shot, that he hadn't got very far ahead of me. but after i let off both barrels of the shotgun he struck a bee-line fer the timber, only hitting the ground in high places. he'll lose no time in getting back to his camp an' rousing up his men an' telling 'em about the company of cavalry that's comin' after midnight to surround their camp an' hang or shoot every mother's son of 'em. what a time the half-drunken robbers'll have a-saddling up in the dark an' gettin' away from there in a hurry. they'll put as many miles as they can between them an' their ol' camp before that company of cavalry surrounds 'em." after carrying out tom's orders we all turned in and slept till daylight, when the veteran's usual morning call brought back the recollection of the recent exciting incidents. after breakfast tom rode over to the store to see what he could learn of the jayhawkers. before he started: jack asked, "tom, what are we to do with tucker's horse?" "why, jack, ef no more rightful owner than tucker turns up to claim him the horse is fairly yours by right of capture." "i've been thinkin' it over," said jack, "an' come to this conclusion: we know that these jayhawkers make a business of robbing people, taking all the good horses an' mules they come across; it's more'n likely that this tucker has stole this fine horse from somebody hereabouts, an' i think the square thing to do will be to leave word with the ol' storekeeper that in case any man comes along claiming the horse, an' can prove his property, we'll give him up to the rightful owner. if the owner should show up in a day or two he can follow us up, prove ownership, an' take his horse. ef he shouldn't show up until after we've got out to our winter's camp, or well on the road toward it, we'll leave word with the storekeeper to say that we'll be comin' back this way in the spring an' we'll fix the business up then." "good idea, jack," said tom. "i guess that'll be as good a plan as any to settle about the ownership of the horse, an' we'll leave it that way." "as to the horse being mine," added jack, "in case no owner turns up, i don't look at it that way. this is a partnership concern, i take it, an' everything belongs to all hands. but that horse is a dandy. i was out brushin' him off a bit ago, an' i haven't laid a currycomb on a finer animal this long time. he's young--only six years old--well built, clean-limbed, got good action, fine carriage, sound as a dollar, an' i'll warrant he can run a good lick, too." as tom started off, instead of following the road he took a course across the prairie that would bring him to the creek some distance from the regular ford, thus, instinctively, as it were, following out an old frontier scouting rule by which we were taught that in travelling a probably dangerous road one should avoid the regular crossing of a timbered creek as a precaution against being ambushed. about the middle of the forenoon tom made his appearance and soon joined us. in response to our eager inquiries for news he replied: "good news. our strategy won the game. the whole gang, lock, stock, an' barrel, lit out from their ol' camp last night about midnight, an' went in a hurry, too. judging by the signs an' what a man told us who heard 'em gittin' away across the prairie, they must have been scared. now, let's hitch up an' strike the road again an' try to make up some of the time we've lost here--for we've been knocked out of nearly a day's drive by these jayhawkers. i'll tell you all about it as we go along." we soon had our team strung out and were again rolling along the old santa fé road, jack and i on the wagon seat, with tom riding the black horse alongside and giving us the particulars of his visit to the store. "when i got to the store," he said, "early as it was, i found a farmer there who lives down near where the jayhawkers have been camped an' who had come up to report that some time before midnight he had heard considerable commotion in their camp, an' shortly afterward heard a wagon an' some mounted men pass not far from his house, goin' southward across the prairie. he supposed that the gang was breaking camp an' moving away, but couldn't understand why they should light out so sudden an' at such an hour. when daylight come he visited the abandoned camp an' there saw plenty of signs that they'd gone in a hurry. they left clothin', lariats, an' other camp equipage scattered about that they had failed to gather up in the dark. "well, when i got to the store the farmer an' the storekeeper was all worked up an' tickled at the going of their unwelcome neighbors; an' their astonishment was greater still to see me ridin' tucker's fine black horse an' saddle, which they all seemed to recognize at first sight. "to explain the situation to 'em, an' how i come to be ridin' tucker's horse, i had to tell 'em all about the jayhawkers comin' to our camp to try to bluff us out of our mules, an' how we stood 'em off; an' about jack capturin' the big duffer; an' how we made a 'spread eagle' of him an' give him a good scaring up with that yarn of the company of cavalry coming; an' how we give him a chance to get away; an' how he got. "i told the storekeeper what jack's plan was, in case an owner for the black horse should turn up; but he don't think the horse b'longs to any one in this part of the country; an' ef anybody comes 'round inquiring for such a horse he's to write to me at fort larned. "the ol' feller was dreadful uneasy for fear the jayhawkers would find out that we'd gone on out to the plains an' that there was really no company of cavalry behind us and then would come back. but i tol' him not to worry about that, for i believed there would be a company of cavalry here from fort leavenworth before long in answer to that letter he had written to general hunter. "i put another idea into his head, tellin' him that he could help the soldiers to capture or break up the gang by havin' a man foller their trail an' find out just where they locate. he took up with the idea right away, an' the farmer said he'd foller the trail. when he gets 'em located he's to come back an' guide the soldiers to the jayhawkers' camp." as we passed through the strip of timber at the crossing of the little creek where the jayhawkers had planned to get the drop on us we noticed that it would have been an admirable place for such a manoeuvre, and jack and i commented on the possibilities of an encounter with the enemy here. "you're wastin' your wind," interrupted tom impatiently. "i had it all planned out to take a by-road that leads off from the house where we camped, which crosses the creek--so the storekeeper had told me--about a quarter of a mile below this crossin', comin' into the main road again in the prairie beyond. in that way we'd have left the jayhawkers 'holdin' the sack,' like the feller that went a-snipe huntin'." chapter ix buffalo near the big bend that afternoon we reached council grove, on the west bank of neosho river. it was then a place of less than a hundred and fifty inhabitants but an important business point--the outpost of kansas settlements and the last town, going westward, until denver, colorado, was reached. travellers going to the plains usually halted here to lay in any requisites for their trip that might have been overlooked in starting from the missouri river and also for last repairs on wagons and for horseshoeing. the tires on our hind wheels had become a little loose, and we decided to have them shrunk and reset, so we camped by a blacksmith shop near the centre of the village, and soon had the blacksmith at our work, which he finished before dark. making an early start next morning, we rolled out, nooned at diamond springs, fifteen miles from the grove, where there was but one family, and at evening camped at lost springs, thirty miles from council grove, where jack costillo's ranch was the only habitation. so long as the road and weather were fine we wished to make up the time lost in being delayed by the jayhawkers and lengthened our drives accordingly. we were now fairly launched on the plains and would see little more timber and no habitations of white men except an occasional trading ranch at the crossing of some creek along the road. we were nearing the eastern edge of the buffalo range. the road from fort riley, that we had formerly travelled in going out to the arkansas river and back, enters the santa fé road here at lost springs. at this camp there was no timber and no running water--merely a series of water-holes strung along a prairie hollow. this had long been a well-known camping ground; but where the springs were from which it takes the name i never knew, for i never saw any. we pitched our tent near where the fort riley road enters the santa fé and after supper attended to the usual camp work. after we had groomed and fed our animals the irishman and i strolled up to the ranch to renew old acquaintance with the proprietor, jack costillo, also an irishman, whom we had previously known as a soldier in the mounted rifle regiment in new mexico. costillo was delighted to meet us again and, of course, set out his best for us. we spent a couple of hours very pleasantly talking over old times with him and then returned to our camp. as we walked along, thinking of the italian name borne by this man, who, as jack said, "wore the map of ireland on his face," i remarked: "when i hear such names as o'shaughnessy, finnegan, or mccarthy given for an irishman, they seem natural and irish enough, but now and then i find an irishman with what seems to be a very un-irish name, such as costillo's, for instance. how do you account for these misfit names, jack?" "oh, that's 'asy," replied jack. "you see, ould ireland is a sea-girt isle an' is visited by ships of various nations, an' now an' then some foreign sailor, in an irish port, falls in love with an irish girl an' marries her, an' the childther, of course, will bear the foreigner's name, though they be as irish as paddy's pigs." "well, that is a reasonable explanation of a question that has occasioned me a good deal of speculation," i answered, "and, accepting your solution of the problem, my mind will be much easier in the future." at these roadside ranches, which had sprung up at every important camping place along the road since the pike's peak gold discovery, liquor was sold and a small general assortment kept of such goods as were in demand by travellers. no attempt was made to cultivate the soil or raise crops; they were there merely for the trade of the road and--at points farther out--for indian trade. they also bought worn-out stock from passing outfits and, after resting and recruiting such animals, sold them to other travellers needing fresh animals. the santa fé mail contractors, hall & porter, of independence, missouri, had established stations at certain ranches, but beyond council grove there were, as yet, no regular eating or lodging stations for passengers in the mail-coaches. they had to carry their own bedding and take camp fare with the mail hands--two drivers and a conductor to each coach. at cottonwood creek, the next camp west of lost springs, we began to see buffalo--a few straggling old bulls at some distance from the road--but as yet no herds. by the time we had reached the little arkansas small bands became more numerous and neighborly; and from there on the herds grew larger, till by the time we reached the vicinity of fort larned--much later--dense masses of them were to be seen in every direction. as far west as lost springs we found multitudes of prairie-chickens along the road and our shotgun kept our mess supplied with fresh meat. from lost springs westward we saw no more prairie-chickens, but as we soon reached the buffalo range we killed young buffalo or antelope. in running buffalo we used the black horse, jack's capture, and although at first somewhat shy of the brown, woolly monsters, he soon got used to them and evinced keen interest in the chase. in killing a buffalo for fresh meat we usually selected a yearling or two-year-old, to insure tender meat, and cut out only a few pounds of the choicest parts from the carcass, buffalo being so plenty that we seldom thought of the wastefulness of this then common practice. antelope, the fleetest and most graceful animal on the plains, could seldom be overhauled by a mounted man, but their inquisitiveness was so great that they would often, in herds of a dozen or more, approach our camp through curiosity; and if they did not come close enough to suit us, by displaying a red blanket we could lure them on, almost close enough to knock them over with a stick. their meat is tender and well flavored, but at certain seasons there is little fat on it and a little bacon cooked with it improves it. coming in from grooming the black horse one day, jack declared: "the more i handle that horse the better i like him. he's one of the best i ever rubbed a brush over. i've been wondering who that jayhawker could have stole him from an' dreading lest the owner should follow us up an' claim his property, in which case, of course, we'd have to give him up." "well, jack," i replied, "it ain't likely that the owner of the horse, whoever he may be, will ever bother us; and when we hear from the old storekeeper, back where you got him, if no owner has shown up there to inquire about him, then your claim is the next best and he'll be your horse." "no," said the impulsive irishman, "ef we're to git to kape him he's to be company property--he'll belong to all of us." "well," put in tom, "i've been thinkin' that the black horse is entitled to a name, anyhow. we've named the mules--or wild bill did--'dink' an' 'judy' an' the broncos 'polly' an' 'vinegar'; now, what'll we call the horse?" "why not call him 'captain tucker,' after the jayhawker?" i suggested. "no," promptly objected jack, "it wouldn't be treatin' the horse fair to call him after such a scoundrel." "how would 'black prince' do?" proposed tom. "that suits me better. 'black prince' it shall be." passing successively cottonwood creek, big and little turkey creeks, little arkansas, jarvis creek, big and little cow creeks, we reached big bend, the point where the santa fé trail, going westward, first strikes the arkansas river. before reaching big bend we noticed with uneasiness that the tires on our fore wheels were becoming loose. at council grove, where we had had the tires of the hind wheels shrunk and reset, those of the fore wheels had seemed tight enough; but since leaving there the woodwork of the fore wheels had been shrinking more and more each day, until now something must be done to tighten them or we would soon have a broken-down wagon. we had hoped to reach fort larned before having to reset these tires, but from big bend it was nearly two days' drive to the fort. seeing old tom examining the wheels, i asked: "well, tom, what are we going to do about it? hadn't we better take them fore wheels off and throw them into the river overnight?" "no," replied the old man, "that would only help us for a day and by to-morrow night they'd be dry as ever. we'll just give 'em a plainsman's shrinking, an' that's pretty nigh as good as to have a blacksmith cut an' weld an' reset 'em. we'll swell the felloes by puttin' canvas between them an' the tires. the first thing is to unload the wagon." it was quite a job, but jack and i soon had the stuff all out and stacked up on the ground. "now, prop up the front ex an' take off the wheels." this was soon accomplished. "now, while i knock off the tires you an' jack can get out your gunny sacks an' carry up a whole lot of buffalo-chips an' pile 'em handy." by the time we had done this tom had taken off the tires and laid them down, one on top of the other, raised a couple of inches off the ground by stones placed here and there under them. "now pile your chips all round over the tires, 'bout a foot deep, an' then set 'em afire, an' the breeze'll keep the fire a-boomin'; an' while the tires is a-heating bring the wheels up here close by; get that piece of old canvas out o' the wagon; cut some strips from it long as you can git 'em, jist the width of the felloes; get some of the tacks out of the till of the mess-chest; put the canvas strips on the outside of the felloes, draw 'em tight, an' tack 'em here an' there as you go round the wheel until you get about four thicknesses of canvas on; then give the outside layer of canvas a little wettin' so's it won't burn out afore we can git the tire cooled off. then lay the wheels down handy to the fire, with a rock here an' there under the rims to make 'em lay solid." when this had all been done: "now get the shovel an' scoop out a little, long hole in the ground close by an' keep it filled with water. bring the pick an' shovel an' spade an' axe an' hatchet an' lay 'em handy. then fill all the buckets with water an' set 'em close by." the wind kept the circle of buffalo-chips that covered the tires blazing briskly, and by the time the chips were nearly burnt out we could see that the tires were red-hot and knew that they had expanded enough to drop over the canvassed wheels. "now," resumed tom, "we'll have to work lively an' make no mislicks when we drop a tire over a wheel so's to get it cooled an' shrunk on afore it burns out the canvas. we'll have to use the pick an' spade an' shovel to lift 'em out o' the fire an' drop 'em over the wheels. peck, you take the pick, jack the shovel, an' i'll take the spade. when all's ready i'll give the word, an', peck, you stick the point of your pick under the top tire an' lift it up a little so's me an' jack can slip our shovel an' spade under it; then the three of us'll lift the tire out of the fire an' lay it in its place over the wheel an' then go to pourin' water on, an' quick as it's shrunk enough to stay on jack'll run his shovel handle through the hole in the hub, pry the wheel up, an' with one of you on each side, a-holt of the shovel handle, you can hold the wheel over the pool of water with the lower rim in the water while i spin it 'round, an', with axe in one hand an' hatchet in the other, i'll hammer the tire to its place as it shrinks. now, do you men 'savvy' all them instructions?" we "savvied," and, following tom's directions, we soon had both tires nicely reset and shrunk, and it made a very substantial job. it was hot and laborious work and gave us unusually keen appetites for the supper that followed, which tom prepared, while jack and i reloaded our wagon. chapter x why satank killed peacock after supper, as we lay on our beds in the tent talking over old times, jack recalled to my mind the cheyenne campaign of and how we used to gather wild plums in the sand-hills near where we were now camped. he spoke also of a man bitten by a rattlesnake near here. this called out a story from tom, who said: "speakin' of rattlesnakes reminds me of a little incident that happened out in new mexico when i was in the old first dragoons. i was a sergeant, an' we had a new recruit in the company by the name of nesbit--a mighty quiet sort of a feller that the men called a 'stoughton-bottle,' or a 'bump on a log'--a good man for duty, only he didn't make free with the other men or have much to say to anybody. he had a fashion in hot weather, when he was loungin' about camp off duty, of goin' barefooted, with the bottoms of his pants an' drawers rolled up several inches. "one day, when we was camped on the rio grande, water call had jest gone, an' we'd all started out from our tents to water our horses an' picket 'em out on fresh grass. i was walkin' a few steps behind nesbit when i heard the whiz-whir of a rattlesnake in the direction of the man, an' as i looked to'rds him i was horrified to see a big rattler that seemed to have hold of one of his ankles an' was a-jerkin' an' squirmin' an' wrappin' itself all 'round his leg; but, as i found out afterward, the snake had struck at his ankle an' caught a mouthful of the roll of nesbit's trousers an' got his fangs tangled so's he couldn't git loose but hadn't touched the leg at all. "well, sir, i was nearly paralyzed with fear an' was tryin' to think of some way i could help the man but didn't see how. he never said a word, but just reached down as cool as ef he was goin' to pluck a flower, grabbed the snake right back of its head so close it couldn't turn to bite his hand when it got its fangs loose, then pulled its fangs loose from the roll of his trousers an' pulled the snake away from where it was wrapped around his leg. it coiled itself around his arm an' kep' its rattle a-hummin', and i couldn't imagine how he was goin' to get rid of it without gettin' bit. "well, it all happened quicker'n scat, an' while i was a-tryin' to study out some way i could help him out he knew just what to do an' was a-doing it without asking anybody's help. "he just reached for his belt with the other hand, pulled his butcher-knife, sliced the snake's head off clean--taking a slice out of his finger in doing it, shook the snake loose from his arm an' dropped it, stooped down an' dug a little hole with his knife, raked the snake's head into it an' covered it up so's nobody would tramp on it with bare feet an' get pizened, wiped his knife on his britches' leg an' returned it to the sheath, tore a piece off his ol' hankercher an' wrapped his cut finger up, an' went on an' 'tended to his horse--all without sayin' a word or makin' any fuss; an' when i got my breath enough to say, 'nesbit, that was a close call,' he merely remarked indifferent like: 'yes, but you know a miss is as good as a mile.' "it had all been done so quietly an' quickly that the other men passin' by hadn't noticed what was goin' on. "well, sir, i count that one of the coolest, grittiest things i ever saw done, an' when i got back to camp i went an' told the orderly sergeant about it, an' he had to go an' tell the captain; an' then the captain sent for me, an' i had to tell him all the particulars; an' when i got through all the ol' man had to say was, 'he'll do,' but i could see that the captain was mightily pleased with the raw recruit. "well, the upshot of it was the next evenin' at 'retreat' the orderly sergeant published an order to the company to the effect that 'private nesbit is hereby appointed corporal an' will be obeyed an' respected accordingly.' "you see, the captain saw from that little affair of the snake that nesbit was something more than a 'bump on a log,' an' so he give the man a lift to start him, an' in a little while he was made sergeant; an' then, when the ol' orderly sergeant's time was out an' he was discharged, nesbit was made first sergeant right over the heads of us old hands who'd been in the service a heap longer. but he deserved it, an' i never begrudged him the promotion, for he made one of the best orderly sergeants i ever knew--always the same quiet, cool, nervy nesbit." "i always told you," remarked jack, "that it won't do to set a man down for a fool 'cause his clo's don't fit him. "changin' the subject," said jack, "it's about five miles from here up to charley rath's ranch, at the mouth of walnut creek; ain't it, tom?" "yes; five miles to walnut creek, sixteen from there to pawnee rock, eight miles from the rock to the crossin' of ash creek, six from ash creek to pawnee fork, an' three miles, after crossing pawnee fork, on up the creek will bring us to fort larned, which is two miles and a half off the santa fé road, but in plain sight of it." "i was thinkin'," continued jack, "about the walnut creek ranch an' some o' the lively times it's seen since i first know'd it. in ' , when we come out here on the cheyenne expedition, allison owned it. many's the time the injuns made life a burden to allison, but still he saved his scalp an' died on the square. in ' he left his hired man, peacock, in charge of the ranch while he took his teams an' went in to westport, missouri, after goods. on that trip allison died suddenly at westport, an', as he had no kinsfolk at the ranch an' none ever come out to claim it, peacock jumped the claim an' held it as his own. he, too, had some lively times with the injuns an' was finally killed by ol' satank, in the summer of . an' then charley rath jumped the claim an' still holds it, but more'n likely he, too, will lose his napper to some o' the indians yet. it was near the ranch, when peacock had it, that pawnee, the kiowa chief, was killed by lieutenant bayard; wasn't it?" "yes," i replied, "i was in at the death and had an opportunity to have done the killing myself that day, but lieutenant bayard came up and took the job off my hands. you see, i was one of the first to mount and start in chase of the indian after he'd escaped from the ranch, mounted his horse, and was racing across the level prairie north of the ranch. i was riding that speedy little bay horse that we called 'greased lightning,' that the officers used in making races. i'd got the start of bayard and the rest, overtook the indian in about a mile and was right alongside of him, with lieutenant bayard coming up just behind me, and when i called back to the lieutenant to ask whether i should shoot the kiowa he replied, 'no, let me speak to him,' and i gave way and let bayard come in between me and pawnee. bayard called on him a couple of times to halt, on the second demand firing a shot in front of the indian as a warning, and when he found that the indian only jeered and made faces at him the lieutenant reined in a little and let the kiowa go ahead, and, as he did so, dropped his pistol to pawnee's back, saying, 'take it, then,' and let him have it--shooting him through the heart. pawnee threw up his hands and fell off his horse dead." "well, by rights," said jack, "you'd overtook the injun first an' had the best right to have done that job, but bayard took advantage of his bein' an officer over you to hog the honors." "i didn't consider that there was any particular honor in killing that indian, under the circumstances," i replied, "but i should have done so if the lieutenant had said the word. but bayard seemed to think that the indian would halt and surrender on his demand, and when the kiowa not only refused to yield but defied him, why, there was nothing else to do but to kill him. we thought it strange at first that pawnee should act so defiantly when we had the drop on him, but peacock told us when we got back to the ranch that this indian carried a medicine or charm hung around his neck that was supposed to protect him from a white man's bullet, and when the lieutenant fired a shot and missed him he was sure he was bullet-proof; but bayard's bullet killed him so quick that he hardly had time to feel disappointed." "i don't know but what it was best, after all," remarked old tom, "seein' that the injun had to be killed, for an officer to do it, for after that shot the kiowas started on the war-path an' caused the loss of a good many lives of innocent people an' give the troops a whole lot of trouble an' hard service for a year or more afterward. ef it had 'a' been an enlisted man fired that shot he'd 'a' been court-martialled an' punished, more'n likely, instead of being honored. so i guess peck lost nothin' by it, for bayard was sharply reprimanded an' had to do a whole lot of explaining to get out of trouble for that little job. as to the killing of pawnee bein' the real cause of the kiowa outbreak, that was the idea that some fool people back east got of it; but none of us ever believed that, for we knew from the actions of ol' satank an' his band for some time before that, they was bound to go on the war-path with or without provocation, an' they seized on the killin' of one o' their chiefs as an excuse for turnin' loose on the pike's peak emigrants an' others along the road." "you'll remember," said jack, "that i wasn't with you the next summer on the kiowa expedition, for i'd been left back at fort riley, in the hospital, but i know peck an' you"--speaking directly to tom--"was both with major sedgwick's command in this part of the country when peacock was killed; an', as i've heard two or three different stories about that affair, i'd like to know the straight of it. tell me jist how it happened." "well, sir," began old tom as he raised up and began whittling another pipeful of tobacco, "i can give you the straight facts about that scrape, for i got 'em from charley rath an' the sick man--you know at the time satank killed peacock there was a man sick in bed in the ranch that the injuns never touched, an' he was the only one of peacock's men left alive, 'cept wild bill an' john adkins, an' they was away from the ranch somewhere. after peace was made with the kiowas an' they got to comin' around to the walnut creek ranch to trade ag'in, charley rath was runnin' it, an' he got all the particulars about it from the indians who was with satank when he killed peacock. so i think i got it pretty straight. "you'll remember that we--that is, major sedgwick's command of four companies of first cavalry from fort riley--had been chasin' the kiowas' round over the plains all summer, but hadn't been able to get a fight out of 'em 'cept that little scrimmage our detachment of forty men under jeb stuart had with satank an' a little bunch up north of bent's fort, where we killed eight of 'em an' captured all their women an' children an' packs. "captain sturgis, with four companies from fort arbuckle, had also come up into this country on the same errand as us--huntin' the kiowas--an' he'd had better luck, for he caught 'em up on the republican fork an' had a nice little fight an' killed a whole lot of 'em. "i'm givin' you all this preamble to give you a clear idee of the situation that led up to the killing of peacock. there was a slight split among the kiowas durin' this war, for ol' to hausen--little mountain--their head chief, with a few of the cool-headed older warriors of the tribe, had refused to join satank an' the hostiles in makin' war on the whites, an' to hausen, with his little band, had kept out o' the way for fear of bein' mistaken by us for the hostiles. but the biggest part of the tribe, under the leadership of satank an' satanta an' big tree, was a-doin' their level best to wipe out every white man, woman, an' child on the plains. "satank was the recognized leader of the hostiles an' was always very bitter in his hatred of the whites. "as our two commands, sturgis's an' sedgwick's, had kep' him on the jump purty lively durin' the summer, an' he'd got the worst of it all 'round, 'long in the last of august or fore part of september, i think it was, satank seemed to conclude--as the time was soon coming when the injun agent at bent's fort would be a-giving out the annuities that uncle sam sends out every fall to the peaceable injuns--that he'd better make a treaty with major sedgwick for the winter, anyway, so's him an' his band could come in for their share of the presents. so he applied to peacock for a letter of recommendation to major sedgwick, thinkin' that a letter from such a prominent trader would help him to make easy terms with sedgwick. "'well, sir, right there's where peacock made the blunder of his life, an' it cost him his life, too. peacock was a pretty smart man an' was acquainted with nearly every kiowa in the tribe, an' it's hard to understand how he could be so foolish as to do the way he did. but satank an' his band had made him a heap o' trouble durin' this last outbreak, an' now peacock thought he saw a chance to even up with his old enemy. so, instead of writin' a letter to sedgwick askin' mild treatment an' makin' excuses for satank an' his scalpers, he wrote one reading something like this: major sedgwick, _commanding kiowa expedition_: the bearer of this is satank, the leader of the hostile kiowas and the instigator of all, and the actual perpetrator of many of the atrocious murders and outrages that have been committed on innocent men, women, and children on the plains during this last outbreak. he is, by long odds, the worst indian on the plains, and you can't do the country a greater service than to kill him on sight. (signed) peacock. "here was the unaccountable part of peacock's folly. he certainly knew that that low-down renegade englishman that they called 'english jim' was living among the kiowas at this time; but jim was a brute an' appeared to be so ignorant peacock must have supposed either that the fellow would be unable to read writing or else that satank would never doubt the genuineness of his recommendation and would, therefore, take no steps to test it. but there's where the trader fooled himself. "the kiowas were camped across the arkansas, a few miles south from the ranch. charley rath an' his pardner, george long, had just begun to build them a ranch-house here at the bend, close to where we are now camped, an' could see the kiowas passing back an' forth across the river. "when satank received the paper from peacock he and a few men who was with him went straight back to their camp, give the document to 'english jim,' an' axed him to read it an' interpret it into kiowa, which he did. "as soon as satank heard the purport of the paper an' understood the trick peacock was trying to play him, he an' the same gang mounted their horses an' rode right back to peacock's to settle the account. on reaching the ranch, as an excuse for their sudden return an' to keep peacock from suspecting what he was up to, satank an' his men never dismounted, but sat on their horses outside the gate an' called to peacock in mexican--the kiowas an' comanches can nearly all talk a little mexican--says he to peacock, says he, 'bring your spy-glass out an' look down the road an' see ef this is a lot of soldiers a-coming',--when there was no soldiers in sight nor anything that looked like 'em. "never suspecting the trap that satank had laid for him, peacock come out with his long telescope an', resting it on the end of a log sticking out at the corner of the house, begun looking through it in the direction satank pointed. "while busy trying to focus the glass on a little cloud of dust that satank kept tryin' to point out to him, the ol' rascal put the muzzle of his rifle to the back of peacock's head an' put a ball through his brains. while satank dismounted to scalp peacock his warriors rushed into the enclosure through the gate that peacock had left open as he come out, an' it was such a complete surprise to the ranchmen that they were all soon killed 'cept the sick man i spoke of. they found him in bed but never offered to disturb him. i've known of injuns, several times, a-sparing sick people thataway, but don't know why, unless they have a superstition ag'in harming sick folks. "when rath an' long, down here at the bend, saw the kiowas going back across the river, a-drivin' peacock's herd, they begun to think something was wrong, so they got out their spy-glass, took a close look, an', although the injuns was two or three miles away, could see that they had a lot of the ponies packed with what seemed to be some of peacock's goods. this made 'em suspect that the injuns had captured an' plundered the ranch, ef they hadn't killed peacock an his men; so they dropped their work, mounted their horses, an' went a-flying up to peacock's to see what was up, an' found all hands killed 'cept the sick man, an' he told 'em what little he'd seen an' heerd of the fracas, from where he lay in bed, not bein' able to get out, an' how after killing the other men the injuns had come to the open door of the room where he lay helpless an' fully expecting to be murdered, an' how surprised an' glad he was when they turned away without disturbin' him. "peacock had left no heirs on the place, an' there was no one in this part of the country that had any claim on it, so rath an' long decided to abandon the ranch they had just begun to build here at the bend an' move up an' take possession of peacock's place, jumping the claim, same as peacock had done after allison died. an' rath is holding it yet, but george long quit the business an' went back to the settlements--got scared out, i guess. charley rath--barring the everlasting danger from injuns--has got a bully good layout in that walnut creek ranch, both for trade of the road an' for injun trade, for there he gits part of the trade of kiowas, comanches, cheyennes, an' 'rapahoes; but it's more directly in the kiowa range than the others." "well, tom," i asked as the old man seemed to be at the end of his yarn, "as the kiowas are now living under a treaty, do you think their friendship is to be depended on?" "i wouldn't feel a bit uneasy in the neighborhood of ol' to hausen's band, for him an' his followers has kept faith with the whites right along, through all the late troubles. he's one of the few good injuns. but his band is a small part of the tribe now though he used to be their head chief. most of the kiowas follow the lead of satank now, an' you know satank hates a white man as the devil hates holy water, an', although he may keep the peace for a while, it ain't to be depended on. i would never feel perfectly safe in the neighborhood of satank's band. an' then satanta an' big tree run with him, an' they're as bad as satank." "what i was thinking of," i added, "is that the winter camp we're intending to establish, north of fort larned, will be right in the range of the kiowas, and if they should happen to find our layout in the course of the winter they might make trouble for us." "well, we won't borry any trouble on that score. we knew there was a risk to run afore we undertook the expedition. when a man goes into the country of hostile or doubtful injuns he takes his risk. but at this time of the year the chances are that we won't see any injuns, 'cause they generally hole up in as snug shelter as they can find in winter an' don't ramble about much. an' then, ag'in, we'll not be more'n twenty miles from fort larned, and they'd hardly dare to disturb us ef they should find our camp." chapter xi we reach fort larned "now, men," said old tom as we gathered around the mess box for breakfast next morning, "we want to get an early start for we've got a big drive before us. it's only about thirty-eight miles from here to fort larned, but that's too much to do with a load in one day; an' we can't divide the distance equally because there's no water anywhere nigh the half-way p'int. by takin' the river road we could get water to camp at the half-way station, but that route, by way of the mouth of pawnee fork, would take us four miles out of our way, an' part of it's a sandy, heavy road for the team. so i've concluded it'll be best for us to go the main road by pawnee rock an' camp at ash creek. that'll make about twenty-nine miles for to-day's drive, an' then we'll only have nine miles to-morrow mornin' to knock off to reach the fort. we can easy do that by the middle of the forenoon, an' have the rest of the day to look up some old acquaintances there an' make some inquiries about the best p'int over on walnut to locate our winter camp an' how best to get there. ef french dave, the interpreter, is at larned he'll tell us all we want to know about it. if wild bill was here, he'd go right along an' guide us to a snug place for our camp, 'cause he knows every foot o' the ground. it's all open prairie from pawnee to walnut, an' once we get across pawnee fork we can't miss it ef we just follow the buffalo trails." we rolled out from big bend by sunrise, made a short stop at rath's ranch to renew old acquaintance with charley, and in the evening camped at the crossing of ash creek, a small stream with a little timber along its banks. we reached fort larned by ten o'clock next morning. i left tom and jack to inquire for mail, while i went to the adjutant's office to report our arrival and destination; after which i rejoined the outfit at the sutler's. "well, now, men," said old tom, gathering up the mail matter and putting it away in the wagon, "we must first hunt a camp, an' then we can spend the rest of the day reading our papers an' letters an' rounding up old acquaintances about the garrison an' getting ready to go on to walnut creek in the mornin'. i'm told that we can get pretty good grass by crossin' the creek here an' going half a mile up on the other side. we'll go an' make camp an' eat dinner, an' then, leaving one man to take care o' camp, the others can come back and take in the garrison." a little crowd of idlers had gathered around our team. a soldier volunteered to guide us to a good crossing and camp, and we soon had our animals turned out and tent pitched, and, while tom and jack were getting the dinner, at their request i overhauled first the letters and then the papers, reading to my comrades the most interesting items as i came to them. the papers and magazines were full of exciting and interesting news concerning the progress of the war, then just getting under good headway. of letters we got but few, the most interesting of which to me was one from the girl i had left behind me and another from the old storekeeper and postmaster back at the camp where we had encountered the jayhawkers. the storekeeper informed us that no inquiry had been made for the black horse, and he did not think it likely that there would be as he had learned that tucker and his gang had stolen many of their best horses from over the border in missouri and the black horse was probably one of them. he also informed us that, following out the plan suggested by tom, his neighbor had trailed the jayhawkers to their new camp down on the neosho river, near emporia; that a few days after we left a company of cavalry had arrived from fort leavenworth, in answer to the letter he had written to the commander of the department, looking for the gang of outlaws, and the man who had followed them and located their camp guided the soldiers to the jayhawkers' new layout, where the cavalrymen succeeded in surrounding and capturing the whole gang and taking them as prisoners to fort leavenworth. "well, who's going to mind camp, an' who's going over to the fort?" said jack when dinner was over. "we'll draw straws for it," said tom decisively. "peck, you prepare the straws, two long ones an' a short one, an' the man who gets the short one stays." i did as directed. tom and jack drew the long straws, and i got left. "well, rack out now, you fellows, and i'll have a good time reading the papers while you're gone," said i, trying to console myself for the lonesome afternoon i expected to have. but i was not left alone long, for presently a couple of strolling soldiers from the garrison dropped in, and we passed some time in exchanging information, i giving them the latest news from the settlements, and they telling the gossip of fort larned and vicinity. we had not been out of sight of herds of buffalo since we had entered the range till we crossed pawnee fork, but here, near the fort, where they had probably been hunted more than elsewhere, they were scarce, though this was about the centre of their range east and west. the soldiers said that a few miles out in any direction we would find them numerous again. to my comrades and me the country about fort larned was familiar ground. as already stated, our company--k of the old first cavalry, afterward changed to fourth cavalry--had built and occupied the original military post, called "camp alert," in the adjoining bend of the creek, below fort larned, in the fall of ' , when the kiowas were on the war-path. during that winter we had been stationed there, escorting the santa fé mails and giving what protection we could to travel on the roads to new mexico and the pike's peak gold region. by the following spring ( ), the war department had ordered a permanent post established at or near "camp alert," to be called fort larned. this post was built by the two companies of second infantry that were sent to relieve us, while we, joining major sedgwick's command from fort riley, went on the kiowa expedition. my two years of hard service along the arkansas gave me an interest in everything that had happened in this part of the country, and i kept my soldier visitors plied with questions about persons and events until the approach of sunset warned them to return to the post to prepare for dress parade. tom and jack remained at the garrison till after dress parade and then joined me in time for the supper which i had prepared. in narrating the results of his inquiries at the post tom said: "as we had all been pretty well acquainted with weisselbaum when he used to keep the little store in ogden, near fort riley, before he got to be sutler of this post, i thought i would first call on him an' renew old acquaintance. when i tried to remind him who i was an' the many times i had been in his store at ogden an' bought goods of him he couldn't remember me at all. an' then i asked him if he remembered jack an' peck, tellin' him that you was both here with me an' the object of our trip an' so forth, but he couldn't recall either of us an' looked at me kind of suspicious like, as though he was afraid i was goin' to ask him to credit me for a plug of tobacco or something of that kind. "to set him straight on that point i called for a couple of cigars, an' in paying for 'em i managed to show several greenbacks, an', my, what a change come over his countenance when he saw that money! the sight of them greenbacks at once refreshed his recollection. "he suggested that we should leave our surplus money in his safe, and i believe it's a good scheme, for we'll have no use for money over on the walnut, where we're going, an' we might lose it. peck might go over to the store now, takin' jack along for a witness, an' deposit our money with the sutler an' take a receipt for it; an' if we have occasion to draw any of it out at any time it can be entered on the back of the receipt. savvy?" we "savvied" and agreed to tom's plan. "weisselbaum told me," continued the old man, "where to find 'french dave,' an' dave told me that it's all plain sailing an' about twenty miles from here over to walnut in the nearest direction, straight north; an' there'll be no rough ground to get over except the head of ash creek, an' there ain't much there. he says by bearin' a little to the west of north we'll miss the breaks of ash creek an' strike walnut about the mouth of a little creek putting into walnut from the south, where there's a snug place for a well-sheltered winter camp, with timber on the north an' west; an' i think that's just about the kind of a layout we want to find." "what does dave say about the kiowas?" i asked. "he says they're peaceable so far, 'but always keep your eye skinned,' sez he, 'whenever satank or satanta, with their bands, come around.' but of course we knew that." jack and i hurried over to the sutler's store, where we were very affably received by weisselbaum, who shook us warmly by the hands and now had no difficulty in remembering us. we made our deposit, took his receipt, and returned to camp. after reporting to tom the result of our trip, jack remarked: "well, i don't know of any surer winnin' game than a post sutler's job. it'll beat four aces an' a six-shooter." "right you are, my lad," chipped in tom. "it's a sure shot--dead open an' shut. better'n a goldmine, for there's little risk an' small loss compared with the profits; for the post sutler on the frontier just rakes in the money of officers, soldiers, citizens, injuns, an' everybody. besides havin' a monopoly of all trade on the post reservation, he generally has the inside track on forage contracts an' the like." "do you mind old rich, the sutler at fort leavenworth?" asked jack, "an' the dead oodles of money he rakes in all the time? an' he's been sutler there so long, too, he must be as rich as the rothschilds. a queer duck is old rich," he continued reflectively, "or 'kernel' rich, i should have said, for when you call him 'kernel,' specially if you salute him along with it, it pleases him all over an' raises his opinion of himself about five hundred per cent." "yes," replied tom, "i remember one time when several of us soldiers were a-standing around old rich's store door, an' among the lot was bob chambers, of f company. you know bob always had his cheek with him. well, while we were a-talking, bill shutts come out of the store a-grumbling an' a-cussing. 'what's the matter, shutts?' asked bob. 'why, i'm expectin' a letter from home,' says bill, 'an' when i asked that old galoot if there was a letter for me, the old fellow wouldn't look--never even asked me my name--but just says, crabbed like, says he: "no, nothin' for you." 'now,' says bill, 'i'll bet two dollars an' sixty-five cents that there's a letter in there right now for william shutts, esquire, from dresden, o., but i can't get it.' "'why, man,' says bob chambers, 'where've you been all this time that you ain't got acquainted with that estimable old gentleman, kernel rich? you ain't onto the combination, that's all. now, i'll bet you the drinks for the crowd, down at old mother bangs's, that i'll go in the store an' ask the kernel for a letter, an' although i ain't expecting one, an' would be surprised if i got one, the old kernel'll rush flying 'round behind the counter a-trying to find me a letter. now, lemme show you how it's done,' sez bob, a-buttonin' up his jacket an' a-cockin' his fatigue cap up on three hairs. "we all followed him into the store to see the performance. the old kernel was pacin' the floor. by a 'left-front-into-line' movement bob swung himself into position in front of the kernel, halted, come to 'attention,' bringing his heels together with a crack, an' raised his right hand to the peak of his cap as he asked: 'kernel, is there any letter in the office for me, sir?' "well, say--you ought to have seen the smile that come over old rich's phiz as he fell all over himself getting 'round behind the counter, asking as he went: 'what's the name, my man?' 'robert chambers, of f company, sir,' says bob, still standing to 'attention.' "well, sir, the old kernel shuffled those letters over two or three times a-tryin' his level best to dig up one for chambers, an' seemed awfully sorry when he had to say, as he put them back in the pigeonhole: 'no, nothing for you to-day, chambers.' an' he was so sorry to disappoint bob that he reached over on the shelf an' handed out a plug of tobacco, as he added, sort of regretful-like: 'but there's some of the best navy tobacco you ever smacked your lips over.' 'no doubt of it, kernel, for when you recommend a thing it's bound to be first class, but unfortunately i'm dead broke,' says chambers. 'oh, take it along,' says the old man, as he pushed the plug across the counter; 'you can hand me the money next pay-day.' an' he was so pleased with bob's blarney that he never even chalked it down to him; an' i'm dead sure that chambers didn't remind him of it when pay-day come, for bob wasn't built that way. "as we started out of the store, bob says over his shoulder like for old rich to hear, 'kernel rich is one of the finest old gentlemen i ever knew.' "when we got outside the store door again, bill shutts remarked, as he gazed at chambers in honest admiration 'well, old pard, if i had your cheek i'd never work another lick.' 'it's all done by a slight turn of the wrist, as the magician says,' said bob; 'anybody can do it that knows how. now, let me tell you how to get that letter of yours. just go over to the quarters an' wash your face an' hands for a disguise, black your boots, button up your jacket, brace up, an' look brave; and then go back to the store--by that time the old man's forgot you ever asked for a letter--then execute a flank movement on him, like i did; be sure to salute an' call him kernel, an' you'll get a letter if he has to write you one.' "an' by following bob's advice bill got his letter; an' it tickled him so't he called us together, an' we went down to old mother bangs's, an' he set up the drinks on it, 'cause he said that trick that bob learnt him was worth a whole lot, if not more." chapter xii our camp on walnut creek next morning at breakfast i said: "how was it, tom, that when we were buying our outfit at leavenworth we forgot to get a compass? that is a pretty useful thing in travelling across the prairie, where there is no road or trail to follow?" "well," replied tom, "it would be handy to have a compass, but we haven't got one and so we'll have to do the next best thing, and thank the lord i have a good watch to run our course by." "what!" i exclaimed. "do you mean that you can tell the points of the compass by a watch?" and jack chimed in: "i never heard of the like." "if you live long enough, young fellows, you may find out that there are some other things you never heard of. look here, i'll explain to you how it's done," and tom pulled his big silver watch out of his pocket, opened it, and put it on the table. "you turn the watch so that the hour-hand points to the sun; then measure just half-way to the figure twelve on the dial in the shortest direction, and that will be south. of course, the opposite point will be north, and you can tell east or west. "if you get it firmly fixed in your mind that, with the hour-hand of a watch pointing to the sun, half-way between that and the figure twelve in the shortest direction on the dial is south, you can always get the points of the compass when the sun is shining." "whoever taught you that watch trick, tom?" i asked. "first lieutenant james e. b. stuart, late of g company, first cavalry, and now an officer in the rebel army, learnt me that once when i was out on a scout with him in the mountains and we got lost," answered tom. "it was cloudy and we wandered about in every direction except the right one, as lost men will do. after a while the sun came out for a little while and i saw jeb halt, take out his watch, and look at the sun. then he said: 'now, i have got it. the trail is off in this direction,' pointing with his right hand, while he held the watch in the left. then he called to me: 'come here, sergeant, and i will show you how to tell north and south by a watch. it may be useful to you some day.' and then he explained it to me, and many's the time it has been useful." by the time we had everything packed up after breakfast and the team strung out, the sun was up and we started north. [illustration: _where old fort larned stood_] we ran a fairly straight line, bearing a little to the west, to the head of ash creek, which we found here to be only a prairie hollow destitute of water and timber. before reaching ash creek we had begun to see plenty of buffalo in every direction except toward fort larned. on reaching the high prairie north of ash creek we could see away to the north the distant line of timber that marked the course of walnut creek. a heavy body of timber was seen right ahead, and in line with our course, that tom rightly conjectured was at the mouth of the little creek emptying into the walnut, where french dave had told him we would find a suitable location for a winter camp. toward this we directed our course. it was but little past noon when we reached the edge of the timber near the junction of the little branch and walnut creek, and we found here an ideal spot for our purpose--a snug camp and good hunting and trapping ground. "we'll camp here for the night," said tom as he dismounted, "an' to-morrow we'll look the neighborhood over thoroughly an' decide where to pitch our permanent layout." as we had found no water on the road we had made this drive from pawnee fork without our usual halt for noon and decided to have our dinner and supper in one about the middle of the afternoon. after turning out the stock, bringing wood and water, and pitching the tent, while tom was preparing the meal, jack and i separately rambled off to do a little exploring of our immediate neighborhood. in doing so i found a prairie ravine, not far from our camp, in which there was considerable standing water at a distance of about three hundred yards from the timber on walnut creek. i wondered at this water, but on following the ravine down to the creek i discovered a beaver dam built across the creek, in which a number of the dome-shaped huts were standing, and saw other evidences of the presence of a populous colony of these industrious animals. the water i had seen up the ravine was backwater caused by the dam. at tom's call of "grub pile" i hurried back to camp to acquaint my comrades with my discovery, only to learn that jack had found the beaver dam before i had and, having rushed back to the wagon, was now busy getting out our steel traps preparatory to setting them for beaver. as we sat around the mess-chest eating, tom, between mouthfuls, explained his ideas about the establishing of our winter camp. "this big timber here is in the right place to shelter us from the northwest winds. we must also remember that we've got to protect ourselves and stock against a surprise by hostile injuns. i ain't looking for trouble of that kind, but it's always best to be prepared for such emergencies. so i think it'll be best to move out to the bank of that ravine peck spoke about, say two or three hundred yards from the timber, which will still furnish us good protection from the northwesters. in case of hostilities the water in the ravine can't be cut off from us. into the banks of that ravine we'll dig our dugouts--one for ourselves, on one side, and a stable for the stock on the other side, opposite and facing each other. we'll cut and split some slabs in the timber and lay a sort of a floor across the ravine, for a gangway, and it'll be as handy as a pocket in a shirt. "now, peck, while jack goes to set his traps for beaver, suppose you saddle up black prince and go out and kill a buffalo calf or yearling and bring in a quarter or so of fresh meat. and, as there's plenty of time yet before night, while you're at it you may as well make a complete circuit of the camp, say about a mile or two out, and see if there's anybody or any sign of anybody in this neighborhood besides ourselves." "tom," i said, "i believe it would be better for me to go out and kill a yearling first and bring in some meat and then take a ride around the country afterward; for if i kill the yearling first and leave the carcass till i make the circuit of the camp the wolves will get away with the meat before i get back to it; and if i make the round first before killing our meat i'll be scaring all the near buffalo away." "you're right," replied the old man; "do as you say. i'm glad to see that you do a little thinking of your own once in a while." "and i believe i can kill two birds with one stone," i continued, "by taking some strychnine along and baiting the remains of the yearling after i cut off the hind quarters, and in the morning i'll have a few coyotes to skin to give us a start in business." "that's a good idea, too; but don't fool away too much time, for i want you to make that round of the neighborhood before night." as i got our package of strychnine out of the wagon, opened it, and took out one of the phials to put in my pocket, tom suggested: "you'd better open that bottle here an' put in a little water to dissolve the crystals; you'll find it's easier to handle in liquid than in crystals, and also more savin'." tom's suggestion was a good one and i did as he advised. then hanging the hatchet and field-glass to my saddle, i mounted and rode away. crossing the creek just below the beaver dam, where jack was already looking out locations for his traps, i rode through the timber to look for the most convenient band of buffalo, and espied one that suited my purpose about a mile down the prairie bottom, strung out in single file on the trail, coming in to the creek for water. recrossing the creek so as to keep out of their sight behind the timber, i rode down to a point that would intercept them and prepared to await my game. the place i had chosen to wait for them was an old buffalo crossing, the converging trails, deeply worn in the banks on either side, showing that it was much used. they would have to pass me here, and, again recrossing the creek to the north side, i rode down into the timber, tied my horse behind some bushes, and returned afoot to the crossing, being careful not to give the buffalo my wind. soon they passed me, went on down, drank, and climbed the hills on the other side of the stream. as the young cattle filed past me i selected a yearling and, as he came opposite, shot him, and he dropped dead in the trail. the rest gave a jump or two and went on. i cut off the hind quarters and with some trouble put them on prince. then stripping back the skin from the fore quarters, i applied my solution of strychnine, a few drops here and there over the meat and entrails, and left them for wolf bait. having left my meat at camp, i rode away on my scout, reaching camp again about sunset. just after we finished supper the howling of a pack of coyotes--which we seldom noticed--prompted me to exclaim: "make the most of your time, my lads, for if you happen to scent that bait i put out for you i'll be skinning some of you in the morning." the howling and barking of wolves was such familiar music to us that it seldom provoked remark, for we had scarcely passed a night since entering the buffalo range that we had not been serenaded by the shrill, discordant notes of the coyote, varied occasionally by the deeper bass of the big, gray buffalo wolves, or "lobos," as the mexicans call them. next morning jack and i hurried through the work of watering and changing the animals to fresh grass, while tom prepared breakfast. we were impatient to be off, and after the meal, taking our rifles in addition to revolvers, we started out to our respective tasks, jack afoot and i on black prince. as i approached my wolf baits i disturbed a couple of coyotes--probably late comers that had but recently found the carcass, for they certainly gave no evidence of the effects of strychnine as they loped off on the prairie a little way and there sat on their haunches licking their chops and watching me as though reluctant to leave their feast. i tied prince a few rods away from the bait, of which but little remained, while i walked about through the tall grass, looking up the dead wolves, three of which i noticed lying by the bait before dismounting. on looking about i found five more, at varying distances from the carcass, none of them more than a hundred yards away. some of them were still warm. i put down the rifle, drew my knife, and went to work. having had considerable experience in skinning wolves, i was quite expert at it and soon had the eight pelts stripped off the dead coyotes and rolled up together ready for tying on behind my saddle. the process of skinning was simple. i turned the wolf on his back and with the point of my knife split the skin from the point of the chin down the throat and belly to the root of the tail; then split the inside of each leg from the foot to an intersection of the first, or belly cut; then stripped back the skin from belly, legs, and sides. the tail was then slipped off the bone whole, without splitting, in this way: strip the skin of the tail away from the bone for about an inch at the root; then slip a split stick over the bone, take an end of the stick in each hand, clamping the bone tightly, and give a jerk toward the end of the tail. the bone slips out of its skin as if it were greased. when it came to tying the skins on behind the saddle, prince objected very strongly, and i was compelled to blindfold him before i could accomplish the job. after i had mounted, prince was still nervous, but by coaxing and talking kindly to him i soon got him reconciled to carrying the burden. when i reached camp i found jack jubilating over three fine beavers which he had carried up from the creek. he was grumbling because he had not put out more traps. "time enough," said tom consolingly. "we've now found out that there's plenty of 'em there and can wait awhile. their fur'll be getting heavier an' better all the time." he and jack were finishing skinning the third one as i dismounted and threw down my batch of coyote pelts. "how many did you get?" asked jack. "only eight," i replied. "if i'd had time to have killed and poisoned three or four buffalo in different directions out around camp i'd 'a' got as many as the horse could carry." "time enough for the wolves, too, by and by," said tom. "now, men," said tom after we had discussed beaver and how to catch them, "while you were out i went over to the ravine and found a good place for our dugouts and measured and staked off the ground where we'll dig 'em. after dinner we can move camp over there close to the work. and while i'm getting the grub ready you two can water the horses and mules and be a-making a lot of little pins to peg your skins down to dry." after dinner we moved camp close to the bank of the ravine, where tom had marked out the ground for our winter quarters. on the opposite bank he had staked out a site for a larger dugout for a stable. the ravine here was narrow, and by a good jump we could clear the water that occupied its bottom. on top of the banks the ground for some distance around was smooth and level, bearing no other vegetation but the short, nutritious buffalo-grass. pitching our tent in a convenient place for our work, we turned out the stock, picketing the gray mare and prince. tom was to ride the "buckskin" bronco to look for a hay-field. jack and i soon had our coyote and beaver pelts stretched and pegged down on a smooth piece of ground. "i'll try to get back," said tom as he mounted vinegar, "in time for you men to go and put out your baits for the night; and in the meantime, while you're resting, you may as well get out the pick and shovel and turn yourselves loose on them dugouts, just to see if you've forgot how to work. you'd better begin on the horses' stable and we'll try to finish that up first, for if a 'norther' should catch us the stock'd be in a bad fix for shelter, while our tent'd shelter us, all right." in a couple of hours tom returned, reporting that he had found, in a bend of the creek just below us, a large bottom that would afford us all the hay we would want. "now, men," he said as he unsaddled and turned out the bronco, "we've got lots to do that's pressing us, and, as the wolf poisoning and beaver trapping ain't pressing and won't suffer any loss by waiting a few days, i've been thinking that we'd better let the pelts go for a while and put in all our time at haymaking and digging till we get everything made snug for cold weather." tom's suggestion seemed so reasonable that we agreed with him and decided to let the pelts alone for a while. tom got his scythe out of the wagon and "hung" it and then went down to the timber to make a couple of wooden hay-forks. when he had returned from the timber with his wooden forks he remarked as he sat down and began whittling the prongs to points and otherwise smoothing them up with his knife: "while i was at it i cut a lot of poles for a hay frame to put on top of the wagon-box to haul hay on; and i also cut some poles to lay on the ground under our freight when we unload the wagon." later in the day we unloaded the wagon, piling the contents on the poles inside the sideboards, which we had taken off together, leaving the bows on them. after the goods were thus piled up the wagon-sheet was stretched over the bows and securely tied down and the load was thus protected from the weather. tired and very hungry after our hard day's work, we devoured our supper and, after agreeing to devote the next day to digging and haymaking, were soon sound asleep. after breakfast next morning tom shouldered the scythe and his rifle and set out for the hay-field. when we had cleared away the breakfast dishes jack chose the pick-and-shovel work and was soon making the dirt fly out of the hole on the other side of the ravine, while i set to making a hay frame of crossed poles on top of the wagon-box, notched and lashed together and held in place by strips of rawhide cut from the skin on the yearling buffalo quarters. now and then on the still morning air, although about a mile away, we could hear the "whick-whack" as tom whetted his scythe. at nine o'clock jack went to the hay-field to help tom, while i put on the dinner, to which i called them by flag at noon. in the afternoon they returned to their haymaking, and by evening they had a nice lot of hay in cocks which would do to haul and stack next day. after finishing the hay frame i worked at digging in the dugout. buffalo were to be seen on the prairie all about us, and now and then a few antelope made their appearance, but we were too busy to spare the time to go out and kill any. flocks of water-fowl--wild geese, brants, ducks, and sand-hill cranes--were seen and heard flying over and sometimes alighted in the pond formed by the beaver dam, and also seemed to come down at a point several miles down the creek, which indicated that there was a body of water there. in the evening when the men had returned from the hay-field we all stood for a while looking down the valley and remarking on the appearance of civilization imparted to the scene by the distant flat dotted over with cocks of hay. but in the morning at daylight, on again looking in that direction, we were filled with indignation to see that during the night a herd of buffalo had preempted our hay-field and had trampled, horned, and scattered all the nice cocks in every direction, and were now bedded on the ground, probably chewing their cuds in total indifference to our rights after almost destroying the previous day's work of our haymakers. "i'll make wolf bait of one of 'em for spite, so i will," said jack as he seized a rifle and started down the hollow to get a shot. "don't kill more'n one, jack, just enough to scare them off," suggested tom as the irate irishman sneaked off down the ravine, "for we don't want our hay ground littered up with dead buffalo and dead wolf carcasses." for some minutes tom and i stood watching the buffalo to see what the irishman would do for them. they were all lying down in apparent perfect contentment except one large bull. we kept our eyes on the big bull and after a time saw the huge beast drop, and immediately afterward the report of the rifle reached our ears. the rest of the buffalo jumped to their feet in alarm at the sound of the shot, but, instead of running away, stood staring at the timber from whence jack had fired; and had he desired to do so he could probably have remained in concealment and shot several more, for the buffalo do not readily take the hint of danger till they can see the enemy. presently we saw the herd stampede, and at the same time our irishman made his appearance, running out of the timber shouting and firing another shot over them to give them a good scare. "our hay's ruined entirely," he said as he put away his rifle and sat down to breakfast, "scattered all about and tramped over. even what we left in the windrows is all horned and tossed about. we may be able to rake up some of it, but it'll be hardly worth the effort. but i took me satisfaction out of that big fellow--i got a good broadside shot at him and must have shot him through the heart, for he dropped in his tracks. peck had better go down there this evening and put some poison on the carcass, and be taking a few wolf pelts, too, while we're a-haymaking." "well," said tom, "we'll have to stand these night-prowling buffalo off some way, and i think the best way will be for peck to mount one of the horses just before night and ride 'round the neighborhood and drive off any herds that seem to be heading toward our hay-field. i wouldn't kill any more of them at present, for we can't spare the time to do much wolf skinning, but just stampede them and stand them off for a few days till we get our hay cut and hauled; then you may go for them, and the wolves, too. we don't often have occasion to take the hide off a buffalo, but i've been thinking it would be a good scheme to skin a few of the first ones we kill till we get hides enough to lay over the timbers on top of our dugouts before we throw the dirt on, to keep the fine dirt from sifting down on the inside; so, peck, you may as well take the hide off this one and bring it up to camp when you go down there to poison the meat for wolf bait. "while jack and i are mowing to-day you can look out a suitable place along up the ravine here above camp where we can make a crossing, and dig down the banks a little, throwing the dirt into the hollow so's we can cross the wagon over; and while we're hauling hay we'll just leave the wagon over on the other side of the draw. we'll stack the hay, as we haul it, on the bank, close up to the stable so's it'll be handy. "and, mind you, that at no time and under no circumstances must the camp guard leave camp." "have you seen any fresh signs, tom, that make you think there's indians about?" i asked. "not a thing, but i want to keep you 'minded with the idea that in this country 'eternal vigilance is the price of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,' as the bible says. we know how tricky injuns are, and, although we've seen no fresh signs, a prowling party is likely to drop onto us any time; and just think what a fix we'd be in if they should happen to get into our camp and all hands away. how completely they'd have the drop on us! i'm not scared of them, nor trying to scare you, but we've got to keep our eyes peeled and be prepared all the time." [illustration: _camp of the wolf hunters_] "all right," i replied with an air of more confidence than i really felt, "i guess found and i will be able to take care of camp." "of course," continued tom reassuringly, "all injuns ain't hostile, but we've got to keep on the safe side; and if a party of them approaches our camp at any time, even if they profess to be friendly, we must stand them off and never allow more than a few--just what we feel sure we can handle--to come into camp at a time; and even then, always keep your eyes on them and your arms and cartridges handy." leaving me with these cheerful subjects for thought, the two men proceeded to their work. after they left i moved our horses and mules across the ravine where the dog and i could guard them on one side, while on the other the two haymakers would be some protection. during the forenoon i worked at the banks of the gulch, a little above our tent, to make a crossing for the wagon. in searching for the place for a crossing for the wagon i discovered a little spring of water trickling out of the bank a few steps above our dugouts. it was only a weak vein, but by digging a pit under it, in which we planted an empty barrel, we made a reservoir that furnished us an abundance of good water. the discovery and improvement of this little spring made our camp an ideal one. at first we had expected to use backwater from the beaver dam, but we soon realized that the trash from our camp might render this water unfit for drinking and cooking; and but for finding the spring we should have been obliged to carry water from the creek, which would have been laborious and inconvenient. when an occasional rain or melting snow flushed out the trash in the ravine we could use that water for our stock for a few days, but at other times we watered them at the creek. i felt more confidence in the protection afforded by our shepherd dog than in all the measures we were taking for the safety of our outfit. with the natural instinct of his breed, found spent most of his time out with the stock, always selecting a position on some elevation between our animals and camp where he could see all that was going on in our neighborhood; and i was satisfied that neither friend nor foe could approach without his giving notice. at noon when the men came in to dinner they reported that they had raked up a good load of the hay that had been scattered, and in the afternoon they took the mules and wagon with them and tom brought the first load to camp on returning in the evening, while jack remained and began skinning the dead buffalo. when i joined him we soon stripped the hide off, applied the strychnine to the carcass, and left it for the wolves. "first come, first served, will be the rule here to-night," i remarked as we started to camp. "the first wolves to reach the bait will probably get laid out before they have time to get half a feed, while those that come later may not get strychnine enough to give them a bellyache." "how many do you expect to find in the morning?" asked jack. "oh, about eight or ten for the first night will be a pretty fair haul; but by to-morrow night i'll poison the bait again, and by that time it ought to catch more--maybe as many as twelve or fifteen--for the scent of the dead buffalo will then attract them from a greater distance." i did even better than i anticipated, for next morning i found thirteen dead wolves lying around the bait awaiting my skinning knife. jack remained in camp until i had skinned the wolves, brought in the pelts and pegged them down to dry, after which he took the team and went out to the hay-field where tom was mowing. the dead buffalo only lasted for three nights' baiting, by which time i had taken nearly fifty pelts, some big gray wolves but mostly coyotes and little yellow foxes. we killed no more buffalo for wolf baits until the more important work was done. our haymakers were now making a good showing, bringing in and stacking a load at noon and another at night, and in a week we had stacked as much hay as we should need. while doing duty as camp guard, i had put in all my spare time throwing dirt out of our stable dugout and had the excavation about completed. while jack and i were doing a little trimming up inside and cutting a doorway through the wall of dirt on the side next the ravine, tom had gone into the timber and cut and split a lot of poles and slabs to support the roof of dirt. first putting a small log, twenty-four feet long, on the brink of each side of the excavation, to serve as "plates" to rest the roof timbers on, we then laid twelve-foot slabs and poles across from side to side, as closely as they would fit, covering the larger crevices with brush. "now," said tom, stepping back to take an observation of our work when we had reached this point, "ef we had buffalo-skins enough to cover it, to keep the fine dirt from sifting through, we'd be ready to go to throwing the dirt on an' soon have the horses' stable finished up so's we could go to work on our own quarters." "well, we can soon get them," i replied. "in the morning jack and i will go out and kill a few buffalo and bring in the hides, and by to-morrow night we can have this dugout about completed." next morning the irishman and i saddled up and started out to secure the hides. we could have killed what we needed out of the first band we struck, but, as i wished to use the carcasses for wolf baits, we decided to distribute the baits at different points about the camp and not less than a mile from it. we killed and skinned six bulls, making a complete circuit of our camp, and by noon had returned with the hides. after dinner we spread enough of them over the roof timbers to completely cover them and then set to work shovelling on the dirt, making quite a mound of it. this finished our stable, except for the mangers and feed-boxes inside and making a door of some kind to close up the opening we had cut through the bank. this last tom made next day by a frame of poles on which was tacked a buffalo-hide. this door was hung on rawhide hinges. "now, men," said the old man as we topped out the dirt roof and smoothed it up, "we've a snug shelter here for our stock in case of need, but, of course, we won't put 'em into it till we have to. as long as it's fair they'll do better out on the buffalo-grass, as they've been doing. our stable, hay, an' grain will be our reserve for stormy weather or when the grass is covered with snow. we must still work hard till we get our own winter quarters finished up, an' then let the weather turn loose--we'll be ready for it." toward evening i made the round of the buffalo carcasses and poisoned them for the night's catch of wolves. as we gathered around the supper table in the evening i suggested: "as i expect a big job of wolf skinning in the morning, i guess i'll need help, and maybe i had as well take jack along with me and be breaking him in." "all right," replied the irishman, "if tom says so, i'm your huckleberry. how many skins are you going to get this haul?" "well, i don't know, but, putting it low, i ought to find at least five or six around each bait, and maybe twice that many, so you see, skinning, bringing in, and pegging down thirty-five or forty wolf pelts is no small job." "well, it'll take the two of you the whole forenoon," said tom ruefully, "but the wolfskins must be taken care of--that's what we're here for. still, i'm mighty anxious to get the other dugout done, so i guess you'd better not kill any more buffalo for bait unless we need some more of their skins to cover our dugout. these six will keep you a-poisoning and a-skinning for at least three or four days to come, and all of that time there'll not be much done on the dugout, for part of my time'll be taken up doing the cooking an' camp work. but go ahead with your wolf killing, for every pelt cured is as good as six bits or a dollar in pocket at the least calculation." after an early breakfast next morning jack and i mounted and started. we found fully as big a job as i had anticipated, for the night's catch yielded us over fifty wolfskins. it took us most of the morning, brisk work, to get them all gathered in, and our horses were so well loaded with the hides that we had to walk and lead them back to camp. jack proved an apt pupil at wolf skinning and soon could snatch a hide off as quickly as i. when we reached camp with our loads we found that tom, with his usual foresight, had whittled us out a good lot of pegs, which greatly assisted us in disposing of the pelts, and we soon had them stretched and pegged down, flesh side up, on a smooth piece of ground near the tent where we had already started a drying yard. each evening, while there was anything left for a wolf bait of the buffalo we had recently killed, i made the round, poisoning the flesh, and next morning jack and i visited the baits, skinned the dead wolves, brought in the pelts, and pegged them down. this generally "spoiled" the forenoon, while the afternoon would be spent in digging our dugout; but, as our winter quarters were to be only about half the size of the stable, we soon had the new excavation finished. after putting the roof timbers on our dugout we placed the stove in its corner, put on the extra joints of pipe provided for the purpose, extending it up through an opening in the slabs, and plastered a lot of mud around the pipe to prevent it setting fire to the timbers. then spreading buffalo-hides over the timbers, we heaped up the earth on it, as we had on the other one, and our winter residence was ready for its furniture and tenants. our ten-foot-square room was rather cramped quarters to hold us and all that we had designed to put in it, and we found it necessary still to use the tent to store such of our plunder as would not need protection from the cold. without giving any reason, tom insisted on moving the tent up as close against the rear side of the pile of dirt that constituted the roof of our dugout as we could get it. i suspected then that this was one of his strategic plans, and a few days later my surmise was verified when we found him at work digging a tunnel from the dugout room to the centre of the tent. by this underground connection we could go from one place to the other without being exposed and, if necessary, could use the tent as a lookout station. on the evening that we moved into the dugout, as we sat down to our first meal in winter quarters, tom remarked with evident satisfaction: "now, men, we've got things in shape so that we're ready for a cold snap, snow-storm, or norther ef one chances to come this way. from now on we can take it easier. there will be a lot of trimming an' tidying up to do about camp yet for several days, an' while i'm putting on the finishing touches you two can light out and go to poisoning wolves an' trapping beaver or hunting any other game that you can find. you ought to explore the neighborhood for ten or twelve miles around in every direction. it's about time, too, for one of us to take a trip over to the fort to get our mail an' find out what's going on in the world." "well, tom, what are the orders for to-morrow?" said i. "why, you an' jack had better go out an' kill a few more buffalo for baits an' jack can set his traps for some more beaver. you might both of you ride up or down the creek for a few miles now and then, to learn the country like an' maybe pick up an antelope or some wild geese or ducks, to make a change in our bill of fare. an' about to-morrow or next day or the day after, when i get things pretty well shaped up about camp, i think i'll ride over to the fort an' get our mail an' see what's going on in the united states." "in a little while," remarked jack, "if our luck holds out, we'll be gettin' a big lot of wolfskins dried. how are we going to stow 'em away to take care of 'em till spring?" "well," replied tom, "in a few days i'll rig up a lever to press 'em with, an' then as fast as we get a hundred or so dried we'll put fifty of 'em in a pile, press 'em down tight, an' tie 'em in bales with rawhide strips an' then store the bales away in the tent." chapter xiii killed by the indians for the next few days we were all very busy. tom was putting the finishing touches on our quarters, while jack and i were doing the trapping, baiting, and skinning. i assisted jack in trapping beaver and he helped me in killing buffalo and taking care of the wolfskins. while working at these tasks we were riding the surrounding country, east and west, up and down the creek, and north and south in open prairie. at a distance of about three miles down the creek, on the north side, we found a series of connected sloughs leading off from the creek out into the prairie bottom, through which a string of little ponds ran for about a mile and then united with the main stream again. these sloughs, bordered by a rank growth of rushes, made excellent feeding-grounds for water-fowl. it was easy here to procure all the ducks, geese, brant, and sand-hill cranes that we wished. on the prairie were plenty of antelope, with now and then a few deer and elk in the timber along the creek. everywhere were seen bleached and bleaching buffalo bones--too common a feature of the landscape to attract more than a passing glance. one day jack and i had been killing some buffalo for wolf baits on the high prairie south of our camp. we had become separated by a couple of miles; each had killed his buffalo, and i had poisoned mine and started to jack, who was waiting for me to prepare his buffalo for the wolves also. as i rode through a scattered lot of bones, where several animals seemed to have been killed together, i noticed among the lot a human skull. looking more closely, i saw other human bones of the same skeleton and those of a horse, the hoofs of which, with the shoes still on, showed that it had not been an indian's horse. bones of wolves lay among the others. here, then, seemed the evidences of a past tragedy, and, wishing to have jack come and help to read the signs, i rode out clear of this bone-yard, fired a shot from my rifle to attract his attention, and then began riding around in a circle--the usual signal in such cases--to call him to me. he understood and galloped toward me. while he was coming i walked about among the relics, trying to solve the mystery of which these bones were the record. they had been somewhat scattered, by the wolves that had picked them, but their general lay indicated pretty clearly the relative situation of the man and animals at the time of their death. the bones had probably not been there more than about a year. although somewhat mixed and scattered, the general lay of the bones seemed to show the buffalo on one side, the horse on the other, and the man between them. the man's skull had a small bullet hole through it at the temples, which sufficiently indicated the immediate cause of his death; but whether this shot had come from an enemy or had been self-inflicted could not be determined by the signs. while thus trying to interpret the indications, jack reached me. "here, jack, has been a man, horse, and buffalo killed," i said as he halted, "and from the looks of things, i think it happened about a year ago. help me to read the signs. the horse was a white man's horse, for the hoofs, you see, have shoes on." "that ain't sure proof," replied he, "for the horse might have been lately captured or stolen from the whites. but, hold on!" he exclaimed after a moment's survey of the bone-yard, as, stooping, he picked up what proved to be the lower jaw-bone of the human skull. "this settles it. this says he was a white man, for here's a gold plug in one tooth." "well, that settles one important point," i replied. "but how did the buffalo, man, and horse happen to die so close together?" "seems to me," said jack, still walking about scrutinizing the relics, "it could have happened in only one or two ways. either the man and his horse have been killed by a wounded bull, an' the bull then fell an' died with 'em, or--which is more likely--the man killed the buffalo an', while busy cutting some of the meat out, was corralled by injuns. how do you read it?" "the signs disprove your first proposition, jack," i answered, "but confirm the second. if it had been an accident from a wounded bull there would be some such remains as the metallic parts of his gun or pistol, or buttons, spurs, buckles, and so forth; but you see there's not a thing of that kind to be seen. if he was killed by indians they would have carried off all his and his horse's equipments; and i think that is what happened." "i guess you're right," admitted jack. "it must have been the work of injuns." just then he stopped and picked up an old bleached buffalo shoulder-blade that seemed to have been carefully placed, flat side down, on top of the weather-whitened skull of the older set of bones. "halloo! what's this?" he exclaimed excitedly as he began scanning the bone. "here it is, peck. this'll tell us something about it if we can only make out the writing. see if you can make it out." on the flat side of the shoulder-blade was dimly pencilled a partially obliterated and nervously written inscription. it was without date, and yet enough of the wording was legible to enable us to make out the following message from the dead man: [illustration: cut off and surrounded by injens woonded--laying between ded hors and ded buffalow standing them off. catriges nearly all gon god hep me john s. kel gran mo.] the name seemed to be something like kelton, kelsey, or kelley, and several of the other words were so imperfectly written that i had to guess them out. we guessed the name of the town to be granby, missouri. as i finished rendering my interpretation of the inscription jack said, as he devoutly crossed himself: "'god help me!' the poor fellow said, an' no doubt the good man took pity on him an' let him in at the gate, for the good book do tell us that he never was known to go back on such a prayer as that. well, he must have hurted some of them injuns in the row. it would be a satisfaction to find some sign that he got away with some of 'em; so let's mount an' take a circuit 'round over the prairie for two or three hundred yards out an' see if we can find anything." [illustration: "it must have been the work of injuns."] we did so and were rewarded by finding the bones of two small horses, probably indian ponies that the man had shot in defending his position. "that's some satisfaction," said jack as we returned, "for it's more'n likely that he killed some of the injuns, too. well, what'll we do with these things?" pointing to the skull, jaw-bone, and buffalo shoulder-blade. "i was thinking of taking them back to camp with us," i replied, "to see what tom will say." "just what i was thinkin'," said jack, dismounting and preparing to tie the skull and jawbone to his saddle. "i'll carry these an' you can carry the shoulder-blade. you'd better carry it in your hand, an' be careful of it so's not to rub out the writin' any more, for it's hard enough to make out as it is." of course tom was interested in the memorials we brought and asked us many questions about the signs we had found. after giving him time to study the problem out, i asked: "well, tom, what do you make of it?" "it's my guess," he replied deliberately, holding the skull up before him as though reading its history, "that this man was a wolf hunter, like ourselves, an' if so there'll be more of this affair to be discovered hereabouts. he had killed that buffalo for wolf bait, 'cause if he'd been after meat he'd 'a' killed a younger one, or a cow, for you say the bones showed it was a big bull. a man wouldn't be so far away from the santa fé road huntin' buffalo without he had a camp in this neighborhood. if he had a camp he's had a pardner or two, an' what must have become of them? their camp must have been somewheres along the creek, not far from here. have either of you seen any signs of such a layout in your rambles up or down the creek?" "no," i answered, "but, then, neither of us has been more than about three miles up or down." "well, after this, when you go up or down the creek make your trips extend a little farther each time till you've covered at least ten or twelve miles each way; an' by keeping your eyes peeled you may be able to find some remains of a hunter's camp or some sign that'll give us something more about this. this man came to his death about as you an' jack guessed it; that is, while getting ready to poison his buffalo for wolf bait the injuns came onto him an' surrounded him." "i think," i interrupted him to say, "that he had probably already poisoned the buffalo, for i noticed the bones of several wolves there, which would go to show that the wolves had died from eating the poisoned meat of the buffalo." "well, yes--likely," returned tom. "he put up a good fight, though, from what you say, an' seems to have been a man that's had some previous experience in that line. did you notice any bullet hole in his horse's skull?" "no. i looked for that, but there was no sign that the horse had been shot in the head; but he might have been shot elsewhere." "'tain't likely," replied the old man thoughtfully, "for you say the horse's bones show that he died close to the buffalo, an' the man in between 'em, as his bones show an' the writing on the shoulder-blade says. he must have cut its throat. how far off from the man's bones was the bones of the injun ponies that you found?" "about three hundred yards," i replied. "well, he must have had a sharp's rifle,[d] for a muzzle-loader wouldn't kill that far. but he's had a navy pistol, too, for this shot he give himself was a navy ball." and taking a navy bullet out of his pocket, tom showed us that it would just fit the hole in the skull. "he's been right-handed, too," continued the old man, "for the ball went in on the right side an' come out on the left. you see, the little hole is clean-cut on the right side but bigger an' ragged on the left where it come out. that tells where it went in an' where it come out. when he wrote that note on the old shoulder-blade he's been getting nervous, or maybe weak from loss of blood. it's a pity, though, that he didn't set down his name an' the town where he come from a little plainer so's we could write to his folks an' let 'em know what become of him. but, like many another poor devil that's been wiped out by injuns, his people'll never know where, when, or how he died. "well," continued the old man after a pause, "i b'lieve i'll ride over to the fort to-morrow; an' get our mail an' come back next day, an' i guess i'll just take them things along," pointing to the bones, "an' maybe some o' the folks over there can tell me somethin' more about this affair. if anybody knows anything about it french dave'll know, for he's been among the injuns a good deal an' would be likely to have heard something about it." chapter xiv satanta's story next day, mounted on black prince, tom started for fort larned. he had stowed the skull of the supposed deceased wolf hunter in a gunny sack tied to his saddle, but the buffalo shoulder-blade he wrapped carefully in the fur of a fox skin, to make sure that no chafing should further obliterate the already obscure record. these relics he intended to submit to the best sign readers to be found about the fort, to ascertain if any light could be thrown on the supposed tragedy. as i was writing a letter to send in by tom, jack remarked: "we ought to have a name for our camp, a place to date letters from, something more than just 'camp on walnut creek.'" "that wouldn't be a bad idea," i replied, "but what shall we call it? the only things we see here are buffaloes, coyotes, and antelopes, with a few prairie-dogs and rattlesnakes. how would it do to call our place 'camp antelope'?" "i think it would be more to the point," said jack, "to call it 'camp coyote.'" "well," said tom, "why not compromise and call it 'camp coyotelope'?" "let it be so," said i, and i so dated my letter, and from that time on we spoke of our winter home as camp coyotelope. nothing unusual happened while tom was gone. jack tended his traps, while i did the wolf baiting and skinning. on the second evening, just in time for supper, tom returned from fort larned, bringing our mail, and as we gathered around the table we asked him anxiously what he had learned about the dead man. "a whole lot," replied the old man between mouthfuls, "an' not just what i wanted to find out, either. none of 'em could make out the man's name or where he come from any nigher than we did. i went right to the adjutant's office, where i found several of the officers, an' when i brought out the bones an' told 'em the story they became interested. one officer had heard something about a party of hunters being wiped out by the injuns about a year ago, but he didn't know the particulars. that writing on the old shoulder-blade attracted 'em most, an' each one had to take it an' examine it. but they couldn't make it out. "i suggested to the adjutant that maybe french dave might know something, an' he sent an orderly for dave right away, an', sure enough, the ol' french-canadian did know something. "ol' dave asked me: 'where you find 'em?' an' then i told him all i knew about the matter, an' what the signs seemed to show, an' read to him the writing on the shoulder-blade, for dave can neither read nor write. he studied awhile an' then said: 'yes--mus' be same lot. i know 'bout yother two. see 'em bones where injuns kill 'em. no see this one bones, but satanta tell me 'bout it one day. mus' be same one.' "the story of the affair," continued tom, "as i gathered it from dave, is about thisaway: three wolf hunters with a wagon an' team had established their camp on walnut creek, an' from what dave says the remains of that camp an' the bones of two of the men must be down the creek from here about five miles, on the same side we are on. "these wolf hunters had just fairly got established when satanta an' about twenty of his men come along, one day, just in time to see this fellow, whose bones you found, a-starting off on the prairie to kill a buffalo an' poison it for wolves. the injuns hadn't been seen by the white men, an' after this one was gone satanta kept his men out of sight of the wolf hunters, all except one besides himself, an' him an' this one rode out in sight of the white men an' made signs of friendship, an' the wolf hunters let 'em come into their camp. after begging some grub from the white men the two injuns made themselves very agreeable an' friendly, an' by and by a few more of the kiowas dropped along an' was allowed to come into the camp; for i s'pose they seemed so friendly that the white men thought it wouldn't look neighborly to show any suspicion of such good injuns. "satanta told dave, bragging how slick he worked it, that when he got these wolf hunters in a proper frame of mind an' saw that the sign was right, he give the word, an' they turned loose and killed the two men before they had time to realize the trap they'd got into. "then, after plundering the camp, a warrior called lame deer took six others an' started off to follow up an' take in the man they'd seen going away, for fear that he might somehow get wind of the affair before coming back to camp and get away. "they overtook him, so satanta told dave, just after the man had killed a buffalo, skinned part of the hide back, an', as the injuns supposed, was about to cut out some o' the hump steak; an', just as we made it out by the signs, the man, seeing the desperate fix he was in, had cut his horse's throat to make a breastwork of his carcass on one side, an', with the buffalo on the other, had got down between 'em an' give the injuns a rattlin' good fight, killin' one kiowa, badly woundin' another, an' killin' the two ponies you found the bones of. "but they got him at last--at least he killed himself when he was down to his last cartridge--an' then they piled onto him an' stripped every stitch of clothes off his body, but, seein' that the man had committed suicide, their superstitions kept 'em from scalping him or mutilating his body. "an', now comes a gratifying part of the proceedings, as told to dave by satanta, that the signs didn't reveal to us. when lame deer an' his party had stripped the dead man an' his horse of all their equipments an' was gittin' ready to return to satanta's party at the hunters' camp, some of the injuns concluded to cut out a big chunk of the hump steak of the buffalo that the white man had just stripped the hide off of an' intended to cut out the steak himself, as they s'posed. "but it turned out that the white man had unconsciously set a death-trap for some of 'em; for he had already poisoned the skinned side of the buffalo, and when the injuns got back to the camp an' cooked an' eat their fresh hump steak all that eat the fresh meat was poisoned, an' four of 'em kicked the bucket right there. "well, sir, dave says, this so scared the rest of the injuns that, although they had packed their ponies with a lot of the white men's provender, they were afraid to use any of the food, an' so they piled all of it into the white men's wagon an' set fire to it an' burned the whole business. "then, packing the bodies of their dead warriors on their ponies, they made their way back to their main village, some miles down the creek, a little the loser in the long run, for, although they had killed the three white men an' destroyed their outfit, it had cost 'em five warriors. "the wiping out of these wolf hunters," tom went on, "corroborates what i've often told you, an' what your own experience ought to teach you, that it's never safe to depend on the friendship of injuns--'specially kiowas. whenever they can get a good chance at a white man, or a small party of whites, they don't hesitate to murder 'em--an' 'specially a party of hunters, for that class they consider their natural enemies on account of the hunters killing what the injuns claim to be the red man's game. "i left them bones with the adjutant over to the fort," continued tom, "as he thought maybe somebody might come along who could throw more light on the mystery. then i called on weisselbaum an' told him we were just a-gettin' under good headway poisoning wolves, trapping beaver, an' so forth, an' he offered to buy all our catch--wanted to make a bargain with me right then--but i stood him off, for i think maybe we can do better to take our skins into leavenworth. some of the officers wanted to know if we couldn't bring 'em over a saddle of antelope for their mess whenever one of us goes over there for our mail. i guess we can do it just as well as not an' make a little spending money on the side; an', besides, it's always a good idea to be on good terms with the officers at the post, for we may want favors from them now an' then." since moving into our dugout we had found ourselves so much more cramped for room than we had been in the tent that, following tom's suggestion and example, we had each built himself a swinging frame of poles with a buffalo-hide stretched over it on which to spread our beds. during the day we kept these hanging bunks triced up to the timbers overhead, out of the way, lowering them to within a couple of feet of the floor to sleep in after supper each evening. we found them a luxury compared with sleeping on the hard ground. next day, after tom's return from the fort, jack and i rode down the creek to look for the bones of the wolf hunters of whom french dave had told tom and had little difficulty in finding them, for the burnt remains of their little log cabin, on the prairie, a little way from the timber, attracted us and guided us to the spot. the bones of the two men had been scattered by the wolves, but the irons of their burnt wagon were lying just where the fire had left them. that their camp had been established at a reasonable distance from the timber and otherwise well located in a defensive point of view showed that these men had had some knowledge of the dangers to be guarded against from hostile indians and that they had probably been plainsmen of experience; but, as tom said, their fatal error was in allowing too many indians to come into their camp. we were now--about the middle of december--"doing a land-office business," as jack expressed it, in taking wolf pelts, gathering them in daily about as fast as we could take care of them. jack was doing well also in beaver trapping, having already accumulated a lot of fine furs. tom had rigged up a press by means of which we put the skins into compact bales and stowed them away in the tent. the tunnel connecting the dugout and tent came up into the latter right in the centre, between the legs of the iron tripod that supported the tent-pole, and he placed the bales of skins in a close wall all around the tent, leaving an open space in the centre around the tripod, and i asked him why. "this tent," he answered, "will be our lookout station and also our 'bomb-proof' in case of need." "the bales of fur'll make it bullet-proof, all right," i replied, "but i don't see how we can see out after you get that bank of wolfskins piled up toward the tops of the doors." "when we get them up that high," said tom, "i intend to cut three or four loopholes in the canvas, about big enough to look through an' shoot out of, an' over each hole, to keep out the weather, i'll sew a flap that can be tucked up or let down to suit circumstances." "great head," said jack. "a good general was spoiled when tom enlisted." "'in time of peace, prepare for war,' was one of george washington's maxims," said tom, "an' never was more sensible advice given for either individual or nation." usually jack and i did most of the hunting and scouting around over the adjacent country, but now and then tom would strike out for a short trip up or down the creek on his own account. one day, after being out for a short time, he came hurrying back and began to delve in the mess-chest, inquiring for a fish-hook and line that he had seen there, declaring that he had just found a lot of fresh otter tracks on the bank of the creek. "why, tom," asked jack innocently, "do they catch otter with fish-hooks?" "no, you numskull," replied the old man impatiently, "the fish-hook and line is to catch fish to bait traps for the otter. "now, then, jack," continued the old man after finding his fishing-tackle and assuring himself that it was in good condition, "come along with me down to the beaver dam, an' while i catch a fish or two for bait you pull up a couple of your beaver traps an' we'll set for otter." "well, i guess i can spare you a couple of traps now," replied jack. "i ain't catching as many beavers lately as when i first started in. i think i'm getting the herd pretty well thinned out. but i've done pretty well at trapping, for i've took some thirty odd nice beaver skins besides a few muskrats." a few hours later the two men returned to camp after having caught some fish and baited and set the traps for otter, and next morning, taking jack with him, tom found, on visiting his traps and fishing them up out of the water, a fine otter fastened by a leg in each trap and drowned. later tom took a number of otter skins, but they were by no means as numerous as the beaver. black prince, after he became accustomed to it, was a much better buffalo horse than either of the mustangs, though, when two mounted hunters went out, the buckskin bronco, vinegar, did pretty well for that work. the gray mare, polly, could not be brought near enough to a buffalo to be used as a hunter. now and then jack and i went afoot down to the slough to kill some ducks or geese. our shepherd dog found was a good retriever, and when we went gunning for water-fowl we generally took him along to bring ashore any birds killed on the water. "i want to remind you men," said tom one day, "that this fine weather we've been having can't, in the nature of things, last much longer. we're liable to have a cold rain, turning to a sleet or snow-storm, or maybe a regular old blizzard swooping down on us now soon, an' we must be prepared for it. our camp's in pretty good shape, but we haven't fitted ourselves out with fur caps an' mittens an' other fixings to enable us to stand the winds of winter. i propose that we put in our spare time for the next few days a-dressing some hides, an' then a-cutting out and making us a good fur cap an' pair of mittens apiece, an' something in the way of buffalo overshoes, too, to slip on over our boots, an' a wolfskin overcoat apiece. "now, the first thing to do is to select the hides to be used an' flesh 'em, an' then get out that package of alum that we brought along to tan 'em with an' go to dressing 'em. those little yellow fox skins ain't worth much to sell, but they will be just the things for caps an' mittens. i've got an old buffalo robe that we can cut up for overshoes an' put rawhide soles to 'em. as for myself, i've been thinking that the next time i go over to the fort i'll see if i can find enough dressed buffalo calfskins in weisselbaum's stock--it'll only take about six or eight--to make me an overcoat; for a buffalo calfskin overcoat is a mighty serviceable garment for winter wear." "you're right, they are," said jack, "but i guess me an' peck'll have to put up with a coyote coat apiece for knockin' around here this winter, and when we get back to leavenworth we'll have a stylish overcoat of beaver skins put up for next winter. what do you say, peck?" "i'm favorable," i replied, "but, as this is a partnership business, of course we'll have to pay tom for his interest in the beaver skins." "well," said the old man, "i'll balance the account with you this way. i'll make it a stand-off, if i get otter skins enough, by having me a fancy overcoat made of them." the caps, mittens, overshoes, and coats were duly made and gave us much comfort during the storms of winter. game continued plenty. we often killed antelope within a few rods of our dugout and sometimes had to turn out in the night and help the dog drive a herd of buffalo out of camp. chapter xv wild bill visits us in preparing for a probable blizzard we had hauled up several loads of good, dry wood and chopped much of it into stove wood, carrying it into our quarters and stowing it away in the tunnel, still leaving a passageway, however. we found that the tunnel acted as a flue and caused such a draught through our little room that we were forced to temporarily close up the opening in the tent by placing a bale of wolfskins over the hole. we now put our stock into their dugout stable at night, giving them a little hay to gnaw at, and during the day, when not in use, we kept them out on the dry buffalo-grass. as yet we were feeding them no grain, saving that for a time of need. "from now on," tom said, "i want you men to be particular to put harness, tools, an' everything under shelter of nights, so that we can find these things when we want 'em, for we're liable to get up 'most any morning now and find a couple of feet of snow on the ground an' this ravine between us an' the stable drifted level full. in that case we'll want the spade an' shovel to clear away a passage to the stable door, so's we can 'tend to the stock; for a blizzard is liable to keep up the howl for several days an' nights; an' during such a spell we won't dare to poke our noses out of the shanty further than to feed the stock. we'll fix found a comfortable bed in the tent, between the stacks of wolfskins, where he can be of some service as a sentry without being too much exposed, but in case of a very keen spell we'll bring him into the dugout." previous to this time jack and i had explored the country for a distance of ten or twelve miles in every direction--not looking for game particularly, for that was always plenty close around camp, but for signs of the presence of indians. we had discovered, however, no fresh signs--nothing to indicate that indians had visited this part of the country more recently than a couple of months past. this fact encouraged us, and we hoped that we would be fortunate enough to finish our winter's work undisturbed. still, indians were likely to be moving about occasionally, even at this time of the year, and might yet discover our camp, in which case they might make it unpleasant for us. this part of the plains was sometimes ranged over by the cheyennes, arapahoes, and other tribes, but had been for some time past the special range of the kiowas, who, under the leadership of satank, satanta, and big tree, were ever ready to wipe out a small party when the opportunity presented. while we relied somewhat on our proximity to fort larned as a protection from indian depredations, we felt that our only real security was in not being discovered by the kiowas until our hunting season was over and we were ready to break camp and return to the settlements. on tom's last trip over to the fort he had learned that our old company k, first cavalry, together with the other three companies from fort wise, under command of captain elmer otis, had passed by fort larned a few days before, _en route_ to fort leavenworth and the war. we were all sorry that we had not learned of the passing of our old command in time for one of our party, at least, to meet them at fort larned and exchange gossip with them; and jack was regretting that he had not re-enlisted, instead of going wolf hunting, so that he could now be going to the front with them. he feared that the fighting would be all over and the war brought to a close before he got a chance at it. "don't you fret about this war coming to a close before you can get a whack at them rebels," said tom. "it's just a-getting under good headway now, an' there'll be lots of good fighting yet for you and me; and more'n likely, if we live through it, we'll be longing for peace long before peace comes again." our tent was fast becoming filled with bales of wolfskins, and one day i asked: "tom, what are we going to do for some place to store our wolfskins? our tent is nearly full, and we are still taking them, and the season isn't half through." "i've been thinking about that, too," replied the old man, "and i guess i'll make another trip over to the fort to-morrow to get them buffalo calfskins for my overcoat, an' while i'm over there i'll try to get the use of an empty room there among the old dobes where we can store 'em; an' we can take a wagon-load over from time to time as the tent gets too full." next day he went to the fort, returning on the following evening, with a lot of indian-dressed buffalo calfskins for his overcoat, and reported that he had engaged an unused room of weisselbaum wherein to store our baled skins. tom soon had a very serviceable overcoat made from the calfskins--far better than the coyote coats jack and i had made us--lining it with a red blanket and covering the collar and cuffs with muskrat skins, which have a beautiful fur, somewhat similar to the beaver in color but not so heavy. as yet we had had but one light fall of snow--nothing like a storm--and it had soon passed off, the weather continuing fair but quite cold of nights and mornings. one day, as we were about to sit down to dinner, my attention was arrested by a whoop or two that had a familiar sound, and, on looking out on the trail toward the fort, i saw a mounted man coming at a gallop. found, too, seemed to think he had heard that whoop before, for he ran up onto the dirt roof of our dugout, looked and listened a moment at the approaching horseman, and when the shout was repeated he hesitated no longer but with a wild yelp of recognition dashed away to meet the newcomer. i had just time to call to my comrades in the dugout: "see here, men, i believe it's wild bill," when, as they came rushing out, i noticed the mounted man halt suddenly and roll off his horse as the dog met him, and in a moment more found and his master were rolling over the ground hugging each other in mad delight, while bill's horse stood looking on in apparent astonishment at their wild antics. as bill came walking up to camp, leading his horse, with found prancing and yelping about him, i thought i had never seen a dog so nearly crazy with delight. no doubt, found had often thought of his absent master and had wondered what had become of him and whether he would ever see him again; and now they were reunited, and both seemed overjoyed at the meeting. after hearty greetings and handshakes all around the scout tied his horse to a wheel of the wagon while we all retired to the dugout, where our dinners were in danger of getting cold, and were soon seated around the mess box, eating and talking, for we all had a great deal to say to bill, and he to us. found had huddled down beside his master and was not neglected. "i hope you've come to stay several days with us, bill," said tom. "no, boys," replied the scout; "i'll stay with you to-night, but i've got to get back to the fort to-morrow. you see, the regulars are going away before long, and the troops that's coming to take their places are volunteers and, of course, green as grass about frontier service and managing injuns; an' so me an' french dave an' a few other ol' hands have got to get out an' scout around and find out where the injuns are at an' try to find out how they're feelin' toward the whites, an' so forth. that's what i was sent out here ahead of the volunteers for. but when i get back to the fort i'll be close enough to come over an' take a square meal with you every now and then." leaving bill and tom to talk while the old man cleared up the dishes, jack and i went out to attend to the stock; and the irishman suggested that while i took our two broncos out of the stable and staked them on the lee side of the haystack he would unsaddle the scout's horse and put him in the stable. when bill came out and found what he had done he remonstrated. "now, boys, i don't want you to go to any trouble on my account, for i'm used to taking things as they come, an' my horse is, too. i'm afraid it'll be hard on your broncos to turn 'em out in the cold." "not a bit of it," replied jack. "the weather's not bad now, an' they're tough, anyway. you see, we don't have the honor of entertainin' the honorable william hickock, esq., every day, an' we want to treat him so well that he'll come again." "well, i'll sure do it," replied the scout; then taking a look at our camp and surrounding grounds, he added: "boys, you've certainly picked out an' built a good camp an' planned everything handy for your winter's work. i think i can see ol' tom's handiwork all through this layout." "you're right," said jack; "if it wasn't for ol' tom's brains i don't know what we'd do." going into the stable again, jack brought out black prince to show him to bill. "this is the horse that we captured from them jayhawkers back t'other side of council grove," he said as he led the black out for the scout's inspection. "he's a fine-lookin' fellow, jack. is he any good?" "you bet. one of the best horses for all-'round service i ever saw," replied the enthusiastic irishman. we had a great time that afternoon relating to bill all the happenings since we parted with him in leavenworth, and after supper we still had plenty to talk about by candle-light. "boys, you seem to have taken good care of found," said bill, stroking the dog's head again for the thousandth time, "judging by his looks and the contented way he's stuck to you. has he been any account to you?" "that he has," replied jack. "he's one of the best and smartest dogs i ever saw. i don't know how we'd get along without him." "well, i guess he may as well make his home with you as long as you stay here, for i'll be away from the post pretty often, an' i wouldn't like to leave him there to run with everybody; but if you've no objections i'll take him over to larned with me to-morrow, just to give him a little exercise an' let him renew old acquaintance with the soldiers an' officers, for they all know him; an' i'll be coming by this way in a day or so again--for i expect i'll have to take a trip over to the smoky hill to locate the kiowas--an' then i'll leave him with you again." "all right, bill, he's your dog," replied jack, "but he's mighty welcome here an' he's a lot of help to us minding camp." "no doubt of it, for he's got more sense than some people have. i can talk to him an' tell him to do things, an' he seems to understand 'most everything i say to him an' will do just what i tell him to." "bill," i asked, "do the officers at the garrison seem to think there's any danger of the indians going on the war-path?" "well, no, i don't think they really expect any outbreak," replied the scout, "but injuns, you know, are the most uncertain varmints on earth; an' on account of taking away the regulars an' putting green volunteers to garrisoning the posts on the plains, it's more'n likely that the injuns'll soon discover the difference an' take advantage of the chance to raise a ruction. i've got to look up the kiowas first, 'cause they're the most likely ones to make trouble; an' when i find their winter camp i'll stay with 'em a few days, to kinder feel of 'em an' see what sort of a humor they're in, an' then i'll hunt up the cheyennes an' arapahoes next an' feel of their pulses, too. an' while i'm a-doing that job french dave an' the other fellows'll be looking up the comanches an' prairie apaches--they generally range between the cimarron an' red river, an' ain't likely to come up this way before grass comes, anyway, but the kiowas an' cheyennes'll need watchin'." "well, when you get back you must call around here and let us know what you think of the prospect for peace or war--that is, if you find out anything," i said. "how many of you will go on this trip?" asked tom. "only two--me an' john adkins. you see, frenchy is to take a man with him an' round up the country south of the arkansas, along the cimarron an' the canadians, an' i'll take adkins with me an' scout the country north till we find the camps." next morning, after breakfast, wild bill, followed by found, took the trail back to fort larned. jack and i made our usual round of the baits in the forenoon, skinned the dead wolves that we found lying about them, brought in the skins and pegged them down to dry. in the afternoon we started out afoot to kill some fresh meat for our mess, the irishman going up the creek in search of antelope or deer while i walked down to the slough to see if there were any water-fowl there to be picked up. i killed a sand-hill crane and returned to camp. jack had done better than i, having killed a large deer and come back and taken prince out to carry the meat in. tom had outdone us both, having killed four antelope without leaving camp. "how in the world did you do it, tom?" i asked as i come to where he was busy skinning and dressing four dead antelope that he had strung up. "well, sir, i'll tell you how it was," replied he with a gratified smile, still plying his butcher-knife. "soon after you men left camp a bunch of antelope come playing 'round on the prairie out yonder, up the ravine a piece, but, as they wouldn't come quite close enough to suit me, i got out a red blanket, tied it to a little pole, an' crept along up the ravine till i got about opposite to 'em, an' then raised the red blanket above the bank an' planted the pole. "soon as they sighted the strange red thing they raised their heads an' stared at it a bit, an' then come up toward it, all in a bunch, an' stopped an' took another look. then they seemed to get frightened an' turned an' run away, but i knew they'd come back. they circled 'round an' come up again an' halted for another look, an' then run away again an' circled 'round an' come back, an' each time they came a little closer. "i noticed that when they'd halt to gaze at the blanket they'd line up four or five abreast; so the idea struck me that if i could get back into another little ravine that was close by, an' crawl up that a little ways, so as to take 'em in flank when they'd line up thataway, i'd get two or three of 'em. i did that, an' the next time they halted an' lined up there were four of 'em in range, with their sides to me, an' i turned loose an' killed three of 'em an' wounded the fourth so that i got him next shot." "you did a good job, and did it well, too," i replied. just then jack came up with his load of deer meat. "why, jack," i began, "how in the world did you happen to kill a buck? i didn't think you were hunter enough to stalk a deer." "you don't appear to know me, young fellow," he returned with a swaggering air. "it's a mighty hunter i'm getting to be, as well as a famous trapper." "but tell us all about how you got that buck; i know there's something to explain about it," i replied. "well, now," laying aside his assumed braggadocio and becoming the candid irishman again, "to tell you the honest god's truth, i just blundered onto him. it was this way: i was a-sneaking along through the timber when all of a suddent i sees this laddybuck a-standing broadside to me, only about twenty steps away, an' he hadn't seen nor heard me, for i was behind a big tree. i was that nervous i didn't think i could have hit the side of a barn, so i rested my carbine against the side of the tree, took as good aim as i could about where i thought his heart ought to be--right behind the fore shoulder--an' let him have it; an' i'm blest if i didn't fetch him, first pop. he gave one big bound into the air an' fell dead; an' just then two does, that had been laying down behind some bushes, jumped an' run an' were out of sight in a jiffy, before i could shove another cartridge into me carbine. but i didn't want any more deer meat just then, so i came back to camp to get the horse to fetch the meat in." "but, tom," i asked, "what are we going to do with so much venison?" "oh, it'll keep, all right; but then i'll be going over to the fort again in a day or so, an' i guess i'd as well take two or three of the carcasses over there an' sell 'em to the officers' mess." chapter xvi tom locks the stable door this evening, just before dark, when we were bringing in the tools and making things secure for the night, i noticed that tom had got out an old padlock that had long lain unused in the mess-chest, and then had found a piece of trace-chain, and with the two had securely locked the stable door--a precaution that we had never thought necessary before--and i asked him: "what are you doing that for, tom? seen any fresh signs about?" "no," he answered, "but 'tain't much trouble an' it's always best to be on the safe side. we've been used to having found to do guard-duty of nights, an' it may have got us in a fashion of sleeping sounder than we would if we'd had to look out for ourselves; now, while the dog is away, with the stable door unlocked it would be easy enough for an injun to sneak our horses out an' get away with 'em." i smiled at what seemed to me a useless precaution and it passed from my mind; but along in the night, after we had been some hours asleep, i was suddenly awakened by a slight noise like the rattling of a chain. instantly i was thoroughly aroused and remembered tom's chain on the stable door. had i been dreaming? i raised my head cautiously and listened intently. there it was again--unmistakably the chain on the stable door. i determined to investigate before arousing my comrades, and slipping quietly out of my bed i tiptoed carefully to the door, pulled up one corner of the muslin cover to the lookout hole, and peeped out at the stable door. the moon was shining brightly, and there, to my astonishment, sat a man, crouched at the door of the stable intently working at the lock, either trying to pick it or pry it off. he was not an indian, either. he had soldier clothes on, and beside him on the ground lay a small bundle. i took in all this at a glance, and then quietly and quickly slipped back to tom's bed, shook him gently, and whispered: "sh! don't make a bit of noise, tom. there's a man working at the lock on the stable door. get up quietly while i wake jack." it was more difficult to keep the excitable irishman quiet while arousing him, but i succeeded in getting him up without making noise enough to be heard outside. each man took a look through the peep-hole and saw that the crouching soldier was still intently working at the lock. "now," i whispered to my comrades, "let each one of us get his carbine or pistol ready, and be careful to keep them from rattling, and when i open our door we'll call on him to throw up his hands and take him prisoner." "i think i'll give him a load of shot first," whispered jack, who had the shotgun, "an' then call on him to throw up." finding that i could not open our door without making a noise, i jerked it wide open quickly. as i did so the kneeling man turned the full side of his face to me, and in the bright moonlight i recognized private john flaherty, one of two soldiers who not long before, with lieutenant smith, had been caught in a blizzard at our camp and had stayed there until the storm was over. seeing jack raise his shotgun to fire, i knocked the muzzle up as i exclaimed: "don't shoot, jack, it's flaherty!" he had pressed the trigger, but my throwing the barrels up sent the load of shot into the dirt roof of the stable instead of into flaherty's back. i wondered at the stupid, sluggish manner of the man as he rose to his feet at the report of the gun, but when he started off up the path leading to the top of the bank his uncertain gait plainly showed that he was drunk. dropping his shotgun, jack bounded out and up the path after him, soon overtaking the drunken soldier, seizing him by the collar and cuffing him right heartily, with each slap rebuking the would-be horse thief for his drunkenness and thievery. when flaherty was brought into the dugout it was evident that he was almost senseless from drink. he was taken over to found's bed and left there, sound asleep. "there," said tom, "we forgot to bring in that little bundle he left by the stable door." he brought it in, and on opening it it was found to consist of a pint bottle with a little whiskey in it and a change of underclothing marked with the man's initials. "well," said tom, "this poor fellow has gone on a spree; while drunk the idea of deserting has come to him, and he has started off over the prairie in the dead of winter, through an indian country, without arms, provisions, or clothing. as i have often said, a man who is drunk is literally crazy, and this proves it." next morning, when flaherty was aroused, he had at first no idea where he was and, after he had been told, no idea how he got here. he professed that he had no wish to desert, for he was getting along in his company as well as any of the men and his time of service had nearly expired. however, he actually had deserted, and he did not know what to do, whether to go back and give himself up and take his punishment or whether to go on. tom said to him: "of course, flaherty, you can do as you like, but i really think, under the circumstances, you had best go back and give yourself up and take your medicine. maybe, if i go along with you and explain the situation to lieutenant smith, and ask him to intercede with the commanding office, you can be returned to duty without a court martial." "would you do that for me, tom?" asked flaherty gratefully. "i'll do all i can for you, flaherty, for i do not hold you responsible for what you have done; but you had a mighty close call, and if whiskey serves you that way you ought to take warning and swear off." "that's just what i've been thinking, tom, and i swear right now i'll never taste another drop." as i rode up to camp about sundown that day i noticed two or three mounted men far out on the high prairie, coming on the trail from fort larned. the field-glass made them out to be wild bill and john adkins with a pack-mule, and found trotting along with them. they soon reached us and dismounted and began unpacking. "is supper most ready, boys?" asked bill. "i'll have it ready," replied jack, "by the time you're ready for it." "we've just got room in the stable for your two horses," i explained, "in place of the mule team tom took with him, and i guess i'll take one of our broncos out and tie it behind the haystack to make room for your pack-mule, bill." "don't you do anything of the kind, peck," replied the scout. "that's one of uncle sam's mules, an' he'll do well enough tied in the lee of your haystack; in fact, it wouldn't hurt our horses much, either, to stand out." while bill, adkins, and i had been watering, feeding, and putting away the stock, jack had been getting supper, and now stepped to the door of the dugout with his fiddle and sounded "mess call," to see if the scout would know what it meant. "that sounds pretty natural," said bill to me, "let's go in an' see what he's got to show for it, for i'm as hungry as a coyote." as we gathered around the mess-chest i inquired: "when do they expect the volunteers that are coming to relieve the regulars?" "don't know a thing, only that they're on the road somewhere 'tween here an' leavenworth. now, if they were regulars you could calculate to the hour when they'd get here, for when they get orders to go anywhere neither hell nor high water'll stop 'em; but if a little bad weather strikes these volunteers, an' they can find a snug camping place, they're liable to hang up for a week or two, an' put in the time stealing chickens an' playing cards." "how long do you and adkins expect to be gone on this trip, bill?" "well, now, that's a sort of a 'kin-savvy' case," he replied. "it depends on how soon we find the injuns' camp. maybe it'll take us a week--maybe two weeks or more--can't tell; but once we get onto their trail we'll soon overhaul 'em. john, here, says that ol' to hausen, the 'little mountain,' an' his band is camped right down walnut creek, about half-way 'tween here an' charley rath's ranch--'bout twenty-five miles from here." "yes," said adkins, "i was up to their camp 'bout a week ago, an since that some of the injuns was down to the ranch a-trading; but they don't know, for sure, where satank an' the rest of the tribe is; but they thought we'd be apt to find 'em on the smoky, or the saline, or solomon, or maybe on some of the little timbered creeks in between the rivers." "do you think, adkins," i asked, "that there is any likelihood of to hausen's band moving up this way? for it would bother our wolf-hunting business if they should come near us." "oh, they may be a-moving camp now an' then, to get fresh grass for their hosses; but if they get to crowdin' on you, all you've got to do is to go to ol' to hausen an' ask him to keep far enough away so's not to interfere with your wolf poisoning, an' he'll do it, for he's a pretty good ol' injun, an' always tries to keep on good terms with the whites. there's only about a hundred men in his band, an' they're mostly ol' men what's had experience enough to know that it pays better to keep on good terms with uncle sam's people than to be bucking again 'em. but the most of the tribe now seems to be of the other way of thinking an' have split off from ol' to hausen, who used to be head chief, an' taken to following the lead of such devils as satank, an' satanta, an' big tree; an' they're the ones we've got to look out for." "where do you expect to find the kiowa trail, bill?" "well, from here, we'll follow this ol' lodge-pole trail; it turns off from the walnut a few miles up the creek an' goes over to the smoky hill, which is about twenty miles from here; an' about opposite this point on the smoky is a mail station on the denver stage route, an' i reckon we'll be able to find out from the station men whether the kiowas have gone up or down the river an' lay our course to suit." "when we first came here," i informed him, "it looked like the last travel over the trail had been about two months before--that would have been about september--and the tracks were going toward the smoky hill; but they might have been made by cheyennes or 'rapahoes." "we'll be apt to find an old moccasin, or a broken arrow, or somethin' dropped or thrown away on the trail, before we travel very far, that'll tell what tribe travelled it last," remarked the scout. "i noticed that you don't carry any picket-pin," i remarked; "how do you picket your horse out?" "i picket him to a hole in the ground. i dig a hole with my knife about a foot deep; tie a big knot in the end of my lariat; put it down in the bottom of the hole; fill in the dirt an' tamp it down hard as i can with my foot; an' that'll hold him 'bout as good as a picket-pin, an' saves the trouble, an' saves my horse the weight of the iron pin; an' i always try to lighten my horse's load of every ounce i can do away with. an' when i'm out by myself, or where there's nobody to stan' guard at night, i make my bed with my head on my saddle, 'bout half-way 'tween my horse an' the end of my lariat that's buried, an' if anything strange comes in sight the horse'll begin running 'round at the end of his rope, an' dragging it over me'll wake me up." "well, your way of doing these things is just about the same as we were trained to do in the cavalry," i remarked. "why, of course," replied bill, "for nearly all i know about scouting is what i learnt from the ol' cavalrymen an' ol' army officers. you take one of them ol' soldiers or officers that's been out on the frontier fifteen or twenty years, an' what he don't know about such matters ain't worth knowing." in the morning, after breakfast, while assisting the two scouts to saddle up and pack their mule, jack cut off an antelope ham and tied it in their pack, "to give them a starting of fresh meat," as he said. taking up a position in front of bill, found stood wagging his tail and looking up pleadingly into his master's face, seeming to ask: "may i go with you?" "no, found," said the scout, between whom and his dog there seemed to be a perfect understanding, "you can't go. it'd be too long an' hard a road for you an' would wear you out. you must stay right here till i come back." then, turning to me, he said: "you'd better get his chain an' collar an' i'll tie him to that post there, an' he'll know by that that i don't want him to go an' he'll not try to follow us after we leave." i brought the chain and bill took it and tied the dog, petting and talking kindly to him, and then making him lie down, which seemed to satisfy found that his master desired him to remain. "let us hear from you, bill," i requested, "as soon as you get back, will you, for i'd like to know how the kiowas are feeling." "yes, i will," he replied; "if i don't come back this way i'll come over from the fort soon after we get back." mounting their horses--adkins leading the pack-mule, while wild bill rode behind to drive it up--they crossed the creek below the beaver dam, and were soon out of sight behind the timber. chapter xvii volunteer troops at larned tom returned from fort larned that evening. he hoped that his intercession for flaherty would procure a mitigation of the usual penalty; but desertion, even under extenuating circumstances, was too serious an offence to pass without at least a form of punishment. the culprit was put in the guard-house, with a fair prospect, however, of being released and restored to duty before long. the long-expected three companies of volunteer cavalry had arrived to relieve the old garrison, and as soon as the government property could be transferred from the old officials to the new, the old garrison--two companies of second infantry and one of second dragoons--would march away to fort leavenworth. a week later our old comrades, the regulars, were gone. on his return from his next visit to fort larned, two weeks later, tom had much to say about the lack of discipline shown by the volunteers at the fort, and as we gathered around the mess box, after putting the mules away, he continued his complaints. "the volunteers don't know anything about soldiering," said tom, "an' the officers are no better. it nearly broke my heart to see the miserable imitation of military service they're gettin' off. "now, to give you an idea of their style, compared with regulars, what would you think to see a buck private in his dirty fatigues come a-saunterin' up to the adjutant's office, flop himself down in a chair, hoist his muddy boots up onto a table, push his hat back, an' say to the commanding officer, who was occupying a similar position on the opposite side of the table: 'well, joe, what do you think of this layout, as far as you've got?'" "oh, come now, tom," said jack with an incredulous smile, "you don't expect us to believe such a yarn as that?" "it's gospel truth," exclaimed the old man. "here's another sample of how they do it: a captain was standin' in front of the adjutant's office smokin' a cigar, an' a corporal strolled up to him an' asked: 'i say, cap, have you got the mate to that about your clothes?'" "peck, do you believe him?" said jack, appealing to me; and without waiting for my answer, he continued: "i do be afeared tom's been mixin' his drinks." "here's another one," said tom. "a lieutenant an' about a dozen men come out of their quarters an' started straggling off toward the stables, an' i followed 'em to see what they were up to. they went into the stable an' went to saddling their horses to go somewheres. by and by the lieutenant got his horse saddled an' called back into the stable: 'are you all ready there, boys?' some were ready, an' come leadin' their horses out; but one fellow called back to him: 'don't you get in such a rush there now, for i've got to put my spurs on yet.' another fellow said: 'i've got a notion not to go, for i told the sergeant not to put my name on this detail.' 'oh, yes, john, you'd better come along. we'll have a good time,' said the lieutenant, kind of coaxing him. "well, after callin' back again to the man who hadn't got his spurs on, an' getting the answer that he was about ready, instead of giving his commands in military style, to 'lead into line!' 'count fours!' 'prepare to mount!' 'mount!' 'form ranks!' an' then move out 'by fours,' how do you suppose he did it? well, sir, he just says: 'well, get on your horses, boys,' an' climbed onto his horse, an' started off, saying as he looked back over his shoulder: 'come ahead, fellows.' an' they straggled off after him. "well, they're good enough men, on an average, i guess," continued tom, "an' will make good soldiers if they just had the right sort of officers over 'em; for good officers make good soldiers, an' _vice versa_. but how can the blind lead the blind? their officers can't instruct the men, for the officers don't know anything about military matters themselves. an' it's one of the truest sayings that ever was said that 'familiarity breeds contempt'; an' if an officer, or even a non-com, expects to command the respect and obedience of them that's subject to his orders, he's got to hold himself aloof from 'em, to a reasonable degree; an' he's got to prove himself competent to command 'em." naturally, jack and i became very anxious to go over to the fort and see things for ourselves, and when the time came for going after our next mail and taking in another load of wolfskins tom agreed to let us both make the trip, on a strict promise from jack that he would not taste liquor. at the post we found the state of affairs about as tom had represented. officers and men seemed equally ignorant of military affairs and especially of frontier service. while loafing about the sutler's store next day, weisselbaum came out of his back room and, calling me to one side, said confidentially: "i've got a job for you, peck, and there's good pay in it, too. it's this way: there's a young man here, lieutenant lang, in command of one of these companies; he's got plenty of money; his father's rich an' furnishes him plenty. he's a first-rate fellow. but he's considerably embarrassed just now," he continued; "the captain of the company has been away from it for several months, leaving the lieutenant in command, and during that time he has received a lot of government property, for which he's got to account, of course, and he's kept no accounts and has nothing to show what's become of this stuff. you see, he's in a bad fix, and unless he can find some one who understands these affairs to help him out, he's going to have to pay the government several hundred dollars--maybe as much as a thousand or two--out of his own pocket, or his daddy's rather. he stated his case to me and asked if i knew of any one that he could get to straighten up his company papers; and when i saw you i remembered that you used to be company clerk in your old company at fort riley, and i thought you would know how to help him out of the scrape, if anybody would. he'll be willing to pay you big for it. what do you say to the job?" "i hardly know what to say," i replied. "i'll have to consult my partners over at the camp before i can give an answer. it may be that i can arrange with them to get away from the wolf hunting business long enough to do this work for the lieutenant, but i can't promise it till i consult tom and jack." "well, come back into my office," said weisselbaum, "and let me make you acquainted with mr. lang, and you can talk it over with him." on following him into his back room i was introduced to a pleasant-looking young officer of about twenty-five, who wore the uniform and shoulder-straps of first lieutenant of cavalry, but whose appearance showed evidences of dissipation. he seemed pleased to find a man who understood uncle sam's ways of transacting business, and still more gratified when i told him that i thought possibly i could find means to relieve him of a part, if not all, of his accountability; which he knew meant not only the saving of so many dollars, but would prevent an official investigation that might result in his dismissal from the service. i told him i could not promise to take charge of his papers and begin on the work until i had consulted my partners. he would pay me a hundred dollars, he said, to make the effort and do what i could for him, and two hundred if i succeeded in clearing him of all his accountability and put his company papers in good shape, so that his company clerk could thereafter keep them straight. i promised him that i would return in a day or two probably prepared to go to work on his accounts. this so pleased him that he called for a bottle of champagne, in which, however, i declined joining him and retired, leaving him and weisselbaum drinking the wine. jack and i had seen enough of the rawness of these volunteers to fully corroborate tom's reports, and as we drove back to camp i informed my comrade of the proposition i had received for straightening out the tangles in which the lieutenant had involved himself. "how long's it going to take you?" he asked. "about two or three weeks, i think," i replied. "well, of course we'll let you off for that long, in consideration of the big pay you'll be getting." when we got to camp and i had stated the proposition to tom, he replied promptly: "jump onto it, by all means. you won't often find such chances as that for making money layin' around loose on the plains or anywhere else. that's big money for a little work. jack an' me'll give you a leave of absence long enough to make yourself a nice little wad on the side." "no, tom," i answered. "i won't have it that way. we have agreed, all along, that this is a full partnership of the firm of vance, flannigan & peck and that whatever we make or lose we are to share equally. jack insisted on this rule when he captured black prince, and i shall insist that whatever i make on this work shall be turned into the general fund." "well, suit yourself about it," said tom indifferently; "any way to keep peace in the family. we'll call it detached service you're on, then, instead of a leave of absence." the matter being settled, next day i rode prince over to the fort and began looking up material to begin the work in hand. by searching the adjutant's office and quartermaster's store i found the requisite blanks and books for opening up a full set of company accounts, including muster and pay rolls, for i found the lieutenant had little or nothing in the way of papers except the invoices of property he had received. having duly established an office in one of lang's rooms and got everything ready for business, i said to the lieutenant: "now, mr. lang, in order that you may get the full benefit of my services in this work, it is best that you have your first sergeant and company clerk in attendance here whenever they can be spared from their other duties, and let me be instructing them, so that they can continue the work after i get things straightened out for them." "a good idea," he admitted. "i'll go over to his office and have a chat with the sergeant about it, and if he thinks he'd like to learn your style of keeping accounts i'll invite him to come over and see how you do it and bring his clerk along." "why, lieutenant," i said in some surprise at this evidence of slack discipline, "i thought you were in command of the company." "so i am; so i am. why?" "well, in that case, it's your place to order the attendance of your sergeant and clerk and their place to obey promptly." "yes, yes. that's the way you do in the regulars, i suppose; but, you know, we ain't so particular in the volunteers, and i find it's best to keep on good terms with my first sergeant 'cause he'll make trouble for me if i cross him." "well, excuse me; i forgot myself," i replied with ill-concealed disgust. "i wasn't employed by you to teach you discipline. but if you can persuade your sergeant to come over, i'll see if i can interest him in these papers." but the sergeant refused to take instructions from "one of them swell-headed regulars who think they know it all." the company clerk, however, cheerfully placed himself under my tutelage and picked up the work rapidly. by taking invoices of the property lieutenant lang had on hand and comparing them with the invoices of what he had received, i soon found what was deficient. i then set his men to work looking about the post and gathering up, from among the rubbish and castaway property abandoned by the outgoing garrison, every old article of quartermaster's and ordnance stores and camp and garrison equipage that could be found. i then asked the lieutenant to call on the commanding officer for a board of survey, who inspected and condemned the stuff and ordered it burned, thereby relieving lang of his accountability for it. there was still a considerable shortage of arms and things that i could not pick up about the post and get condemned, but, on learning that this company had been engaged in a skirmish with the rebels in missouri recently, i covered a considerable deficit on the returns as "lost in action," on the affidavits of soldiers, and accounted for some other stuff as legitimately "worn out or expended in the public service." by these and other methods usually resorted to in the regular service to cover deficiencies i soon had lieutenant lang's accountability reduced to the property he actually had on hand; and, while doing so, instructed his company clerk so that thereafter he could easily keep the accounts in safe shape. my work for lang attracted considerable attention from the other company commanders and they soon got to dropping in to consult me in regard to making out papers and all sorts of military matters. at the expiration of my contract, lieutenant lang cheerfully paid me the two hundred dollars--which i deposited with weisselbaum to the credit of the firm--and expressed himself as glad to get out of his recent dilemma so cheaply. while at this work i was often one of the busiest men about the post. these officers, though inexperienced, were gentlemanly fellows, and not having had that regular army legend ground into them about the impassable gulf between the enlisted man and the commissioned officer, though knowing that i had but recently been a private soldier, treated me as an equal. even the major commanding often consulted me on technical affairs, and offered to use his influence to procure me a commission in the regiment if i would join his command, which kind offer i declined with thanks. i had made up my mind not to bind myself to uncle sam again, though--after this wolf hunting campaign--i planned to enter the service as a scout or wagon-master or in some civilian capacity that would give me more freedom than as a soldier or officer. chapter xviii bill returns from his scout during the time i had been at work on lieutenant lang's papers there had been another heavy snow, but it had soon passed off. tom had come over to the fort once or twice, reporting all serene at camp coyotelope; and about the time i had finished my job and was preparing to return to wolf skinning, wild bill and john adkins came into the post, returning from the main kiowa camp by way of old to hausen's village on walnut creek. "when are you going over to camp coyotelope?" asked bill after first greetings. "to-morrow morning," i replied. "well, i've got to make my report to the commanding officer an' turn in my pack-mule," said the scout, "an' if there's nothing special for me to do here right away i reckon i'll ride over with you an' take a few square meals with the boys." "all right," i replied. "i'll be glad to have you go along with me. will adkins come, too?" "no. he says he's got to go back to rath's ranch in the morning, soon as he can get his voucher from the quartermaster for this trip an' get it cashed at weisselbaum's." "so this new quartermaster is short of greenbacks and has to pay off in vouchers, hey?" "yes, an' weisselbaum only discounts 'em twenty-five cents on the dollar. but i won't sell my voucher at any such robbery figures. i don't need the money very bad here, an' so i'll just let it stand till the quartermaster gets the funds, or if he don't get the truck by spring i'll take my vouchers to fort leavenworth where i can get all they call for." finding nothing requiring his immediate attendance at the post, bill easily obtained permission to go over to our camp, notifying the quartermaster where he could be found in case he was needed. as we rode along he told me about his trip to satank's village. "as i expected, we picked up the kiowas' trail over on the smoky hill, followed it up, an' found 'em in a snug-timbered camp over on the solomon. they'd moved to this camp from another one a few miles up the river since the blizzard, because while that big snow was on the ground they'd had to chop down all the cottonwood-trees about that camp to furnish feed for their ponies and in case of another big snow catching 'em in the same camp, the feed there would have been pretty scarce. an' they'd just about got settled down in the new camp when this last snow come on. me and adkins were in luck, too, for this last snow come next day after we reached the injun camp; an' during all the time it lay on the ground me and john were making ourselves as agreeable an' comfortable as possible in ol' satank's lodge. i knew what a sour ol' cuss he is, an' the best way to get on the good side of him an' find out what he is up to was to go right to his tepee, an' let on that we'd come to pay him a special visit. "we found that the injuns didn't have much of anything to eat but meat, so we brought out our sugar an' coffee an' hardtack an' bacon an' treated the ol' man an' his family to some extra good grub--for them; an' i'd took along some beads an' colored handkerchiefs an' trinkets for the women an' youngsters. but, sir, that durned old rascal would eat my chuck an' take presents, all right, but when i'd try to pump him he was the most ignorant injun you ever saw--i couldn't get a thing out of him. but then i didn't expect to find out much from satank himself, for i know him of old. "i made friends with satanta and big tree, too, an' gave them some presents, an' now an' then invited 'em over to headquarters to smoke an' eat an' drink coffee with us, but they were pretty foxy, too, and didn't seem to know anything when i tried the pump on them. so when i found the head men were so close-mouthed i dropped them an' let on as though i wasn't seeking for information; but i made myself solid with the women by making them presents of a lot of little trinkets, an' i knew if i went about it in an offhand way they'd tell me all they knew, for, you know, i can talk their language just like a kiowa. "it pleases them women for a white man to take notice of 'em an' talk to 'em an' be sociable like, for their own men don't pay 'em much attention. "i soon found out about all the women knew, which wasn't much, however; but from what i picked up amongst 'em, an' from the general signs, the head men ain't a-feeling very friendly toward the whites, an' as soon as grass comes in the spring i suspect we'll have trouble with 'em." "do you think they'll go on the war-path, bill?" i asked. "no, i don't think they'll go to war openly or in a body, but they'll probably scout around in little bands, watchin' their chances an' doing a little mischief here an' there on the sly, whenever they see a good chance to dodge in, hit a lick, an' dodge out again without making an open rupture. but they promised to come down to fort larned, as soon as the grass begins to come in the spring, to have a powwow with the officers an' injun agent, 'cause there's a chance of some presents in that, an' they're always ready to take all they can get an' more, too." "what seems to be their principal grievance against the white men?" i asked. "well, it's the old song about the white men killing off their game. but, then, we all know that's just an excuse, for the game on the plains is plenty enough for all an' what little the whites get away with ain't missed. of course, if they were to come around here an' see how many buffalo bones you fellows are leaving on the prairie they might think you were getting more than your share. but you've got just as much right to kill buffalo an' wolves, or any other game, as the injuns have. anyway, it ain't likely they'll get down this way before grass comes, an' you fellows'll be done skinning wolves an' gone before that time." "i hope so," i replied. "i have no desire to renew my acquaintance with satank. how about old to hausen, bill; is he still camped at the same place?" "yes, his band was still camped about twenty or twenty-five miles down walnut creek from your camp; but to hausen was getting ready to move up your way, too, an' i reckon by this time he's moved. i told him about you fellows a-poisoning wolves and that you were particular friends of mine, an' asked him not to move up close enough to you to bother your work, an' he promised me he would keep far enough away so's not to trouble you. he's a pretty good ol' injun, to hausen is, an' he's always been a good friend of mine, an' i'm sure he'll not let any of his people interfere with you. some of his outfit'll be apt to look you up in a few days, an' if they come to see you you must treat 'em well." "of course we will," i replied, "for we want to keep on good terms with them." at camp coyotelope, which we reached in time for dinner, bill had to repeat to tom and jack all he had told me about his trip to the kiowa village. during the afternoon we lounged about camp and at the approach of evening jack and i saddled up and made the round of the wolf baits, putting out fresh strychnine for the night, and returned to camp in time to help demolish an excellent supper. that evening tom suggested to the scout: "bill, while you're here, suppose you an' me ride down to ol' to hausen's camp to-morrow to see where he is an' make sure that he ain't a-crowding on our huntin'-ground--what do you say?" "it's a whack, tom; i'll go you!" replied bill, "an' we'll have a fair understanding with the ol' man about how far he's to allow his people to range up this way." in the morning they saddled up and started to go to the indian camp, but to our surprise bill and tom were back at camp by noon, just as jack and i were getting ready for dinner. "why, what brought you back so soon?" i asked as they rode up and dismounted. "well," replied tom, as they began unsaddling, "we found their camp only about eight miles down the creek--a little closer than i like to have 'em, but the injuns promised that they wouldn't hunt up this way any farther or do anything to drive off the game in our range; but what brought us back so soon was that when we got there we found ol' to hausen sick in bed, an' i think he's threatened with a severe spell of pneumonia; an' after having a friendly talk with his people and watching the ol' man's symptoms, i made up my mind what was the matter with him, and i concluded that i'd hurry right back to camp and get some medicine for him and then go back and try to fetch the old man out of it. i'm sure he's got a serious case of lung fever, and if something ain't done to head it off pretty _pronto_ he'll go up the spout. i learned a good deal about doctoring when i was hospital steward, an' i think i've got everything except one that i need for the treatment of this case in my little medicine-chest. bill's going back to fort larned after dinner, and i want you to go with him and bring out the medicine that i'm lacking. you can go over to the fort this afternoon and get the stuff an' come back to-morrow forenoon and then bring it down to the injun camp to me in the afternoon; for i'll go right back after dinner and go to work on the old man and try to head off that fever before it gets too strong a hold on him." as we entered the dugout and sat down to dinner i thought to ask: "what medicine is it that you want me to get, tom? you forgot to tell me the name of it." with a mysterious wink at me when jack was not looking, he answered: "i'll write the name of it down on a piece of paper after dinner. you'd forget it if i told you." when we went out to saddle up after dinner, leaving jack to clean up the dishes, tom said: "the medicine i want you to get at the fort is nothing but a pint of commissary whiskey, but i didn't want to mention it before jack. the doctors use it in pneumonia as a stimulant, diluted, an' given in tablespoonful doses. i've got everything else i need, and i'll take my little medicine-chest along with me down to the injun camp in case there should be other sick ones that i'd want something for." then he added: "you'd better take prince to ride over to the fort and back. i rode him down to the camp, but he'll be good for your trip. i'll ride ol' vinegar down to the camp this time; an' when you get back here to-morrow you can leave prince here an' ride the gray mare or one of the mules down to the camp. by the way, while i think of it, i must take along a couple of candles an' a few more matches; for i'll have to be getting up in the night 'tendin' to the old man, an' there's no such thing as a light to be had in an injun lodge without a body goes to the trouble of starting up a blaze in the fire. "i've got to keep on the right side of that old medicine-man that's doctoring the old chief now," said tom; "and i'd like to teach him something if i could." soon we were ready and started, bill and i cantering off on the trail while tom struck out down the creek. on arriving at fort larned, knowing that lieutenant lang always kept a demijohn of whiskey in his quarters, i procured a pint bottle of the "medicine" tom desired and spent the night at his quarters. just before going to the officers' mess for supper with lieutenant lang that evening, thinking that it would be an interesting trip for him, i had suggested to him that he go out to our camp and see something of the kiowas with whom later he might have some dealings. he declined to go on the ground that the weather was wintry and the ride a long one. captain saunders, who was present, expressed surprise that lieutenant lang did not jump at the chance and said to me: "mr. peck, if i can get leave of absence from the major, may i accompany you on this trip to the indian camp?" "certainly, captain," i replied. "i'll be delighted to have you go along." the captain joined us later and told me that he had easily obtained the desired permission, but asked me to say nothing about it to other company officers, lest more of them should wish to go, for the major didn't think it best to spare more than one on such an errand. the next morning we set out and, after a long, cold ride, reached camp coyotelope. during the whole ride the captain kept plying me with questions about our past frontier service, evidently wishing to gain all the information he could about his new line of duty. he was a very pleasant and gentlemanly, young man, and although ignorant of military usage, he evinced a commendable eagerness to inform and qualify himself for his position. chapter xix a night in the kiowa camp we reached the dugout just before noon, and after unsaddling, watering, and feeding our horses and partaking of a good dinner that jack had prepared we saddled up again. i now rode the gray mustang, as tom had suggested, and on one of our mules packed my bedding for the use of captain saunders and myself at the indian camp. we struck out down the creek for the kiowa camp, i leading the mule and the captain bringing up the rear. this kind of campaigning was a revelation to captain saunders and seemed to interest him greatly. at the indian camp tom was anxiously awaiting me, and seemed surprised to see me accompanied by the officer, whom i introduced, explaining the occasion of his visit. under the impulse of his long and strict military training, tom came to "attention" and saluted and seemed somewhat surprised at the captain's proffered hand. in the regular service hand-shaking between an officer and a soldier or ex-soldier would be considered a breach of army etiquette. quickly comprehending the situation, tom grasped the extended hand and thereafter appeared to feel on terms of perfect equality with the officer. "i can't allow you to see old to hausen," tom explained, "he's too sick to see company; an' i can't devote much time to your entertainment myself, captain, but i'll tell the injuns to try an' make your visit agreeable; an' you an' peck'll have to get along the best you can." tom turned to an old indian, who, he said, was next in rank to to hausen, and explained to him in mexican who we were and the object of our visit. the old warrior then in a loud voice made an announcement to the camp in the kiowa tongue, after which he repeated to tom what he had told his people. "this old fellow," explained tom to the captain, "is named lobo. he told the indians that i said: 'these two white men are our good friends. one of them is a captain of soldiers from the fort. they heard that our chief was very sick and they have come all the way from the fort to bring some more good medicine for to hausen. they are good men an', kiowas, you must be good to 'em. our camp an' all that we have is at their service. make them welcome, kiowas.' "now," continued tom, "as lobo says, 'the camp is yours.' he has given orders to his women to unsaddle your horses an' unpack your mule, an' some of the youngsters will drive your animals out an' put 'em in the herd. he has also ordered the women to clear out one half of his lodge for your use, an' your saddles an' beddin' will be carried in an' placed there, where you are to sleep. you are at liberty to go where you please about the camp, enter any lodge you choose, an' you'll find 'em all friendly and agreeable; an' you an' everything you have will be perfectly safe so long as you are their guest. now, you'll have to excuse me, for i must go to my patient." "by the way, how is the old chief?" asked the captain. "pretty feeble. his age is against him, for he must be up in the seventies. i'm getting the fever pretty well under control, and if he gets no backset i think i can pull him through. i have my bed close by him an' i try to keep the lodge at as even a temperature as possible; but i have to do most everything myself, for these injuns can't be made to savvy how to take care of the sick. now, i must go." after seeing our animals sent out to the herd and our saddles and bedding taken into lobo's lodge, we went inside, spread our bed, and then took a stroll about camp. everything here--the indians, their dress and habits--was new, strange, and deeply interesting to captain saunders, who had never before seen a wild indian. noticing to hausen's dilapidated old ambulance standing near his lodge, i said: "captain, do you see that old government ambulance?" "yes," he replied, "and i have been wondering at it and was going to ask you if many of the indians have such vehicles?" "no. i don't know of another indian on the plains who sports an ambulance or any other wheeled vehicle to ride in. i must tell you how he came by this one. in the spring of ' the kiowas were becoming restless, and disregarding the warnings and advice of the old chief, who was always friendly to the whites, they were inclined to follow the lead of satank, who is always unfriendly. they were threatening to go on the war-path. our command of four companies of first cavalry, under major john sedgwick, was sent out on the plains from fort riley with orders to range along the arkansas river to try to keep the indians in subjection. the pike's peak gold excitement was at its height then, and an outbreak of the indians would be a serious affair. old to hausen tried hard to keep the kiowas peaceable, but succeeded in holding only this small band of about a hundred warriors, the rest of the tribe following satank. to hausen often visited our camps and our officers often gave him and his adherents presents. our quartermaster, lieutenant james b. mcintyre, had this old ambulance on hand, and, as it was about played out, he got it condemned by a board and was thinking of burning it to get rid of the old trap, when it occurred to him to make a present of it to to hausen if he would accept it. the old fellow was very much pleased to think of riding about in such a rig as our commanding officer sometimes used. lieutenant mcintyre had his blacksmith put the old rattletrap in serviceable shape; and then put harness on a pair of the old chiefs mustangs and had them broken to work by some of the soldiers and turned the outfit over to to hausen. but neither he nor any of his men could learn to use the lines and, after a few efforts they dispensed with the lines altogether, and, putting a boy on each bronco of the team, they have since navigated the ambulance in that shape. indian-like, they generally travel at a gallop, whether the ground is smooth or rough, and often break something, but they tie it up with rawhide to hold the parts together till they can get to fort larned or fort lyon, and then the quartermasters have their men patch it up again for the old man." as evening approached we returned to the home of lobo, where a good fire burning in the centre of the lodge made it quite comfortable except for the smoke that nearly blinded us; but by lying down on our blankets we found we could avoid this discomfort. tom dropped in for a few minutes to see how we were getting along and to tell us that under the stimulating influence of the whiskey i had brought the old chief was showing a decided improvement. two women had for some time been busy cooking a meat stew in a kettle that hung over the fire. after a time i brought out and gave them some coffee, sugar, and hardtack that i had brought in my saddle pocket to add to the meal. after lifting the big kettle off the fire, the women, with a great horn spoon, ladled out a dishful of the stew to each of the guests first, and then to lobo. we ate hungrily. lobo was the last one to "throw up the sponge" and announce his perfect satisfaction by a prolonged indian grunt, and then as he leaned back against a pile of bedding, he added: "muy wano!" before eating i had handed a plug of tobacco to lobo, who had whittled off enough to fill a great red-stone pipe and then returned the plug to me. i tried to induce him to keep the plug, but he declined. as tom had intimated would be the case, a number of men dropped in after supper to call on lobo and his white visitors, and the big red pipe was then brought out, lit with a coal of fire, and put on its travels, each taking a puff and passing it to the next. the indians evidently appreciated the free tobacco i was furnishing, for the pipe was soon smoked out, refilled, and emptied again and again, till all were fully sated. after this some talk was indulged in, and then the visitors went out one by one, till only the captain and i and lobo's family remained. saunders and i soon after removed our coats and boots and turned in. during the evening the woman had carried in several armfuls of wood and piled it convenient to the fire in the centre of the lodge, and, the weather being quite cold, she got up several times during the night to replenish the fire. saunders and i were both awake by daylight, but, as our host and his family and the dogs still seemed soundly sleeping, we kept our bed for a time to avoid disturbing them. finally, old lobo crawled out and, wrapping his buffalo robe around him, went outside the lodge. in a few minutes we heard him, in a loud voice, haranguing the camp, and a few minutes later the camp was all astir. after breakfast, on telling lobo that we wished to return to our camp, two of his boys drove the herd into camp and roped our animals, which were quickly saddled and packed. i took the remains of the plug of tobacco and the packages of sugar, coffee, and hardtack out of our saddle pockets, carried them into lobo's lodge, and laid them down. captain saunders, feeling disposed to reward the two boys for taking care of our animals, offered each a silver half dollar. their young eyes brightened at sight of the money, for they knew it would buy them something nice at the trader's store, but a hesitating glance at lobo seemed to decide them to refuse the proffered gifts, and with a pleasant, "no quiero, señor" ("don't want it, sir"), which their looks belied, they turned away. "give them to me, captain," i said, "and i'll place them where they won't reject the money." i carried the two silver pieces into the lodge and put them with the other things. no objection was made to my leaving these presents where they could be found, but indian hospitality forbade them openly to accept gifts from a guest. at dinner jack proposed that captain saunders and he should go out that afternoon and kill some buffalo and put out some poison. the captain was eager to go, for he was quite without experience in this form of sport. after saunders was armed, equipped, and mounted he and jack rode away and i turned to and attended to the dinner dishes. it was near sunset when they got back to camp, reporting that they had killed and poisoned some buffalo, and captain saunders had killed also an antelope, the carcass of which he had tied on behind his saddle and brought in. "l'ave the captain alone for the makin's of a plainsman," exclaimed jack as he dismounted and began unsaddling. "he'll need but little more instruction from any of us. he catches on quick. he'll soon be like an old hand at the business. an' that horse of his is all right, too. ain't a bit afeard of a buffalo an' goes at 'em like he was used to it." "possibly the captain has had more experience of this kind," i suggested inquiringly, "than we have supposed." "not a bit of it," replied saunders. "this is actually my first glimpse of frontier life; but i have always been interested in such matters and have read everything i could find on the subject and have talked to old plainsmen and in that way have acquired some ideas of such things. i wish i could stay with you a week or two and hunt buffalo and antelope, for it is noble sport; but this isn't what uncle sam is paying me for, and i must go back to fort larned to-morrow. still, i consider this time well spent, for the experience i am getting out here is certainly valuable to one who expects to do service on the plains." "we shall be sorry to lose your company, captain," i replied; "but, if you are going in to-morrow, why not take your antelope along as a trophy of the trip? the weight will not be much, and we can fit it behind the cantle of your saddle and tie it on so it will ride nicely." "yes," added jack, "but that will have to be done to-night, for it'll freeze hard before morning, and then you can't fit it on. i'll fix it now." he placed saunders's saddle upon some sacks of grain, bent the antelope carcass to fit snugly behind the cantle, tying the feet down to the cinch rings, and left it to freeze in that position. after supper jack played the fiddle awhile, and we sang some songs; but saunders seemed more interested in drawing us out to tell of our soldier experiences on the frontier and kept us yarn spinning till late bedtime. in the morning, after breakfast, he struck the trail for fort larned. chapter xx we trade with indians for the next week or two, although the weather had turned stormy, jack and i put in all the time we could at poisoning and skinning wolves. it was now getting well along in february--nearing the close of the season for taking pelts. we had already taken about twenty-five hundred and were anxious to make our winter's catch an even three thousand before quitting. tom's patient, old to hausen, had so far recovered that tom had returned to our camp, but still made an occasional visit to the kiowa village, where, on account of his success in treating the old chief and others, his services as medicine-man were now much sought by the afflicted indians, to the utter neglect of old broken nose, their own medicine-man, who seemed jealous of tom's popularity. one day jack had gone out alone, riding old vinegar the buckskin bronco, to kill some buffalo, and in a short time he came back to camp afoot, carrying his saddle and bridle. "what's happened? where's vinegar?" we asked anxiously. "vinegar's done for--dead," he answered as he threw down the saddle and bridle, "an' i'm in big luck myself to be here to tell it. it was this way: i was chasin' a bull, an' shot him but had got too close or the bronco was too slow turnin' to get away--anyway the bull got his head under vinegar an' heaved both him an' me into the air, an' we come down in a heap; but by good luck the buffalo went on without stopping to make further fight, or he might easy have finished both of us. i scrambled to my feet, vinegar still lying where he fell, with his paunch ripped open an' entrails hanging out. with a great effort he got up onto his feet, but his insides were hanging to the ground, and there he stood a-looking at me pleading like an' a-groaning as much as to ask me to put him out of his misery, which was all i could do for him; so i put my pistol to his head and finished him." on tom's next trip to the kiowa camp, on mentioning to old to hausen the bronco's being killed, the old chief had his herd driven in, and selecting a good pony--one he had used in his ambulance and so knew its working qualities--he insisted on tom's taking it to replace vinegar. about this time, the weather having apparently settled for a mild spell, captain saunders and wild bill came over from the post on their way to the kiowa village. since returning from nursing the old chief, tom had said little about the ill feeling that he had stirred up in old broken nose, the kiowa medicine-man, but, overhearing a conversation between him and wild bill, i learned that tom was feeling uneasy about this. he suspected that broken nose had sent a message to satank which, he feared, boded us no good. he asked bill to try to find out something about it. after their return next day, at supper tom informed us that while at to hausen's camp bill had discovered that old broken nose had really sent to satank a secret message, the bearer of which had not returned. bill could not learn what the message was, but from the old indian's evident hostility toward tom, and from certain unfriendly remarks he had been heard to make concerning our killing so many buffalo and other game, there were good reasons to suspect that his purpose was to stir up satank's well-known animosity toward the whites in general, and direct his attention to us in particular, in order to even up with tom by bringing the hostiles down on us. some of to hausen's people had told bill, in a friendly way, to warn us to be sure to close up our work and get away from here, or else look out for trouble from satank's band as soon as the new grass began to come; but they did not seem to think that satank's horses would be in condition for him and his warriors to make a raid on us before the grass got up. the fact that a few of to hausen's followers denied the report that broken nose was trying to make trouble for us led bill to conclude that some of them were not so friendly to us as they pretended. after stating the situation, tom went on: "bill says it ain't likely that satank will be in a condition to make any move for two or three weeks yet, and by that time we'll be done skinning wolves and out of here; but there's a possibility that the old rascal may make a forced march, in order to catch us before we can get away. in that case we may have to fight. he might be able to find a few of his ponies that are able to travel and mount a party of his men and ride over here to see what we're doing; or, if he and his bucks get very anxious for a row, they might make the trip afoot. anyway, from now on, we've got to keep a sharp lookout for injuns or fresh signs in this neighborhood, an' also a close watch of to hausen's camp; for if satank should come over this way he'd be apt to go there first thing. to hausen himself an' most of his people are friendly to us, but it's more'n likely that some of 'em'll be ready to give satank any information about us that he wants." wild bill had seemed rather serious and thoughtful this night--and it was so uncommon for him to remain serious long at a time that it attracted my attention--and as we were about to turn in he remarked: "boys, as tom says, it's best to be prepared for emergencies, and if anything serious should happen to you, such as satank an' his warriors a-looming up of a sudden and a-jumping your camp or corralling you, an' you could manage to send word to me, the captain an' i'll mount some of his soldiers and come right over. now, i'll tell you how you can send me word"--untying a bead necklace which he wore around his neck. "i'll leave this with you. hang it somewheres handy, and if you have need of help just write a few words on a slip of paper, tie it 'round the necklace, then hold the necklace to found's nose and let him get the scent; then tie it 'round his neck, point to the fort, and say to him: 'go to bill!' he'll savvy, for he's been trained to it, and he'll go a-flying till he gets to my quarters. now, mind you, you may not have any occasion to send for me at all; you're likely to finish up your wolf skinning an' get away from here before satank gets around; but if anything should happen that you need us, do as i've told you, an' we'll come a-curling and help you out. is it a whack, cap?" appealing to saunders. "it is," replied the captain, "and to be prepared for such a call--though i hope they'll have no occasion to make it--i'll have an understanding with the major when i get back, so that if it should come in the night i will be allowed to take my company out of the post as quickly as possible, without calling on him or disturbing the rest of the garrison." "that's a good idea," added bill. "it'll save a heap of time." "well," said old tom, "we'll try an' not put the captain an' bill to so much trouble unless it's a case of dire necessity. i hardly think that satank will make war on us, an' if he should, we're pretty well fixed for fighting an' can give him a good tussle before we call on our neighbors for help." "i'm not scared about it," replied bill, "an' i know you boys ain't, for this is just an emergency arrangement. but i tell you right now, tom, if there's any fighting an' you don't give me a show i won't like you for it." i took the bead necklace and hung it in a conspicuous place on the wall, little thinking that we would ever have occasion to use it, and sincerely hoping that we would not; but i felt that both bill and tom, who understood indian ways best, really anticipated trouble with them and were mentally preparing to meet it. after the departure of our guests next morning each of us went about his accustomed duties as usual. after several days had passed and nothing had occurred to arouse our uneasiness we gradually regained our accustomed assurance, but i know that while out hunting or skinning wolves i was more keenly watchful than formerly, and several times on returning to camp i had noticed tom coming down from the nearest bluff with the field-glass in his hand, indicating that he had been scanning the surrounding country. i noticed, too, that lately, whenever the team was sent over to the fort, in addition to the usual batch of baled wolfskins, tom was now sending other stuff, such as surplus grain and provisions--anything, in fact, that could be dispensed with in the camp and reduce our outfit, as he said, to "light marching order," for we thought now in a couple of weeks more we would be ready to break up camp and go in. of the three, jack was by far the most indifferent, for, as he said, "it's time enough to bid the divil good morning when you meet him." since to hausen's band had located near us we had had frequent visits from some of his people, when the weather was fair, and had struck up quite a profitable trade with them for buffalo robes, dressed deer and antelope skins, with a few otter, beaver, panther, wildcat skins, and the like, paying for them in coffee, sugar, flour, or tobacco. and since returning from his attendance on the old chief tom made it a point to visit him every few days, ostensibly to see how the old fellow was getting along, but more particularly to try to find out if any intercourse was passing between satank's band and to hausen's. to hausen seemed sincere in his efforts to befriend tom and, so far as he could, kept tom informed; but for obvious reasons he had to be secret about it. not much going and coming between the two bands was to be expected, however, for the weather was still quite severe and stormy a great part of the time, the distance between the two camps considerable, and indian ponies at this season of the year were poor and weak. in our traffic with the old chief's people we had given them a liberal exchange for their skins and peltries--far more than they would have received from the traders--we being satisfied with about one hundred per cent. profit on the goods we traded them instead of three to four hundred per cent. as was the custom with men regularly engaged in the trade. the indians were not slow to see that we were giving them more for their stuff than they usually received from the traders, and our commerce with them increased. soon we found that we were gathering in so much of this material that it became a serious question how we were going to smuggle it into our storeroom at fort larned, or beyond there, without weisselbaum's knowledge, or, in case we sold our skins to him, how to account for those we had traded from the indians. he had a trader's license from the government, and we had nothing of the kind. according to law, we were trespassing on his rights, in which the commanding officer at fort larned was in duty bound to protect him. when we began trading with the indians we had not thought of these difficulties, but, having got into it, we determined to bluff it out and trust to luck for some future plan to suggest itself to us for getting through. chapter xxi jack's close call on the plains a prairie fire is always something to be dreaded, for with the usual breeze, which often amounts to a gale, a fire in heavy, dry grass is almost invariably uncontrollable and a source of terror to the luckless traveller who happens to be in its track. such a fire originates most commonly from the embers of a camp-fire--left by some careless or inexperienced traveller--blown by a rising wind out into the adjacent dry grass or, in the spring of the year, by fires purposely set out in the old grass by the indians to clear the ground for the next crop. an essay might be written on prairie fires and the dangers from them and on the best means of fighting them. i have now only to tell of how one of us was caught in one. for the next few days after wild bill and captain saunders had left us we were all busy taking in wolf pelts. the season was fast passing, and we yet lacked several hundred skins of the three thousand that we had declared that we would gather before quitting. one cold, windy day, when a gale was blowing from the northwest, jack started out alone and afoot--he said it was too cold and windy to ride--to kill a few buffalo wolf baits. crossing the creek below the beaver dam, to look for buffalo in the prairie beyond, he soon passed out of sight, while tom and i busied ourselves taking up the dried skins and baling them. we heard the report of jack's carbine occasionally and knew by the direction of the sounds that he was to windward of camp--about northwest. after jack had been out for some time tom took the field-glass and went up onto the bluff south of our camp, from which he could view the prairie north of the creek. he gazed long and intently through the glass in jack's direction and presently started back to camp on a run. i knew that something unusual was up. we had heard no uncommon firing from jack, but, on seeing tom hurrying down the hill, my thought was: "indians about or jack's in trouble." dropping my work, i rushed down into the dugout, seized both rifles, and, with a few blocks of cartridges, ran back up onto the bank again, looking first toward tom and then to the timber north of us. there was no sign or sound of an enemy. when the old man arrived, breathless from running, he noted my preparations for war and gasped out as fast as he could catch his breath: "no! no injuns! see the big smoke over the tree tops? prairie's all afire out that way! comin' fast! i'm afraid jack's caught in it. i saw him just before i noticed the fire. he was out in the bottom 'bout midway between the timber and the lodge-pole trail, a-working on a buffalo he'd killed, and just then i noticed a lone injun riding along the trail the other side of jack; and i saw the infernal rascal halt when he got right to windward of jack, and dismount and squat down in the grass; and then come a puff of smoke and the prairie was afire. and then the injun got on his pony and galloped along the trail a piece and fired the grass again. and this he repeated several times. the cuss had seen jack and fired the grass to try to burn him up, and i'm afraid he's done it, for i don't see how jack could escape without he could fly, for when i left the bluff the fires had all run together and were a-coming toward jack like a race-horse, in a wall of flames that seemed to leap twenty feet high at times." "what can we do, tom?" i asked. "can't we do something to help him?" "i don't see what we can do," replied the old man with a look of despair, "but you run down to the stable and clap the saddle onto prince, and be ready to go and look for what's left of him soon as the fire burns out. it'll stop when it gets to the creek and quick as the smoke clears away so's you can stand it, you be ready to light out." i rushed to the stable and he followed me, talking as i saddled up. "near as i could make him out through the glass, i believe it's that infernal old broken nose that's done this job. it looked some like him and i noticed he climbed on and off his pony like an old man." i soon had prince saddled and led him up onto the bank, where we impatiently waited what seemed an endless time but was really only a few minutes. the fire was now roaring and crackling just beyond the strip of timber bordering the creek. the smoke would probably have been stifling in our camp by this time, but on striking the timber the wind had given it an upward pitch that sent most of it above us. the fire kept up such a roaring and rushing noise that i began to fear that the wind might carry some of it across the creek, but as soon as it entered the timber on the north side, where the grass was shorter, a marked subsidence was apparent. i mounted and moved up to the south bank of the creek, anxious to be off on my search for jack, but a dense cloud of smoke and flying ashes whirled through the trees from the burnt ground for some minutes after the fire seemed to have exhausted its fury, and, impatient as i was, i yet had to wait before venturing to enter the burnt district. as soon as i could endure it i crossed the creek and started, still half blinded and choked by the flying smoke and ashes, which so obscured my vision that i could see but a short distance ahead. the fire now was all gone except here and there a few buffalo-chips still burning, but the hot smoke-and-ashes-laden air was stifling. i struck a gallop, to hurry through the worst part of the ground, and soon began to get out into a little clearer atmosphere, and was greatly rejoiced to see jack coming toward me though yet some distance off. i noticed that though he was coming with the wind he walked unsteadily, as though nearly exhausted, stopping now and then to sit down and rest. the air was yet so murky that he had not noticed me until i came near him, when, staggering to his feet from an old buffalo skull he had been sitting on, he waved his hand weakly and tried to whoop, but the effort set him to coughing as he halted and leaned on his rifle. as i reached him i noticed that his wolfskin overcoat that he wore at starting from camp was missing and his other clothes were much soiled, apparently having been wet in places, coated with adhering soot and ashes, and now frozen by the cold wind. "why, jack!" i exclaimed as i reined up and dismounted, "how in the world did you live through the fire? and how did you get your clothes wet?" "in the buffalo," he answered as he again began coughing. "in what?" i asked in perplexity. "in a buffalo?" as he attempted to explain, still coughing, i interrupted him with: "never mind, jack; don't try to talk. i savvy. here, let me help you on prince, and when we get to camp you can tell us all about it." helping him on the horse, i walked alongside of him to camp, but insisted that he should not try to talk until his lungs got clear of the smoke and ashes he had inhaled. when he had answered my questions as to how he had escaped the fire and got his clothes wet by replying, "in the buffalo," i was at first puzzled; but gradually the explanation dawned on me. he had tried the exploit i had read of to him and tom the other night out of cooper's "the prairie." on reaching camp i hurriedly told tom of jack's exploit and his condition and suggested that no questions be asked for the present. we helped him into the dugout and put him to bed. i explained to tom how, as i conjectured, jack had escaped the fire but the irishman was not in a condition to tell us about that, though it was with difficulty that we kept him from trying to talk. by the next forenoon our irishman was able to talk without much difficulty. "well, sir," he began in a weak voice, "i believe it's the closest call i've had this long time, and i never want to get into such another tight place, where breath is so scarce. i'd killed the buffalo and begun ripping open the hide to skin it back, and just then i got a smell of grass a-burning, and, looking up, i saw in a jiffy what a trap i was in and no way out of it unless i could fly. suddenly i thought of that skame that peck read about the other night, and in a minute i was cutting and slashing in blood up to my shoulders. "i ripped open the throat and cut off the windpipe and cut loose everything around the lights inside as far as i could reach. then i started in behind the brisket and ripped open the belly and reached in and got a holt of the windpipe and begun pulling the entrails back, and all the time i was too busy to look up to see how nigh the fire was a-getting; but i knew by the smoke thick around me and the roar of the fire that i didn't have any time to fool away. "when i got the in'ards dragged out i placed my wolfskin coat over the opening i'd made in the breast and then propped up the short ribs and flank with me carbine so's i could crawl in, and in i went, pulling my carbine in after me; and none too soon, either, for the fire was roaring around me and i could smell the wool a-burning in a second after i'd got inside. "and then's when i begun to smell hell for sure! the little bit of fresh air that was inside the buffalo soon gave way to hot smoke, and oh, man! it was horrible! i hope i may never come so nigh suffocation again. "after the fire had passed and i began to breathe again, i felt weak and all gone, like i hadn't strength enough to crawl out of the carcass. i wondthered whether you would ever find my remains. i laid there awhile and by and by i began to feel better, and then i crawfished out backwards. after shaking myself together i says to myself, says i, 'never say die, jacky boy! you're better than two dead men yet, so you are!' and picking up my carbine i made a brave stagger for camp, but if you hadn't met me with the horse it's a long time i'd 'a' been getting here, so i would." chapter xxii satank arrives early march found us closing up our affairs at the camp, preparatory to starting back to the settlements. we had succeeded in taking a few more than our three thousand wolfskins; and in addition to these we would have nearly a wagonful of bales of the dressed buffalo robes and other skins we had traded for with to hausen's people, together with the beaver, otter, antelope, and other pelts we had taken in our camp. we had hauled all our baled wolfskins over to fort larned and stored them there as fast as they accumulated, but retained in camp for the last load our otter and beaver skins and the peltries we had gotten from the indians; for we thought it best not to bring these latter under the notice of weisselbaum, for fear he should make trouble for us for encroaching on his indian trade. as a prospective buyer he had kept close watch of our wolfskins, as we stored them, and was anxious to buy our whole catch; but we had stood him off, saying that we thought we could do better with them in leavenworth. we had heard that kitchen's freighting train from new mexico was on the road, going in empty, and would pass fort larned in a few days, and had decided that if we could not get weisselbaum up to our figures, we would ship them in that way. after an early dinner, tom and jack had started for the fort with the mule team, taking a partial load of the last of our wolfskins--a half dozen bales--and some camp plunder. i do not think that my comrades were as much alarmed as i was at the thought of the hostiles dropping in on us. they seemed to be borrowing no trouble on that account and, for fear of being ridiculed by them for my cowardly fears, i had kept my thoughts on this subject to myself. on this day we had all seemed unusually jolly; even tom's grim features occasionally relaxed into a pleasant smile at some sally from our wild irishman. our spirits were high, for we had grown tired of buffalo hunting and wolf skinning, with all the attendant hardships and excitements, and were now eager to get back into "god's country" with our profitable cargo of skins, to reap the reward of our winter's hard work. as i stood looking after tom and jack as they drove away, i thought: "to-morrow they'll be back, and the next morning we'll load up the last of our camp outfit and will soon be beyond the reach of satank and his crowd." while still standing on top of our dugout watching the receding wagon a growl from found, at my feet, caused me to look down at him; and following the direction of his look, down the ravine toward the timber, i saw an indian boy afoot stealthily approaching, every now and then casting furtive glances behind him as though fearful that he might be seen by some one in the timber. i at once recognized the boy as one of to hausen's sons and, quieting the dog, awaited his approach. following a path skirting the edge of the water in the ravine, when he had reached the platform between our dugouts, he again looked cautiously about and beckoned me to come down where he stood. when i neared him he said in his broken english: "to hausen, my fadder, he say tell you, 'look out! satank comin'!'" and then asked, looking anxiously into my face: "you savvy?" "yes, but where? when?" i hastened to ask excitedly. "kin savvy señor," replied the boy, "that all to hausen, he say, that all; 'look out, satank comin'!' pretty _pronto_, i 'speck. now i mus' vamose. satank he see me here, he kill me." and quickly turning he sneaked down the ravine till he reached the brush and disappeared. to say that i was alarmed at the sudden shock to my recent feeling of confidence is to put it mildly; but i realized that there was no time to waste in idle regrets at the unfortunate turn of affairs. i felt almost helpless and could not decide what to do to prepare for the danger. rushing into the dugout i seized my carbine and, going again up onto the dirt roof, i fired several shots in the hope that possibly the sound might reach my companions, who were still in sight, slowly climbing the hill about two miles away. it was no use--the wind was blowing from them to me, and they moved steadily on, evidently not hearing me. i was hesitating whether to jump on prince, ride after them and hurry them back to prepare for a probable call from the hostiles when a surly growl and bark from found drew my attention another way, and i was almost frightened out of my wits to see two mounted indians coming, one behind the other in single file, along the trail leading from the ford below the beaver dam. they were on the opposite side of the ravine--the stable side--so i moved down onto the platform between the dugouts, where i would have a better position, still hoping that they would turn out to be some of to hausen's people; but a thrill of something akin to horror ran through me on looking closely at the foremost indian when he had reached the top of the bank a few feet from me, for i recognized the sinister countenance of satank. to let him know that i recognized him and understood his probable feelings toward me, i swung my carbine into a threatening position and called out, "halt!" at the same time making the sign to him to stop where he was. he halted at the command, as did the other indian in the rear, and, while keeping a close watch on both to see that they drew no gun on me, i demanded in a defiant tone: "halloo, satank, what do you want here?" satank made no reply, but motioned his companion to his side. i recognized the man as a half-breed, called mexican joe, who had sometimes been used as an interpreter at fort wise. joe was evidently to act as interpreter now. in my defiant attitude and speech i was assuming much more self-confidence than i really felt; but i wished to impress them that i distrusted them, understood their intentions, and was prepared to stand them off or fight. however, neither of the savages made any threatening movement--the time was not ripe for declaring war--they had evidently come on a reconnoitring expedition. as soon as the interpreter had moved up to him satank spoke a few words to mexican joe, who asked in broken english: "where your pardners? other mans? where wagon?" "gone down to to hausen's camp," i said. "he say, 'maybe so you lie,'" said joe, making the sign of the forked tongue; then continued, "any mans in casa--house?" nodding toward the dugout. "yes," i replied. apparently wishing to see the inside of our house--or to get the drop on me in some way--after a few more words between them, joe said: "he say: 'white man come to kiowa's camp kiowa feed him. satank he hungry. want to go in casa, eat with white man--be good amigos.'" i replied: "food all gone. pardners gone with wagon to bring some buffalo meat. tell him to come again when pardners get back. i'll give him plenty to eat." of course, satank did not believe this, and i did not care. i wished to stand him off, for i was determined that he should get no closer inspection of our situation than he already had. i felt sure that he had a party of his warriors close about--probably in hiding in the timber--and that he had come on a spying tour. satank evidently recognized me as one of the actors in an episode that took place at fort wise when i was in the service, and asked a number of questions about it. to all these i replied by denying any knowledge of the event. the interpreter said, however: "he say: 'you can't fool him. he know you.'" i was in dread all the time that they might lift their eyes to the upland prairie in the direction of fort larned, where our white-covered wagon was still in plain view; but a little swell of the prairie hid it from them. after exchanging a few more words in their own language, joe turned to me and said: "adios, good-by, señor. we go--vamose." backing away a few steps, they turned off around the butt of our haystack, and made for the crossing of the ravine just above our dugouts. here they examined the ground closely, evidently looking for fresh tracks of our wagon and mules to see which way they had gone. as soon as they crossed the ravine i returned to my station on the dirt roof of our dugout where i could watch their movements. when they reached the higher ground and our fort larned trail the fresh tracks of the team gave them their clew. pointing to the fresh signs, satank's eyes followed the course of the trail until he caught sight of the wagon in the distance, just as it seemed to reach the crest of the high prairie about three miles away. with an excited exclamation he pointed out his discovery to his companion, and then mounting rode off at a lively gait. i conjectured that satank would either pursue the wagon or bring his men to attack my position--probably both. in either case it was of the utmost importance that i warn my comrades, which now seemed an impossibility; and while fretting at my helplessness i looked down at found, at my feet, and the inspiration came. "good!" i shouted, "i'll send the dog!" rushing down into the cabin i seized a piece of paper and hastily wrote on it: _look out for satank and his gang! they are after you! i am o. k., so far._ peck. quickly tying this slip to found's collar and taking down an old cap of tom's from which to give the dog the scent, i hurried back on top of the dugout. i spoke to the dog and then pointed to the covered wagon, still plainly visible, and for fear he did not see it i lifted him up in my arms, pointed again to the far-off wagon, repeating the names, "tom--jack!" the intelligent creature looked up into my face, as i set him down, and then at the wagon, barked and wagged his tail vigorously as though he thought he understood me. i then pointed again to the wagon, held tom's old cap to his nose, and said, "_go to tom_," motioning with my hand toward the wagon. found looked carefully all around, as though to see if there were any indians about, and then instead of following the wagon tracks, as i supposed he would, he started down into the bottom of the ravine, the head of which led toward the wagon; and after going a few rods, stopped and looked inquiringly back at me, as if to ask: "am i right?" [illustration: "go to tom."] "yes, yes," i answered impatiently as i motioned him away, "go to tom! go to tom!" the dog seemed now fully to comprehend my wishes, and lit out up the ravine on a lively run, now and then disappearing from my view for a moment in the sinuosities of the gulch. i turned to go down into the cabin to get the field-glass, the better to watch the progress of the dog, and in doing so i instinctively cast my glance in the direction of the point of timber where satank and joe had entered a few moments before, and there saw a party of mounted indians hurrying out of the woods and starting across the prairie after the team. the kiowas were about as near the wagon as found, and it seemed that it would be a close race between the dog and indians as to which would reach the team first. with the field-glass i watched the advance of indians and dog with excited anxiety. the pursuers and my messenger had entered broken ground between the creek valley and the upland, and i could catch only occasional glimpses of them. to get a better view i climbed up on the derrick, where we usually hung our fresh meat, which gave me a few feet more of elevation. i tried to count the indians as they started in pursuit of the wagon and made out that they numbered about forty. i had watched first found and then the kiowas through the glass until the dog had proceeded so far that he had passed out of sight on the upland, still running; and the indians could only be seen at intervals; but i could not tell which was nearer the wagon. the indians were approaching it from the right and rear, while found would be coming from nearly behind. tom and jack, i knew, would be sitting on the seat in the wagon, under cover of the sheet, unsuspicious of danger; the rattling of the wagon would drown any noise of the galloping indians; and their first intimation of the presence of the kiowas--unless found reached them in time--would be a volley of bullets and arrows as the redskins surrounded them. i focused my glass steadily on the white wagon cover, knowing that the halting or turning of the team would indicate that my messenger or the pursuers had reached them. if found got there first the team would stop; tom and jack would discover the indians and then quickly jump out, unhook the mules and tie them to the wheels of the wagon; and then i would hear the reports of their rifles first. if the indians got there first and surprised my comrades i would probably hear the reports of the kiowas' rifles before the wagon stopped, and the frightened mules would then start on a run. riveting my gaze on the wagon, i was presently gratified to notice it halt, and a moment later the two familiar reports of sharp's carbines assured me that they, tom and jack, had got my warning and had fired the first shots. "good!" i shouted when i heard their rifles. "ten to one an indian saddle or two was emptied by those shots!" then a straggling rattle of firearms, with now and then the report of a sharp's, indicated that the fight was on. the bobbing up and down of the heads of galloping indians passing between me and the wagon showed that the redskins were circling around the team; and as they passed to right and left of the wagon they seemed to be keeping a respectful distance. the firing slackened. just then some mounted men and animals came running in my direction, and as they came near enough to be distinguishable through the glass i made out that the two team mules had gotten away from tom and jack, after being unhitched from the wagon, and were now making for camp, chased by a number of kiowas. the indians soon caught the mules and led them back. the firing had now nearly ceased. of the wagon i could only see the white cover. the indians seemed to have formed a circle around my comrades and were probably waiting for night to enable them to crawl up near enough to make their rifles effective. this they could do in the darkness, and by digging rifle-pits at close range around the wagon they would have tom and jack under a circle of rifle fire by daylight. chapter xxiii surrounded by kiowas as the shades of evening crept over the plain it became impossible for me to see anything distinctly. the occasional reports of their carbines assured me that my companions were still standing off the savages. i kept asking myself: "what can i do to help them?" but there was no reply. i had no inclination to eat or sleep but prepared for a long, dismal night of watchfulness. after attending to the horses in the stable i went into our dugout and carried out some blankets and a buffalo robe, and, making a snug bed in the remains of our haystack, where i could command a pretty good view of our camp and surroundings, i settled down for a long night of torturing anxiety. i had scarcely got settled when a slight noise from up the ravine attracted my attention, and, quickly jumping to the conclusion that some of the indians were already looking for me, i strained eyes and ears to locate the one who had made the noise. i soon discerned a dark object coming down the hollow, but, instead of the catlike tread of an approaching indian, with rushing gallop and joyous bark found came bounding up to me. in the semidarkness i saw something whitish about his neck, which i knew must be a message from tom and jack. rushing into the dugout, i lit a candle, and, untying from found's collar a piece of paper, i read tom's hastily scrawled note: peck: _the injuns have got us corralled and got the mules. both of us wounded but not bad. laying under the wagon with the bales of wolf skins around us. send us a few carbine cartridges by found, and put bills necklace on him, so we can send him on for bill. look out for yourself._ tom. "no time to be lost," i said to myself; and, sitting down, i quickly wrote on the reverse side of tom's note: bill: _come quick with soldiers. tom and jack are about three miles out on larned trail. read other side. i am o. k. at camp, so far._ peck. i fed the good dog, and, tying up four packs of sharp's rifle cartridges--ten in a pack--in an old handkerchief, i made ready to send found off. i first intended to tie the package around his neck but decided that he could more easily carry it by the mouth. i tied my note to his collar, gave him a secure hold of the handkerchief of cartridges in his teeth, and taking down bill's bead necklace from the wall i held it to his nose a moment to give him the scent, repeating as i did so, "go to bill! go to bill!" according to his master's instructions. found wagged his tail and looked at me as though he understood my wishes. i felt sure he would first go to tom and jack, who would take the cartridges, read my note to bill, take off the necklace and give him a fresh scent, and send him on to the fort. the tired dog had before him a long and dangerous run of about twenty miles, during which he would have to pass twice through the cordon of watchful indians surrounding my comrades; but it was the only hope of saving the men, and found seemed able and willing for the undertaking. i felt confident that if the kiowas did not kill or cripple him, found would make the trip quickly. he had already evaded the indians in returning to camp, and i felt strong hopes that his almost human intelligence would carry him through. found's first move on going out of the dugout was to go up on the roof and stand there for a little while sniffing the air. then he turned and trotted to the ravine, up which he went at a run. my nest in the hay was a good enough point for observation but not for defence, but i went back there to think things over. the waning moon would rise about midnight. if the indians waited till then before attacking i should command a somewhat clearer view of my surroundings. i thought that the dog should reach the wagon in an hour after leaving me and felt sure that it would not be long after that before he set out on his longer run to the fort. this should take two or three hours, and i could only guess the time that would be occupied in awakening bill and his dressing and rousing saunders and then getting out saunders' company. it seemed to me the troops ought to be on the way by midnight at the latest, and they ought to reach my companions in two hours from that time. i had heard no shots from the direction of the wagon since dark, but a long time after the dog had left me, and while i was watching for the rising moon, i heard a shot or two, apparently from the rifles of the indians, with no reply from the guns of my comrades. i supposed--rightly, as i afterward learned--that found had reached the wagon and that the two men, by lighting matches to read my note, had drawn the fire from the indians. on the other hand, it seemed to me possible that the indians might have seen the dog and killed him. at length a little light appeared in the east. the moon was about to rise, and it must be after midnight. when the moon looked over the tops of the timber and the light grew, i began to scrutinize objects in my vicinity and thought that a little way down the ravine i saw something like a wolf. it seemed to change its position a little several times, but remained too long in one place to be a wolf. i was considering going into the dugout to get the field-glasses but had not yet moved when suddenly a streak of fire, rocket-like, shot up from the object i had been looking at, described a graceful curve, and struck in the hay a few feet from me. it was a fire-arrow shot by an indian, to set fire to the haystack. the indian could not have known that i was lying in the hay but thought that by firing it he would draw me out of the dugout and in the light of the fire would get a good shot at me. i knew it would be folly to try to extinguish the blaze that at once sprang up. i jumped up, gathering blankets and buffalo robes in my arms, to run across to the dugout, and as i rose and showed up against the blaze i heard the crack of a rifle, and felt the shock of a bullet in the bundle in my arms. i was not hurt and dashed for the cabin door, and as i entered on a run i heard the report of another rifle from up the ravine and the spat of the bullet on the door-frame. the hay was now burning briskly, but i felt no anxiety for our horses in the stable almost under the fire, for the thick dirt roof protected them. i closed and barred the door and then scrambled through the tunnel up into the tent and looked out through a port-hole which gave a good view for fifty yards up and down the valley. i caught a glimpse of the indian who had fired the hay as he looked out from behind a projecting bank, but could not see enough of him to justify shooting in the uncertain light. of the indian who had come near hitting me as i entered the cabin, i could see nothing. as i turned to look again at the first indian i saw him stealthily move out from his concealment, crouching down, apparently peering at the cabin door. pushing the muzzle of my carbine through the port-hole in front of me, i took as careful aim at him as i could and fired. i saw that i had hit him, for he dropped his rifle, fell, and rolled into the water but quickly scrambled back to his hiding-place and did not again show himself; but the flash of my rifle had been seen by my watchful neighbor up the ravine, who an instant later sent a bullet through the top of the tent over my head. presently the hay burned out and only the faint light of the moon showed the indistinct objects to me. still i could see well enough up and down the ravine so that neither indian could approach the door of the dugout without being seen. i had been standing on a bale of skins, which enabled me to look out of the port-hole, but now got down and cut another port-hole near the bottom of the tent, so that while lying protected by the bales i could watch for the flash of my neighbor's gun when next he fired. i could not see that the other indian had attempted to recover his rifle and was disposed to think that my first shot had perhaps made him no longer dangerous. while still lying among the bales of fur, looking out of the new port-hole i had cut, my neighbor up the gulch sent another bullet through the tent, above me, that would have hit me if i had remained in my former position. i fired at the flash of his gun, but could not tell whether i had done him any harm. at all events, he seemed discouraged, for no more shots came from either indian. the hole i had cut near the bottom of the tent was on the east side, facing the stable door. the two doors of the tent were on the north and south sides. these i untied and propped a little open so that i could look out either way occasionally; i saw no further signs of activity of the enemy, and toward morning, as the air grew cold, i cut the thongs that bound a bale of buffalo robes and made a fairly comfortable bed, whence i could keep a sharp lookout. it was a long, dreary, wretched night of anxiety. the soldiers did not come, and without them i could see no hope of escape for my comrades or myself. as everything seemed so quiet in my vicinity i slipped down into the dugout, through the tunnel, and brought up some more cartridges and some food and cold coffee. on looking out of my port-hole again i noticed with a hopeless feeling that daylight was fast coming and as yet no sign or sound of the hoped-for rescuers. suddenly i detected the sound of tramping horses' feet, and springing to my feet to get a better view out of the tent door, i looked in the direction from which the sounds came and could see indistinctly a party of mounted men, on the trot, skirting along the foot of the bluffs just southeast of camp, as though intending to pass it from the direction of to hausen's village. "could they be a reinforcement of kiowas going to join satank's party?" i asked myself. "no, they were keeping too well closed up for indians. it must be captain saunders' company, and they have somehow missed the trail that would have taken them to the besieged wagon. but why don't they come here, instead of going by on the trot?" while putting these puzzling questions to myself i was standing with the folds of the tent door slightly parted, peeping out stealthily, lest the bullet of my lurking foe might find me. when the party of mounted men were nearly opposite our tent i noticed one from the head of the column branch off and strike a gallop in my direction, and a moment later the welcome voice of wild bill called out: "halloo, peck, are you still a-kicking?" answering him with an affirmative shout, i stepped out, forgetting for the moment the indian who was watching for a shot at me. he failed to take advantage of the opportunity, for he saw that he was trapped and made a dash up out of the ravine and ran for the nearest point of bushes just back of our burned haystack. i called to bill, who was on the same side of the ravine as the fleeing kiowa: "head him off, bill! kill him! kill him!" the scout instantly turned his horse and dashed after the indian, who, seeing that he could not reach the brush before being overtaken, halted, turned, took deliberate aim at the oncoming horseman, and fired. down went horse and rider in a heap. the kiowa dropped his rifle, drew his knife, and started forward to finish his fallen foe. as bill was now between me and the indian i was afraid to fire for fear of hitting my friend, who, i saw, was struggling to free himself from his dead horse. i ran across the ravine to where i thought i could help bill, and before i reached the top of the bank on the other side i heard a shot and then bill's war-whoop. when i got in sight of them again bill was still lying down, one foot under his dead horse, and the kiowa was lying a few feet from him. i rushed to him and helped to free him from his horse. on getting on his feet he assured me that he was not hurt, and then, looking toward the kiowa and noticing that his enemy was not yet dead, with an exultant war-whoop bill whipped out his knife, sprang to his dying foe, anxious to scalp him. i had been so absorbed in this affair that i had not noticed that captain saunders with his troopers had turned out of his course and now came galloping up to us; seeing which bill called out impatiently to the captain, waving him back: "don't stop here, cap! there's only one injun here, and i've fixed him! we're losing time, and we've lost too much already. i'm afraid them kiowas out yonder'll get away from us yet. shove your men along out that way lively." and then suddenly stopping to listen to a rattle of firearms out toward the wagon, he exclaimed: "there, do you hear that? your lieutenant's opening the ball out there right now and them kiowas'll be coming a-tearing this way in a few minutes. string your men out so's to catch them. i'll overtake you." "but what will you do for a horse?" asked saunders as he gave command for moving: "i'll borrow peck's black horse." saunders immediately put his men on the gallop toward the wagon on the prairie. taking bill's hint of a remount, i rushed to the stable and got prince out, while he was getting his saddle and bridle off his dead horse; and while hurriedly saddling the black horse bill was giving me a brief account of how they came to be here at our camp instead of at the wagon. "found come through to fort larned on time, all right," he said, "and wanted to come back with me, but i locked him in my room. it took an everlasting time for saunders to get his company ready to move. well, after we started, i concluded that the kiowas would hear us a-coming and get away, unless we could get around in their rear. so i got the captain to divide his men, leaving twenty, under lieutenant wilson, to lay around over about ash creek hollow until nigh daylight, and then to move up onto the injuns around the wagon and start them this way, while with the other thirty men we got around on this side of them. we've been riding like the devil, but it was a long ways to go to get around here, and lieutenant wilson was to make the attack on his side at daylight, anyway, and he's a-doing it all right." by this time we had prince saddled, and, springing onto him, as he galloped after saunders's party bill called back to me: "keep a sharp lookout, peck, till we get back here, for there may be some skulkers laying for you in the timber 'round here." chapter xxiv captain saunders' fight glancing around as bill galloped away, i plainly saw, in the bushes at the edge of the timber back of our burnt haystack, two indian ponies tied to some bushes, with saddles and bridles on. they were the mounts of the two kiowas who had entertained me throughout the night and one of whom bill had just killed. the other fellow, who set fire to the haystack, i supposed had made good his escape. and, as i thought this, i naturally turned to look at the spot from where he had fired the burning arrow. "i'm sure i hit him when i shot at him out of the tent," i said to myself. "i wonder if i hurt him much? i'll just step down there and see if there is any blood on the ground." as i approached the spot i saw something like the end of a dirty blanket showing from behind the jutting bank where he had been concealed, and, fearing that the indian, wounded, might be lying there waiting to shoot me, i cocked my rifle and crept cautiously around to where i could see behind the projecting bank; and there lay the indian, sure enough, but without sign of life. on a nearer approach i found he was dead and cold--probably having bled to death soon after i had shot him. on turning the body over to get a good look at his face, i was somewhat astonished to recognize the features of old broken nose, the medicine-man from to hausen's camp. leaving the body where it was, i hurried back to the tent to climb up on the derrick with the field-glass, anxious to see what i could of the fight between the kiowas and soldiers out on the prairie. there was not much to see. saunders' party had been delayed too long in making the detour to get in the rear of the enemy. lieutenant wilson had made his attack at daylight, according to orders, and the indians, abandoning their siege of the wagon, were retreating to the nearest point of the walnut creek timber. from my stand i could see saunders' party trying to cut off the fleeing indians from the timber, but they seemed to succeed in intercepting only a few of the hindmost ones. saunders, wild bill, and party went on in pursuit of the fleeing kiowas until they passed out of sight behind a point of timber. turning my glass toward the wagon, i could see a party of soldiers gathered around it. soon the wagon started moving toward our camp, accompanied by the mounted men. the soldiers must have recaptured the mules and harness. as the wagon party came down the grade from the upland at a brisk trot, it occurred to me that they would all be as hungry as coyotes, and, rushing down into the dugout, i began doing what i could to prepare something for them to eat. lieutenant wilson came galloping on ahead to tell me the results of the fight at his end of the line, not knowing that i had witnessed nearly all of it through the glass. jack and tom, he said, were both wounded, but not seriously. they had killed three kiowas and two ponies before the soldiers arrived, and the latter had killed five more indians and captured several ponies in the attack at daylight. i told the lieutenant what arrangement i had planned for feeding his men--which he said would be satisfactory--and also that we had grain enough to give his horses a feed but no hay. as the wagon came up i rushed to it to congratulate my comrades on their escape and to ascertain the extent of their injuries. "only a few scratches," said jack indifferently, in spite of his pale looks, as he climbed out of the wagon with his left arm in a sling. "i got an arrow through me arm, but tom is worse hurted--a bullet through his thigh but no bones broke. have you anything to eat?" i helped tom out and supported him on one side as he hobbled down to the dugout. meantime, the lieutenant and his troopers were taking care of their horses, after which some of them unharnessed the mules for us while others started a fire and began to cook their breakfast. as i entered the dugout with tom, i noticed my blankets lying on the floor, where i had dropped them on my hurried entry the night before, and after helping the old man to a seat i gathered up the bedding to make him a pallet. in doing this the bullet that old broken nose had fired into the bundle dropped to the floor. "there, tom," i said as i picked it up and handed it to him, "is a last token from your old friend, broken nose." "what? has the old rascal been here? why didn't you kill him?" he asked eagerly. "i did. he's lying down the ravine yonder, a little way. he and another had me corralled here all night, but i got broken nose and wild bill got the other." while i cooked breakfast i told them all about my little affair of the past night. "while the coffee's a-boiling, lieutenant," said jack after i had finished, "come on and we'll go and take a look at the dead injuns. i want to make sure that they're good and dead." as they started out i called to them: "while you're at it, go over to the brush yonder, behind the burnt haystack, and bring in the two indians' ponies. i haven't had time to gather them in yet." in a little while they returned, bringing the horses and tying them to the wagon. "you and bill sure did a good job on them two," said jack as he and wilson re-entered the cabin. "i'm only sorry i didn't have the pleasure of doing the business for old broken nose myself, for i was owing him that." we had just finished eating our breakfast when one of the soldiers called out: "here comes wild bill riding like the devil was after him! wonder what's up?" looking in the direction that saunders's party had gone, we saw the scout coming back alone, riding rapidly. when he reached us he said that captain saunders and two of his men were wounded, one horse killed and several wounded. one soldier was thought to be fatally hurt; and bill had come for our team and wagon to haul them to our camp, as the two soldiers were unable to sit on their horses. we were soon busy hitching up the mules while bill gave us the particulars of their fight. it appeared that in chasing the fleeing kiowas, bill, accompanied by several soldiers, had become separated from saunders and the main party, and the scout, not being at hand to guide the captain, the latter in his eager pursuit of the enemy had made the mistake of closely following the indians into the timber, which blunder they had anticipated and had ambushed the soldiers. "i thought cap. knew better than that," said bill, "but it was partly my fault. i knew he'd never fought injuns before, and i ought to have stayed with him and stopped him short of the brush." in spite of his crippled condition, old tom came hobbling out of the dugout, with his little medicine-chest and a bundle of rags under his arm for bandages, and insisted on going with the team to do what he could for the wounded. jack's wounded arm prevented him from handling the team, so we left him in camp and i went along to drive the mules. lieutenant wilson had received orders to remain at our camp with his detachment until further orders. after being helped into the wagon, tom's foresight prompted him to call to me: "peck, throw in some bedding and get some grub--sugar, coffee, hardtack, and meat--to take along, and a camp kettle and frying-pan and a few tin cups." i remembered the bale of buffalo robes i had cut open in the tent the night before for my own comfort and, calling one of the soldiers to help me, brought them out and tumbled them into the wagon, with the desired rations and utensils. i then took the lines and whip and started at a trot, guided by wild bill riding alongside. as we trotted along i asked the scout: "how many kiowas did you and saunders' party kill?" "the returns are not all in yet," replied bill, "but i think we got seven or eight. i got three of them for my share. that was all i could catch before they got into the timber; and, of course, when they got to the brush i had to give up the chase and let them go." "it's most too good a thing to hope that old satank'll be found among the killed," said tom. "no, i'm afraid we'll not find him among them," replied bill regretfully, "for i reckon his luck has saved him again, unless he may be among them that were killed out near the wagon. if i can get time i'll ride around over the prairie and take a good look at all of them, and the old rascal may be found among them; but i'll be surprised if he is, for he has wonderful luck in getting out of tight places." "don't you think, bill," i asked, "that this was rather a badly managed expedition of old satank's, considering that he has the reputation of being such a successful raider?" "yes, he's made a bad mess of it this time, sure, and a few more such failures'll cause his followers to choose another leader. i think he's losing his grip on the war-path, and we'll soon see satanta or big tree coming to the front as leader of the hostile kiowas. when what's left of these fellows get back to their big village and count noses, there'll be such a howl against old satank that i don't believe he'll ever be able to get much of a following again. you mark what i tell you, satanta or big tree is going to be the war chief of the kiowas hereafter." we found captain saunders and his men about two miles above our camp, dismounted in the edge of the timber near the old indian camp, anxiously awaiting our arrival. saunders himself had his head roughly bandaged with an old handkerchief because of a glancing arrow wound above his right ear, which had bled profusely over his face and clothes but was not serious. his horse had received a bullet in the shoulder which lamed him badly. supposing from saunders' appearance that he was badly hurt, tom was going to him to dress his wounds when the captain said: "never mind me, mr. vance; i'm not hurt much; but if you can help poor dolan there, lying behind that tree, do what you can for him. he is badly hurt--spitting blood and growing weaker--" talking as he led the way to where the wounded man lay. "an arrow went through his breast and lodged in the neck of a horse a couple of rods behind him. i had no idea they could shoot those arrows so viciously." on examining dolan's wound, tom's experience told him that the man was past any help that he could render, for the arrow had gone through the lung, and an inward hemorrhage seemed to be slowly sapping his life. dressing the wound and giving the man a stimulant, tom and the captain consulted together for a moment and then informed the patient that, though his case was quite serious, it was not altogether hopeless and that his only chance was to be hurried back to fort larned, where the post surgeon could give him proper attention. the other man who had been reported wounded had a broken arm. tom splinted and bandaged it, and the two were soon made comparatively comfortable among the buffalo robes in the wagon. several others had received slight wounds but were "able for duty." while this had been going on, saunders' men had gotten out the grub and utensils, fried some meat and made some coffee and now called us up to eat. this was the first intimation to saunders that there was such a luxury as food in the outfit, and as he sniffed the pleasant aroma of the boiling coffee he turned to tom and me and thanked us for our thoughtfulness. "captain," said tom after we had eaten, "it's time that team was on the way to fort larned. what are your plans for getting these men there? if i can help you in any way, i'm at your service." "thanks," replied saunders. "my plan is to send a half dozen men along with the wagon as an escort and some responsible man in charge. i will then move down to your camp and, taking wilson and party from there, move on down to to hausen's village and try to find out whether his people have been harboring these hostiles; and then to-morrow we'll all move into the fort. i will send a requisition in by the team to bring out some grain for the horses to-morrow and any other supplies that we may need. it will be best that we stay and see you all safely into fort larned." then turning to wild bill, he asked: "do you think, bill, that six men will be a sufficient escort to go with the wagon and wounded men--do you think there is any danger of their meeting hostile kiowas?" "none but dead ones," replied bill. "the team can go through all right now." "well," said saunders, "i had thought of asking mr. vance or mr. peck to take charge of the wounded men and see them through." "tom'll be the man for that," suggested bill, "for the wounded men may need some help on the way." "well, that's settled," said tom impatiently, as he started for the wagon without waiting for the captain's decision. "captain, please detail the escort and start them on after me; they can soon overtake us." and, climbing into the wagon, he took up the whip and lines and started. the captain quickly mounted the escort and hurried them after the wagon; and then he himself mounted the horse of one of the wounded men and we set out for our camp, i riding one of the kiowa ponies captured in the fight. the horses were a rather scrawny-looking lot, as the indian ponies generally are at this season of the year--the result of starvation through the winter--but, no doubt, there was in them good mettle that would show itself as soon as the grass came; for the indian warrior always selects his fleetest and toughest horse to ride when going on the war-path. arrived at the camp, captain saunders had his men unsaddle and water their horses and picket them out for an hour's rest before starting down to to hausen's village. some of lieutenant wilson's men had killed several antelope and had cooked up a great lot of the meat, anticipating that saunders' men would come in hungry, as they did. saunders, wilson, bill, and i adjourned to the dugout to eat the meal jack had prepared for us. while we were eating i told captain saunders something of my experience of the previous night and exhibited the bullet that old broken nose had fired into the bundle of blankets in my arms. chapter xxv we part from friends the captain's party returned from to hausen's village about sunset. he said that he had had an amicable and satisfactory talk with the old chief and his followers, all of whom reiterated their former professions of friendship for the whites and declared that they would have no intercourse with the hostiles. "we've got to take that," said wild bill, who had been interpreter at the talk, "with a grain of salt, for while i was there i found out, by pumping some of their youngsters and women, that they were pretty well posted about the whole affair up to the time that lieutenant wilson put in an appearance and stampeded them this morning, which goes to show that a few of to hausen's bucks were with satank up to that time; and in the stampede these fellows must have skedaddled back to to hausen's camp and told about the fight as far as they had been in it. but they didn't seem to know about our part of the fight up the creek nor about old broken nose and this other indian getting their medicine here. i told them about that part of it. and, to make it appear like old nosey had gotten just what was coming to him, i told them that the man who got away with him was the same one that old nosey had tried to burn up when he set fire to the grass out in the bottom that day." "good for you, bill!" exclaimed jack. "i don't want to rob peck of the credit, but it's better to let his people think that i evened up with the old rascal at last." after supper, as night settled down, the cold wind reminded us of another difficulty that few of us had yet thought of. what were we to do for bedding for the soldiers who had come away from the garrison in a hurry without any thought of being out overnight? about tattoo the rattling of a wagon was heard out on the trail toward fort larned. it seemed impossible that tom could be coming back from the fort so soon with our mule team, but a wagon was approaching from that direction. we were all out upon the bank looking and listening and speculating as to who the coming parties could be when we heard the sentry on that side of the grounds challenge: "halt! who comes there?" and then, apparently assuming the right to pass upon the credentials of the newcomers without the regulation formality of calling for the sergeant of the guard, the sentry admitted two mounted men, who came cantering up to the camp-fire. the arrivals were two troopers who reported that a little way behind them two six-mule teams were coming, escorted by a dozen cavalrymen under charge of a sergeant. they had been sent out by the commanding officer, at tom's suggestion, as quickly as they could be hitched up after our team with the wounded men had arrived at the fort. in a few minutes the teams and escort came up, admitted by the sentry. we soon learned the results of tom's trip. the badly wounded soldier, dolan, had died shortly after tom's arrival at the post. on reaching the fort tom drove immediately to the adjutant's office and reported to the commanding officer the result of the fight and the condition of the wounded, and then hurried on to the hospital, followed by the major and several other officers and soldiers, all eager to learn all the particulars. by this time tom's wounded leg had made him so lame that he realized the impossibility of his returning to our camp with the supplies; and our mule team, also, was not in condition to return immediately, so he suggested to the major that a couple of six-mule teams be quickly hitched up and started under escort for the camp with rations and feed for saunders' men and horses; and he very thoughtfully, also, advised sending the blankets of saunders' troopers, all of which was promptly ordered. one team would have been ample to have taken the supplies to saunders, but tom calculated that by sending two the second team, in the absence of our own, could be used, in returning next day, to move our plunder into the post. captain saunders could not say enough in praise of the old man's forethought and unselfishness. "he is certainly a valuable man among soldiers," he said, "for he always seems to know what to do and how to do it." "cap," interjected wild bill, "you will please bear in mind that i suggested that tom was the man to send on that trip." "so you did," admitted saunders, "and you certainly knew your man." i had assigned the use of our tent to captain saunders' guard detail; and by stuffing a bale of skins into the mouth of the tunnel under the tripod, to stop the draught, and carrying the other bales outside, they made for themselves very comfortable quarters. the other men made their beds on the open prairie, outside the tent, with their saddles for pillows; and most of them turned in early, to get out of the cold night wind and from weariness, while a few still sat around the camp-fire talking over the events of the day. the officers and wild bill prepared to sleep with us in the cabin, and after we had spread down our beds i spoke to bill about the events of the morning and the loss of his horse. "yes," said he, "there ain't but one horse in the country that's as good as my charlie, and maybe a little better in some ways, and that's your black prince; and i'm going to try to coax you boys to sell me that horse because i've fell in love with him and i need him bad in my business." "why, bill," said jack, laughing heartily at the scout's guilelessness, "you ain't no sort of a horse trader. when you want to buy a man's horse you should run him down and make him out no account instead of bragging on him." "if i was dealing with horse-jockeys i might do that way," returned bill, "but when i'm a-dealing with honest men who i know won't take any advantage of me i like to deal on the square with them; and i tell you, honest injun, that black prince is about the best horse i ever threw a leg over. i've heard that you boys have refused an offer of two hundred and fifty dollars from some of the officers at the fort. now, i'll tell you what i'll do, i'll give you three hundred for him; and if that ain't enough i'll give you more. i ain't got the money with me, but when we get over to the fort i can get it from weisselbaum. now, what do you say to that?" it was amusing to listen to the unsophisticated proposition of this free-hearted, unselfish fellow. he did not take into consideration that he had just rendered each of us a service of far greater value than several such horses. he did not consider that we were in any way indebted to him on account of his horse being killed in our service. no; that was merely one of the misfortunes of war. but tom, jack, and i, although we had not said a word to each other about it, had each mentally decided that we ought to present the black horse to wild bill to make good his loss and to show our appreciation of his manly response and priceless service in our hour of need. in reply to his question, "what do you say?" and an expressive look from jack, i said: "not having consulted my partners about the matter, bill, of course i can't speak for them, but i think it's a safe guess that you'll get the horse; and there is plenty of time in the future to settle on the price." "well, now, that's the way i like to hear you talk," said he with a gratified smile. "when we get over to the fort, you and jack can talk it over with tom and let me know the price you agree on, and i'll dig up the money." the night passed quietly. as bill had said, the hostiles had been too badly whipped to think of returning to attack us. after breakfast next morning the horses were saddled and the wagons packed; and marching out on the fort larned trail, the company moved first in "column of fours," followed by the two six-mule teams, and then came the "cavvy-yard," driven by the men of the guard acting as "rear-guard." bill, jack, and i rode at the head of the column with the company officers. as we reached the crest of the grade coming onto the upland, about two miles from our recent camp, with the officers we turned out on the side of the trail as the command marched by, to take a parting look at camp coyotelope; and we noticed what appeared to be a number of indians--some mounted and some afoot--moving about in the vicinity of the dugouts. "some of to hausen's people," suggested bill, "looking after the bodies of old nosey and his pard and gathering up the leavings about the old camp. they'll take them two dead bucks back to their camp and bury them." i had dismounted and taken out our field-glass to get a better view of the indians and verified the scout's surmise, for i could plainly see a group gathered about the body of each of the two dead indians, apparently lifting them onto their ponies. "there, peck," said bill, noticing the field-glass i held, "is another thing i'd like to buy or trade you out of, for i got mine broke yesterday morning when my horse fell with me; and i need glasses, and you're going back to leavenworth where you can easy get another pair." as he took the glass to examine it, he asked: "how much is it worth?" "it cost us twenty dollars in leavenworth," i replied. "they are handy things to have on the plains, but we won't need it much going back to the settlements. i'll speak to tom about it and i guess we'll let you have it when we get ready to start on the home-stretch from fort larned." "well, it ought to be worth more out here than it cost you in leavenworth and i'll pay you whatever you think it's worth. of course, i ain't got the money now, for it's going to take all i can borrow, i reckon, to pay you for this horse; but if you'll trust me till i come in to leavenworth, i'll pay you then--that is i'm supposing that you fellows will hang up in leavenworth for a while--anyway, till you blow in your money." "well, as to tom and me," remarked jack, "i believe each of us has planned to take a trip east when we get in, but i think it'll be a safe wager that you'll find peck about leavenworth, for there's a curly-headed girl there that he talks about in his sleep." "well, that do settle it," said bill with a chuckle and a wink at jack. as we passed over the recent battle-field, we rode around and looked at the bodies of all the dead kiowas, hoping though hardly expecting to find satank, but were disappointed--the murderous old fiend had escaped again. these bodies were all considerably torn by the wolves, but their features were still in good enough condition to have enabled us to identify him had he been among the fallen. an inscrutable providence permitted this bloodthirsty demon to roam the plains for several years longer. as we neared the post, several officers and soldiers came out to meet us, anxious to hear all about the fight. the cavvy-yard of captured ponies, with their indian saddles and bridles, together with other trophies of the fight carried by saunders' men, attracted much attention. saunders' men seemed much elated over the fact that this, their first engagement with the indians, had been so successfully planned and executed. as the captain with his company turned off to their stable, bill, jack, and i, accompanied by the six-mule team carrying our plunder, moved on through the garrison and established our camp about a half mile below, in a snug bend of pawnee fork. after unloading our stuff from the wagon, we sent the team back to the garrison and then set about pitching our tent and making ourselves comfortable, for we expected to have to remain here several days, partly on tom's account and partly to wait for kitchen's train, which was coming in from new mexico, by which we expected to ship our wolfskins to leavenworth, provided we did not sell them here. after getting everything in shape, leaving jack to mind camp and cook dinner, bill and i returned to the post to call on tom at the hospital, to release found, who was still locked in bill's room, and to bring our mule team back to camp. we found the old man still badly crippled from the wound in his thigh, but the doctor thought he would be able to travel in a few days. the faithful dog was glad to see us and to be released. he was quite hungry, for he had had nothing to eat since the feed i gave him in the dugout before starting him with the message to bill. as i was hitching up our mule team at saunders' company stable, the captain came by and insisted on my going with him to the commissary and loading in some rations and feed which he had procured a requisition for, to replace the supplies that his men and horses had consumed at camp coyotelope. the work of settling up our business affairs and getting everything ready for the return trip now devolved upon me, though i had the benefit of consultation with tom on all matters of importance. as already stated, our winter's catch of wolfskins numbered something over three thousand. these were all dried and baled in one of weisselbaum's warerooms. about one fourth of these pelts were of the large gray wolves, or "lobos," as the mexicans call them, which, at that time, were rated on the plains at one dollar and twenty-five cents each. the other three fourths were coyotes, worth seventy-five cents each. besides these, there were several bales of the skins of the little yellow fox, worth twenty-five cents each. at these figures, the entire lot should bring us something over twenty-six hundred dollars. on tom's advice i offered the whole to weisselbaum for twenty-five hundred, but he seemed to think he could get them for less and held off. one day when negotiations had reached this stage, kitchen's mule train rolled in and camped near us. this brought business to a focus with weisselbaum and he immediately hurried down to our camp, accepted my offer, and wrote me out a check on clark & gruber[e] (m. e. clark & e. h. gruber), bankers of leavenworth city, for twenty-five hundred dollars. in addition to this, i drew from his safe the three hundred and fifty dollars that we had deposited with him. it is a well-known fact that in the dry, pure atmosphere of the plains, flesh wounds heal with astonishing rapidity. it may have been, in tom's case, that the satisfactory closing up of our business affairs had something to do with it, but about this time jack and i were astonished as well as pleased to see tom come limping into camp and report for duty. bill had sent word by tom that he, captain saunders, and lieutenant wilson were coming down to take supper with us, and just after retreat all three rode into camp accompanied by found. "now, boys," said bill as he dismounted and tied black prince to the wagon, "you haven't told me yet how much you're going to tax me for this horse, and if you'll let me know i'll go right up to weisselbaum's and get the greenbacks for you, for he said he'd let me have them." "we've talked the matter over, bill," said tom, speaking for our party, "an' have concluded that, seeing as how you lost your best horse in our service, and in consideration of the good service you've done us all the way along, an' old-time friendship and so forth, that it'll be no more'n right for us to make you a present of black prince, subject only to the condition that if the rightful owner of the horse ever turns up and claims him you'll then have to make terms with him; but that's a very remote possibility." "do you mean it, tom? is that so, boys?" asked the scout in confused astonishment at such good luck as he looked around from one to another of us. "am i to have that fine horse without paying you a dollar?" "that's what! that's the job we've put up on you," we replied. "well, now, boys--" stammered bill in a diffident sort of way as he seemed to be trying to study up a nice little speech of thanks. "aw, give us a rest!" interrupted old tom in his rough and good-humored effort to help bill out of his embarrassment. "the horse is yours, and i don't want to hear anything more out of you about it." knowing that bill was an expert shot with rifle or pistol, it had occurred to me, since he had expressed a desire to buy our field-glass, to exact of him a sample of his marksmanship as his signature to a promissory note for the price of the glass; and accordingly i had selected the ace of diamonds from our old, much-soiled deck of cards and had written across the face of it: [illustration: $ . on demand, after date, i promise to pay to r. m. peck the sum of twenty dollars, ($ .), for value received. his wild [diamond] bill. mark. fort larned, kan. mar. , .] "but, bill," i put in after tom had cut him off short about the horse, "i ain't going to let you off so cheap on that field-glass deal. you'll have to give me your note for the twenty dollars." "well, i guess i can borrow that much from cap saunders or mr. wilson, here, and pay you the cash," he replied. "no, i don't want the money--i want your note written on this card, signed by a bullet shot by you through the centre of the ace at ten paces." saying which, i produced the card i had prepared and read the inscription to him. "now, i'll tack the card up on this tree here," i continued, "and you are to stand with your back against the card, pistol in hand, step off ten paces, 'bout face, and fire a bullet through the ace. and if you don't knock the centre out it's no go--i'll have to write another note on another ace and you'll have to try it again." "huh! that's easy," said bill with a grin of confidence. "you won't have to waste any more of your cards." i knew he could do it, even at twenty paces, for i had seen him perform such feats before. with the utmost indifference, he backed up to the card on the tree, stepped off ten paces--good, long-legged measure--made a graceful "officer's about face," instantly firing, without apparently taking aim, as he came around facing the card; and we could all see the hole in the centre of the bright-red ace. "by george, that's good shooting!" exclaimed saunders in unfeigned astonishment. "can you do it again, bill, or was that just an accident?" "i'll put another ball in the same hole for you," replied the scout carelessly as he threw up his pistol and fired. saunders' and wilson's incredulity prompted them to step up to the tree and examine the card closely. "guess you must have missed the whole tree that time, bill," said the captain after scrutinizing the card and tree carefully. "the hole isn't made any larger that i can see and i can't find any other hole in the tree." "of course not. i didn't want to spoil the card; but the second bullet is in there, right on top of the first one, and i'll bet a horse on it. now, stand out of the way till i show you another trick. i'm going to take off the right-hand point of the diamond this time." and at the crack of his pistol the right point disappeared--the last hole just cutting into the edge of the first one. "now, look out for the left-hand point." and the left point was gone--all the red being obliterated but a little streak above and below the first hole. "there, peck," he remarked regretfully as he began reloading his pistol, "i had to pretty nigh spoil the card to show these fellows i wasn't a-faking." "don't that beat the devil?" remarked wilson, looking from the target to bill and from bill to the target in undisguised astonishment. "well, i've heard of such phenomenal shooting," said saunders, "but never saw the like before and wouldn't have believed it possible if i hadn't seen it. ain't there some trick about it, bill?" "not as i know of--nothing but what you've seen. now, if you think that second shot missed the tree, cap," remarked the scout as he took down the card and passed it around for inspection, "take that axe, there, and chop 'em all out, and if you don't find four navy balls in there i'll eat the chips." lieutenant wilson seized the axe and soon cut out the four battered but distinct bullets. "i'd give a good deal if i could shoot like that. how do you do it, bill?" asked the captain. "dunno how i do it," replied the scout. "i always could put my bullets about where i wanted to and can't tell how i do it, either. i don't try very hard, but just throw her up and turn loose without taking any particular aim, and somehow the ball goes right where i look. of course, i keep in good practice, and that helps some, i suppose." "practice won't explain it, captain," said old tom. "it's a gift--a natural talent that some men find themselves possessed of. the same as some men have the natural gift of writing a beautiful hand, and do it with all ease, while others, with ever so much practice, can only acquire moderate skill. now, peck, jack, or me, by constant practice, can do fairly well with a pistol or rifle; but we can't hold a candle to bill. the best we could probably do, on an average, at fifteen to twenty paces, would be to put three to four bullets out of six in a playing-card, which would be good shooting at a man, but bill can put every ball just where he wants 'em to go. i've seen him shoot at a five-spot and put a ball in each spot just as somebody would call them off to him, like this, 'centre! upper right! upper left! lower right! lower left!' putting the balls through the centre of each spot as accurately as you could punch them with a nail and hammer. and he can do nearly as well, too, mounted and on the run. but, come, men, supper's getting cold." after supper, although his recently wounded arm was still somewhat sore, jack got out his fiddle and played several tunes, and we all joined in singing songs. in course of conversation i had asked captain saunders what had become of my former patron, lieutenant lang, not having seen him about the garrison recently. "oh, lang's out and gone--resigned by special request. went in on the last santa fé mail-coach," replied the captain. "although you straightened up his company papers and saved him--or his rich daddy, rather--from having to pay uncle sam a lot of money to square up his accounts, still it was evident in many ways that he was totally incompetent to manage a company, and he was given a hint from headquarters that his resignation would be acceptable." tom, jack, and i had previously discussed the propriety of our making a present of some kind to the two officers, in testimony of our appreciation of their extremely prompt and timely response in the hour of our extremity, and, as we had nothing else available or appropriate, we had decided to abandon the plan of each having made a fine fur overcoat out of some of our beaver and otter skins and to give to each officer enough of the furs for that purpose. at late bedtime, when the officers and bill were getting ready to start back to the garrison, tom brought out and gave to saunders and wilson each a package of beaver skins, telling them of the overcoats we had intended to make of them and suggesting that they use them for the same purpose. we also gave each officer a couple of choice buffalo robes. "now, men," said saunders deprecatingly, "don't rob yourselves of these furs to reward us for doing our simple duty. we don't expect anything of the kind, are not entitled to any reward, and i don't think we ought to accept them, and----" "but, saunders," interrupted lieutenant wilson, "when you come to think of the princely overcoats these beaver furs will make, it seems to me there would be no harm in accepting them--not as pay for doing our duty but just as tokens of friendship and good-will from these men." "now you're getting it through you," said tom approvingly. "that's the idea--just a friendly gift." and before saunders could enter another remonstrance he added, as he gathered up an armful of the robes and skins: "come, jack, bring the rest and we'll tie them on their horses for them." as the three men mounted we bade them a cordial good-by and expressed a hope to soon meet them again in leavenworth. we each gave found an affectionate farewell hug, for we sincerely regretted parting with him. "you'd best keep found tied up for a few days, bill," suggested jack as they started off, "lest he should scent our trail and follow us. and always take good care of him, for he's got more genuine nobility in him than lots of the so-called men i've met with." "you bet found'll never want for good treatment while i'm around," answered bill; and then, "ta, ta, fellows, i'll see you in leavenworth before long," he called back as they rode away into the darkness. during this day mr. kitchen, the proprietor of the neighboring train, had visited our camp and, after inspecting our wagon, team, and camp outfit closely, had asked if it would be for sale when we got through to leavenworth. i answered: "yes." "what will you take for it delivered to me there in as good condition as it is now?" he asked, adding: "i shall be close on your heels going in." after conferring with my partners we agreed to deliver the outfit in good shape at jim brown's livery stable, fourth and shawnee streets, leavenworth, for five hundred dollars. kitchen readily agreed to take it and paid us a hundred dollars down to clinch the bargain. chapter xxvi back to god's country we were a cheerful trio next morning as we started out of camp on the home-stretch for "god's country," with jack singing: "ain't we glad to get out of the wilderness!" i had brought my captured ponies along, thinking to use them for riding stock going in and to realize something on them after we reached leavenworth, and for the first day tried them--jack riding one and i the other--but they were in such poor condition that by the time we had reached charley rath's ranch, the first evening, i saw that they were not going to be able to stand the travel on grass alone--and i had been unable to teach them to eat grain--so i left them with charley, with a note to wild bill requesting him to dispose of them to the best advantage for me, which he did, turning in the money to me a few weeks later in leavenworth. our bales of peltries made a bulky but not heavy load, and our two mules and two broncos hauled it with ease, and, though we were all anxious now to reach the end of our journey, still we were under contract to deliver the team to mr. kitchen in leavenworth in good condition and, therefore, must not overdrive. of course each one of us was now doing some lively planning for the future. "well, taking all things into consideration," remarked jack, the first evening after we had got settled in camp, "though we're glad to get out of the wilderness for a while, we've done pretty well this winter. we've had lots of fun, some lively adventures, and we've made more money than we had any idea of when we started into the business." "yes," i replied, "we'll each have something over a thousand dollars in clear cash for our winter's work, when we divide up, and that's more money than i ever possessed before--how is it with you fellows?" "same here," said jack. "me, too," said tom. "well," i continued, "i suppose each one of you is studying out how he can quickest blow it in before re-enlisting?" "i don't know about that," replied old tom. "i expect to re-enlist after a bit, of course, for soldiering's the only trade i know and i haven't really much use for the money, but i'll not squander it foolishly. i've studied out a better use for it. i have a widowed sister with several children living on a little farm back in pennsylvania, and they only make a poor, cornbread living off the place by close economy. i've made up my mind that the best use i can put this money to is to go back there and fix them up in good shape--and then i'm off to the war." "good for you, tom," i said approvingly, "but then i naturally expected that you would put your money to a sensible use. how is it with jack?" and tom and i turned our inquiring looks to the irishman. "i know what you think," retorted he quickly. "you think you know what'll get away with jack's money. in your minds you see my money going for whiskey and me never drawing a sober breath till i'm down to bed-rock. but i'm going to fool you. i've been doing some thinking for myself--and that's a rare thing for jack, you know--an' i says to myself, says i, 'jacky, boy, this is the time of your life to do some good for your poor kindred in ould ireland.' i haven't heard from any of them for several years and don't know who of them is living an' who is dead. but i've made up my mind that when we get into leavenworth not a drop will i touch, and soon as i crook me fingers on that money i'll hit the trail for new york, take passage for the ould dart, and if i can find any of my family living i'll bring them back with me to this glorious land of liberty, where one man's as good as another and a blamed sight better if he behaves himself decently. and mind you, now, i'm not going to touch a drop of liquor till i get back from the ould country. and then, of course, i'll re-enlist, for soldiering's my best hold." before he was done speaking each of us had extended a hand to give him a hearty hand shake of encouragement in his good resolution. "my boy," said old tom, with tears in his eyes, as he took one of jack's hands in both his, "you don't know how glad it makes me to hear you talk that way. if you'll only stick to it, i'd give the half of my possessions to help you carry out that resolution." "same here, jack," i added. "well, i'm going to show you that i can and will do it." after a little pause tom inquired: "but now about yourself, peck. what do you expect to do with yourself?" "well, i've made up my mind that i'll not re-enlist," i replied. "i've had soldiering enough, i think; but i suppose i'll have to enter uncle sam's service in some shape or other. i noticed when we were in leavenworth before that the quartermaster's department at the fort is fitting out a good many trains of new six-mule teams; and, as that is something to my notion, i think i'll try for a job as wagon-master." when we reached council grove, then the gateway of the border settlements, we felt as if we were really getting back into "god's country." as we passed the place where we had had the controversy with the jayhawkers, we stopped a little while to have a chat with the old storekeeper and told him the disposition we had made of the black horse. he had never heard of any owner of the horse and did not think it probable that wild bill would ever be disturbed in his possession of him. he had heard nothing more concerning the jayhawkers after they were gobbled up by the soldiers and taken to the military prison at fort leavenworth. when we reached leavenworth city, we again put up at ned welch's boarding-house, on seneca street, and our team at jim brown's stable. a few days later, on the arrival of mr. kitchen's train, we transferred our team and camp outfit to him, as per agreement, divided up the cash proceeds of our expedition, and the wolf hunters disbanded, promising to keep track of each other in the future by correspondence. then jack and tom started east, intending to travel together as far as pennsylvania. i parted with my dear comrades with sincere regret, fearing that in the vicissitudes of the great war then getting under good headway, i might never see them again. when next i heard from jack he had re-enlisted and was back in the old company again. in the war he did gallant service and received some honorable scars, re-enlisted again after the war and in his last enlistment took service in the seventh cavalry, and was one of the last remnant of that doomed band who with their gallant leader met a heroic death on that fatal knoll by the little big horn river on sunday, june , . with few serious faults, and many virtues, our untutored, wild irishman was a brave, unselfish, and manly man. tom carried out his plan of using his money for the benefit of his widowed sister and her children on the little farm in pennsylvania, saw them comfortably fixed, and then went to washington, where, through the influence of army officers who had known him in the service he obtained a commission as captain in a volunteer cavalry regiment, soon rose to be colonel of the regiment, and at the close of the war was a brevet brigadier-general, commanding a brigade. he had hoped when the war ended to obtain a commission in the regular army, but his wounds so far disabled him as to unfit him for active service in the regulars. he was, therefore, compelled to accept a pension and retired to the little farm to try to content himself with the dull life of citizen. after years of perilous adventures and desperate encounters on the frontier, wild bill was finally assassinated in the city of deadwood, south dakota, by a wretched gambler. and i? well, of course, i married "the girl i left behind me" in leavenworth city, for which piece of wisdom--or good fortune--i have always congratulated myself. after getting married i took service with uncle sam as a wagon-master, in which capacity i served through the civil war, in kansas, missouri, arkansas, and the indian nation. footnotes: [a] afterward fort lyon, on the arkansas river, and later abandoned. the site is within a few miles of the present town of lamar, colorado. [b] james butler hickock, better known as wild bill, was a famous character in kansas and the west from to . in he was sometimes called "indian bill" or "buckskin bill," but the nickname "wild bill" soon became so firmly fixed that few people knew his real name. wild bill was the son of new england parents, born in vermont, who moved to new york immediately after their marriage, which occurred in or . from new york they moved to illinois, settling first in putnam county and later in la salle county. here, near the village of troy grove, the son, james butler, was born, on may , . he went west when only a boy and for some time served as scout at different military posts and afterward as marshal and sheriff in various new towns in kansas. he was a man of unflinching courage and a natural shot with the pistol and had many extraordinary adventures, in all of which he was successful. a remarkable incident told of him was the killing of jake mccandless and his gang of twelve men in a hand-to-hand fight near fort hayes, kansas. in or , with william f. cody and john omohundro and a number of pawnee indians, he appeared for a short time on the stage in one of ned buntline's dramas of the plains, but his career as an actor was brief. in march, , wild bill was married to mrs. agnes thatcher lake and that summer went to the black hills, where he prospected. here, in deadwood, south dakota, august , , he was murdered, while playing cards, by jack mccall, who walked up behind him and shot him in the back of the head. mccall was tried at deadwood and acquitted. subsequently he was rearrested by colonel n. j. o'brien, then sheriff of cheyenne, wyoming, and was taken to dakota, tried, convicted, and executed during february, . wild bill was in no sense a desperado. he was a mild-mannered, pleasant man who avoided trouble when it was possible, but when trouble came he met it with a strong heart. [c] tom carney, wholesale groceryman of leavenworth city, was, a year or two later, elected governor of kansas. [d] there were no metallic cartridge shells in use in those days, the cartridges for sharp's rifles and all firearms being put up in paper. the sharp's rifle carbine, which was one of the earliest breech-loaders brought into use on the frontier, had been adopted by the government for the cavalry service and was also a favorite buffalo gun among frontiersmen generally. their extreme effective range was eight hundred yards, the longest-range guns then in use on the plains. the colt's navy pistols we used then would shoot with the force and accuracy of a rifle for about three hundred yards. i remember seeing a sergeant in the second dragoons kill an antelope one day with a colt's navy (taking a dead rest) at a distance of three hundred paces. the regulation "pace" is thirty inches. [e] this firm about this time minted private gold coins known as pike's peak coins. transcriber's notes: italicized words are surrounded with underscores: _italics_ obvious spelling and punctuation errors have been standardized.